The Passion of Iarbas

Iarbas grew increasingly impatient. He accepted the tax payment but had made no progress toward bringing the queen under his control. In fact, he worried that in taxing her, he might have inadvertently condoned her further expansion into the countryside beyond the hill. He counted out the pieces of silver and ruminated over the broader situation. Something had changed, not in the natural cycle of things like the flooding of a stream that would eventually return to its banks at the end of the rainy season, but irrevocably, like a tree struck by lightning and burned to the ground. Whereas his decisions for his people were rooted deeply in the past, this Queen’s decisions came from a vibrant vision of the future. Where he was wise and measured, she was novel and experimental. At meetings of the Amazigh tribal leaders, she was all they spoke about: her energy, her direction, her ideas. They had ceased discussing grazing territories, food sources, even threats from wild animals or other tribes. Iarbas felt his influence slipping away. Moreover, they were right. She was an intriguing woman. Infuriating but intriguing. He left the cool shade of his tent and called for his sisters.

“Gather a delegation,” he said. “You will carry my proposal of marriage to Queen Elishat.”

Impressed by his audaciousness, the sisters gathered the customary gifts, among them an exquisite red rug into which the family history had been woven in complex geometric designs, and a white camel representing the ease with which an Amazigh queen would be carried through life. Iarbas instructed his sisters to present the gifts with poise and grace and to accept the Queen as a sister. He told them to be sure that the proposal was neither misread nor unanswered. He watched the delegation disappear and, with a prayer to the sky spirit, went into his tent to await their return.

            Elishat entertained the delegation with as much hospitality as her fledgling city could muster. They ate well and rested under the tapestries that hung above her half-built palace. The sisters of Iarbas were lively and full of laughter, presenting their best qualities on their brother’s behalf. Elishat hid her aggravation behind a pleasant face, fully aware that marriage to Iarbas would destroy her plans for Qart-hadasht. In exchange for the gifts Iarbas sent, Elishat sent the sisters home with a finely carved wooden canister filled with sea salt. With this decidedly unsweet gift, she firmly declined his proposal.

Iarbas was not accustomed to having his requests denied. It was not the Amazigh custom to force people into arranged marriages. They were free, with the guidance of their elders, to marry whom they pleased. Any union required a bit of negotiation, but this was not a common proposal. The future of his people was at stake. To add to the insult, his sisters returned thoroughly enamored of the young queen. She was smart and charming, they said, and beautiful, with those green eyes. They could see their status would be further elevated with her as their sister-in-law. Having heard all about the voyage, the sisters endowed the adventurous queen with an affectionate nickname: “Dido.” In their language it meant “the wanderer.” It seemed to Iarbas that every other sentence out of their mouths started with ‘Dido.’

“Dido says…”

“Dido thinks…”

“Dido would want…”

They warned their brother that whatever he was going to do, he’d better act fast because Dido was determined to see her city completed, and then he would be left, as they indelicately put it, in the dust. Iarbas had lost enough sleep over this Queen Dido. He had taken every reasonable step, and all paths led him to the same unfortunate conclusion. Since Queen Dido refused to accept a peaceful offer of marriage, he had no choice but to make a show of force. Perhaps that would change her mind.

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