The Hide of a Bull

The Lieutenant and his crew stood up from their work on the foundation for a defensive wall at the base of the hill. The strange ching-ching-ching-ching that had caught their attention grew steadily louder. They looked questioningly at one another and scanned the horizon to the south. Then they saw it: a low cloud of dust drawing closer and larger. From his vantage point at the top of the hill, Barca saw it, too. He quickly alerted the Queen of the approach and waited, eagle-eyed. Word spread quickly across the hill, and everyone stopped working and watched as six horsemen, galloping at full speed, came to an abrupt stop a hundred paces from the Lieutenant and his work crew. An entourage of at least a dozen more horsemen arrived and waited behind the front line.

The horses stomped the earth and shook their heads and jingled the silver bells on their reins. Each rider, his head and face covered by a head scarf, coolly pulled back his robe to reveal the dagger tucked into his sash. The Lieutenant gestured for his work crew to remain calm. They obeyed but stood at the ready. He sent a runner up the hill to alert Barca and walked forward to meet the horsemen. One of the riders dismounted and approached. Unable to see the man’s face, the Lieutenant tried to assess his rank and intention given his fine robes and colorfully embroidered lambskin boots. The rider’s dark eyes held an expression of excitement and curiosity. They seemed more eager than anxious. The other horsemen remained at a distance with their daggers tucked into their sashes. The Lieutenant took these as signs of good will. The runner returned from the hill with a copper plate tucked under his arm. He handed it to the Lieutenant and said, “Barca says to tell them we’re looking for a temporary place to stay. Nothing permanent. We don’t want to alarm them.”

The Lieutenant glanced up the hill, relieved to know that Barca was watching. He presented the gift, and the horseman accepted. A boy, dressed in a miniature version of the men’s garb, appeared from behind the front line and took it away, returning immediately with a bundle wrapped in linen cloth. It’s significance, the Lieutenant guessed, would tell whether Elishat’s people were being welcomed or invited to leave. The Lieutenant noted that the boy had brought the copper plate to a certain horseman behind the front line. His was the only horse that wore a breast plate and a horned silver saddle that glistened in the sun.

The boy removed the cloth and unpacked a small, beautifully woven rug. The Lieutenant praised the rug for its fine weave and rich colors, but the message behind the gift was unclear. A rug could be a sign of welcome, or it could be rolled up for departure. More importantly, though, the exchange of gifts had allowed the Lieutenant to identify the real man in charge. Sure enough, a minute later, the front line parted and the stately rider approached. He dismounted, walked proudly up to the Lieutenant, and allowed the cloth to drop from his head and face. His expression was serious but not unfriendly. He touched himself on his chest with the flat of his hand.

“Iarbas,” he said.

The Lieutenant recognized the name. It was the word the women had reported hearing from the strangers at the spring. There was no seat to offer and no time to boil water for tea, but through gestures the Lieutenant invited Iarbas to step into the shade of a nearby pepper tree.

Iarbas explained in his own language that he was the most respected man among the Numidian tribes, including the Amazigh who inhabited the land where they were standing. He said that he had come to the position by birth, and that he had retained leadership by good management and fair treatment of his people. So, he said, gesturing toward the hill, he had come to meet their leader. The Lieutenant made sense of the communication and, hoping that Barca and Elishat were prepared, left his work crew with a warning to keep the peace and escorted Iarbas up the long hillside steps.

Amaal and the others standing on the hillside stared as Iarbas went by. With his flowing robes and fancy boots and bright blue head scarf, this was no common shepherd. At the top of the hill, Queen Elishat waited on her makeshift throne. A coral pink tapestry provided shade and brightened her complexion. Barca and Bitias stood close by.

“Queen,” the Lieutenant said, “this man appears to be the head man of the local people. His name is Iarbas.”

Elishat, too, recognized the name. She remained seated, her hands resting on the arms of her throne. “Welcome, Iarbas,” she said, gesturing for him to sit on a wooden bench covered with a finely woven cloak.

Iarbas bowed respectfully before her. He carried himself with dignity as he took his seat. Elishat was immediately impressed. She couldn’t help but notice his slender waist and broad shoulders. Framed in the soft fabric of his head scarf was an extraordinarily handsome face. She calmed herself with a slow, easy breath. In the distant past, Acerbas had taught her that grace and femininity had a role to play in negotiations and that she should use them appropriately to her advantage.

Iarbas, too, was captivated—by Elishat’s bearing and, in equal measure, by her beauty. She did not hide her face behind a veil. Her hair hung freely down her back, and the skin of her tattoo-less face was as smooth as a child’s. Her green eyes seemed to capture the very spirit of daylight. He was curious to know how this beautiful woman had come to find herself on his land. If she was in distress, he would gladly step up to rescue her.

Elishat shortened the story of how she had come to Libya, saying only that she had been forced from her homeland and that she sought a plot of land for her people. With no means of translation between the two parties, the Lieutenant picked up a stick and drew a map in the dirt. He drew the Great Sea, indicated the starting point at the city of Tyre, and sketched the route they had taken to Cyprus, Crete, Sicilia, and Gozo, ending at the present location. Iarbas knew little about the sea beyond his shores, but he gathered that it had been a long, arduous trip.

Elishat made no mention of her treacherous brother nor her plan to found a permanent city on the site where they were currently sitting. She made no mention of the vast temple treasure stowed in the vessels anchored in the bay. She repeated that she sought a plot of land for her people and that she could afford to pay only a modest amount because, she pretended, her finances were limited.

Iarbas felt his nose twitch. Intelligent and persuasive though she was, his instincts told him to be wary of this queen’s threat to his position as chief of the land where she had plopped her makeshift throne. Anyone could see that these people were eager to settle permanently, what with their sheep and goats already grazing in the fields. Still, the opportunity to make a good deal for his people couldn’t be ignored, so Iarbas asked the queen what she was willing to pay for such a piece of land. She named her price. It was a good sum, but Iarbas remained dubious. No, he decided, the risk was too great. Better to drive the queen and her followers from his shores. Let them find another place to settle. They had come this far; surely, they could pack up their ships and find another shore. Rather than refusing her outright, though, Iarbas made her a ridiculous offer, which was his customary way of politely saying no.

“In exchange for the amount you mentioned,” he said, “I will grant you as much land as you can enclose in the hide of a bull.”

Elishat was taken aback. It was an insult, but, remembering her uncle’s counsel that a tree planted in dung bears the most delicious fruit, she thought about how to turn Iarbas’s offer to her advantage.

“May I have a word with my advisors?” she said.

Iarbas nodded. Bitias and Barca bent down in close proximity as the Queen whispered, “I have a plan, and I pray on the spirit of my dear, dead husband it will work.” Bitias and Barca started to object, but she gently waved them away. “You must trust me,” she said.

“Iarbas, you have said I can have as much land as I can enclose within the hide of a bull. Is that your promise?

“Correct,” he nodded.

“Well, then, I agree to your offer.”

Iarbas laughed out loud. He could hardly believe his ears. For all her beauty and bearing, this queen had no sense whatsoever. It was no wonder she was homeless, wandering the great sea, as indicated by the map in the dirt. He doubted she would stay on his land long enough to cause trouble. He responded quickly, before she could change her mind.

“Pay me now and the land is yours. Have you a bull’s hide?” he asked facetiously.

 “We do,” replied the Queen. “Let us call upon the gods as witness to our agreement. Join me in offering a bit of incense at the censor.”

Iarbas couldn’t contain his broad grin. He fed the censor while Barca counted out the payment of silver, gold, and a few gemstones for all to see. Iarbas filled his leather pouch with the payment and bowed deeply to the queen. Eager to get away before this impossible dream came to an end, he descended the steps, mounted his horse, and rode off with his entourage toward the southern plain.

            Bitias and Barca stood in disbelief. Before either could speak, Elishat stood up, pointed a finger at them, and hissed, “Trust me!” She shouted to the captains standing nearby, “Bring me a bull’s hide from the ships! Call my tailors! Tell them to sharpen their shears and come here—now!” To the Lieutenant, she said, “Find four or five reliable souls among my people and bring them to me.”

            “All of your people are reliable, Queen,” he quipped.

            Elishat chuckled softly. “Very well, Lieutenant. Find six, then.”

            When the bull’s hide and the tailors and their sharpened shears were gathered, the Queen led them to the base of the hillside. She stood directly in front of the tailors and looked them in the eyes. They had never been summoned by the queen, and they were trembling.

“Now listen carefully,” she said. “Everyone, calm down. There is a job that must be done and only you can do it. Only you have the skill. I do not. Bitias and Barca do not. We need you. Are you willing?”

The tailors looked at one another, baffled, but nodded in agreement.

“That’s better. Now, listen. I want this hide cut into long strips no more than two hairs wide. Not three hairs wide, not four hairs wide—two hairs wide. Don’t rush. It must be done precisely.”

The tailors gathered around the hide and set to work. As the strips appeared, Elishat ordered the six reliable helpers to lay them out end-to-end in a long, thin line. Word spread that the Queen was up to something. A small crowd gathered, then a larger one. Soon the whole community was there. Still, they couldn’t figure out what she was doing. The Lieutenant ordered everyone to remain at a distance. Some of the local shepherds came to see what was happening, too. Perhaps the Queen had lost her mind. It was Barca who caught on first. He turned to Bitias, who wore a confused expression. “She’s enclosing the hill in the bull’s hide,” he said. “She’s taking Iarbas at his word.”

“She’s what?” Bitias said.

“She’s making a borderline out of the strips. She’s taking in as much land as she can enclose in the bull’s hide!”

Bitias got it. “By the eyes of Ba’al, she’s a clever one.”

In a matter of minutes, everyone in the crowd knew of Iarbas’s impossible challenge and Elishat’s clever reply. When all the snipping and laying was done, a line of extraordinarily thin strips of hide encircled the hill, at least enough to make a convincing argument. The Queen had laid claim to the land, and she had plenty of witnesses who could swear to it. The people took great care not to touch or step on the fragile boundary that defined the hill. They set out stones and drove in wooden stakes to protect the perimeter.

Meanwhile, the local shepherds spread the news that Iarbas had been outwitted, and he wasn’t going to like that.

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