by Mika Waltari
Dorieus’ glance strayed restlessly. He said in a weak voice, “You seem so distant, Tanakil. I feel as though years have elapsed since our meeting in Himera.”
Tanakil tried to smile. “I have grown thin worrying about you. But I will surely regain my strength after we are alone, and you will look at me with different eyes when you have rested.”
Tanakil’s sons hastily declared that, with the grain fields trampled and the land otherwise damaged, it was not a propitious time for erecting a new temple. Besides, omens had to be studied and the years calculated by seers.
At that Dorieus drooped, permitted himself to be divested of his armor and dressed in a Phoenician robe decorated with the moon and the stars, the nymph of Segesta and the holy dog. The people led him in a festive procession to the temple but the holy dog was unwilling to enter its pen. It looked beseechingly at Dorieus, who had to drag it forcibly into the pen. There the dog immediately sat down and began to howl ominously. Nor did it consent to eat or drink anything that the people offered it.
Dorieus nervously adjusted the dog crown that was tied to his head. “The howling of that dog hurts my ears and brings dismal thoughts,” he snapped. “Unless you can silence it I shall whip the animal.”
Fortunately, the people did not understand his threat. But the ominous howling depressed me also. Turning to Tanakil I asked, “If I remember correctly, the custom here is to marry the city’s fairest maiden each year to the holy dog. Why isn’t she here to attend to her spouse?”
“It is merely a tradition and no longer involves any responsibilities,” explained Tanakil. “In fact, the maiden merely shares the wedding cake with the dog and then leaves. But in honor of Dorieus we could find another maiden to comfort the dog.”
We could tell by Dorieus’ face that there was no time for delay. Tanakil called out to the people and immediately a little girl ran into the pen, wound her arms around the dog’s neck and began whispering in its ear. The dog looked at her in surprise and tried to free itself, but the little girl was insistent. Finally the dog ceased its howling and submitted to the girl’s caresses. The envious people then declared that a beggar girl was not good enough for the dog, but Tanakil retorted firmly that many another old custom had been violated that day. If the holy dog Krimisos accepted and was satisfied, its decision could not be questioned.
The pen was attached to the king’s residence, in which Tanakil had already prepared food and a bath. The building had been unoccupied and, because of its collection of holy objects, many of them obtained from animals, had a foul odor. The previous king had visited it only in connection with his official duties, but Dorieus was content with it, billeted the men of Phocaea at a nearby house, and asked that the wounded be cared for by Segestan residents.
Tanakil bustled about making Dorieus as comfortable as possible. After he had been bathed, anointed and massaged as thoroughly as his wounds permitted, he was carried by servants to the convivial couch. He tried to eat, but could not hold the food. Sighing he turned to Tanakil and said, “Earthly food apparently does not please my body which Thetis made invulnerable in her undersea chambers.”
“What do you mean, noble husband?” demanded Tanakil, glancing suspiciously at us. “Does your head ache? Undoubtedly it is exhaustion that makes you vomit and rave. Formerly my food was more than good enough for you.”
Dorieus smiled dejectedly and vomited once more. “I don’t understand what is wrong with me,” he said shamefacedly. “Ever since I achieved my goal I have felt weak, for I no longer know what I want.
Take away this accursed dog crown for it smells vile! Everything in this house smells of dog. It must be that which nauseates me.”
“Breathe my fragrance, my husband,” urged Tanakil. “In preparing to receive you, I let my body be anointed and had a scent cup tied to my forehead.”
Dorieus hopefully sniffed her forehead, then drew back, wrinkling his brows. “You also smell of dog, Tanakil.”
He held his stomach and complained, “It is as though I were on the vessel again. I am swaying on the couch just as I swayed in the arms of my beloved. Ah, Thetis, Thetis, I shall always long for you while I am on land!”
Tanakil looked at us glumly. I hastened to explain what had happened during the voyage while Mikon whispered into her other ear in his capacity as physician.
She glanced at Arsinoe suspiciously but nodded. Then, patting Dorieus’ cheeks, she said soothingly, “I understand and do not mind your union with that Thetis since I am not jealous by nature. But it would be best for you to remain indoors for a few days. The more a king remains aloof from trivial matters the more respected he is. I have already provided you with the garment of a maiden so that, like your holy forefather Herakles, you may perform a woman’s tasks in order to placate the gods.”
The men of Phocaea listened with open mouths but no one laughed. Dionysius agreed that Dorieus had shown such incomparable virility that it undoubtedly would be wisest for him to wear woman’s garments for a few days to allay the gods’ envy.
Tanakil’s promise and Dionysius’ understanding calmed Dorieus. His eyes closed and he fell face down onto the couch. We carried him into the bedchamber and left him there, his head at Tanakil’s breast.
3.
Dorieus remained out of sight for twelve days, and in that period Segestan affairs worked out for the best. The nobles suddenly attacked the rebels of Eryx, compelling them to give up their weapons and return to their masters. To the Siccani the people of Segesta gave gifts of salt and clay pots with the injunction to return to the forest.
The people also made peace with the nobles, permitting them to return to the city with their horses, dogs and athletes, and convincing them that the assumption of the heavy burden of government by the people was to the nobles’ advantage. Not only could they retain the outward symbols of their rank but, having been relieved of the responsibility of government, they would have more time to devote to horse breeding, dog training and watching athletic competitions. However, they must henceforth permit wealthy merchants and skilled artisans to marry their daughters and inherit land, and also permit certain leading city officials to keep dogs even though they were not of noble birth.
Dorieus was anxious to send emissaries to the large Greek cities in Sicily to herald his acquisition of the crown, but Tanakil protested vehemently. “You cannot do that, for the council of Carthage would suspect you of harboring plans for an alliance with the Greeks. Much happened while you were at sea. Anaxilaos of Rhegion conquered Zankle with the aid of some refugees fleeing from the Persians. When Krinippos of Himera heard that, he hastily married off his granddaughter Kydippe to Anaxilaos, who changed the name of Zankle to Messina, signed a treaty of friendship with Carthage, and now rules both shores of the strait. So, through marriage, actually the entire north shore of Sicily is under the influence of Carthage. My sons will have much explaining to do before Carthage recognizes your legal right to the dog crown.”
After the harvest, two emissaries arrived from Carthage by way of F. ryx to investigate Segestan affairs. They were two because the council oi Carthage did not willingly entrust important matters to only one man, and three again would have been too many. But naturally, the two were accompanied by servants, bookkeepers, surveyors, and military experts.
Dorieus let Tanakil arrange a banquet in their honor. She brought forth her genealogical table for the guests to see and assured them that Dorieus would soon learn the Elymian language and habits. Dorieus for his part took the guests to see the holy dog. He had little else to show them.
After lengthy negotiations, which Dorieus permitted the city council to conduct on his behalf, the Carthaginian emissaries recognized Dorieus as the king of Segesta and all Eryx. But they bade him make reparation for the damage he had caused Panormos. Actually, the Carthaginians had already confiscated the trireme. Other demands were the recognition of Eryx as a Carthaginian city, the right of Carthage, as the winter residence of the goddess,” to cont
inue drawing the revenue derived from the pilgrimages to Eryx, and the right of approval by Carthage of all trade agreements with the Sicilian Greek cities as well as of all matters pertaining to war and peace. And finally, Dionysius and the other men of Phocaea must be turned over to Carthage for judgment for their piracy on the eastern sea.
To all else Dorieus yielded since the demands meant merely the recognition of existing conditions, but the men of Phocaea he refused to surrender. He resisted staunchly, although Tanakil tried to prove that he owed nothing to Dionysius but on the contrary had suffered an injustice at his hands.
“What happened on the sea was a matter unto itself,” said Dorieus. “I cannot violate the brotherhood that we sealed on land with our blood.”
But when Dionysius heard that the negotiations threatened to run aground because of him, he came voluntarily to Dorieus. “I don’t want to endanger the kingship which I unselfishly helped you to obtain, and so we will step out of your way and return to sea.”
Dorieus brightened at the suggestion. “That may be the best thing to do, although I had hoped to fulfill my promise and make you lord of the land. But what can I do when Carthage does not agree to it?”
For some reason the Carthaginians did not demand Arsinoe, Mikon or myself, and we lived in Dorieus’ residence enjoying Tanakil’s hospitality as we had in Himera. Meanwhile the men of Phocaea were not having a pleasant time in Segesta. They were compelled to shut themselves in their lodgings and even pay for their own maintenance while the Carthaginian emissaries ordered them guarded day and night lest they repeat their escape from Himera. But there we had been on the shore of the sea and the ships had been ready for sailing.
With the approach of autumn the Phocaeans felt as though a noose were being tightened around their throats. They began to rub the indelible blue marks on their backs and to wonder how it would feel to be skinned alive. Every day the Carthaginian emissaries with their coppery faces and gold-threaded beards strolled by the Phocaeans’ lodgings while their retinue shouted threats. At Dionysius’ order the Phocaeans bore the insults in silence.
Dorieus understandably grew tired of them since they were in his way. The Carthaginian emissaries became impatient and demanded the surrender of the Phocaeans before the end of the sailing season. When I talked with them they pretended tolerance, assuring me the tales of their skinning people alive were sheer slander. The Carthaginian maritime law was severe, true, but not senseless. They had mines in Iberia which were constantly in need of labor. Ill-tempered slaves might be blinded or disjointed at the knee to prevent escape, but nothing worse happened to them.
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-^1 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.