“Wait,” I begged, “till you tell me what is happening.” I could not think why trained soldiers should fall back before such a force, Dion above all.
Rupilius craned forward. Dion had now formed up his men, of whom only a few were yet in the river, in six-rank line of battle. The enemy, at once less eager, milled awhile; however, someone yelled out a paean, and they made a ragged charge. Dion’s men stood firm. At first they just shouted and clashed their arms. This daunted some of the attackers, but most came on. The foremost of these Dion’s troops struck down with blows of their shields or spear butts; when they fell stunned, the rest backed into a huddle. There was no pursuit; the line just waited on the defense, while Dion signaled for the crossing of the river to continue.
About another fifty had forded it, when the stunned men started to stir and help each other up. At this the others took heart again, and shouted war cries. Somewhere I even heard an order.
Dion halted the crossing, and again dressed his line. But this time (I could tell from his loud shout), he gave the word to charge.
His men ran forward, keeping a steady, solid shield line. They hit the others like a wave that breaks hard and heavy in one piece. Now men were really falling, most of them the enemy’s. It was soon over; they ran like rabbits; those who were caught could be seen making the ritual gestures of surrender, kneeling before the soldiers to touch their beards or knees. Some of Dion’s men, whose blood was up, started off in pursuit, but he called them off and they came back like good hunting dogs, lugging a few more captives with them.
All this while, Rupilius had been rooted where he stood, knowing he could not be in time to join the action. Now he started scrambling about again and saying he must go. “Get your horse, then,” I said, “which you will surely need, and I’ll come with you.”
He just stopped himself from telling me I would only be in the way. As we climbed down to our mounts I could hear him, when he thought I was out of earshot, calling down curses upon treacherous, envious, cowardly, thankless Greeks.
When we reached the ford, Dion’s men had finished crossing; they were looking after each other’s wounds, and pushing the prisoners into the center. Dion had ridden up to these, and was sitting his horse in silence, looking down at them.
I said to Rupilius, “By the dog! Those look like Syracusans.”
Rupilius just leaned over and spat in the dust; then he kicked his horse’s flank. I followed him.
As he came near, his mates in the column started calling. I could make nothing of it but abuse of the Syracusans, as if this would speak for itself; and that they were marching to Leontini. At this Rupilius, without waiting for more, dashed over to Dion, threw himself from his horse before him, and, looking like a dog that has swum from Piraeus to Salamis and found its master, said, “Sir, Aulus Rupilius, back for duty.”
“You are welcome, Rupilius,” Dion answered. “Though it seems neither of us has any more duties here.”
Before I could hear more, I was surrounded by soldiers asking me if I were Syracusan, as they might have asked some snake if it was the poisonous kind. I told them who I was; soldiers are friendly to actors, unless there is some good reason not to be, and when they knew I was not even a Sicilian, they all started to talk at once. Piecing it out as best I could, I gathered that Herakleides (whose name no one uttered without a curse) had again brought up at Assembly the share-out of the land. Dion had again opposed it as inopportune; the people, worked up beforehand, had then voted him out of his office as commander in chief. This angered his troops, who cheered for him and booed the new generals chosen instead. At this, Herakleides had moved that the men were a private army kept at the city’s expense to further Dion’s aims and set him up as a tyrant; he proposed that their pay (which was five months overdue) should not be met from the treasury. This was carried by acclamation.
“And so,” said someone, “we told them what they and their Archon were welcome to do with each other, and took the general away out of the muck. And lucky to get him.”
Others broke in, saying Herakleides’ faction had offered to make them citizens—what a gift!—and even pay them, if they would leave Dion’s service. Those rats could keep their filthy silver. They themselves would go anywhere—Egypt, Persia, Gaul or Babylon—to fight under Dion. They would go to North Africa and found a colony. And so on. They were half out of their minds with anger.
“But,” I said, “you had left; so why this battle?”
Curses followed, of which it was hard to make sense. “The general took it too cool, they must have thought he was soft.” “The demagogues meant to get him.” “… snapping at our heels like pi-dogs after a beggar.” “… before we were out of the city. We just turned and rattled our spears against our shields, and they all fell down and wet themselves.” “Dion wouldn’t let us lay a hand on them.” “… driving him like a scapegoat into the hills, the sons of whores.” “I suppose their mothers laughed at them, so they came out to try again.” “Stay and watch what we do to those we’ve got.” They jerked thumbs at the captives, who were wailing and stretching out their hands. The soldiers shouted at them, promising them horrors.
Dion was still there, looking down at them, a tall man on a tall horse. He looked no older than when I’d seen him in Athens—younger, I think—tanned, lean and active, with the quickness of a man long at war. Bronze man, bronze horse, like a victory statue. Like a statue, too, he was there to be looked at if one wished, not to reply. His face told me he had ceased to put himself out for anyone; no sense in it, nothing gained; he would tell his thoughts when and where he chose, if he chose at all. He saw me, and moved his head in greeting, without asking why I was there. He had business of his own to mind.
Rupilius was still up by his bridle, fidgeting for another word with him. “Sir, as long as you’re in Leontini, my house is yours. My guestroom is nice and cool, Nikeratos here will tell you …”
Another officer said, “You’re late in the day, Aulus. Do you suppose no one’s thought yet of bidding the general to his hearth? He’s promised me that honor.”
The Greeks, who made up the greater part of the army, grunted their approval. They could not compete, being from the mainland: Argives chiefly, the stocky men who win the wrestling at so many games, with a sprinkling of Corinthians, and tough Arcadian mountaineers.
“Thank you, Rupilius,” said Dion. “Silence in the ranks. I will see those envoys.”
Two men were coming from the distant rout of Syracusans, waving green branches. Dion sent no one to conduct them, just sat his horse and let them come up. The soldiers leaned on their spears, silent as ordered, like dogs called back from a cat chase. You could almost see them twitch.
The envoys sidled up, while the troops did all they could, by scowling and slyly fingering their swords, to keep them scared. With glum servility, they asked leave to remove their dead, thus conceding, by the law of arms, the mastery of the field.
“Take them,” said Dion.
They waited; but that was all. Dion’s horse shifted impatiently; its rider ceased to attend. They coughed, and asked if he would graciously declare the captives’ ransom.
There was another pause, while the soldiers growled in undertones, and Dion looked the envoys over, as he had done the prisoners. Presently he pointed to a pile of shields which his men had collected from those dropped in flight. “I have heard,” he said, “that not long before Dionysios was expelled from the outer city, he stripped the citizens of their arms, for fear of their rising against him. But you came armed, I see. Who armed you?”
They shuffled with their feet. I looked at the shields. They were Corinth work; one knows it anywhere. The soldiers gave a roar of anger. Then I understood him.