The men fearfully covered their eyes with a corner of their robes and explained, “We have our Baal and the ancient goddess of Eryx, but the sea gods of Carthage can be mentioned only in whispers.”
“For my part,” said Dorieus, “I can speak openly. I have entered into an eternal pact with the sea goddess Thetis, just as I have in the earthly manner married a highborn woman descended from the founders of Carthage. But since you know so little about sea gods, it is useless for me to describe my matrimonial adventures.”
The members of the council had fine foods prepared in their houses and brought their silver dishes to the council building. Nor did Dorieus steal them but instead presented to the council a large Phoenician silver beaker from among Dionysius’ treasure.
To Dionysius’ protest Dorieus replied, “I have learned many bitter lessons in my life, perhaps the bitterest of which has been that a man’s heart is where his treasures are. Because of my divine ancestry I have always been something more than just a human and thus have difficulty in comprehending that fact. I can only say that where my sword is, there am I. I do not desire your treasure, Dionysius, but you must admit that you and your ship would both be at the bottom of the sea had I not saved you all by allying myself with the sea goddess Thetis.”
“I have already heard enough about Thetis and your voyages at the bottom of the sea,” retorted Dionysius angrily. “I do not intend to let you deal with the treasure as though it were your own.”
Dorieus replied with a pitying smile, “Tomorrow morning we march on Segesta, and there is nothing better than a brisk journey on foot for recovering from the trials of the sea. The treasure we must take with us since it cannot be left on the vessel. At any moment the warships of Carthage may sail into the harbor. On that fertile plain we can obtain donkeys, horses and other beasts of burden for transporting the treasure. I have already given orders for them to be assembled, and their owners may follow us to care for the animals since sailors fear horses.”
Now it was Dionysius’ turn to gnash his teeth, but he had to admit that Dorieus’ decision was the only possible one. The dry-docking of the trireme and its repair would take weeks, during which time we would be vulnerable to attack by the Phoenician warships. Our only possibility was to push inland, the faster the better. Having the treasure with them, the men of Phocaea were bound to fight for it on land despite their annoyance at the rigors of an overland journey.
“So be it,” said Dionysius grimly. “Tomorrow morning we leave for Segesta with the treasure. But it is as though I were abandoning my own child to leave my trireme defenseless in Panormos.”
Dorieus snapped at him, “You probably have left children behind at every port you have ever visited. Let us burn your vessel and all the others in Panormos so that no one will be tempted to flee.”
Dionysius scowled at the very thought.
“Have the trireme dry-docked and let the city council attend to the repairs,” I suggested. “The silver shield of Gorgon will be its protector. Should Phoenician warships sail into the harbor the council can give assurance that the trireme is the property of the new king of Segesta. The Carthaginian commanders will not dare to interfere in the internal affairs of Panormos without returning to Carthage for consultation. If we do this, we will lose nothing.”
Dorieus scratched his head. “Let Dionysius have charge of maritime matters. If he accedes, I will not insist that the vessels be burned. Besides, it would be wasteful to destroy something which must later be built again, and I will need ships to protect the interests of Eryx at sea.”
Dorieus entrusted the welfare of Panormos to its former council, promising to return as king of Segesta to punish or reward as he saw fit.
2.
The following day Dorieus organized the men of Phocaea for a refreshing march, as he put it, to help them recover from the trials of the sea. The men had spread his fame throughout the city and when he made his offering before their departure, the market place grew still and the people of Panormos stared at him in awe. He was a head taller than humans, they said to one another, invulnerable and godlike.
“Let us be on our way,” he said, and without a backward glance headed out of the city dressed in full armor despite the heat. We three hundred, as he called us, followed him, Dionysius at the rear with a length of rope in his hand. We had unloaded the treasure from the trireme and piled it on the backs of the animals without much difficulty since a goodly part of it had gone down with our penteconters.
Having reached the plain we looked behind and to our amazement saw that many of the men of Panormos were following us. By the time we had begun ascending the slope of the mountain at dusk our rearguard had been joined by hundreds of shepherds and plowmen, each armed to the best of his ability. When we made camp for the night the entire mountain slope was dotted with small fires. It seemed as though all of the backwoods people were eager to rise in revolt against Segesta.
On the third day of our exhausting march the men of Phocaea, unaccustomed to land travel, began to grumble and show their blisters. Then Dorieus spoke to them. “I myself march ahead of you and enjoy marching despite my full armor. As you can see, I am not even sweating. And you have only your weapons to carry.”
“It is easy for you to talk,” they retorted, “for you are not like us.” At the first spring they threw themselves on the ground, doused their heads in the water and wept in misery. Dorieus’ words did not help the situation, but they had to believe Dionysius’ rope and continue the journey.
Dorieus then spoke to Dionysius. “You are not stupid,” he admitted, “and apparently are beginning to understand a commander’s responsibilities on land. We are approaching Segesta and before a battle a responsible commander must march his men to such exhaustion that they no longer have the strength to flee. The distance from Panormos to Segesta is precisely right, as though measured by the gods for our purpose. We will go directly to Segesta and spread ourselves in battle formation before it.”
Dionysius replied somberly, “You know best what you are saying, but we are sailors and not soldiers. For that reason we will most certainly not spread out in a battle line but will remain supporting one another in a body, side to side and back to back. But if you go ahead, we will follow.”
But Dorieus bristled in anger and said that he would wage the battle in accordance with the rules of war so that future generations might learn from it. In the midst of the argument a group of Siccanians crept from the woods with their slings, bows and spears. They wore animal skins and had stained their faces and bodies red, black and yellow. Their chief, who had a fearsome wooden mask over his head, danced before Dorieus, after which the Siccanians placed at Dorieus’ feet the decayed and foul-smelling heads of several Segestan nobles.
They explained that seers had sought them out in the forests and mountains, had given them salt and presaged the coming of a new king. Encouraged by the predictions, they had begun to raid Segestan fields, and when the nobles had pursued them with horses and dogs they had led them into an ambush and killed them.
Now, however, they were afraid of revenge and so placed themselves under Dorieus’ protection. For as long as they could remember, they said, a tale had passed from father to son of a powerful stranger who had once come to their land, vanquished the king in a duel and given the land to the natives, promising some day to claim his inheritance. They called Dorieus “Erkle” and expressed the wish that he would banish the Elymi and restore the land to the Siccani.
Dorieus accepted their homage as his due. He attempted to teach them to say “Herakles” but when their mouths could not shape it he shook his head. Little joy would he have of such barbarians.