The Beast in the Labyrinth, page 22
In the Temple of Athena, there is a famous series of paintings celebrating the exploits of mad King Agathocles, which all visitors to Syracuse make a point of seeing. Those, at least, have an obvious vigour to them. They tell the story for which Agathocles is best remembered. The Carthaginians, having been provoked by him beyond all endurance, finally invaded the kingdom and besieged him in his city. The situation was desperate. Agathocles responded by slipping out of Syracuse with most of his men and sailing to Africa, where he devastated several Carthaginian towns and slaughtered anyone he came across, which was something of a habit of his.
In their panic, the Carthaginian nobles burnt three hundred of their own children to placate their gods. Their army was forced to abandon its siege of Syracuse and hurried home to retrieve the situation.
Agathocles’ adventure eventually ended in disaster: his army was annihilated, although characteristically, he managed to save his own skin by deserting his troops. But at least he had also saved Syracuse. And as no one had ever managed to invade the Carthaginian homelands before, he immediately became a hero to Greeks across the entire Mediterranean – except, perhaps, to those within his own kingdom, who found they still had to live with him. As Hieron might have said, life is full of little ironies.
I was eventually shown into a modest chamber, where Hieron was sitting at a table with Archimedes and Philocrates, the elderly secretary who had brought me my box of blue tunics. They were scrutinising a very long roll of papyrus together. Philocrates’ equally decrepit slave stood against the far wall. Archimedes seemed engrossed in the document and entirely ignored me, but the secretary looked up and smiled.
“Captain Dion, it is a pleasure to see you again,” he wheezed.
I nodded politely to him.
“You are right, Philocrates,” Hieron said, also ignoring me. “The wording is too vague here as well. We will have to specify the number of ships they can bring into the harbour. No more than thirty quinqueremes, I think. No, make that twenty.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Philocrates replied. “I shall draw up the amendments.”
“Well, that is all for now, I suppose. Come back with your revisions this afternoon. Thank you, Philocrates.”
Philocrates beckoned his slave who stepped forward to help him out of his chair. When he was finally on his feet, the secretary nodded to me.
“Do forgive me for not staying to chat, Captain,” he said amiably, “but I must dash.”
Together, Philocrates and his slave began to shuffle slowly towards the door.
Hieron waved me forward but didn’t invite me to sit down.
“So, what do you want, Captain?” he asked.
“My King, as you may know already, all our patrols report that there appears to be no threat to the city. Everything suggests that the incursion at Pachynus really is nothing more than a raid. The horsemen I saw appear to have been a dozen runaway slaves. I can only apologise if I caused any unnecessary alarm. I fear I was rather stupid.”
Archimedes finally looked up.
“What horsemen, Dion?” he asked. I briefly explained to my great-uncle what had happened, feeling increasingly embarrassed as I did so. When I had finished, Archimedes merely grunted and turned back to the document, but Hieron continued to scrutinise me impassively.
“No need to apologise, Dion,” the king said eventually. “There’s no harm done, and keeping one’s mind open to all possibilities is hardly stupid. Besides, you have a reputation for impulsiveness. I find it reassuring to discover that you are also capable of prudence. Now, is that all you have come to say?”
“No, my King. I have come to ask you to call up the refugees.”
Hieron narrowed his eyes.
“Have you, now?” he said. I could almost hear his mind turning, as he considered the proposal from who knows how many perspectives that I hadn’t thought of.
“No,” he said after a moment or two. “It’s a good idea, but I won’t call them up as reservists. That would require them to rejoin their old Shield divisions and I don’t think Sosis would welcome the additional responsibility at the moment. They are your burden, Dion. But I’ll tell you what you can do, if you wish: you can conscript them into the City Guard instead. Will that answer?”
“Yes, my King. Of course. Thank you.”
Hieron dismissed me with a wave and I bowed and left. I had to admit Hieron’s suggestion was much neater. Captains were entitled to conscript anyone not already under arms into their divisions with no notice, although it was meant to be an emergency power and I could not remember the last time it had ever been used. But it would keep the refugees directly under my own command.
I went straight to Nebit’s office and found him hard at work, as usual. I told him of my conversation with the king.
He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
“So, Captain, His Majesty does not wish to recall the men, but invites you to use your powers of conscription instead?”
“Yes,” I replied testily. “I’ve already explained that. It’s just a technicality.”
Nebit began tittering.
“What’s so funny?” I demanded.
“My dear friend,” he said, “you really are a lamb among wolves, aren’t you? Allow me to explain. When a citizen is recalled for duty as a reservist, his weekly pay is charged to the Royal Treasury. He is paid by the state, because he is fulfilling an obligation to the state. But if a captain directly conscripts a man, that is another matter. The man is deemed to be answering a divisional need, and so the division must pay him. I suppose the intention is to deter captains from abusing their power over the citizenry, although if you will forgive me for saying so, only the Greeks would bother themselves with such fine distinctions. Rather like poor old Aristotle fretting about the difference between fog and mist… In any event, the long and the short of it is that the cost of conscripting all these poor people will now be added to our own divisional deficit, which by custom will eventually have to be made good by you personally… A technicality, as you say, but one of which I imagine our famously thrifty king is fully aware.”
I stared at him.
“You mean, I’m going to have to pay them all out of my own pocket?”
He smiled and nodded.
“Fuck,” I said eventually.
“And for this, I am afraid I can provide no unfuck,” replied Nebit, not very sympathetically. “Do you still wish to proceed, Captain? If so, there are various administrative matters I will need to put in motion.”
“Sod it,” I growled. I could see no way out of it now without losing face. I bit my lip. “Yes, I suppose so. Alright, go ahead, Nebit.”
It was only money, after all. I imagined we would be able to start sending the refugees home again after a few days or so, and to put the men on the payroll for such a short time was hardly beyond my means. What rankled was that for the second time that morning, I felt I had made a fool of myself.
“In that case, Captain, if I may suggest a slight modification, perhaps it would be sufficient for your purposes only to conscript those under the age of thirty? I would imagine that might halve the final cost.”
“No, Nebit,” I said after a moment. “The old have to eat too. We’ll conscript all the able-bodied men up to the age of fifty.”
“I admire your public spirit, Captain. Very well. I should have everything ready for you to proceed by this afternoon. Now,” Nebit continued, “to turn our conversation to a happier subject, you will recall that you and I are expected at your illustrious great-uncle’s house at midday to inspect the city’s defences. Should I meet you there?”
I had forgotten about that.
“Yes, I suppose so,” I replied, without any enthusiasm.
“You know, I had the honour of working closely with the noble Archimedes on a previous occasion,” Nebit twittered. “I must confess it is a source of great satisfaction to me that he should request my services again. I do not exaggerate when I say that he is widely acknowledged to be the world’s greatest living mathematician, and quite possibly the greatest ever.”
“Oh, did he rope you into helping with one of his sewerage projects?” I asked. I was feeling sour and it was meant to be a put-down, but I should have known better.
“Goodness, no, nothing like that,” replied Nebit, in a rather wounded tone.
I knew I had been graceless. Nebit was an annoying man, but he had been guilty of nothing more than a little vanity. I immediately regretted my words.
“I’m sorry, Nebit. I’m not having a good day,” I said. “You know I’d be lost without you. I am not in the least surprised my great-uncle values your abilities. I dare say it takes a mind like his fully to appreciate one like yours.”
The Egyptian almost purred with pleasure.
“My dear Captain,” he said, “I realise you must be under a dreadful strain at the moment, what with the military situation and all those wretched refugees. If there is anything I can do to be of assistance, please do not hesitate to ask.”
I had learnt to manage him well enough, I suppose, but I had started to despise myself for it. It seemed palace life was turning me into a first-class hypocrite.
I left him and went to my own office to write a short letter to my adjutant Castor, explaining the conscription arrangements. I asked him to start drawing up a list of all the eligible men in the camp. When I had finished, I had one of my men deliver the note to Epipolae, and then I hurried off to the south gate to resume my dispiriting duties there.
X
Returning Heroes
It took us four days to clear the backlog of carts and animals on the coastal road. By then, the rate at which new refugees were continuing to arrive had slowed considerably, which was just as well. In the end, there must have been getting on for ten thousand people crammed onto Epipolae, and I had over three thousand unwanted conscripts under my command. We didn’t have enough weapons in our armoury for them all, but Sosis sent over some cartloads of sarissas from Plymmerium to help out. We occupied the refugees for most of the day by marching them around the plain to the north of the city in different phalanx formations. By the time they got back to the camp, they were too tired to cause any trouble.
I brought Xeno over from the South Citadel to supervise the training. He may have only had one hand, but as an army veteran, he knew how to manage large blocks of infantry. He had great fun playing at being a general, although the whole thing was a farce. A phalanx depends on a core of professional soldiers to steady the lines and hold them together, especially when there is a turn of any sort to be negotiated. The refugees spent most of their time falling over each other. If the Carthaginians ever came, Xeno told me drily, we would just have to hope that they would laugh themselves to death.
As soon as Thraso found out that I had managed to land myself with the bill for all the conscripts, he offered to pay half the cost himself. It had been his idea, he insisted, and now he felt hugely embarrassed. His own family was not nearly as well off as my own, and I dare say the expense would have been quite painful for him, which only made the gesture more remarkable. Naturally, I refused.
My cousin did his best to keep the camp adequately supplied, but food was scarce throughout the city and the people of Syracuse were growing restless. The burden of provisioning the fleet had left most of the shops empty and, every day, the reserves in our granaries were depleted further. The summer harvests had not yet been gathered. We had the sea, but most of our fishermen were with the fleet, and even fish prices had soared. Women were taking out their husbands’ boats. You could sense an ugly atmosphere on the streets.
Nine days after we first opened the gates to the refugees, Hieron summoned me to the council chamber.
“Ah, Dion,” he said perfunctorily as I was shown in, “this letter has just arrived. I thought you might like to read it yourself. Come and sit down.” He held up a roll of papyrus with which he beckoned me forward.
I took it from him and settled myself in a chair. The seal, which had already been broken, looked unusually large and unnecessarily elaborate, but I didn’t recognise it.
Esteemed Grandfather, the letter began,
I am pleased to report that our forces have been triumphant and that I have now completed the re-conquest of our southern territories.
The strategy I devised took the Carthaginians entirely by surprise, forcing them to flee our shores in confusion without even offering battle, despite their superior numbers. Although I was disappointed not to have been able to engage them directly, I console myself with the thought that the humiliation I have inflicted upon them has fully avenged the insult they offered you by attempting to invade us.
I shall be returning to Syracuse presently. Although unimaginative, the officers under my command are, in my judgement, perfectly capable of administering the district without my supervision, so I see little point in remaining here myself.
I trust that my conduct of this difficult campaign has earned me your confidence and that you will agree I am now ready to undertake a more prominent role in the affairs of the kingdom. I therefore hope that you will see fit to appoint me to the Royal Council upon my return to Syracuse. I believe such recognition is no less than my birth demands, and my talents deserve, although of course I understand that I should perhaps assume only a relatively junior position, at least initially. In the light of my recent military experience, I would suggest that I be given the captaincy of the City Guards. As everyone knows, your present captain has wasted no opportunity to display his brutish incompetence, and it is a post for which Uncle Zoippos tells me that I am particularly well suited. He spoke to most of the other councillors before I left, and he says they all feel the same.
Having heard of our victory at Pachynus, the Roman governor of Agrigento, just across the border from here, was most anxious that I should visit his little province for a few days. The dreary fellow probably hopes to add some glitter to his reputation. He certainly sounds a dreadful bore (he proposes a tour of their local temples!), but having now established something of a military reputation for myself, I hope also to prove to you that I have a similar flair for diplomacy. I leave for Agrigento tomorrow and expect to be home in about two weeks’ time.
Hieronymus.
When I had finished reading it, I handed the letter back to Hieron without comment. There had obviously been much slithering in the snake pit. Zoippos and the other nobles had timed their revenge carefully: my most powerful friend on the council, Prince Gelon, was away. It was clever of them to use Hieronymus.
“So, Dion, what have you to say?” the king asked drily. “Should I replace you with Hieronymus? It would certainly make my life considerably easier. Both my sons-in-law hate you, my daughters hate you, my grandson hates you, his mother hates you, most of my councillors hate you, and almost the entire nobility hates you. And then there’s your future brother-in-law, who also hates you, as I imagine does his father, my friend Senator Torquatus – and he hasn’t even met you yet… I am beginning to suspect you may be lacking in social skills. By all accounts, even your own mother doesn’t like you very much.”
I felt myself blushing.
“I have disappointed you, my King. I am sorry for all the difficulty I seem to be causing. It seems I am not suited to palace life. If it is your wish, I will of course retire to my estates.”
Hieron gazed at me without expression for a few moments.
“No, I think not, Dion,” he said quietly. “You still have your uses, I suppose. I am not done with you yet.”
He smiled thinly at me.
“In any event,” he continued, “it would appear that the refugees can return to their homes now. Start clearing the camp. The sooner we can get rid of them, the better. And one more thing: I suppose we ought to arrange a suitable welcome home for my all-conquering grandson. A parade of the City Guard, I think. Have Nebit come and see me. I’ll arrange it with him. That is all; you may leave now.”
As I stood and bowed, Hieron picked up the letter again, glanced at it and sighed.
*
Emptying the camp proved more complicated than filling it, and took a week. We cleared it section by section. Only those slaves we had collected in the first two or three days had so far been auctioned off; the rest had to be washed down and returned to their owners, once the bills for keeping them had been settled. They had only been provided with subsistence rations and, towards the end, the pens had been packed tight. Some of the older ones had already died and those who had been confined for more than a few days looked severely weakened, so I imagine quite a few more were lost on the long walk home. There were similar problems with the draught animals, which had also been kept in increasingly dreadful conditions in the city’s livery yards. Those that looked like they could not make the journey south were sold for their meat. Their owners had to abandon their carts on Epipolae, and return to their homes with whatever possessions they could carry on their own backs.
Between us, Thraso, Castor and I had done what we could for them, but the people we sent back to Pachynus made a forlorn spectacle. I went down to the south gate to see the last of them off, and found Leander on duty there. Though he tried to hide it from me, there were tears in his eyes as he watched the seemingly endless procession of hollow, blank faces trudge silently past. I silently clapped the handsome young lieutenant on the back. There was nothing shaming in his tears. He had simply reached the moment through which every soldier must pass sooner or later, the moment when he comes to realise that a belief in our innate dignity is the most foolish of all man’s delusions.
And yet, so far, the kingdom had suffered nothing worse than a minor raid on a remote and sparsely populated province. Although thousands of lives had already been blighted, I knew Pachynus was just a small foretaste of what might soon be to come.
