Tyrant Read Free Page B

hand to interrupt him. ‘If it had been up to me, our army would have arrived two days ago. But a people’s assembly had to be called in Syracuse, and once they had come to a decision, our commanders had to discuss what line of action to take. I left alone, with this vanguard, as soon as your messenger reached us with the news that the city was about to fall. You’re not out of danger yet; we must get you to Acragas before the barbarians set off in pursuit. Bring forth your wounded now; I’ll have litters prepared for those who can’t walk. Line up the women and children in the middle, the warriors at the fore and rear. We’ll guard the sides.’
    ‘Wait,’ said Eupites.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘Your name.’
    ‘Dionysius.’
    ‘Listen to me, Dionysius. We are grateful to you for being the first to come to our aid. We are humiliated and ashamed of the state we are in, but there is something I must tell you.’
    As he spoke, the other Selinuntian warriors had picked up their shields and were crowding around him, their shoulders stiff and their hands gripping their spears.
    ‘As soon as we have garnered our strength, we will return to rebuild our houses and our city, and if anyone, whoever he may be, should ever want to wage war against the Carthaginians, we will be ready to march with him. Revenge is our only reason for living.’
    Dionysius raised his torch to illuminate the man’s face and his eyes. He saw more hate there than he had ever seen in the expression of any human being. He passed the torch under the faces of the others; in each one of them he saw the same fierce determination. ‘I’ll remember that,’ he said.

     
    Dionysius sent a couple of men to signal to the rest of his contingent that they should turn back, for there was nothing more to be done for Selinus. They then resumed their march and walked the whole night long until they came upon a group of villages where they found some food. As the exhausted refugees stretched out under the trees of an olive grove, Dionysius rode back some distance to make sure they weren’t being followed. It was then that his attention was attracted by a splash of white in the middle of a field. He spurred on his horse and went closer. A girl was lying there, apparently lifeless, on the grass. Dionysius dismounted, raised her head and brought his flask to her lips. She seemed no older than sixteen. Her face was so smoke-blackened that he could barely make out her features. Except for her eyes: when she opened them, they shone with an amber light. She must have collapsed during the night-time march without anyone noticing. Who could say how many of those poor wretches had yielded to fatigue?
    ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
    The girl took a sip of water and said: ‘You think I tell my name to just anyone who happens to come along?’
    ‘Just anyone; me! You dolt, I’m the one who’s saved your life. The mongrels would have started in on you in no time. Come on, get up. I’ll take you back to the others.’
    The girl struggled to her feet. ‘Get on that horse with you? I wouldn’t dream of it.’
    ‘Stay here then. And when the Campanian mercenaries catch up with you, they’ll make you wish you’d been a little less stubborn.’
    ‘My name is Arete. Help me up.’
    Dionysius helped her on to his horse and jumped on behind her, spurring him into a trot. ‘Do you have family among the refugees?’
    ‘No,’ replied Arete. ‘My family are all . . . gone.’ She spoke in an absent tone, as if she were referring to someone she didn’t know.
    Dionysius fell silent. He handed her his flask again. She drank, then spilled a little water on to her hands and washed her face, drying it with the hem of her dress.
    A youth on horseback rode by at a clip, then pulled up short. Light eyes, balding at the temples. His receding hairline and well-trimmed beard made him look older than his years. He gave the girl a look over and then turned to Dionysius. ‘So here you