Elishat Pivots

On the deck of the Arbiter, Elishat paced while Bitias drove home his point. “We don’t have time to think about Tondo now. Hopefully, Pumayyaton and his crew are still busy dredging the seafloor in search of the temple treasure, but as soon as they discover only bags of sand and stones, they’ll know we’ve taken the lion’s share. Within a day or two, the order for our arrest will reach Kition. We must complete our business here and be on our way!”

Barca further advanced the argument. “Trade negotiations must be conducted carefully. We can’t very well offer gold ingots for figs. We need to dip into the treasure and retrieve a handful of coins and a few modest pieces of silver that won’t draw attention to the wealth we have on board.”

“And remember,” the Lieutenant added vigorously, “Pumayyaton has many supporters here. As to whom we can trust, we’ll just have to take our chan…”

Elishat stopped pacing and called out, “Quiet! Please! I can’t think!” The men fell silent at her sudden command. “I’m aware of the urgency, gentlemen, thank you. After that fiasco with Tondo in the market place, I don’t even know whether my people are willing to continue on the voyage. For all we know they’ve all decided to stay here!”

Bitias started to object, but Barca interrupted. “You know,” he said calmly, “it’s not a bad idea to allow your new tribe, whoever they turn out to be, to get to know one another for a week or two, and there’s no place like a ship at sea to sort out differences.”

Bitias picked up on Barca’s intention. “Good point. Two weeks at sea would put us on Crete and hopefully well out of Pumayyaton’s reach.”

Elishat thought a moment and said, “And give me time to consider options for settlement.”

Barca nodded, “Take care of the present, Princess, and the future will take care of itself.”

As a young girl, Elishat had heard those exact words from Barca many times, and they had always irked her, but for once his wisdom struck exactly the right chord.

“Very well,” she said with renewed spirit. “Tomorrow, we sail for Kommos.”

“And what of Tondo?” Barca asked.

“Let me get rid of him,” the Lieutenant said, patting the hilt of his dagger.

Elishat waved him off. “Thank you, Lieutenant, but I don’t think Tondo will make trouble for us.”

 “Oh, he’ll make trouble,” Barca said. “Tondo was born to make trouble.”

“Let’s wait and see what his game is,” Elishat said.

The Lieutenant sighed deeply and took his hand off his dagger.

“Are you planning to raise an army against Pumayyaton?” Barca asked.

“Of course not! If Tondo poses a danger, we’ll handle it when the time comes. For now, I agree with Bitias. Conclude trade discussions as quickly and as smoothly as possible. Lieutenant, ask the girl, Amaal, to join us. Her silver flute will impress the locals and ease the negotiations.”

Within the hour, Elishat’s delegation was seated in a comfortable, light-filled chamber in a private home in Kition’s wealthy quarter. The Lieutenant had told Amaal to play something convincing but not intimidating. Agreeable but not frivolous. Atmospheric but not showy. She didn’t know what most of those words meant, but since her repertoire was practically non-existent anyway, she simply let her fingers find a succession of notes which, enhanced by the warm tone of the instrument and the acoustics of the room, made for a pleasant mood. The two highest leaders of Kition, magistrates known as suffetes, entered the hall accompanied by their scribe who sat on a low stool and prepared his reed pens, ink, and papyrus to record the transaction. Sweet mint tea was offered, politely declined, and then accepted. Amaal ended the tune and sat on a bench against the wall in full view of the proceedings. To the discussion that followed, she and the scribe were the only witnesses.

Queen Elishat gently touched the horn moon medallion that hung around her neck, folded her hands in front of her, quietly cleared her throat, and began, “I believe it best to bring everything out into the open. My people and I have committed no crime in leaving Tyre. It wasn’t I who assassinated Acerbas, it was Pumayyaton’s dagger that did the deed. I am not speaking rhetorically. Picture the young bride, anticipating her wedding night only to find her groom in their bed chamber with a dagger in his heart. In a desperate attempt to save him, she pulls the weapon out, but it is…” She hesitated. Someone offered her a cup of water but she waved it off and forced herself to continue. A darker tone came into her voice, one of deep indignation. “…but it’s too late. And, as if that weren’t enough, she looks at the dagger in her hand, and realizes that it belongs to her brother.”

The suffetes appeared visibly shocked. Amaal had never heard the story exactly as it had happened. She and the scribe exchanged grim glances. Elishat explained further, “I have described my husband’s murder in perhaps greater detail than I would have wished because over the coming days, you are sure to hear other versions of the story. I want you to know the truth, and that is this: Had I not been in the presence of my servants at the time, there is no doubt that Pumayyaton’s assassin would have murdered me, too.”

Amaal’s mind rushed back to the moment she crossed the market place dressed as Elishat in view of Pumayyaton’s guards. She remembered the feeling of walking across the cobblestones in Elishat’s golden sandals, but she hadn’t realized that, if fate had intervened in a different way, those steps might have been her last.

The Queen continued. “It’s true that we departed Tyre with several of the king’s ships. One could argue that they were not ours to take, but they were our only means to escape certain death. We must continue on our journey as soon as possible. My people are eager to find their new home. With your help, we will supply our ships immediately and, gods willing, depart tomorrow morning.”

The suffetes spoke privately. Though distant from Tyre, Kition was still under the reign of King Pumayyaton. Elishat knew full well that if Kition’s leaders agreed to facilitate her escape, they might find themselves in serious trouble with the King. On the other hand, they could hardly refuse a request for help from the daughter of King Mattan. She hoped her presence before them would tip the balance in her favor. After a few minutes, they returned with cautious support for the voyage. One asked, “Out of curiosity, Elishat, where will you go?”

“We cannot go to any Tyrian outpost where Pumayyaton can claim jurisdiction. The land must be undisputed. We must cut ties with Tyre, at least for the time being. Perhaps in the future we will re-establish a relationship. It is, after all, the city of my birth.”

Bitias poured out a small mound of silver pieces while Barca, calmly cleaning his fingernails, one hand with the other, recited the basic items required in exchange: blankets, awnings, bowls, cups, spoons, fishing hooks and lines, pine resin for repairs, lentils, dried fruits, nuts, sacks of flour, and amphorae of fresh water, olive oil, and wine. The scribe’s reed pen flew across the papyrus. To save time, Bitias made a generous opening offer, and the Kitions agreed immediately to the terms. They invoked the blessing of Melqart at the censer, and the suffetes sent runners into town to fill the orders.

Again, Amaal picked up her flute and played a diverse assortment of notes to mark the successful conclusion of negotiations. No one paid any attention to her except for the scribe who smiled and nodded as he and the entourage exited the hall.

Meanwhile, the sailors had been keeping company with the women of Kition, and it was not going well. These were men, young, old, and in-between, who had spent the better part of their lives at sea. They were not groomed in the fine art of wooing a woman. But that was just one of the issues Queen Elishat wished to address with them when she asked the ships’ captains to bring all of the sailors together.

“Truly, you are central to the success of my plan. I cannot do it without you. However, I realize that you are sailors, not settlers. If the settlement is to succeed, you will need to settle. You must become road builders, home builders, and city planners. You are the muscle of the community, but beyond your brawn, I need your energy, your intelligence, your ideas. Sailors are good at solving problems. You adapt to different situations at sea, some quite dangerous, even life-threatening. You make do with few resources. You get along even if you dislike one another. At sea, at least, you are brothers. I need you to take on these new challenges. If you do not wish to, now is the time to withdraw. No one will try to dissuade you or disrespect your decision. Those who continue must be completely dedicated to me and to my cause.”

Not one budged. One sailor said calmly, “We made our decision before we left Tyre, Queen. We’re with you.” The others gave little whoops of agreement.

Elishat promised to help them find women to join them on the voyage, but, she said, “They will not be served to you on a silver platter.” She asked them to look at themselves, disheveled and bleary-eyed from all-night carousing. “You need to make yourselves presentable. I will not have you stealing women from their homes. You must win their hearts, and to win their hearts, you must listen to their aspirations. Share in a vision of a vibrant future in the new settlement. Ashtart will help you. The goddess likes to see women well-wooed. It’s where she bestows her greatest blessing. Do your part and don’t mess it up. I don’t want to hear any complaints from even one Kition father or mother about your behavior here. Now, go get yourselves cleaned up.”             The sailors took Queen Elishat’s order to heart. A long line formed at the public baths where the barbers set to work with their fine-toothed ivory combs pulling the knots out of the sailors’ long hair and beards. The sailors soaked in the baths and scrubbed with loofah sponges and sea salt and tallow and ash until every part from behind their ears to between their toes was newborn clean. In the meantime, the servants beat and twisted their shenti skirts and tunics and laid them out to dry in the sun. The men teased one another and gave copious advice for winning a woman’s affections, though each secretly wondered whether his best would be good enough. They trimmed their nails and picked their teeth. They rubbed olive oil into every pore to make their bodies supple and soft. Finally, the barber, having crimped their manly beards and plaited their shining hair, sent the men on their way with love on their minds and mint leaves on their tongues.

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