Read Online Tyrant by Valerio Massimo Manfredi - Free Book Online Page B

with empty stomachs, but they let out loud war cries nonetheless, jumping about and waving their weapons with threatening gestures. Their excitement grew visibly as the ranks swelled; it was their way of winning over the fear that grips a combatant before the moment of the attack. They filled their bellies with ferocity in anticipation of the clash.
    The Greeks instead marched in absolute silence and perfect order, and when the sun rose, their mirror-polished shields flashed with blinding light and the ground trembled under their heavy cadenced steps.
    The Balearics let loose with their deadly slings, but the hail of shots crashed against the wall of shields without doing any damage. They were too close for the archers now, for Diocles had ordered the Greek phalanx to close the gap between the opposing fronts at a run. The two formations collided with such violence that the shouts of the Punic mercenaries turned into screams of agony. The pressure from the enemy’s back lines had pushed the men in front, mostly Libyans, Sicels and Mauritanians, against the levelled spears of the Greeks, and they were mowed down in great numbers. The light arms of the mercenaries were a poor match for the heavy shields and thick metallic breastplates of their adversaries.
    Dionysius, drawn up on the left flank with his soldiers from the Company, drove his spear into the chest of the Mauritanian chieftain he found before him – a Berber from the Atlas mountains with reddish hair and brilliant blue eyes – and ran his sword through the comrade who had lunged forward to avenge him. Even though the forces they were facing seemed to be wavering, he continued to shout out to his men: ‘Hold the line, men! Stay together!’ He used the tip of his sword to strike the shields of those who were pushing too far forward, to remind them to remain within the ranks.
    The resistance of the Punic army, who had thought they would be fighting the desperate, battle-weary Himerans, was quickly worn down in the prolonged clash with the rock-solid Syracusan hoplites; when their commander fell and was trampled under the hobnailed boots of the enemy, the Carthaginians fled in utter disarray.
    Diocles, sure of victory now, launched his men after them in pursuit without worrying about keeping them in formation. For the Himerans above all – for whom every dead Carthaginian meant a greater hope for the survival of their city – this was a licence for slaughter, with no thought to maintaining discipline. Drunk on the carnage, they did not see Hannibal loosing his troops to their right, down the side of the hill.
    Dionysius saw, and ordered a bugler to sound the retreat. Diocles, who imagined that victory over the enemy camp was already in hand, fell upon him furiously, shouting: ‘Who told you to sound a retreat? I’ll have you arrested for insubordination, I’ll have you thrown . . .’
    Dionysius did not allow him to finish the phrase: he punched him full in the face and sent him rolling to the ground. He put his sword to the throat of the bugler who had stopped blowing, and calmly gestured for him to put the instrument back to his lips.
    The horn blared out the order to retreat, as more buglers fell in to echo the first. The warriors attempted to reform under the standards that Dionysius had had amassed at the centre of the field under the protection of the members of the Company, but many of the men were surrounded and slain before they could get safely back into their ranks. Even Diocles, realizing the extent of the disaster, did everything in his power to save what he could of the situation, and in an hour’s time had succeeded in drawing up his formation and retreating towards the city.
    The people of Himera, ecstatic at first over the supposed victory, were forced to watch helplessly from the towers and bastions of the city as Hannibal ambushed and decimated their sons. When the army re-entered through the eastern gate, the sad spectacle that always