Cries of amazement arose from the Segestan ranks and the king himself, seeing his power slip from his fingers with the loss of the holy dog, condescended to whistle to it, but in vain. The dog only looked lovingly at Dorieus and licked his iron shoe.
Dorieus spoke to the holy dog, asking it to guard his father’s memorial. Actually it was a memorial to Philip of Croton, but Dorieus probably did not remember that. The dog dropped its gray muzzle between its paws and remained lying on the ground.
Dorieus then glanced at the men of Phocaea, struck his shield with his sword and set forth to meet the wavering row of heavily armed Segestan warriors. I marched beside him, and when Dionysius realized that the moment of decision was at hand he thrust the length of rope under his belt, seized his shield and sword and took his place at Dorieus’ right.
Dorieus did not glance back, nor did Dionysius. As we marched abreast our steps necessarily quickened since none of us was willing to let any other gain the lead-Dorieus for reasons of rank, Dionysius because of honor and I from sheer vanity. In this manner our march soon quickened to a trot. Behind us we heard the battle cries of the men of Phocaea and the thud of their feet as they sought to overtake us. At the same moment the lowly rebels of Eryx stirred in the rear, while from the distance we heard the throb of hollow logs and guessed that the Siccanians were returning from the woods.
The distance was but several hundred paces, yet it seemed to be the longest journey of my life. Vanity kept my eyes on our advancing feet and I did not look up until Dorieus’ roar raised my shield in line with his to receive the spears that were angrily thrown at us. My shield arm drooped with the weight of the spears and one spear had penetrated the shield, wounding me, but at the moment I did not notice it. In vain I tried to shake the spears from the shield. Suddenly, as once before, Dorieus’ sword flashed at my side and with a single stroke cut the shafts in time for me to raise the shield as we clashed head on with the column of heavily armed Segestans.
I doubt whether anyone who has been in an actual battle knows much about its progress, so absorbed is he in saving his own life. The first line of Segestans had linked their shields together by means of hooks, and when the shock of our attack downed some of the men, they dragged down the entire line so that it rippled like a wave. We passed over the shields to the next line, and that is when the real fighting began, sword against sword and man against man.
Although the Segestans were effete, their anger over their wounded animals made them formidable opponents. The nobles fought for their property and hereditary power without which life held no meaning. But even more formidable were the athletes whose only function was the development of their strength and skill as wrestlers and boxers for the amusement of their masters. In our hand-to-hand fighting in such close quarters that it was difficult to raise a sword, the athletes abandoned the shields and swords to which they were unaccustomed and began wielding iron fists and breaking necks.
Emaciated from our voyage and exhausted by the long march, we were in no condition to endure a prolonged battle. Our only hope lay in suddenness and speed. For that reason Dorieus had hoped to break through the middle of the Segestan line. But the battle was not so easily won, for both wings of the front began to bend as we pressed ahead. Now the Segestans shouted in elation as they ran to encircle our dwindling forces. Sweat and blood blinded me, my body was numb and my arms so tired that I did not know how I had the strength to strike and thrust over and over again.
Dionysius called out encouraging words: “Men of Phocaea, our forefathers fought in these fields. So let us be at home and fight for our lives.” To the hesitant and exhausted he cried, “Remember that you fight for your treasure! The rabble of Eryx think we are lost and are all ready to pillage it.”
A concerted roar of rage rose from the throats of the weary men. For a moment the Segestans lowered their swords and it was then that Dorieus glanced at the sky.
“Listen!” he cried. “Listen to the wings of the goddess of victory!”
He spoke in one of those breath-long periods of silence that sometimes occur in a battle. I do not know whether it was merely the blood throbbing at my temples, but I seemed to hear clearly the rustle of heavy wings above us. The men of Phocaea also heard it, or so they afterward declared.
At that moment an unnatural exaltation came over Dorieus, multiplying his strength so that no one in his path could withstand him. Beside him charged Dionysius, head down like a bull, clearing the way with his axe. They were followed by the men of Phocaea in a blind rage, and so it was that, with the strength born of desperation, we managed to break through the lines of heavily armed Segestans. Behind them their lightly armed companions fled in chaos.
The violence of the unexpected attack took the king of Segesta by surprise and he had no time for escape. Dorieus killed him so swiftly that he barely could raise his sword in defense. The dog crown rolled on the ground and Dorieus snatched it, holding it up for all to see.
Actually it meant little since the Segestans did not hold the king and the crown in great esteem. In fact, the holy dog’s surrender at Dorieus’ feet shocked them more than the king’s death and the loss of the dog crown. But the men of Phocaea did not know that. They cried out in victory although the Segestans’ line closed behind us and the way to the city was still blocked with horses and warriors.
Suddenly shouts of alarm came from the city gates. The charioteers, who were attempting to drive their valuable horses to safety, swerved back, shouting that all was lost. The people of the city, following the events from atop the wall, had thought the battle over when they saw the chariots turn back to the city and had surprised and disarmed the few guards, locked the gates and taken the power into their own hands.
At the gate we paused to wipe the blood from our wounds and to gasp for air. Dorieus hammered at the gate with his shield, demanding entrance and holding up the dog crown that the people might see it. It was too small for him, since Segestan nobles had narrower heads than the Greeks and even bred their dogs narrow-headed.
To our surprise the gate creaked open and out came Tanakil’s two sons in their capacity as leaders of the people. They greeted Dorieus glumly, admitted us, and quickly closed the gate behind the barely forty survivors of the men of Phocaea. From all sides the people cheered Dorieus and extolled his brilliance in battle.
Soon we saw Tanakil coming along the street clothed in rich robes and wearing a Carthaginian headdress while a female slave held a parasol over her head to indicate her descent from Carthaginian gods. How valid Tanakil’s genealogical table was in Carthage I do not know, but in Segesta the people made way for her with respect.
She bowed her head before Dorieus and raised both hands in greeting. Dorieus extended the dog crown to her in order to free his hands and looked around somewhat stupidly.
To me it seemed that he could have greeted his earthly wife with greater warmth despite his union at sea with the white-limbed Thetis. And so I said quickly, “Tanakil, I greet you with all my heart. At this moment you are fairer in my eyes than the sun, but Arsinoe is still by the memorial together with our goods and we must save her from the Segestan nobles.”
Dionysius also spoke up, “There is a time for everything, and I would not willingly disturb you at such a solmen moment, Dorieus. But our treasure is still at the memorial and I greatly fear that the peasants who accompanied us will steal it.”
Quickly Dorieus recovered himself. “So it is. I was about to forget that,” he admitted. “I have atoned for my father’s bones and brought peace to his spirit. The name of the spurious Philip is to be cut away from the memorial immediately and in its stead must be the words: To Dorieus, father of Segesta’s J^ing Dorieus, Spartan, fairest of his contemporaries and thrice winner in the Olympic games. In addition, his lineage beginning with Herakles, as well as I can remember it.”