For Jane and Tim
THE AFRICAN QUEST
by Lyn Hamilton
Acknowledgments
I owe a debt of gratitude to so many people who have given generously of their time and expertise. I would like to thank marine archaeologist Peter Engelbert; curator Alison Easson of the Royal Ontario Museum; Claudine Bazin for sharing her memories of growing up in Tunisia; Jim Polk for his sage advice; my traveling companions Jane and Tim Marlatt and Sherrill Cheda; Mark Stanfield of Tam Dive; Susie Wilson; and as always, my parents and sister Cheryl for their steadfast support and encouragement. Last, but not least, I would like to thank the members of the 1999 Maltese Goddess tour, who, unlike the occasionally churlish individuals depicted here, were a delightful group of individuals, tolerant and even benevolent in their support of my own fledgling efforts as a tour guide.
A word about setting: The places named in these pages all exist, and I hope I have portrayed them accurately, with one exception. The town of Taberda, while typical of many of the coastal villages of Tunisia, is, like all the characters depicted herein, a figment of my imagination.
The following is a chronology of actual historical events referenced in the story
B.C.E.
12th century Phoenicians establish their culture in Eastern Mediterranean
1100–1000 Beginnings of Phoenician expansion throughout Mediterranean
820–774 Reign of Pygmalion of Tyre
814 Elissa"™s flight from Tyre and the founding of Carthage (Qart Hadasht)
600–300 Continuing conflict between Carthage and Greece
333–331 Siege of Tyre; city falls to Alexander the Great
310–307 Agathocles of Syracuse invades North Africa, challenges Carthage
309–308 Attempted coup d"™etat by Carthaginian general Bomilcar
263–241 First Punic War between Carthage and Rome
218 Hannibal crosses the Alps, beginning of second war with Rome
149–146 Third Punic War
146 Carthage falls to Rome, city destroyed, Roman rule until 439 C.E.
438 Vandals capture Carthage
533 Byzantine rule begins
647 Arab rule begins
797 on Succession of dynasties: Aghlabites, Fatimids, Almohads, Hafsids
1574 Tunisia becomes part of Ottoman Empire
1881 France invades Tunisia; French protectorate in 1883
1956 Tunisia granted independence, Habib Bourguiba is president
1964 Bourguiba nationalizes lands of remaining French settlers
1987 (November 7) Zine El-Abidine ben Ali seizes power
Prologue
I T IS CARTHALON, citizen of Qart Hadasht, who stands before you, great Council of the Hundred and Four, to bear witness to a strange and terrifying event. It has taken me a very long time to gain the honor of this audience, and I pray I am not too late.
My story, a tale rife with perfidy and betrayal, but courage and loyalty, too, takes place at a time of the greatest peril to our city, when, despite the heroic efforts of our generals, our enemy was able to mobilize sixty ships and 14,000 men, and slipping through our blockade of Sicily, sailed for our shores. Until that moment, the Greeks were a nuisance, the cause of endless skirmishes in our territories in Sicily, destabilizing the sea trade that has proven to be the foundation of our power and prosperity. Now, though, they threaten the very walls of the city.
This much of my report is well known to you, how Agathocles, after landing on the shores of the Beautiful Promontory, burned his ships so we could not take them. Then he began his bloody and inexorable march toward Qart Hadasht, ravaging our gardens and orchards, stealing our livestock and slaves, and enticing our allies and subjects, the Libyans, who perhaps smelled a change in the fortunes of our city and therefore an opportunity for themselves, to betray us. Not since the founding of our great city has defeat come so close to our gates.
Many among us thought that our gods had forsaken us. Others, however, warned that it was we who had forsaken our gods. It is true that there were new gods in Qart Hadasht, the Sicilian goddesses Demeter and Kore among them. Had we brought our enemy"™s gods right to the heart of our city, built a temple to the divine powers who would destroy us?
The way to salvation was clear, a return to the molk sacrifice, long gone uncelebrated, to our own god, the great god of sun and fire. Hundreds of mothers and fathers, perhaps some of you among them, and certainly many of our generals, stood dry-eyed as their first-born sons and daughters were offered to the flames of Baal Hammon.
It was during these terrifying times that my story begins, when I put to sea for the first time on a small merchantman, ably captained by one Hasdrubal, he who has Baal"™s help, and a crew of about twenty men, some, like me, inexperienced and naive, others seasoned hands. Among them, I fear, were those who hid their real intentions behind a mask of patriotism and who would stop at nothing to advance their treacherous cause. I am aware that my youth speaks against me, that you, my elders and superiors, will greet what I say with skepticism and even perhaps, disbelief. But I swear by Baal Hammon, Tanit, and Melqart, the god who protects sailors, that the account of events I am about to give you is true.
PART I
Arma virumque cano
Of war and a man I sing
1
W E WERE A STRANGE little group, thinking back on it, some of us saints, some of us sinners, and at least one of us with murder on our minds.
The story of how we all came together, collided might be the better word, is, on the surface at least, an account of my short and something-less-than-successful career as a tour guide. On closer examination, however, it is a cautionary tale about the depths to which greed and obsession can plunge the human soul. If I have learned anything from the experience, it is that courage is found in the most unlikely of people, while evil lies hidden behind the blandest of faces.
My tale, the facts of which are true, but, as is always the case, subject to some sifting through the mind and memory of the teller, begins with two words I was coming to dread whenever they emanated from a certain source.
"I 'M THINKING," CLIVE Swain, my ex-husband, and through a series of events much too long--and painful--to get into, my current business partner, said.
Don't hurt yourself, Clive, the little voice in my head retorted. I keep these uncharitable thoughts to myself because, in addition to his aforementioned status in my life, he is also my best friend Moira's lover.
"I'm thinking," he said again. Clive is a veritable fountain, no, a geyser, of ideas on how to promote our antiques business, McClintoch Swain by name. These notions of his, I've not failed to notice, require the oozing of copious amounts of charm on his part, and a great deal of hard work on mine.
I could see Alex Stewart, a dear friend and retired gentleman who comes in four days a week to help out in the shop, give a wry smile. For some reason that eludes me, Alex and Clive, as completely different as they are, get along just fine. Even more astonishing is the fact that Diesel, an orange cat who holds the title of Official Guard Cat at the shop, and who, like most cats, treats the rest of the world with pure disdain, positively fawns on Clive. As this fateful conversation was unfolding, Diesel was looking up at Clive as if he were brilliance personified, purring his approval. Come to think of it, the only one of my friends who doesn't get along with Clive is Rob Luczka, a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Rob and I are good friends, and occasionally toy with the idea of getting closer. Maybe his considerably less than favorable opinion of Clive is part of the attraction.