Tyrant (57 page)

She brushed his lips with hers and left.

He never saw her again, alone.

Preparations lasted three years, during which Dionysius extended his hegemony to the most important centre of the Italian League, Croton, even though the city was allied with Carthage. The massive use of Celtic mercenaries had secured his victory.

The alliance between the League and the Punic city had in reality never become operative, because Carthage had been struck once again by plague and had had to put down another revolt of the native Libyan tribes. In the meantime, Dionysius decided to refill the empty coffers of his treasury in view of a new war and teach a lesson to the Etruscan pirates who were venturing ever further south. He launched a bold foray all the way to the very heart of the Tyrrhenian, where an assault contingent took and plundered the sanctuary at Agylla which the Greeks called ‘the Towers’.

The raid brought in over one thousand talents and the abhorrence of philosophers, who once again branded Dionysius as a monster who didn’t even respect the gods.

Philistus had managed to conclude new treaties with Acragas, Selinus and Himera, including them in Dionysius’s Greater Sicily. Carthaginian territory was reduced to the far western corner of the island, with a few cities still in Punic hands.

Leptines did not participate in his brother’s campaign against the Etruscans, in keeping with his promise, but he was preparing in every way he could for the decisive match with the Carthaginians. He spent hours each day in the palaestra with Aksal, training with shield and sword, wrestling and boxing. When the two of them moved to the centre of the arena, all activities in the gymnasium were abruptly stopped as the others thronged around the ring to watch the battle of the titans. The gleaming sweat on their bulging muscles and the convulsive panting of their gaping mouths made the encounter extraordinarily realistic; only the lack of blood marred the impression that they were watching a duel to the death.

When Dionysius returned from Italy he invited his brother to dinner.

There were only the two of them, and they dined in military camp style, with a planed table and folding stools.

‘See? The Italian League had allied with the Carthaginians. They don’t seem to mind making pacts with the barbarians.’

‘You’re playing with loaded dice: you know that things aren’t quite that way. There are some who consider freedom the highest good, more important even than ties of blood or language. And I understand them.’

Dionysius nodded solemnly. ‘And yet you’ve accepted to fight the coming war with me.’

‘I have.’

‘May I ask you why?’

‘No.’

‘All right. Can I trust you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like . . . I used to trust you?’

Leptines lowered his eyes. That phrase had sufficed to set off a turmoil of memories and emotions.

‘I had to send you away, keep you in exile, because seeing you and thinking that you could betray me would have caused me insufferable pain.’

‘You’re still capable of suffering?’ asked Leptines. ‘I wouldn’t have said so.’

‘Like any human being. Like any mortal man. And now that I’m approaching the threshold of old age, I’d like for things to be the way they once were between us.’

‘What about my betrayal?’

‘I’ve had time to think about it. Everything requires time, but mine is running out, day after day. I want to say one thing: if I should . . . die, in this war, you will be my successor and you may marry Aristomache. She won’t say no to you. I’m certain of it. You are the best man I know. There have always been very few men like you, and I don’t think there will be more in the future.

If I fall in combat, you will arrange for my ashes to be united with those of Arete. Promise me that.’

‘I promise you,’ said Leptines.

Dionysius stood and walked to where Leptines sat. He did not give him time to get up: he grasped his brother’s head close against his chest, while Leptines, in turn, embraced him tightly around the waist.

They wept in silence.

The Carthaginians made their first move that very summer, when Mago decided to advance from Panormus towards Messana. Dionysius called a meeting of his high command and laid out his plan. The fleet would not leave the harbour. The ground troops would go out alone to intercept the enemy army to the north and destroy it. The Celtic mercenaries would hold the centre under his direct command, the Syracusan militias would occupy the right wing commanded by Leptines, and the Campanian and Peloponnesian mercenaries would be on the left with their unit commanders. The cavalry would remain in reserve and be launched at a second stage in pursuit of the fugitives.

The battle took place ten days later at a native village in the centre of the island called Cabala, and Dionysius’s secret weapon proved to be a triumph. The sight of the gigantic Celtic warriors with their long white manes and tattooed chests and arms threw the adversaries into a panic and at the moment of impact, their extraordinary power sent the enemy into a ruinous rout. Leptines launched his militias from the right, leading them in person with unrestrained impetus, advantaged by the slope of the land. He circled around the enemy in a sweeping manoeuvre, herding them towards the centre as the Campanians and Peloponnesians were doing the same from the left.

The Punic army was annihilated: ten thousand were slain, including their supreme commander, Mago, and five thousand were taken prisoner. Five thousand others – nearly all Carthaginians – managed to take up a defensive position on a hill behind an old wall where they could dig in for the night, under the command of the son of the fallen general, a valiant young man who bore the fated name of Himilco.

Before the sun set, they had sent a delegation to negotiate their surrender, but Dionysius, who was feeling invincible, imposed very harsh conditions: immediate withdrawal from all of Sicily and payment for war damage as well.

Himilco’s messengers communicated that in order to make such a decision they must send a messenger to Panormus to consult with their superiors. They promised an answer within four days, and asked for a five-day truce.

Dionysius and Leptines, still covered in sweat and blood from the battle, retired to their tent and held council. ‘What shall we do?’ asked Dionysius.

‘We do have five thousand of them in our hands, but you’ve advanced a proposal that they’ll find difficult to accept. They’ll want to play for time, which is what they’re doing. Let’s close the circle around the hill, to be sure we’re safe from their tricks. We will let no one through but the messenger.’

‘You’re right. That’s what we’ll do. Tell them they can come in.’

The envoys listened to the terms of the truce with visible satisfaction, then they respectfully took their leave and returned to their makeshift camp.

Leptines immediately sent the cavalry and the Peloponnesians with the Syracusan officers to close in around the hill and set fires all around. The messenger arrived at one of the road blocks when darkness had fallen and was allowed to pass. He galloped off in a rush.

The rest of the night and the next day were tranquil. The dispatches from the guard posts that Leptines would receive now and then did not report any news. The third day, towards evening, he began to become suspicious; the messenger had not returned and it didn’t seem possible that there was no movement whatsoever on the top of the hill. He took command of a group of light infantry and advanced on foot towards the peak, fanning his men out. As he made his way up, a terrible premonition wormed into his mind. Suddenly certain that he was not mistaken, he loosed his men at a run towards the wall. He soon arrived at the top, panting, and let out a bitter laugh: the place was deserted.

‘Search everywhere!’ he shouted. ‘Turn over every stone! They can’t have vanished like this. Find them, I said!’

Dionysius himself arrived and was appalled at the sight of the abandoned camp. Pale, his jaw clenched, he was trembling with rage and frustration.

‘
Hegemones!
’ shouted a soldier. ‘This way, quick!’

Leptines and Dionysius rushed over and found themselves before the entrance of a cave, one of many that dotted that bleak landscape. It was a natural cavern that descended into the depths of the earth, wound on for a distance of nearly three stadia and finally ended up in the open countryside; the aperture was hidden by thick scrub and brambles. Bloodstains on the thorns and on the trodden earth left no doubts.

‘Blast them!’ cursed Dionysius. ‘Follow their traces!’

‘They’re too far ahead by now; they will have marched at full speed. We’ll never catch them. Destiny has mocked us by robbing us of a definitive victory. But we have defeated them nevertheless and we can be happy with that for the time being. Let’s go back now.’

Three days later a Carthaginian messenger brought word from Himilco; he was sorry, but he would have to reject the conditions of surrender.

‘How dare he ridicule me!’ roared Dionysius.

‘It’s his right to do so, I’d say,’ commented Philistus philosophically after joining them.

‘Oh! Sod it!’ swore Dionysius and rode off at a gallop.

It took Dionysius the rest of the year to prepare for resuming the war; his informers had told him that the Carthaginians would almost certainly attempt another attack. In fact, the armies set off once again at the beginning of the summer.

Dionysius and Leptines, accompanied by Philistus, advanced from the south; Himilco from the north. After testing and provoking each other at length through a series of feints and skirmishes, and after long observation of the opposite camp by reconnaissance squads, the two armies finally faced off at a place in western Sicily that the Greeks called Cronium. Dionysius was bitterly surprised to see that the Carthaginians had added on a massive contingent of Celtic mercenaries, probably enlisted directly in Gaul, or through their bases in Liguria.