Tyrant (55 page)

‘But the two of them – Dionysius and Plato, that is – did they ever meet face to face?’

‘Not in your dreams. When he’d been told about all those nice proposals, Dionysius convinced the captain of the ship that was taking Plato back to Greece to sell him to the pirates.’

‘By Heracles!’ gasped Philistus. ‘To the pirates?’

‘That’s right. Plato’s disciples had to pay a pretty ransom for him at a market in Aegina before he ended up who knows where.’

Philistus couldn’t help but laugh as he remembered Dionysius’s line: ‘Philosophers! I avoid them like dog shit on the street.’

Sosibus departed and Philistus returned to writing his history of Sicily, which was particularly difficult now, due to the scarcity of information.

During the following year, he was engaged by the people of Adria, among whom he enjoyed great esteem, to take on a grand project: the opening of a canal which would connect the northernmost arm of the Padus with their lagoon, in order to make the city an even greater and richer trade and transit centre. And so Philistus set to work.

P
HILISTUS SPENT FIVE
more years in Adria, under conditions which were unusual from many points of view. His exile allowed him almost complete liberty. The only thing that was forbidden to him was returning to Syracuse. He accepted this limitation -even though it was anything but painless – when he realized that, in reality, Dionysius had sent him there with a mission, albeit non-declared: to lead the Syracusan colony that was settling there.

Work proceeded on the grand canal that connected the northern arm of the Padus with the lagoon of Adria, and Philistus often supervised its progress personally, staying at the work yards for days, and sometimes months. He was slim and tanned, and even seemed younger. When the huge project was finished and the gates were raised, allowing the water to flow through the canal, it was a thrilling spectacle.

The canal harnessed the waters of the great river and created a new route inland, allowing contact with vast lands, rich with every kind of natural resource: livestock, skins, wheat, timber, as well as wine, oil and metallurgical products from Etruria. A project for peace and, finally, prosperity. The people of Adria were so grateful to its designer that they dedicated an inscription to him in the local sanctuary, and called the new canal the ‘Philistina Channel’. Philistus was moved, and thought that perhaps that canal would have a greater chance of perpetrating his fame than his historical writings, which he continued to work on with great assiduity.

Adria was not the only Syracusan settlement in the area. Another colony was founded on an elbow-shaped promontory on the western coast and was called Ancona. In the meantime, the Celts, who had burned down Rome eight years earlier, had definitively settled into the territory of the Umbrians, not far from the new colony on the promontory, which became the base for recruiting them as mercenaries in Dionysius’s service.

One spring day a warship, a trireme named
Arethusa
, docked at Adria. Philistus had seen her many a time at anchor at the Laccius dockyard; she was mainly used now for diplomatic missions. A visitor was soon announced, and who should Philistus find before him but Aksal, Dionysius’s Celtic bodyguard! A few white hairs had appeared, and he was quite a bit heavier, but all the more imposing for it.

‘Aksal!’ he exclaimed. ‘I never thought I’d see you here. What brings you to this place at the end of the earth?’

‘Boss want my brothers as mercenaries and say you come with me to make contract.’

‘Actually, I’ve received no message or instructions from him about this, and I think it’s better that I stay here. I’m sure you can handle it well on your own. Your Greek hasn’t got much better, but I imagine you speak your own language quite well.’

Aksal insisted. ‘Boss say you don’t want to come, I take you with me anyway,’ and he stretched out two hands as big as bear’s paws.

‘Good boy, all right,’ Philistus reassured him. ‘I’ll come. But give me the time to prepare . . .’

‘Tomorrow we leave.’

‘I understand. But I have to find someone who will take care of my books, my personal things . . .’

‘You take all,’ said Aksal.

Philistus’s heart skipped a beat. ‘All? What do you mean? Explain yourself, you beast.’

‘All your things. You no return again to this hole.’

‘No? And where are you taking me then?’

‘Aksal no say.’

‘I understand,’ replied Philistus, resigned. But he didn’t dare imagine the final destination of that voyage. He thought that Ancona would be a good step forward; at least she was said to be a city in the true sense of the word.

They reached Ancona after six days of navigation. The first two, along the coast of the lagoon, were quite relaxing, while the last four were anything but tranquil, due to a westerly wind that tended to push them away from the shore and made the
Arethusa
, no longer so young, drift leeway in a worrisome way. Aksal was often agitated, despite his long sailing experience, and when a big billow hit he would let out a guttural yell, perhaps to relieve some tension.

Ancona was in fact a true city, from every point of view. It had a beautiful harbour, sheltered from Boreas, with havens for the transports and warships, and a striking acropolis on top of the mountain that overlooked the gulf. The magnificent temple that Dionysius had had built there could be seen from a great distance. Below it was the agora, with porticoes that skirted the harbour, which was visited by a great number of vessels. The multicoloured market attracted Greeks from the colonies and the metropolises, Picenians from the interior with their picturesque embroidered wool garments, Umbrians, Etruscans and Celts, men and women in great numbers. Philistus was struck by the beauty of the Celtic women: they were tall, with slim legs and supple breasts and blonde, waist-long braids. Some carried babies in their arms and shopped at the market stalls using Syracusan coins. The men were astonishing: very tall and muscular, they were bare-chested except for the
torques
at their necks. The wool trousers they wore were narrow at the ankle and their long swords hung from belts of wool or embossed metal plates.

The recruitment point was inside the harbour; there were many Greek mediators who spoke Celtic, but above all a great number of Celts who spoke a Greek not much different from Aksal’s. Philistus felt reborn: he was finally breathing the air of a
polis
, admittedly a bit cross-bred.

Before seven days were over he had signed twenty or so work engagements and made advance payment, and the
Arethusa
had taken to the seas again.

Philistus was impressed by the Syracusan presence so far from Sicily. Dionysius must have realized that, since the markets of the eastern sea were in the hands of the Carthaginians, the Adriatic was an area where he could expand his trade interests and establish colonies.

Philistus learned more interesting news from the ship’s commander. The opening of new markets and the stability of recent years had brought great prosperity to all of Dionysius’s dominions. His wives had given birth to more sons and daughters. The last, a little girl born of Doris, had been given the name Arete by Dionysius’s express desire.

When he heard that name, Philistus thought that the tyrant must still have some feelings deep down after all. He thought of poor Aristomache, forced to give him children although she loved another man, but then he consoled himself by the thought that, in the end, time heals many wounds and allows us to bear the misfortunes and difficulties of life with greater courage.

One day, Philistus realized that the ship was turning east, and he imagined that his final destination would be at some lonely outpost among the infinite islands and inlets of the Illyrian coast, where Syracuse was settling new colonies. Then, suddenly, like a stroke of lightning, he thought: Lissos! Perhaps they were going to Lissos!

They landed there, not without difficulty, the evening of the third day after setting sail from Ancona. Shortly thereafter, under Aksal’s amused gaze, Philistus met up with an old, dear friend, once mourned for dead. ‘Leptines!’ he shouted as soon as he saw him.

‘Philistus!’

They embraced, tears in their eyes.

‘You bastard!’ said Philistus. ‘You’re still in one piece! What a joy to see you, by Zeus! What a joy!’

‘I can’t believe it’s you, you old wisecracker!’ exclaimed Leptines with the hint of a quiver in his voice. ‘Look at you, you’re as good looking as a whore from Ephesus! The climate of the Adriatic has done you well! Where did you end up?’

‘In Adria, to be precise.’

‘Adria . . . where’s that?’

Philistus pointed a finger north. ‘At the very end of the gulf. The mosquitoes ate me alive at first, but then they left me in peace, or maybe I just got used to them. How long has it been, by the gods! How long . . .’

They walked arm in arm in the golden light of sunset down a lovely paved road that led to the little city until they reached Leptines’s house. It was a grey stone building with an inner courtyard surrounded on three sides by a colonnaded portico. A well decorated with floral motifs stood at the centre.

‘You’ve set yourself up well here,’ commented Philistus.

‘I can’t complain.’

‘So your brother hasn’t treated you too badly?’

‘No,’ replied Leptines somewhat dryly. ‘What about you? How’s it been for you?’

‘I could move around. I even had governmental responsibilities, in a way. I guess you could say I was living in a state of conditional freedom. Did you notice where Aksal went?’

‘No, I can’t say I did.’

Philistus turned. ‘He was right behind me . . . You know, your brother put me in charge of recruiting Celts on the Ancona market. Or at least that’s what Aksal told me. I haven’t heard a word from him directly. Have you?’

‘No, neither have I.’

‘Aksal ordered me to pack up all my things because I won’t be returning to Adria. Maybe they’ll let me stay here. I quite like the place. The climate looks good, and there are no mosquitoes. We could play a game of knuckle bones every once in a while, go fishing together. You know, now that I’m not in politics any longer, I can’t say I miss it. A world of madmen . . . What about you?’

‘Me?’ replied Leptines. ‘I don’t know . . .’ his voice trailed off.

‘Right,’ commented Philistus, ‘you’re a combat animal, aren’t you? You must feel like the
Boubaris
in a washbasin.’

‘More or less,’ admitted Leptines. ‘You’re my guest,’ he said to change the subject. ‘I have fish for dinner. Is that all right?’

‘Is that all right? I’d eat a crust of dry bread to stay in the company of my old friend!’

They ate together in the internal courtyard, reclining on couches with dining tables and slaves serving them. They lingered until late that night, drinking wine and remembering old times. Philistus realized that Leptines knew nothing of what had happened in Syracuse and in the metropolises over all the years. He had been kept in a kind of isolation. ‘Has your brother ever written to you?’ he asked.

Leptines shook his head.

‘Sent word by messenger?’

‘No.’

‘I see. Do you think he’ll let me stay here?’

‘I have no idea. I hope so. It would make me very happy.’

When they took leave of each other, Philistus remained to watch the full moon illuminating the roadstead and the few ships at anchor there. A marvellous sight. There was a little bit of Greece here as well. A temple had been built, a square, a harbour; the language, customs and religion of the Hellenes were spreading inland.

The shrieks of the gulls woke him early the next morning, and he heard a bit of an uproar at the main door. He went to see what was happening and found Aksal there. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘We leave now,’ replied the Celt.

‘We who?’

‘We: Aksal, you and commander Leptines.’

‘By Zeus, you don’t mean that . . . Where are we going?’

‘To Syracuse. Ship go with tide. Hurry.’

Philistus ran up the stairs, panting and burst into Leptines’s room. ‘We’re leaving!’ he shouted.

‘What are you saying?’

‘Aksal has just told me: we’re going home, my friend, we’re going back home!’

Leptines was stunned by those words; he didn’t know what to say. He paced back and forth across the room, looked out the window.

‘You have to hurry,’ Philistus insisted. ‘Aksal wants to take advantage of the tide.’

‘Aksal doesn’t understand a thing. The harbour is so deep that we don’t have to consider the tides. We have all the time we want.’

‘Hey, are you happy or not? You look so glum . . .’

‘Oh yes, sure, I’m happy. But I’m already thinking about when I’ll have to face up to him.’