The Etruscan (30 page)

I explained this to Dionysius, who stroked his beard and replied that the Phocaeans had no desire to work in the poisonous mines of Iberia or to turn millstones in Carthage merely to please Dorieus.

Dionysius no longer entrusted his plans to me, although we continued to be friends. One day, seeing thick smoke pouring forth from their courtyard, I hastened there and saw that they had dug pits and battered their beautiful silver vessels which they were melting down with a bellows. They were also prying loose the precious stones from the jewel caskets and breaking the ivory carvings.

I watched their activities with suspicion and saw that they broke the hardened silver into chunks which they then weighed and divided among themselves.

“My eyes cannot bear the sight of such senseless destruction of art treasures,” I said indignantly. “But I do notice that you are sharing them according to weight and deciding with a toss of the knucklebones who gets the pearls and the precious stones. I believe that I also am due a share in that treasure, as is Mikon. Dorieus, too, would be offended if he were not to receive the share won by his sword.”

Dionysius showed his white teeth in a smile. “Ah, Turms, you spent more than your share in Himera. Don’t you remember borrowing from me before you left for your pilgrimage to Eryx? And upon your return you borrowed still more to satisfy the whims of that woman whom you brought with you. Dorieus for his part owes us more than we owe him. But Mikon we will gladly grant his physician’s share if he will accompany us to the tribunal at Carthage. Perhaps he will be able to stitch together our skin after it has been stripped from our backs.”

The men of Phocaea laughed through their sweat and grime. “Yes, Turms, and Mikon, and above all Dorieus, come and get your share of the loot,” they cried, “but don’t forget your swords! There may be a difference of opinion.”

In view of their threatening behavior I thought it best to tell Dorieus only that they were sacrificing to the gods prior to surrender. Dorieus sighed in relief. “What fine fellows they are! This is the best service they could do for me. Now at last I will be able to attend to the political affairs of Segesta in peace.”

Joy spread throughout the city when it appeared that the unpleasant matter was about to be resolved without difficulties. Because a person willingly believes what he desires to believe, the Segestans were sure that Dionysius and his men had finally regained their senses. That night the Segestan leaders listened to the noises issuing from the Phocaeans’ house as the men drank wine and feasted to fortify their courage. The Carthaginian emissaries nodded contentedly. “It is high time, for our ship has waited far too long in Eryx. Those pirates are more foolish than we imagined in thus trusting in Carthaginian laws.”

In gratitude they made sacrifices to Baal and to other gods and brought fetters and ropes with which to take the Phocaeans to Eryx. On the following day they again walked by the house and paused before it expectantly. Soon Dionysius came out of the gate with his men and, quicker than I can relate it, slew the members of the retinue and seized the amazed emissaries. They did not kill the Segestans and merely warned the guards not to interfere in a matter which did not concern them.

Dionysius came into the street, axe in his hand, to meet Dorieus and the Segestan leaders. “We have surrendered to the sacred emissaries from Carthage and have humbly requested them to conduct us to Eryx and their ship,” he explained coolly. “We can only regret the unfortunate incident caused by the retinue’s shameless assault on us as we attempted to negotiate with the emissaries. In doing so they stumbled over their own swords and swung at one another with their spears. Possibly we also, as men quick to anger, were guilty of striking some of them too hard, unaccustomed as we are to using metallic weapons. But the Carthaginian emissaries have already forgiven us and have promised that we need not surrender our weapons until we board the vessel. If you do not believe my words, step inside the house and ask them yourselves.”

But the Segestan leaders were not anxious to enter the Phocaeans’ house and Dorieus maintained that the matter no longer concerned him since Dionysius had surrendered to the Carthaginians.

Dionysius continued, “You have only your own hostility to blame for our actions. The holy Carthaginians agree with us and greatly fear that you will attack us along the way and thus prevent their taking us alive to Carthage. If you attack us, they promise to take their own lives. Thus their blood will be on your heads and Carthage will never forgive you.”

While the Segestan leaders were digesting his words he smiled cheerfully and announced, “We Phocaeans would rather sail to Carthage by way of Panormos, since we know that -route, but the Carthaginian leaders insist upon Eryx, and we must obey. As prisoners we Phocaeans are willing to go humbly on foot, but such honorable men cannot be expected to walk such a long distance. Thus you must find us mules and a guide as well so that we will surely find our way to Eryx.”

The Segestan leaders, realizing their hopelessness, could only pretend to believe that all would happen according to Dionysius’ promise. In a procession of honor they conducted the Carthaginian emissaries behind their wall of Phocaean shields through the city to the west gate. They saw that the emissaries were gagged and roped to the mules but pretended not to notice it.

Mikon and I accompanied the Phocaeans to the gate. There, with infinite arrogance, Dionysius paused and said, “I almost forgot that the holy emissaries’ money bags, documents and writing tablets are still at their lodgings. Fetch them quickly, you officials, and bring also fresh meat and wine, as well as two maidens to warm them through the cold night.”

When the emissaries’ goods were brought, Dionysius taunted the Segestan leaders by donning a Carthaginian ceremonial robe. Unable to read the scrolls of parchment and the tablets, he glanced at them dis-
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dainfully and tossed them to his men, who drew ribald pictures, showed them to one another and cackled in glee.

Finally Dionysius saw fit to depart after one of the Segestan leaders suffered a stroke from sheer rage and died before our very eyes. The Phocaeans, considering that a bad omen, urged on their mules and set off on the road to Eryx.

Nor did they delay. Having rested only during the darkest hours of night, they arrived in the harbor of Eryx the following evening, swarmed onto the ship that had been awaiting the emissaries, tossed its crew into the sea, threw torches onto the other vessels and brought chaos to the entire port.

When they made for the sea they had the emissaries with them. One they fastened to the prow for luck in ramming the first ship they would meet, the second they jokingly sacrificed to Baal after they had robbed several treasure ships near the African coast. Dionysius no longer made any attempt to reach Massilia but devoted himself to piracy, in accordance with the apparent wishes of the gods. Because he did not rob Greek ships, the Greek cities in Sicily soon secretly began to shield him and the ‘fleet which he had assembled. Indeed, during the succeeding years, Dionysius’ daring activity at sea did much to bring about further deterioration of the already bad relations between Carthage and the Sicilian Greek cities.

I have related all this about Dionysius and his men for he was a man worth remembering. The thirty-three who were with him I would list by name, but I no longer remember them.

During that winter in Segesta a strange oppression came over me. There was no apparent reason for it, since I was highly respected as Dorieus’ companion and Arsinoe for her part had forgotten her capri-ciousness and withdrawn from the public eye to await our child. She grew fatter and calmer and sometimes in her moments of fear turned to me with greater tenderness than ever before. But she did not speak much and it seemed at times as though I were living with a strange woman. Whenever I thought of our coming child, it, too, seemed a stranger.

. But if I suffered, Dorieus did likewise. He had reached his goal and in reaching it had lost it, so that he no longer knew what he wanted. His experiences at sea had so unsettled him that during his spells of melancholy his eyes stared vacantly as though everything in him were but gray salt. He had lost all interest in Tanakil and often spoke to her sharply.

Dog breeding and horse racing did not appeal to him. Instead, he tried to interest the Segestan youths in developing their bodies in the Greek manner. They watched his skillful performances in the stadium with respect, but observed that there was nothing admirable in exhausting oneself when professional athletes could obtain better results than any amateur.

Dorieus did succeed in calling together all able-bodied men regardless of rank or trade for military exercises on certain days. Many of them complained of aches and reported themselves ill time and again, but the people realized the necessity for learning to use arms if they intended to retain their power. Dorieus pointed out that a well-armed city is more respected at negotiations than a weak one and the people knew that with the coming of spring the council of Carthage would hold them responsible for the fate of its emissaries. Although the Segestans intended to blame Dionysius for everything, a feeling of guilt induced the people to run themselves to a sweat and to strain their limbs at the exercises which they heartily despised.

After a time they gladly acceded to Dorieus’ suggestion that the city install as a permanent garrison one thousand youths from among those who had indicated aptitude and who had no desire to follow other trades. Dorieus divided the youths into groups of one’hundred, lodged them in various houses and himself often slept among them to avoid sharing the marriage bed with Tanakil. He maintained strict discipline and each had to obey the leaders selected by him, but despite this the robberies and outrages increased. The only difference was that the guilty were not discovered as readily as before. If one of Dorieus’ wreath-crowned youths was found guilty of a crime, Dorieus had him severely whipped.

“I am not punishing you for the crime,” Dorieus would explain, “but for the fact that you were discovered.” That appealed greatly to his men who admired him more than the city council which paid their wages.

Dorieus managed to pass his time, but whenever a melancholy mood came upon him he retired to his room for many days and did not consent to talk even to Tanakil. Through the walls we heard him cry out to his forefather Herakles and endeavor to conjure up again the white-limbed Thetis.

When he had recovered, he called Mikon and me to him, drank wine with us and explained, “You cannot know how difficult it is to be a king, and bear the responsibility for an entire city’s welfare. My divine heritage likewise complicates my position and makes me lonely.” He turned his head painfully. “Although I have appeased my father’s spirit and attained my legacy, my head aches to think that I shall leave behind nothing but enduring fame. I should have an heir to give purpose to all that has happened. But Tanakil can no longer give birth to one, and I have not the slightest desire to adopt her sons, as she suggests.”

I admitted that such a problem was enough to make one’s head ache. “Yet of us three, you should look to the future with the greatest confidence,” I said consolingly, “for the gods have charted your path with such clarity that you could hardly have done other than what you did. In your position I would not worry about an heir, for in time you will surely have one if it is so ordained.”

I thought the moment propitious for announcing Arsinoe’s condition since it could no longer be concealed. It was surprising that Mikon’s experienced physician’s eye had not already noticed it.

“Not all are equally favored by fortune, Dorieus. I have gained nothing from our expeditions, I am still your companion and have not even my own hearth, although poor Arsinoe is awaiting my child. It can no longer be concealed, for she should give birth in but a few months, at the darkest time of the year.”

Enthusiastically I babbled on. “You, Dorieus, naturally know little about women’s affairs, but you, Mikon, should have noticed it long ago. Therefore congratulate me and let us shake hands. You have everything else, Dorieus, but I shall have what you never will have unless the situation unexpectedly changes.”

Dorieus jumped to his feet, knocked over a valuable bowl and demanded, “Is that the truth? How can a priestess have a child?”

Mikon evaded my look and muttered, “Are you sure that you are not mistaken? I would not have wished that to happen to you.”

In my joy I failed to understand, and hastened to fetch Arsinoe to confirm the fact. Tanakil followed us suspiciously.

Arsinoe stood before us, already awkward and with a dreamy look in her eyes. “It is true,” she admitted humbly. “I am expecting a child which will be born at the most dismal time of the year. But I assure you that I am still under the protection of the goddess. My dreams and omens have clearly indicated that.”

Tanakil’s face darkened in envy. Glaring alternately at Arsinoe and Dorieus, she screamed, “I -suspected it but could not believe my own eyes. You have brought shame upon my house. Don’t drag the goddess into this affair, either. It is the fruit of your own cunning in trying to outdo me in shrewdness.”

Dorieus stared at Arsinoe and raised a hand to silence Tanakil. “Shut your mouth, you Phoenician hag, or you will become still uglier in my eyes than you already are. This is not your house but the king’s residence which I won with my sword. And don’t envy Arsinoe. Instead, look upon her condition as an omen, although I must think hard to determine just how it is to be interpreted.”

He covered his eyes for a moment, then his face softened and he smiled. “Don’t be afraid, Arsinoe. I shall take you under my protection and all will be well. The child will not bring you shame but rather glory. Tell me, do you think that it will be a boy or a girl?”

Arsinoe said shyly that one could not know in advance, but that she felt almost certain it was to be a boy.

I remember little about the birth except that it happened on the rawest night of the year and that the boy came into the world at dawn while a cold rain poured down on the land. Arsinoe nursed the child herself, for despite her apparent frailness the goddess blessed her with an abundance of milk. The boy himself was strong and cried lustily from the very beginning. I was so relieved that I wanted to name him immediately, but Dorieus said, “There is no hurry. Let us wait for the right omen.”