"I trust that rumor as greatly exaggerates reality in this instance," said Dionysios. "Whatever the enemy's numbers, however, we must bestir ourselves. You may expect orders to march within a ten-day."
"Ah, with a Dionysios to lead us, we fear nothing!" said Damokles. "One Dionysios is worth a million ordinary men. Happy are we, to be able to bask in the sunshine of his happiness ..."
Dionysios stared fixedly at Damokles until the latter's voice died and his obsequious smile melted away. Then Dionysios slowly raised his eyes to the air over Damokles' couch.
Damokles craned his neck to follow the tyrannos' glance. What he saw made him turn pale; his goblet clattered to the floor. A sword was suspended from the ceiling by a single horsehair; it hung, point down, directly over Damokles' couch. As Damokles stared in frozen horror, Dionysios raised his resonant voice:
"I told you once, my dear Damokles, that the next time you blabbed about my happiness, I would give you a taste of what it is like to be a ruler. Now you know. Plots and intrigues hang like a sword above my head. Malcontents and traitors at home, exiles and foreign foes abroad, stand ready at all times to remove me from this earthly scene.
"Know that a nation is always filled with men who hate their ruler, be he as wise as Sokrates, as noble as Perikles, or as successful as Cyrus the Great. Nothing would satisfy them save to be the ruler themselves. Since there is room for but one ruler at a time, most of these envious men must be disappointed. I shall have had the gods' own luck if I rule this land for another decade without being murdered by someone I trust or torn to bits by a revolutionary mob. You may leave your couch now, Damokles."
Damokles squirmed off his couch to the wine-stained floor with the speed of an octopus slithering into its lair. Majestically, Dionysios rose, took a spear from a guard, and struck the hair that held the sword. The sword fell heavily, deeply burying its point in the upholstery of the couch. Dionysios pulled out the sword and handed both weapons to the guard. No one spoke or moved.
"I must have that cut mended," said Dionysios mildly, fingering the tear in the couch. He resumed his own couch.
Damokles rose to his feet with purple wine stains on his tunic. Red-faced, in a voice choked by suppressed anger, he said: "After all, godlike sir, nothing compels you to go on being—ah—President."
"Indeed? Do you know another better qualified to lead the Syracusans in these perilous times?"
"N-no, sir. I—ah—"
"Or perhaps you favor a full constitutional democracy for Syracuse?"
"I—I have never thought much about it."
"Well, I have, and I will tell you what I think about democracy. Democracy is a delightful form of government, but it succeeds only where the people are qualified to practice it. The Athenians made a success of it for nearly a century, because they disciplined themselves and placed the duties of citizenship above selfish personal interests. This, however, does not happen often. Democracy assumes that every citizen is born wise, prudent, farseeing, just, altruistic; but this, we know, is not true.
"Sometimes a great crisis, like the Persian wars, inspires men to attain these heights of virtue for a while. Sooner or later, however, they fall back into their normal swinishness. They listen to demagogues who promise them wealth without work, safety without arms, and public services without taxes. Then they stand amazed when they find themselves powerless and destitute, with the enemy battering down their gates.
"I did not steal democracy from the Syracusans. You, yourselves, let it die, because you did not love it more than your personal lusts and whims and ambitions. I have defended you from grasping politicians within and envious foes without. I have built the ships for your trade and made you rich among the cities of all the world. But I cannot give you these things and democracy, too. Yes, Damokles?"
"I beg my President to excuse me," said Damokles stiffly. "I feel unwell."
"You may withdraw; but think twice before you call me happy again. Rejoice!"
The skies were blue, and tire earth lay brown beneath the scorching summer sun, when the Syracusan army marched back home once more. This time Dionysios did not disarm the citizens outside the city but marched them straight in without halting. He did not fear rebellion; for everyone knew of the huge Carthaginian army and the desertion of the Syracusans' allies. They knew that a long, grinding siege, as desperate as the Athenian attack of eighteen years before, was in prospect.
Zopyros returned on foot, with his left hand bandaged. As soon as he was dismissed, he trudged wearily home. The house was completely empty, but he found a note on a sheet of papyrus, lying on the bare floor:
Korinna to her beloved husband Zopyros, greeting:
Father has sent Glaukos with a traveling cart to fetch Hieron and me home. I go with him. As you know, it terrifies me to remain in this strange city without you. Archytas has arranged to store our furniture on Ortygia. I long to be reunited with you when this dreadful war is over. Farewell.
Zopyros stared at the letter, holding it in trembling hands. Then with a curse he slammed the door behind him and set out with long strides, his fatigue forgotten, for Ortygia. He found Archytas at his desk on the gallery of the Arsenal.
"Why did you let her go?" he snapped.
"My dear fellow, how could I stop her? By force? Her brother was there to prevent that. I repeated all your arguments about the crumbling walls of Messana, but it did no good. She's used to having a family around her, and she's been miserable alone while you were gone. What happened to your hand?"
"Just a burn. The Segestans made a sally at night and put the torch to half our camp. A lot of horses, including mine, perished. What in Hades shall I do now?"
"How should I know? I tried to warn you that you might be taking the pitcher to the well once too often—"
"Go ahead, say: 'I told you so.' "
"I did, but I won't rub it in. How's the war? Were we beaten?"
"No, aside from that setback at Segesta. But Himilko landed more than a hundred thousand at Panormos—rumors said three hundred thousand. The allies, believing the rumors, dashed back to defend their own cities. Leptines was supposed to sink the Carthaginian fleet, but their galleys engaged him while the transports gave him the slip. Although he had some small success, by the time Himilko had called up contingents from the Phoenician cities of Sicily, the Punics again outnumbered us two to one. So Dionysios went on the defensive."
"Where's Himilko's army?"
"I hear he's recaptured Motya. I hope he treats the garrison we left there better than our men treated the Motyans. Archytas! If you were Himilko and controlled the western end of Sicily, which route would you take to Syracuse?"
"The southern route, I suppose. You're worrying about Messana, aren't you?"
"Yes. But, you know, Himilko has a lot of his force at Panormos, on the northern coast. If he came by the northern route, Messana would lie in his path ... I'd better ask the big boss."
Zopyros went to the palace. Long after dark, he was admitted. He found Dionysios, looking wan in the lamplight, standing over a table littered with scrolls and sheets and tablets. The tyrannos said:
"What is it, Zopyros? Be quick."
"Sir, I haven't asked many favors of you, have I?"
"You've asked so few that it makes me uneasy. What is it that you want?"
"I want to know which route Himilko is taking towards Syracuse." Dionysios, despite his fatigue, looked sharply at Zopyros. "You think I know that?"
"If anybody does, sir, you do."
Dionysios hesitated, then said: "He is advancing along the northern coast towards Messana. Let me see—Messana—your wife comes from there, doesn't she? And didn't I hear that she had returned thither?"