Tyrant (21 page)

‘We don’t want your money,’ said one of the reapers, a young man no older than twenty with hair as thick and curly as a sheep’s but black as the wing of a crow.

That phrase frightened them to death. They knew just how dangerous a man uninterested in money could be.

‘What do you want then?’ demanded Pancrates with a quavering voice and a soul full of dark imaginings.

‘Us?’ replied the boy, smiling. ‘We don’t want anything with you. So long.’ And he walked off, followed by his travel companions and the animals; they even took the men’s slaves with them for good measure. The jingling of the sheep’s bells faded off into the evening as they walked away, until the two Syracusans were all alone in the middle of the silent countryside.

‘What idiots we’ve been!’ swore Pancrates. ‘I could have told you this would happen. Everything was going much too smoothly.’

‘So now what do we do?’ asked Euribiades.

‘Let’s try to get free,’ suggested Pancrates, ‘before someone else shows up. Come on now, move! Put your back to mine and try to loosen my knots, then I’ll untie you.’

But Euribiades did not move. ‘Forget it,’ he said with a resigned tone. ‘There’s someone coming.’

There was a figure on horseback silhouetted on the top of the hill. The mysterious man touched his heels to his horse’s flanks and began to descend towards them.

‘It’s all over,’ said Pancrates. ‘We’ll come to the same end as the others, or worse.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ replied Euribiades. ‘If he wanted to kill us he would have done so already. He’s obviously been observing us from the start. I say he wants to negotiate.’

The man dismounted from his horse and turned towards them; they stared back in dismay. A black cape fell from his shoulders to his feet, and a hood covered his head. His face was hidden by a comical theatrical mask, but nobody felt like laughing. He stared back at them, unmoving, without saying a word, and his invisible gaze terrified them even more than looking him in the eye. He slowly pulled a sharp knife from his cloak and said: ‘I could make you die the most atrocious of deaths, make you curse the bitches who brought you into this world. You know that.’

They realized now why the man was wearing the theatrical mask: not only to cover his face, but to distort his voice as well.

‘We know that,’ replied Euribiades for both of them. ‘But you’re certainly blaming us for something we haven’t done.’

‘I know exactly what you’re guilty of, down to the last detail. As I’m talking to you, others are receiving their just punishment. Not because they participated in that abominable exploit, but only because they boasted of doing so. But they’re stupid wretches who count for nothing. You have a political standing that can be exchanged with something I’m interested in.’

Euribiades realized it was best to drop the matter of blame so as not to further irritate the masked man; best to go straight on to negotiations. ‘I don’t know what you’re referring to, but we’re ready to listen to your proposal,’ he replied. ‘Speak.’

‘Now you’re talking,’ said the stranger. ‘These are my conditions: in one month’s time, a person who was believed dead will return to the city and go before the Assembly, under the sponsorship of an adoptive father, to reclaim his rights as a citizen. You surely know of whom I speak.’

‘We think so,’ admitted Pancrates.

‘Just so that there are no doubts about it, I’ll tell you that his name is Dionysius, presumed dead after the massacre of Hermocrates and his men in the agora. You two have a determining vote in the Council. Can I assure him that your vote will be favourable?’

‘Oh yes, yes, of course,’ they promised in unison.

‘I was sure we’d come to an agreement. But allow me to remind you that, should you go back on this pact of ours, your punishment would be much, much worse than what was dealt out to your henchmen.’

He approached with his knife and the two men trembled, fearing that he was about to give them a taste of their threatened punishment. Instead, the stranger cut the rope binding their wrists and ankles. Then he turned his back to them, mounted his horse and rode off at a gallop, quickly vanishing behind the hill.

One month later, the Assembly convened by Daphnaeus was discussing the Carthaginian preparations for war when Heloris stood and asked for the floor.

‘You have permission to speak,’ replied the president of the Assembly.

‘My fellow citizens and authorities of Syracuse,’ he began, ‘some time ago, as I was travelling inland to buy some horses, I found an unconscious man at the side of the road. He was severely wounded and gave no signs of life. I nursed him back to health until he was fully cured and had regained all his strength. That man was Dionysius, the son-in-law of Hermocrates . . .’ A buzz of disbelief and much cursing could be heard among those present. Heloris continued undaunted: ‘We all know of his fame as a valiant combatant, one of the most courageous of the city.’ More muttering spread through the crowd. But this time, much acclamation rose up as well. The members of the Company were well distributed throughout the hemicycle.

‘I know why some of you protest,’ continued Heloris. ‘Dionysius set himself against his own city by participating in the ill-fated onslaught of Hermocrates, but I would ask you to try to understand him. Blood ties – the love he had for his bride and the admiration he had for that man who had served the city with great devotion for years – convinced him to take part in that foolhardy act. The punishment he received was harsh: his house was devastated, the bride whom he loved violated and killed. Don’t you believe that he has paid a high enough price for his errors, errors which his young age and inexperience alone would suffice to excuse? He escaped death – not certainly by chance but because of the will of the gods – and he has admitted his blame to me. I trust him and I have adopted him as a son. I am here to ask you, citizens and authorities of Syracuse, to restore his right to vote in this Assembly and to allow him to reclaim his place among the ranks of warriors drawn up in battle. The threat of another war looms on the horizon and the city will need all of her sons, especially those most valiant.’

With these words Heloris concluded his speech, and a fist-fight broke out immediately between the supporters and the adversaries of the born-again Dionysius. All of the members of the Company had reported to the Assembly that day, and their massive presence intimidated the trouble-making factions at first, then shut them up completely. The only voices to be heard were now shouting out: ‘It’s only right! Dionysius is a hero!’

‘He’s a victim, he’s not to blame!’

‘We need his courage!’

‘Restore his rights!’

The last word still belonged to the Council, who met in a closed session under the portico that faced the hemicycle.

‘We cannot come to a decision under this sort of pressure!’ began Daphnaeus.

‘You’re right,’ replied a councillor. ‘There’s too much of an uproar, and it’s obvious that Dionysius planted his supporters so that they would cow the other citizens and prevent them from expressing their true opinions.’ The man who had spoken was called Demonattes; he was a relative of one of the men burnt alive in the house near the harbour.

‘Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly . . .’ Euribiades put in weakly.

Demonattes spun around to face him as if he could not believe his ears. ‘What do you mean, you wouldn’t say so? Even a blind man could see what is happening in this Assembly. I’m shocked at your reaction: weren’t you one of those who wanted Dionysius condemned to death at all costs if he was captured?’

Pancrates rallied to his friend. ‘Things can change. Only stones don’t change, by Heracles! There’s been a development in the course of events that—’

‘Development? Ten men were carved to pieces or burnt alive by a cruel murderer, and if you can’t guess just who that was, I suppose I’ll have to spell it out for you. What’s more, if the two of you insist on this ridiculous posturing, I’ll demand that an official investigation be opened on your account. Such sudden changes in mood can look very suspicious.’

The situation was worsening, and Pancrates tried to assume a more accommodating, wait-and-see attitude that could be shared by his fellow councilmen. He suggested that the order of the day which could restore Dionysius’s rights might be postponed. But Euribiades nudged him hard with his elbow, motioning with his eyes at something at the top of the hemicycle.

Pancrates noticed his panicked expression and shifted his gaze to the colonnade that closed off the Assembly auditorium. He couldn’t help but startle when he saw the comic theatrical mask hanging from one of the columns; the same one, it seemed, worn by the mysterious figure in the countryside south of Catane. The mask’s grotesque leer reminded them quite effectively of their pact – unwritten but extremely binding nonetheless. Pancrates sighed and didn’t speak for a few moments, after exchanging an eloquent look with Euribiades. As soon as Demonattes started up his fiery oration again, he whispered something into his friend’s ear.

Euribiades asked for the floor then and said: ‘It is useless to put off dealing with our problems; certain matters are best faced at once. In order to avoid a repeat of the intimidatory situation which we’ve seen today in the Assembly, I would ask the Council members to vote now, in a secret ballot.’

‘I approve,’ said Pancrates. ‘It’s the best way.’

There was no reason to oppose such a common procedure, and no one protested. Dionysius’s restoration was approved by a single vote and Demonattes indignantly abandoned the Council.

Dionysius received the news from Heloris himself, but his adoptive father warned him not to attend meetings for a while, to avoid provoking quarrels and controversies that his adversaries could fault him with. He didn’t show his face until the Company had ensured the goodwill of a wide majority of the Assembly, winning the contentious factions over by fair means or foul.

He made his entry with his cheeks perfectly shaved, his hair gathered at the nape of his neck, dressed in a beautiful light-blue chlamys. He sat in the midst of his friends, protected and guarded on every side. Pancrates and Euribiades shot him captivating smiles, as if to demonstrate that the mostly favourable atmosphere was due to their intervention. Dionysius smiled back and they were convinced that the score was settled.

They were wrong.

One evening, just after dusk, Pancrates was captured as he was returning home from a dinner with friends. He was bound and gagged, bundled up into a cloak and brought to the cellar of the house with the trellis. Two days later, Euribiades was captured in his own home in the middle of the night. He had heard his dog barking and had got up with a lantern to see what was happening. A yelp, and then silence. When he saw his slaves gagged and tied to the gate he realized that something was wrong, but it was too late. Four armed men jumped on him, knocked him out with clubs and carried him off in a sack.

He came to his senses in the house with the trellis, underground. Next to him was Pancrates, white as a sheet, who stared at him in terror. Dionysius stood before them, sword in hand. ‘But . . . we had an agreement . . .’ he stammered.

‘I don’t remember making any agreement,’ replied Dionysius.

‘The man with the comic mask . . . was you . . . or one of your friends. He promised to spare our lives in exchange for our votes in favour of restoring your rights in the Assembly.’

‘I’ve never worn a mask in all my life. I always show my face to my enemies.’

‘But we helped you!’ protested Pancrates, while his companion sobbed softly.

‘That’s true, and for this you will be granted a quick death. Don’t find fault with me: if I obeyed my heart, I would slowly cut you up into little pieces and feed you to my dogs. You can’t imagine the sight I was greeted with when I crossed the threshold of this house after the debacle in the agora. You can’t imagine what I felt when I saw my wife’s naked, broken body. Those who tortured and raped her at least took responsibility for their actions. You didn’t even have the courage to do that.’

‘I beg of you,’ insisted Euribiades, ‘you’re making a mistake! We had nothing to do with that, we have no blame in what happened. We are sorry, and we can understand your anger, but we did nothing wrong, believe me. In the name of the gods, do not stain yourself with the blood of two innocent men!’

Dionysius came closer. ‘I may be making a mistake, and in that case I will have to face the judgement of the gods. But Arete’s shade must be appeased. Farewell.’