We explained the matter to Tanakil’s sons, who sighed in relief and said that they had nothing against the rectification of an error. On the contrary, they declared themselves to be greatly relieved that Dorieus demanded no more.
Dorieus said then, “I do not need the treasure and Arsinoe is able to take care of herself, for she is surrounded by men. But I left the holy dog Krimisos to await me by my father’s memorial and it should be brought back to the city. Is anyone willing to fetch it? I myself am exhausted from the battle and wouldn’t care to walk that distance.”
No one among the Segestans was willing to go, and the men of Phocaea shook their heads and declared that they themselves were so battered and covered with wounds that they could hardly stand.
Dorieus sighed. “The burden of kingship is heavy. I already feel myself a lonely being among mortals and can trust no one. A king is the servant of his people and as such his own first servant. So I suppose nothing will do but that I myself must fetch the dog. After all, I can’t forsake it when it surrendered to me and licked my foot.”
Tanakil burst into tears and begged him not to go; the men of Phocaea stared at him with round eyes and Dionysius declared that he was insane. But Dorieus had the gate opened and walked alone out of the city, his arms drooping in exhaustion.
We climbed the wall to watch his progress. The Segestan nobles had formed a protective circle around the horses; some distance away the lightly armed troops were arguing among themselves and the rebels of Eryx had withdrawn to safety beyond the irrigation ditch. At the edge of the woods, barely visible, were the Siccanians who now and then sounded their hollow logs inquiringly.
Dorieus strode through the deserted battlefield with its bloody corpses and its wounded crying for water and mother. He greeted by name every fallen man of Phocaea and lauded his heroism. “You are not dead,” he proclaimed loudly to each one. “You are invulnerable and we are still the three hundred, as we will be for eternity.”
As he moved among the fallen, all other voices were silenced. The Segestans watched him incredulously and it did not occur to anyone to attack him. The heavy clouds which always cover the sky during a battle began to break, and the sun shone on Dorieus’ blood-stained figure with dazzling brightness.
The men of Phocaea whispered among themselves. “He’s truly a god and not a human, although we only half believed it.”
To this Dionysius added, “True, he is not a human, at least not a sane human.”
Having reached the memorial, Dorieus called the holy dog by name. It rose immediately, trotted to him with wagging tail and looked at him lovingly.
Dorieus then called to his father’s spirit in a loud voice. “Are you content, my father Dorieus? Will you now rest in peace and not torment me?”
Afterwards it was said that a hollow voice from within the memorial responded, “I am content, my son, and will go to my rest.”
I myself did not hear the voice nor do I believe that it spoke, since the Segestans had erected the memorial to Philip of Croton several decades earlier and had buried Dorieus’ father in their fields with the other fallen. On the other hand, Dorieus might well have heard the voice within him. This I admit lest it be thought that I accuse Dorieus of lying.
The beasts of burden had been driven to the irrigation ditch, their owners happy in the belief that they were about to make off with our treasure. But the bridges had fallen and the men dared not drive the animals into the ditch lest they be drowned in the mire. Dorieus called out to them cheerfully, ordering them to return.
Upon hearing his voice, Arsinoe greeted him from the back of a donkey, accusing the wretches of not obeying her but of attempting to steal both her and the treasure. Mikon she had had stuffed into an empty feed basket after he had drunk himself into a stupor at the height of the battle.
A few threatening gestures from Dorieus hastily brought back the drovers and their animals. But as Arsinoe approached with the cat in its cage, the holy dog of Segesta raised its hackles and growled, with the result that Dorieus decided to return to the city well ahead of Arsinoe. This time the Segestan nobles urged one another to fall upon Dorieus and kill him, but the sight of the bare-fanged, growling Krimisos sent them retreating into their fortress of shields.
The shepherds and field workers of Eryx now attempted to enter the city, but the gate was shut relentlessly before them. Dorieus was at first annoyed, but when Tanakil’s sons explained that poor and undisciplined peasants would only create a disturbance in the city, he conceded that he owed the men nothing.
Meanwhile the wounded began to complain. “Why have we brought a learned physician with us? Have we fattened him and paid him a salary only to have him lie in a drunken stupor when we need him the most?”
Because of our friendship I hastily spilled Mikon out of the feed basket and revived him. He managed to stay on his feet although he knew little of what went on around him, but so experienced was he that he performed his duties as well as-and in the opinion of some even better than-when he was sober.
Of myself I shall say only that my knees were skinned, my arm had a spear wound, and my neck just above the collarbone had been pierced by an arrow. Mikon had to cut open my neck to remove the arrowhead. He said, however, that my wounds were merely of a kind to remind me of my body’s mortality. I mention the wounds only because Dorieus began to assemble and count those of his men who still could stand or raise an arm.
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” he said, “but the Segestan nobles are still lingering on the plain behind their shields. It may be necessary to go out and continue the battle.”
But that was too much for the men of Phocaea. They shouted in protest and demanded that he be content with the dog crown that now was his.
Dionysius counted his men and cried bitterly, “We were three hundred, but now there are not even enough Phocaeans to man a pente-conter. Spirits cannot move oars and raise sails.”
At length Dorieus consented to take off his helmet. “Perhaps I have completed my task,” he conceded with a sigh.
Tanakil’s sons also declared that enough blood had been shed, and that Segesta needed its heavily armed forces to maintain its power in the land of Eryx. They promised to conduct all necessary negotiations so that Dorieus would be spared the trouble.
“My sons are right,” said Tanakil. “It is time for you to rest. Your most important task at this moment is to lead the holy dog back to its pen, after which we may retire to discuss all that has happened.”
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.