Tyrant (56 page)

There was no one waiting for them on the wharf and no one seemed to recognize them when they disembarked the
Arethusa
, as if they were ghosts. They stared in wonder at all the changes they could see: buildings, people. Everything looked new and different, and they felt somehow like strangers. Leptines suddenly lifted his eyes towards the repair docks and he couldn’t hold back his tears.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Philistus, who hadn’t noticed anything.

‘Nothing,’ replied Leptines, and started walking off, but Philistus took a look in that direction and saw that the
Boubaris
was out of commission. Her huge skeleton, still bearing the unmistakeable figurehead, seemed a sun-bleached whale carcass.

They stumbled on behind Aksal, and the animated buzz of the port in the evening hour became a distant hum, like that of a beehive.

Ortygia.

Dionysius’s austere fortress had remained the same, as had the sullen faces of his mercenaries. They crossed the courtyard, went up the stairs – always behind Aksal, who never said a word – and found themselves in front of the audience chamber. The door was ajar, and the Celt gestured for them to enter.

Dionysius was sitting on a stool in the corner and his back was turned to them. The seat he used to receive foreign delegations was empty.

He turned at the sound of the door closing and got to his feet. Not one of the three managed to get out a word and the hall seemed a hundred times bigger than it was in reality.

‘You’ve called us in . . .’ said Philistus finally. He spoke as if they’d come on foot from a local quarter and not from the ends of the earth, after years and years of separation.

‘Yes,’ replied Dionysius. Another interminable silence followed.

‘We . . . I mean to say, your brother and I, are happy that you’ve called us back,’ spoke up Philistus again. He tried to lighten up the leaden atmosphere with a witty remark: ‘I was getting a bit bored, to tell you the truth, in that lagoon in the middle of all those mosquitoes.’

‘And you?’ Dionysius turned to Leptines.

Leptines’s head hung low, his eyes were on the ground.

‘Won’t you even greet me?’ he insisted.

Leptines walked up to him. ‘Hail, Dionysius. You are looking well.’

‘I find you in good form as well. You weren’t so badly off there.’

‘No. Not so badly off.’

‘I need your help.’

‘Really?’

‘I’m preparing the last war against the Carthaginians. The last one, understand? And I need you. Iolaus is dead.’

‘So I heard. Poor lad.’

‘Lad . . . we’re still using that word after all these years.’

‘We are, aren’t we.’

Philistus observed them and felt something breaking inside, tears crowding his eyelids. He could feel the intense emotion between those two men, both marked by such hard lives, emotion so powerful that it shattered the layers of ill feeling, of suspicion, of fear, of reason of State, politics and power. The emotion of a deep, heartfelt bond, wounded and offended and perhaps made even more intense by just that reason.

‘What is your answer?’ urged Dionysius.

‘What do you expect from me? You confined me to that rock for five years without a word, without a message. Five years . . .’

‘Maybe it’s better not to dig up the past,’ Philistus broke in unhappily, but his voice immediately died down as he realized how stupid his comment was.

‘I could not forgive what you had done . . .’

‘I would do exactly the same thing, the same, identical thing, if I found myself in that situation,’ retorted Leptines. ‘So you can send me back right now.’

Dionysius sighed. He was torn between remnants of a distant rage and the emotion of finding himself once again in front of the most loyal and generous man that he had ever known in his life. ‘I need your help,’ he repeated, and he took another step towards him. They stared at each other at close range and neither would drop his eyes. Philistus felt like hiding.

‘Let it be clear,’ replied Leptines, ‘that you called me back. I didn’t ask to return.’

‘All right,’ replied Dionysius. ‘What else?’

The tension was such that Philistus felt shivers under his skin, but this time he did not speak a word.

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Leptines. ‘Sod the world!’ and he left.

Dionysius waited until he had slammed the door and repeated with a grin: ‘Sod the world!’

‘Do you need me as well?’ asked Philistus.

‘Yes,’ replied Dionysius. ‘Sit down.’ He pulled over a stool and began speaking as if only hours had passed since the last time they’d seen each other. ‘Listen well. The peace treaty with the Carthaginians recognized their right to demand tribute from Acragas, Selinus and Himera.’

‘True.’

‘These cities have sent emissaries saying that they would be willing to pass over to our side if we are ready to protect them. But they made it clear that they were not willing to trade one subjection with another.’

‘I understand. And what do you want me to do?’

‘You’ll meet with the governors of those cities to negotiate a formula of . . . annexation that respects their autonomy and does not offend their dignity. Is that clear?’

‘Perfectly,’ replied Philistus.

‘That’s all.’

‘That’s all?’ repeated Philistus.

‘Why? Have we got other things to discuss?’

Philistus lowered his head. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘I suppose not.’

He walked out and found Aksal waiting to accompany him home.

When he entered he found the house in perfect order: the walls had been freshly painted, the furniture and objects were in place as if he had never left.

He sat down, took a tablet and a stylus, drew a long breath, and said: ‘Let’s get back to work.’

Leptines came by a few days later. He was in the blackest of moods.

‘What did you expect?’ asked Philistus, putting aside his papers. ‘That he’d throw his arms around you?’

‘Not in the least.’

‘Well, you’re wrong, because that’s what he did, in his own way. He asked you to help him: that’s like getting to his knees in front of you.’

‘Because he’s as lonely as a dog. There’s no one he can trust.’

‘Exactly. In theory, he can’t even trust us. The last time we saw each other, the situation was anything but clear.’

‘In your case, not in mine.’

‘True. In fact, I’m sure that his feelings for you haven’t changed at all. As for me, I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me, and do you know why? You failed him with your heart, but I with my mind. But he needs me. He’s never found anyone as good as I am in diplomatic relations. But that’s enough for me. It’s enough for me to be back at his side, I admit it.’

‘What about those plans for change that you talked to me about, that you wanted to involve me in? Is that all over? Is everything all right now?’

Philistus sighed. ‘Men of letters should keep away from action. We’re just not cut out for it. That awkward attempt of mine was a huge mistake, and trying to involve you an even worse one. But I did it in good faith, I swear to you. Have you taken a look around in the city? Have you seen what the mood is? No one cares about politics any more. The administrative system is running well, the citizens’ council can rule on any number of economic questions, on public order and urbanistics, our confines are guarded with an iron fist, trade is blooming, and there’s plenty of money in circulation. Syracuse is a great power that can deal with Athens, Sparta, even Persia, as her equals. I just hadn’t realized. And they say that he’s even become a better poet! A miracle, if it’s true.

‘He has built a system that works, and the facts are in his favour. The age of heroes is ancient past, my friend. We’re dealing with a middle-aged man now – who is very capricious and often intractable, but who’s still capable of conceiving incredibly daring strategies. If he wanted to, he could happily enjoy a tranquil old age at this point: receive foreign ambassadors, preside over public events and theatrical representations, hunt and raise hounds. No, he’s preparing an expedition against Carthage. The last, he says. After which all of Sicily will be Greek, and will have become the centre of the world, the new metropolis. You know, if you think about it, it’s our natural vocation, wouldn’t you say? Positioned at the centre of the seas, halfway between the Hellespont and the columns of Heracles. It’s a great vision that he has, understand? Unfortunately there’s a fundamental problem that makes the whole operation futile.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Leptines.

‘It’s simple: there will never be a second Dionysius. Your brother has always been too detached from his first-born son, who I hear has become even more timid and retiring. Everything rests on Dionysius, like the sky on the shoulders of Atlas. The best of tyrants cannot be preferable to the worst of democracies. He is not replaceable, and when he falls, his construction – no matter how great and powerful he has made it – will fall with him. It’s only a question of time.’

‘But then,’ said Leptines, ‘if it’s all useless, why did we come back?’

‘Because he called us,’ replied Philistus. ‘And because we love him.’

S
OMEONE KNOCKED AT
the door.

‘Come in,’ said Leptines, and opened it.

He found Aristomache before him, as beautiful as when he had last seen her, but paler. It took him a little while to recover, as if he had met with an apparition. ‘Come in,’ he repeated.

Aristomache removed her veil. ‘We’ve been apart for so long! I’m so happy to see you.’

And I as well. I thought of you every day I was in exile. Now you’re here ... I never would have hoped it. Has he sent you?’

‘No. I asked him if I could see you and he agreed.’

Leptines didn’t know what to say.

‘It’s a generous gesture,’ said Aristomache.

‘Do you think so?’

‘Well, what do you think?’

‘Perhaps he thinks you can convince me to help him in the upcoming war.’

‘Oh, no. It’s not that. You’re free to do as you like. Your privileges have been restored. Your properties are intact and have been well kept up in your absence. You could choose a tranquil life and no one would blame you. He least of all’

‘How do you know?’

‘He told me.’

‘You’ve spoken of me?’

‘Every day, since your return. Sometimes . . . even before then. He never wanted to admit it, but your absence was the worst punishment for him.’

Leptines wiped his hand across his forehead. ‘And what . . . what did he say about me?’

‘You are the most important person in the world for him. More than me, more than his children, more than his other wife.’

‘Words . . .’

‘More than words. Feelings,’ replied Aristomache with a quiver in her voice. ‘The most precious of our possessions; the only things that make life worth living. If I could, I would convince you to choose a life of tranquillity. You no longer have to worry about governing or commanding. You’ve paid a high price for your courage, your valour and your honesty.’

Leptines looked at her at length in silence, listening to the pounding of his heart. He wasn’t used to such strong emotions. He felt that her urgings – although they were coming from the woman he loved – went against his natural inclination. He answered: ‘I’m afraid that kind of life isn’t for me. For five years I stood on that windswept rock and I did nothing but watch the sea, day in and day out. Inactivity is unbearable torture for me. I’ll have time to rest for an eternity when I’m closed up in a tomb. Tell my brother that I am willing to take up my sword and fight for him, but only against our old enemy. And that he should call upon me for this and this alone.’

Aristomache stared at him with moist eyes. ‘So you’ll go back to fighting.’

‘If necessary, yes.’

‘I will pray to the gods that they may protect you.’

‘I thank you, but I don’t think the gods care much about me. Your thoughts will be of much greater comfort to me.’

‘You will always have my thoughts, at every moment of every day and night. It has been a great consolation for me to see you again. Take care of yourself.’