Hannibal's Elephant Girl Chapter 2

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Hannibal’s Elephant Girl


by

Ariion Kathleen Brindley



Chapter Two

The woman wore a patchwork dress of faded yellow and brown with a ragged apron tied around her narrow waist. She had her long dark hair bound up in an intricate twist of braids around the crown of her head. She wasn’t old, not yet even to the middle of her life, but what I found most remarkable was her unwrinkled face—the color of creamy cinnamon—making her features soft like moonlight on silk.

I glanced down at my body and saw the many cuts and bruises. Only then did I realize what a terrible ordeal I had been through. I hurt all over, especially the back of my head. I remembered being sick and hot, so very hot, before they threw me into the river. But beyond that, little of my memory remained. Weakness swept over me, and I felt brittle like a broken limb in a cold wind. I shook my head in response to Yzebel’s question.

“You're so thin.” Yzebel gently pulled the cape closed, and put her arms around me.

If anyone had ever embraced me before, I couldn’t remember. I let go of my rock and hoped Yzebel didn’t hear it hit the ground.

“Your hair is wet.” Yzebel took a long strand, smoothed it back over my shoulder, and then reached for my hand. “Come over here where it's warm.”

Yzebel led me to the fireside where I sat and leaned back against a log. The fire warmed my aching body and the smoke from the crackling pine knots wrapped me in a pleasant, soothing smell. I stared deep into the fire, watching the flames leap and dance. The fire seemed like the flicker of life itself. Where does the fire go when all the wood is burned up?

“Can you eat contu luca with wuhasa?” Yzebel asked.

“Yes.” I had never heard of contu luca, but I knew I could eat anything.

Yzebel picked up an earthen bowl, wiping it out with the corner of her apron. She used a wooden spoon to fill it with steaming grain mixed with chunks of meat. A clay pot sitting on a flat stone by the fire, held a thick red sauce. She spread a spoonful of the sauce over the bowl of food.

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I took the bowl from Yzebel and dipped my fingers into it. The food was too hot, but I couldn’t wait to get it into my mouth. The delicious taste of the soft durum wheat and savory pieces of mutton warmed my spirit, and the hot wuhasa sauce had a spicy tang. I swallowed without chewing and reached into the bowl again. But before I could take the second bite, my empty stomach rebelled against the food. I felt lightheaded. My belly cramped and churned. I tried to set the bowl on the table, but Yzebel reached to take the food before I dropped it.

I grabbed my stomach and stumbled for the side of the tent where I threw up the little bit of food I had eaten. My stomach continued to cramp and shudder.

Yzebel’s soft words of comfort and the wet cloth on the back of my neck helped make me feel better. Soon my stomach settled down, and Yzebel turned me around to wash my face.

“When did you last eat?”

I tried to think. “Not today.”

“Come along. I think you should drink some raisin wine before you put food in your empty stomach. A little wine has a calming effect, but too much and you’ll be drunk like the raven after eating fermented grapes.”

I smiled, thinking of a drunken raven tumbling through the air. When I looked up, Yzebel gave me a wink.

I sat by the fire with Tendao’s cape wrapped around me, and sipped the sweet wine Yzebel had watered down for me.

“Take only a little,” Yzebel said. “Let’s wait to see if your stomach will dislike the wine, the way it did the food.”

I nodded and set the drinking bowl aside. A fiery warmth soothed my belly and it seemed that the wine might not come back up. I reached for a knife lying on a hearthstone, and took one of the turnips from a basket to peel it, the way Yzebel had done earlier. She smiled at me while slicing carrots into the large earthen pot. The stew smelled delicious, but I had no interest in angering my stomach a second time.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so quiet,” Yzebel said. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

I sliced my turnip into the pot, trying to think. My thoughts were still cloudy and my head hurt more than ever. Yzebel probably thought I was a dimwit or a fool. Finally, I asked, “What does an elephant eat?”

Yzebel’s raised eyebrow was the only sign that she thought the question odd. “The elephant?” she said. “Why, he eats everything that grows. If he is hungry enough, he will eat the entire top of a full-grown tree.” She reached for another carrot. “A big war elephant can eat an oxcart load of melons or half a field of durum wheat. Sometimes even a whole haystack.”

“But would he eat a girl child?”

Yzebel laughed. “No, he will not eat meat of any kind, only green and yellow things that grow from the ground. He would never eat a child. Drink a little more of the wine, but not too quickly.”

I did as she said and soon my head, along with my stomach, felt better.

“Now,” Yzebel said, “take a little of the contu luca, but chew it this time, before you swallow.”

The food was still warm and very tasty. I took only a small bite and put the bowl down.

“How are you called?” Yzebel reached for a large yellow onion. She sliced the stem off and glanced at me.

My memories stopped at the point where those men threw me into the river, but just as I could use words to speak with Yzebel, I also knew other things. Like the raisin wine—I recognized the taste, and remembered how to make it.

Some knowledge came back to me, bits at a time; I knew that sickly girls were discarded along with broken pottery and yesterday’s ashes, but I had no memory of ever having a name.

I shook my head.

Yzebel’s expression softened and she lowered her eyes. Perhaps the onion she sliced into the pot was a bit stronger than normal. She glanced around the hearth as if searching for something, eventually picking up an old wooden spoon. She examined a crack in the handle for some time before she spoke. “You don’t have a name?”

I wiped my cheek with the back of my fingers. “No.”

“Well,” Yzebel said, “let’s find a name for you. I believe it’s a great honor when the gods decide that a girl should choose her own name. Don’t you?”

I wanted to agree, and knew already what name I would like to have, but I held my tongue. While I might not recall ever having a name, I was aware that children, especially girls, should not speak up. How do I know that? Every time I try to remember anything, my memory slips away, like a frightened dove darting in and out of a foggy haze.

Yzebel watched me, apparently waiting for a reply. But she also maintained her patience, as if knowing I struggled with my thoughts.

I didn’t know what to say. Maybe I should tell Yzebel about the name I want for myself. My stomach felt better, but my head hurt. Every time I blinked, little black dots swirled before my eyes, disappeared, then reappeared with the pain. I shook my head, trying to clear my vision.

“Would you like to hear a story while I’m cooking?” Yzebel asked.

“Yes.” I reached for my bowl of contu luca. “Please.”

“This story is about our Mother Goddess, Queen Elissa. Many, many summers ago, even before the lifetime of my father’s grandfather, Queen Elissa, whom the Romans call Dido, came to the shores of Byrsa from her ancient homeland far to the east. She asked the people living here for a small piece of land where she could settle with the few followers who had wandered with her across the sea. The chief of those crafty and deceitful people told Queen Elissa, ‘You may have the amount of land that might be enclosed by the hide of a single ox, and the price will be one talent of silver.’”

“Talent?” I stood to put my empty bowl on the table. “What is…?” Everything around me blurred and spun. The last vision I remembered was Yzebel reaching for me.

##

When I awoke, I lay on soft animal skins by the fire with Tendao’s cape spread over me. The gray tarp above, flapped gently in the breeze and a woman sat at my feet, watching.

“How do you feel?” the woman asked.

I sat up, trying to understand what had happened. Everything seemed strange—the crackling fire, the tangy smoke twisting toward me, and the tables surrounding the cooking fire like stiff-legged animals patiently waiting to be fed. Yellow sunlight slanted low over the treetops, bathing everything in gold and amber. The woman’s face shone in the glow of late afternoon. I remembered she was Yzebel.

I pulled the cape over my shoulders, stretched my arms, and then touched the back of my head. The bump had gone down and wasn’t so sore. “Good,” I said, “I feel good.” I paused for a moment, struggling to remember. “You were telling me a story about a queen and an ox, but I don’t remember the end.”

“Do you remember falling?”

“No.”

“You slept all day,” Yzebel said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You were exhausted.”

“Please, could you tell me the story again?”

“I will.” Yzebel rose. “But first, I want you to stand so I can see if you’re going to tumble into the fire like you almost did this morning.”

I stood and Yzebel took me by the shoulders, watching my eyes.

“Are you going to fall?” she asked.

I shook my head and then glanced at my empty bowl on the table.

“Hungry?”

“Yes.”

Yzebel filled the bowl halfway with the contu luca and handed it to me. I sat by the fire while she stirred the large pot and told me the story of Queen Elissa from the beginning.

When she came to the part about the silver, I asked, “Talent? What is…?”

Yzebel glanced at me with a look of concern, perhaps thinking I might faint again, but then I grinned at her. She smiled and went on. “A talent is a large bar of silver.” She picked up her knife. “Twice the length of my knife, and equal to the weight one man can carry for one day. Its value is that of six war elephants, or maybe seven.” She took a carrot from the basket and sliced it into the huge pot. “Our Elissa was very beautiful, with long flowing curls and a sweet smile, but she was not so dull-witted as she might have appeared to those simple natives. After some thought, she accepted their proposition. And then, with the help of her handmaidens, she proceeded to cut an ox hide into many thin strips. Queen Elissa then laid these strips end to end in a wide arc extending from the shore of the sea, around a hill and back to the shore on the other side.

“‘I will have that land, now enclosed by the hide of a single ox,’ Elissa told the chief of those people.

“Seeing how they were outsmarted, the natives grudgingly gave her the land and wished her good fortune in building a settlement. They went away with the talent of silver to brood over their loss.

“Elissa had selected a section of shoreline containing one of the finest natural harbors along the whole southern coast of the Thalassa Sea, called Mare Internum by the Romans. This would later prove to be very beneficial to Queen Elissa and the settlement she named New City, which is our Carthage.”

The boy who had threatened me with his stick in the forest, came up to Yzebel. I was surprised to see him and wondered why he came to her fire.

He reached into the pot for a chunk of meat, but Yzebel grabbed his hand, shoving it away. “Look how dirty your hands are,” she said. “You know better.”

“I’m hungry.”

“You can wait like the rest of us. Did you take the firewood to Bostar as I told you to do?”

He nodded, but his eyes were on me and my bowl of contu luca. “She has stolen Tendao’s cape.”

“No, she has not,” Yzebel said.

I took a large chunk of meat from my bowl and bit into it. I studied the boy who appeared to be older than me, perhaps by one summer. Unlike Yzebel’s brown eyes, his were a shallow gray. What is the color of my eyes? I hope they’re brown like hers.

“Then why does she wear it?” The boy spoke in a whiny voice. His manner toward the woman was surly, and he sneered at me as if I disgusted him.

Yzebel whacked her wooden spoon on the edge of the pot so hard that I thought it would break. She glared at the boy until he lowered his eyes. “If you don’t learn to hold your tongue, someone will cut that spiteful dagger from your mouth. Do you understand me?”

The boy nodded and glared at me from the corners of his eyes.

Does he think I’m to blame for his scolding? He does have an ugly tongue and deserves what he got. I took another turnip from the basket. Perhaps he learned nothing from Yzebel’s words, but I did. And from the way she treats him, I think he may be her son, perhaps Tendao’s brother. Too bad he’s nothing like the young man.

I wanted to hear more about Queen Elissa and her flowing curls, her sweet smile and clever ways, but I didn’t want Yzebel to continue her story with the boy present. I wanted it told to me alone, so I might have it to keep for a day when I could pass it on to another foolish little girl who had no knowledge of beautiful things.

I finished cutting away the peel from the turnip and, after slicing it into the pot, I glanced up at Yzebel and pointed to the basket. She nodded and I took another one to work on.

The boy wiped his hands on his tunic after washing them and knelt in the dirt. He reached for a turnip and peeled it with a knife he pulled from a sheath on his belt.

“Do you see where the sun is, Jabnet?” Yzebel asked.

So, his name is Jabnet. A silly name for a silly boy. The name I picked for myself is much better and also noble, perhaps even regal.

Jabnet glanced toward the west where the sun had already dropped below the treetops on the far side of camp. “Yes, Mother.”

“What is your job every day when the sun goes down?”

“Clean the tables.” His shoulders slumped and he stared at the ground. “And put out the drinking bowls, wine, and lamps.” He dropped the partly peeled turnip back into the basket, and wiped the knife on his sleeve.

“Must I tell you every day what to do at this time?”

“No, Mother.” Jabnet scowled at me and shoved the knife back into its sheath.

When he turned to go about his chores, he deliberately stepped on my bare foot with his sandaled one. The edge of his sandal cut into the top of my foot, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out, or of complaining to his mother.

“After the soldiers come,” Yzebel said, “we will make a place for you to sleep. Would you like to stay in my tent tonight?”

“Soldiers?” I didn’t like them. They were mean and ugly. I knew they would make fun of me and poor Obolus, the elephant. I could take all the ridicule they cared to heap upon me, but Obolus could no longer defend himself. They were probably cutting him apart and cooking his meat over their fires while having a good laugh at his foolishness.

“Yes,” Yzebel said. “In the evening, the men come into camp looking for, um, pleasures, and then a few come here for something to eat. I always make food for them and if they like it, they leave me some coppers or trinkets from their conquests on the battlefield.”

“And if they don’t like your food?”

“Well, then they throw things around and break my pottery.” She glanced at me and she must have seen my pensive expression. “I only jest,” she said. “They know better than to cause trouble at Yzebel’s tables.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I certainly didn’t want Yzebel to ever be mad at me again, the way she was when she first saw me wearing Tendao’s cape.

“Now,” Yzebel said, “show me all your fingers.”

I put the turnip down and held my hands up with the fingers extended. Yzebel did the same and then turned down the fingers of her right hand, leaving only the thumb up. I imitated her. Now I had all the fingers of one hand up plus the thumb of the other hand.

“That,” Yzebel said, “is how many loaves of bread I need.”

“Six.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Very good. I’m glad you know numbers.” She pointed to a large earthen jug sitting near the open tent flap. “Now, can you take that flagon of raisin wine to Bostar, and tell him it’s from his good friend Yzebel in trade for six loaves of his freshest bread?”

“Yes.” I was eager to help in any way I could. “Where is Bostar?”

“The baker’s tent is only an arrow’s flight from here.” She nodded to the east. “That way. You will smell the bread when you draw near.” She hesitated before going on. “Be careful with the jug. I don’t want you to spill a single drop. That wine is very valuable. Do you understand…?” Yzebel apparently forgot I had no name.

“Obolus,” I said.

Yzebel’s eyes widened. Maybe she didn’t understand the word. “Did you say Obolus? He is the big elephant.”

“That’s the name I want for myself.”

Jabnet laughed from behind me and I realized he had heard everything.

“She’s part elephant,” he said. “I knew something was wrong with her. Probably her father is an elephant and her mother—”

Yzebel’s withering look silenced him. He went back to filling the lamps with olive oil, and fitting them with fresh cotton wicks.

“You may choose any name you like,” Yzebel said. “But do you think the elephant’s name is a good one for you?”

“Yes.” I picked up the heavy jug to go find Bostar.









Next Chapter "Hannibal's Elephant Girl Chapter 3" 







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Ariion

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