The Etruscan (25 page)

Seeing Dorieus standing there alone defiantly waving his shield, a bundle of spears under his arm, the Carthaginians momentarily ceased their howling. Then, when they noticed a wisp of smoke rising from their red-and-black galley, the commander and ten of his marines finally plunged in rage from the woods. They ran straight for Dorieus, who tossed his deadly spears with accuracy, felling four of the men. Then, baring his sword, he called upon his forefather Herakles to witness his deed and rushed toward the survivors. Several escaped but the others, including the commander, he killed.

Dionysius cursed in admiration as he watched the exploit. “What a fighter! Why did he have to take that blow on the head at Lade?”

During a lull Dorieus stooped over the Carthaginian commander. He had time to tear off the golden earrings and the heavy chain with its lion medallion before the spears and arrows again began flying from the woods. His shield drooped with the weight of the spears it bore and we heard the snap of the arrows as they struck his breastplates. Soon he plucked an arrow from his thigh, and a moment later another entered his open mouth, piercing the cheek.

With a shout of joy the Phoenicians ran out of the woods but he limped toward them, so tall and threatening that they suddenly spun around and fled, calling on their god for help as they ran.

Dionysius wept bitterly at the sight. “I cannot allow such a brave man to fall, although it would be for the good of us all.”

At that moment I knew that I also had secretly hoped for the worst. Guiltily I had watched the unequal battle without even attempting to go to his aid, and now it was too late. Dionysius called out to one of the penteconters to steer to the shore and fetch Dorieus, who waded out to meet it, staining the water red with the blood from his wounds.

So breathlessly had I followed Dorieus’ exploit that only after he was once more on the deck of the trireme did I notice that Arsinoe stood behind me, gazing in wide-eyed admiration at Dorieus. She was wearing only a short robe fastened with a wide silver belt which accentuated her slender waist.

Dionysius and the helmsmen stared at her and forgot Dorieus. Even the oars became tangled as some of the oarsmen caught sight of her through an aperture in the deck. But Dionysius quickly recovered himself and began to swear and roar and lay about him with his rope-end until the men returned to their tasks. The water again rushed past the bows and the burning hulk on shore soon lay far behind us.

Having divested Dorieus of his armor and watched Mikon apply healing salves to his wounds, I turned to Arsinoe in anger. “What do you mean by showing yourself to the sailors in that garment? Your place is below deck and see that you remain there. You might have been wounded by an arrow.”

Without taking any notice of me, she went over to Dorieus, looked at him admiringly and said, “Ah, Dorieus, what a hero you are! I thought I beheld the god of war himself and not a mere mortal. How crimson your blood is as it streams down your neck! I would heal that wounded cheek with a kiss if I could.”

His limbs stopped trembling and his lips grew calm. Recognition came into his eyes. He looked at her with desire, at me with disdain.

“Gladly would I have had Turms at my side as in the past,” he said. “I expected him but he never came. Had I known that you were watching I would have killed even more Carthaginians in honor of your beauty.”

Arsinoe glanced at me, her lips curved scornfully, and knelt on the rough planks beside Dorieus. “What an unforgettable battle! Would that I could have taken from the shore even a handful of sand or a shell in memory of your heroism.”

Dorieus laughed exultantly. “I would be worthless indeed if I were satisfied with sand and shells as battle trophies. Take these as a remembrance of this occasion.” He held out the golden earrings of the Carthaginian commander with his ragged lobes still sticking to them.

Arsinoe clapped her hands with joy, accepted the bloody gift with no revulsion, and began admiring the gleaming rings. “I cannot refuse since you insist. Naturally you know that I shall treasure them, not for their weight in gold, but because they remind me of your courage.” She waited expectantly for a moment but when Dorieus remained silent she shook her head. “No, I cannot take them after all for you yourself have nothing to show for your heroism.”

To disprove that Dorieus pulled out the chain and medallion and showed them to her. Arsinoe took the chain and studied it closely. “I know what it is,” she exclaimed, “it is the emblem of a naval commander. At school one of the girls was given such a chain and lion medallion by a satisfied guest. I remember well how I wept in envy, knowing that no one would ever give me such a gift.”

Dorieus gritted his teeth, for Spartans are not prodigal by nature, and said, “Take this also if it pleases you. It means little to me and I doubt whether Turms will ever be able to give you one.”

Pretending amazement, Arsinoe refused the offer many times and declared, “No, no, I cannot accept, nor would I if I were not anxious to erase my youthful humiliation at the temple school. Only because Turms and you are such good friends can I accept the gift. But how can I ever repay your goodness?”

Friendship was far from my mind as I watched that unworthy spectacle. But when she realized that Dorieus had nothing else to offer, Arsinoe rose, rubbed her bare knees and said that she would no longer disturb him since he was undoubtedly suffering from his wounds.

By that time Dionysius had the vessels in a column and the oar-strokes quickened to overcome the pull of the shore currents. Having watched us from the corner of his eye, he now approached, thoughtfully fingering the large gold rings in his ears.

“Arsinoe,” he said respectfully, “the men believe they have a goddess on board. But in watching you they forget to row and in time they may have even more dangerous thoughts. It would be better also for Turms if you were to go below and not show yourself too frequently.”

Seeing a stubborn look on Arsinoe’s face I said hastily, “I know that no one can compel you to do so, but it would be a pity if the burning sun were to scorch your milk-white skin.”

She screamed in dismay and attempted to cover as much of her bareness as she could. “Why didn’t you say so immediately?” she reproached me and hastily went below to the compartment which the helmsmen had made comfortable for her. I was left to trail behind like a pet dog.

For three days we rowed through the open sea and no winds awoke to help us on our way. At night we roped the vessels together and Arsinoe’s cat crept surreptitiously along the rails with flaming eyes, arousing the superstitious awe of the sailors. Nor did they grumble, but rowed willingly, believing every stroke took them farther from the dreaded Carthaginian galleys.

But on the fourth night Dorieus girded himself, began talking to his sword, sang war songs to rouse his spirit and finally confronted Dionysius.

“What are your real intentions, Dionysius of Phocaea?” he demanded. “We have long ago eluded the vessels of Carthage. Yet from the sun and stars I see that we have sailed northward day after day. We will never reach Eryx this way.”

Dionysius agreed good-naturedly, then gestured with his thumb. Instantly the crew seized and bound Dorieus so quickly that he had not even time to touch his sword. He roared at the outrage, then remembered his honor and grew silent, contenting himself with murderous looks.

Dionysius began to speak soothingly. “We respect you as a hero, and by birth you are far above any of us, but you must admit that the blow on the head you suffered at Lade still troubles you at times. When I heard you talking to your sword, when you spoke of the stars and the sun and seafaring, of which you know nothing, I realized that for your own good I would have to imprison you in the hold until our arrival in Massilia.”

Even the men patted him kindly on the shoulder and said, “Don’t be angry with us, for it was for your own good that we did this. The vast-ness of the sea easily affects a mind unaccustomed to it. Even the sly Odysseus had himself bound to the mast when he heard the sirens’ song in his ears.”

Dorieus quivered with rage. “We are not going to Massilia! Instead of a dangerous voyage I offer you a good battle on land, and when I have won the crown of Segesta I will divide the land of Eryx among you and allow you to build houses where you can raise your sons to be soldiers. I will give you slaves for your fields and you can amuse yourselves by hunting the Siccanians and taking their women. Of all this pleasure Dionysius would treacherously deprive you.”

To silence him Dionysius burst into long laughter, slapped his thighs and shouted, “Listen to his confused babble! Would we, men of Phocaea, leave the sea to dig in the earth? I have heard nothing more ridiculous.”

But his men began to shift from one foot to the other and glance at one another. Rowers left their benches and the crews of the penteconters climbed to the stern the better to hear.

Dionysius then grew grave. “We are sailing north straight to Massilia and already we are in Tyrrhenian waters. But the sea is wide and my good luck still holds. If necessary, we will overcome the Etruscan vessels also and break through to Massilia. There they make red wine, there even a slave dips his bread in honey, and milk-white slave girls are sold for a few drachmas.”

“Listen, you men!” shouted Dorieus. “Instead of unknown dangers and strange gods I offer you a familiar land whose temples are built in the Greek manner and whose natives pride themselves on speaking the language of Greece. I offer you a short voyage and an easy war. You have seen me fight. I now offer you a life of ease under the protection of my crown.”

Dionysius tried to kick his head, but his own men intervened. “There is much truth in Dorieus’ words,” they conceded, “for we do not even know how our kinsmen in Massilia will greet us. The Etruscans easily sank the hundred ships of our forefathers and we have only three, with a total of but three hundred men. They would not suffice when the sea before us turns red and black with Etruscan vessels.”

“Three hundred brave men behind my shield is an army!” cried Dorieus. “I do not even ask you to lead the way but only to follow me. You are out of your wits unless you believe me rather than Dionysius, that breaker of vows.”

Dionysius raised his hand for silence. ‘Termit me to speak. It is true that I have negotiated with Dorieus. It is also true that we would lose nothing in warring in Eryx since Carthage will not pardon us in any case. But all this I have planned only in the event that the gods do not favor our reaching Massilia. Only as a last resort will we strike somewhere on the coast of Eryx.”

At sea Dionysius was mightier than Dorieus, and after lengthy argu ment the men decided to try for Massilia. It was, after all, their original objective.

But the strange sea was pitiless and the winds fickle. In time our drinking water became foul and many fell ill and saw fevered visions. Nor did Dorieus’ occasional outbursts from the prow make matters easier. Arsinoe grew paler, complained of continual nausea and wished herself dead. Each night she begged me to free Dorieus so that he might start a mutiny since any fate would be preferable to aimless drifting with only maggoty flour and rancid oil to eat.

Then at last we sighted land. Dionysius smelled and tasted the water, sounded the bottom and inspected the mud clinging to the wax plummet. But he had to admit, “I do not recognize this land. It stretches north and south as far as the eye can carry, and is, I fear, the Etruscan mainland. We have drifted too far to the east.”

Soon we met two Greek cargo vessels and from them learned that the shore in front of us was indeed Etruscan territory. We asked them for fresh water and oil but the crew, looking dubiously at our matted beards and scorched faces, refused and urged us to go ashore. The fishermen, they said, would help us.

Since they were Greeks, Dionysius did not wish to rob them, but allowed them to sail away and bravely turned our own vessels toward the land. Soon we found the mouth of a stream and a cluster of reed-roofed huts. It was evidently civilized country, for the people did not flee from us. The houses were timbered, there were iron kettles and clay images of gods, and the women wore jewelry.

The very sight of that smiling land with its blue mountains was so delightful that not even the rowers had any desire to do violence. We took on a supply of drinking water slowly, for no one was anxious to return to the sea, not even Dionysius.

Suddenly a chariot appeared and an armed man spoke to us sternly. Though his language was strange, we understood just enough to know that he demanded to see our sailing papers. We pretended not to understand, whereupon he looked searchingly at our weapons, warned us not to leave and drove away in a cloud of dust. A little later a panting troop of spearmen approached and settled down to stand guard nearby.

They did not stop us from boarding our ships, but as we thrust our vessels into the water they shouted threateningly and flung spears after us. By the time we were safely offshore a row of signal fires was burning along the coast and a fleet of fast war vessels, narrow and light in build, was bearing down on us from the north. Again we headed for the open sea, but our rowers were so exhausted that the galleys soon overtook us. When we failed to respond to their signals, an arrow with a bloodstained clump of feathers plunged into the deck of our vessel.

Dionysius wrenched it free and looked at it. “I know what this means,” he said, “but I am a patient man and will not engage in battle unless I am attacked.”

The sails pursued us relentlessly until nightfall, when they fanned out and suddenly attacked. We heard the crack of snapping oars, the sound of metal rams smashing the sides of our penteconters, and the death screams of our oarsmen as arrows and spears whistled in through the oar ports. Our galleys listed and came to a halt at the very moment that an Etruscan vessel crashed into the trireme, severing both its steering oars. Enraged, Dionysius seized a grappling hook and chain and tossed them so cleverly at the Etruscan vessel that they caught in its stern and with a sudden jerk the ship came to a standstill. From our high deck it was easy to kill the rowers who ran to free the hook. An enemy attack from our rear was unsuccessful, for try as it might the frail Etruscan galley could not pierce the heavy oaken planks with its feeble ram.