Departure from Kition

In decades to come, it would be said that amphorae of tears were shed that night. Families stayed up drinking zhourat tea and debating the wisdom of allowing their daughters to go with Elishat. Some parents flatly refused; others were all but pushing them out the door. For every argument a young woman gave for going, her family countered with three reasons for staying.

“If the gods had wanted you to leave us, they would have sent a sign.”

“But don’t you see? The ships in the harbor! They are the sign!”

Even in homes where the young women met with support for leaving, parents wept as they poured out prayers and libations at the household altar. Aunties rolled flat bread stuffed with zaatar into handy travel snacks. Grandmothers folded blankets, pressing out the creases with loving hands. Mothers gave last-minute advice on everything from love to beauty to health to marriage to sex to rearing children. When they got to the part about children, they wept for the beautiful grandchildren they would never see or hold in their arms. Fathers gave their daughters a fistful of shekels, or as many as they could spare, and told them to hold onto them dearly. The young women listened intently if for no other reason than to remember the sound of their loved ones’ voices.

By dawn, the families had reached their decisions. Everyone gathered on the shore. Each seafarer carried a bundle of belongings plus whatever else had been pressed into their hands at the last minute as they headed out the door. The temple maidens (several of whom carried brooms) arrived along with the fretful parents, the sulking young people who’d been refused permission to go, and the townsfolk who were at the same time stunned and honored to have been a part of such a momentous undertaking.

The small boats ferried the essential supplies to the ships and the sailors filled the holds with an eye to balancing the cargo. As they helped load the boats, some Tyrians explained why they had decided to stay in Kition. Although they didn’t exactly say so, it became clear that although they had been eager to escape Pumayyaton’s grasp, they had never intended to continue beyond Kition in the first place. They attempted to assuage their guilt by trying to convince the others to stay, too. “Why not live right here in Kition?” they asked. “The city has everything you need!” In the end, they succeeded in further talking only themselves into staying, and no one tried to change their minds. 

A few Tyrians felt they had made a terrible mistake and wanted to return to Tyre on the next available merchant vessel. Always on the lookout for spies, Barca called them together. “If you deserters return to Tyre and speak one word about the fleet or name anyone on these ships, it will get back to me and I will personally make sure you pay for it—in blood!”

The deserters swore up and down that they held no grudge against Elishat and promised that they would say nothing to anyone back in Tyre. Barca pointed a finger at the trembling few. “You’ll have to answer to Pumayyaton for leaving in the first place, you know, so if you take my advice, you’ll think twice about returning to Tyre at all. But, as you are no longer Elishat’s people, that’s your problem, not mine.”

            For those committed to Elishat’s plan, no argument could persuade them otherwise. They could already feel the heat of the sun on their backs as they started to build the new city, each according to a unique vision: a fortress surrounded by golden wheat fields; a shelter on an island in a sparkling bay; a sanctuary in a cedar forest. The potential for danger paled in comparison to the thrill of accomplishing something no one had ever done before. They couldn’t understand why everyone didn’t want to go, but they knew it was unwise to try to persuade them.

The elites on the Arbiter wanted to stay together as the Queen’s chosen entourage, but Bitias convinced them that each ship needed administrators to maintain order among the passengers. There was some truth to his explanation, but his real purpose was to get them used to interacting with the lower classes with whom they would be living and working. Everyone would be required to grow callouses on their hands, and the sooner the higher-ups got a feel for manual labor, the better. With their status as administrators seemingly reinforced, the elites agreed to the plan.

The last of the cargo was hoisted onto the ships, and the smaller boats returned to shore. It was time for the passengers to board. The final goodbyes were horrible to witness. Mothers fell to their knees, pulling at their hair and weeping into their robes. Fathers wiped the tears from their eyes. Children asked when the voyagers would return, but no one could find the courage to tell them the truth. In hearts and minds, it was a kind of death. At the moment of final separation, one young woman stepped back from the boats as though she had seen a viper and said no, no, she couldn’t go. She dashed back to her family who embraced her as though she had returned from the underworld.

The passengers dispersed more or less equally to the four vessels. Families and friends stayed together, of course, while others formed new partnerships. Those having come from Tyre generally preferred to continue on the vessel on which they’d already been sailing. The Kitions allowed themselves to be assigned according to the wishes of the captains, all but a small but highly gullible group, who, spooked by the angry eyes painted on the Phoenix, and the dwarf figurehead on the prow of the Nebula, insisted on boarding the Sage.

In addition to the twenty-six temple maidens and five temple workers, eighteen unmarried and fifteen married Kition women (seven with young children) joined the crew. Added to the twenty original Tyrian women (having subtracted the six who decided to stay in Kition), Elishat counted eighty-four women among her passengers. These were good numbers for building her city. Naturally, there were those who would have no interest whatsoever in marrying or procreating but who planned to make their contribution to the community in other significant ways. There were also those who would choose, as people had through the millennia, loved ones of their own gender. Elishat’s point was not to judge but to make it possible for everyone who wanted to dance to find a partner.

One by one, the ships pulled away and into formation. The townsfolk watched and prayed that Yamm, the impetuous God of the Sea, and Ba’al, who ruled the weather, would bring the voyagers safely to their destination. If these two gods, mortal enemies of one another, could keep the peace, the journey had a chance of success, but with the gods, nothing was assured. Amaal, Uru, and Hannu found their spot on the deck of the Phoenix. Depending on winds and currents and the will of the gods, the captain said, they would arrive at Kommos by the coming full moon. He urged the passengers to observe the night sky and not bother the sailors by asking every other minute if they were there yet. It remained to be seen whether the travelers would, as Barca had suggested, learn to get along with one another.

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