Hannibal clasped his hands behind his back and eyed the boy for a moment, making him squirm. “How much water does the elephant drink each day?”
Calogo didn’t hesitate. “Twelve buckets, sometimes thirteen.”
Hannibal considered that. “And Turanyu?” He gestured to the sleeping horse.
The animal turned one ear toward his master but did not open his eyes. He was a magnificent black stallion, with a broad chest and powerful muscles.
“Not nearly so much. Perhaps three buckets a day.”
“Hmm. And what happens if we cut their water by half?”
I watched Calogo look toward Turanyu, then back at Hannibal. “They can give up half their water ration for four days, and they will suffer no harm since they do not have heavy exertion onboard the ship. After four days, they will begin…” Calogo paused for a quick look at me. “They will begin to weaken.”
“So be it,” Hannibal said. “Give them half-rations of water until I order otherwise. Without the wind, it will be two days and nights rowing to Hippo Regius, and you will have to give most of our water to the slaves.” Hannibal was quiet for a moment as he looked thoughtfully at me, then at Tin Tin.
I stole a glance at Calogo and saw the handsome blue-eyed boy grinning at Tin Tin.
Oh my Princess Elissa, another mooncalf! These two are going to get themselves into so much trouble.
“If you need help, Calogo.” I jumped when Hannibal spoke, because he had raised his voice. “Use these two ragamuffins,” he waved a hand in our direction, “to carry water to the slaves. I want not a single slave to expire for lack of water. Do you understand me?”
Calogo slapped his bare chest. “Yes, Lord Hannibal.” The boy wore a short tunic, made of tanned doeskin that extended to mid-thigh.
“Keep a close eye on them,” Hannibal said, and I saw him wink at Tin Tin. “They’re crafty laggards.”
Calogo looked from me to Tin Tin, his eyes lingering on her. He didn’t actually smile with his lips, but his eyes were certainly laughing. I think Calogo was about my age, maybe a little older.
“I know,” he said softly, but then caught himself and looked at Hannibal.“I mean, I know how to make them work, sir.”
“Good,” Hannibal said. “Now, go check your water casks and make your calculations for the next two days, assuming we have no wind and the slaves must row all the way to Hippo Regius.”
“Aye, Lord Hannibal.” Calogo hurried away to his tasks.
Hannibal wasn’t a lord, not in the sense that his father, the general, was, but he commanded respect and obedience without asking for it. Perhaps this was because his father was in a high position and in command of all Carthaginian forces, but I think it had more to do with his charismatic and beneficent personality. He was a man who could bend others to his will without the use of force.
I heard Tin Tin Ban Sunia make that funny little clicking sound with her tongue. She did that when she was lost in thought or about to say something. Hannibal and I turned to see her leaning her elbows on his table, squinting at the scroll.
“What story you tell Turanyu?” she asked without looking up.
Sometimes I was jealous of Tin Tin and the way she could engage Hannibal with so little effort. I loved her, of course. She was as near to a sister as I ever had, but how I envied her easy way with other people. Even before, when she couldn’t speak, she had a way of making anyone like her.
“We better go.” I looked from her to Hannibal.
“But this not our words, Liada.”
Seeing Hannibal was at ease, I, too, looked at the scroll. It was a strange writing, with some letters I recognized, but arranged differently than ours. Tin Tin and I had only recently learned to read and write the language of Carthage, and that had come almost at the expense of her life, because Tendao had taught us, knowing it was strictly forbidden by the priests. They had tried to burn him at the stake, along with Tin Tin, but Hannibal put a stop to all that.
“Are these your words, Hannibal?” I looked up at him. “Did you write this story?”
He shook his head. “It is the Greek language.”
“Greek?” Tin Tin asked.
“Yes. Do you remember that yellow wine from across the sea?”
“I do,” I said.
“I know that wine, too.” Tin Tin pulled a sour face. “But not like much.”
“This writing,” he waved a hand toward the scroll, “also came from that same land. The writing is called Greek.”
“What story tell?” Tin Tin leaned close, trying to make out the words.
“It’s about a war, at a place called Troy.”
She looked up at Hannibal. “Why make this war?”
“The war was fought over a woman,” Hannibal said.
“A woman?” Tin Tin and I asked together.
“Yes. Her name was Helen. Some men kidnapped her and took her far away. Her husband raised an army and went to rescue her.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Was she so precious then, to fight a war over her?”
“They say she was the most beautiful woman in the world. And her husband loved her very much.”
Tin Tin unrolled the top part of the scroll. “You tell story for Tin Tin and Liada?”
Hannibal glanced at the scroll, but instead of reading, he walked to the rail and gazed out to sea. Soon, he began to speak.
“On this the rest of the Achaeans with one voice were for respecting the priest and taking the ransom that he offered. But not so Agamemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly away. ‘Old man,’ said he, ‘let me not find you tarrying about our ships, nor yet coming hereafter. Your scepter of the god and your wreath shall profit you nothing. I will not free her. She shall grow old in my house at Argos far from her own home, busying herself with her…’” Hannibal strode back to look at the scroll. He ran his finger along a line, then began again. “‘Busying herself with her loom and visiting my couch. So go, and do not provoke me, or it shall be the worse for you.’” Hannibal regarded us for a moment. “I’m trying to commit the whole story to memory.”
I unrolled the lower part of the papyrus scroll and saw it went on for hundreds and hundreds of lines.
“All this, Hannibal? You can keep all this in your memory?” I asked.
“I can only try.” He lifted his drinking bowl and frowned at the dry bottom.
Tin Tin took the empty bowl from his hand. “I fetch raisin wine for you drink.” She ran toward the storeroom. “Do not talk more yet,” she called over her shoulder, “not till Tin Tin come back to hear all words.”
“What did Agamemnon mean?” I asked. “When he said ‘visiting my couch?’”
“Um…well…you see…”
This was something new; Hannibal lost for words. I had never seen him uncertain. Now I knew something interesting was going on between that woman, Helen, and Agamemnon.
“Do you mean,” I said, “that she was like Lotaz back at camp? I saw a couch in her tent.”
“Something like…”
I heard bare feet running along the deck and knew it was Tin Tin. Breathing hard, she held out the bowl of wine, using both hands but still sloshing some of the brown liquid over the rim.
“You drink, Hannibal, then talk more in memory.”
He took the bowl, sipped, then leaned down to read silently for a while. Soon he began to speak, and by sunrise the Trojan War raged all about us while Tin Tin and I sat cross-legged on the deck and Hannibal sat on his stool, reading aloud now but not trying to memorize.
None of us noticed Calogo coming to stand close behind Tin Tin Ban Sunia. He listened to the story for some time, but then apparently remembering he had work to do, he cleared his throat. Hannibal looked up, raising an eyebrow at the boy.
“Lord Hannibal, you…um…last night said these two could help with the water, and I–”
Hannibal raised his hand, stopping Calogo. He looked out at the flat sea, frowning at the lack of waves, then nodded.
We stood, and I hurried to go with Calogo, but then I realized Tin Tin was not coming with us. When I tuned back, she was standing at Hannibal’s table. He had spent the last part of the night indulging two girls’ insatiable curiosity, and I knew he had much more important things to do than entertain us. I ran back and grabbed her hand to pull her away, but she resisted.