Shame of Man (36 page)

He spat on her, and turned, and stalked out of the house, carrying only his flutes.

And there were Annai and Chipp and Minah, just arriving. He ran to meet them.

Little is really known about the Philistines, apart from generally negative Biblical accounts and more recent archaeological excavations. But they do seem to have been maligned by history. They brought a more advanced culture to Palestine, and indeed that name derives from them. Their expertise in shipcraft seems to have transferred to the Canaanites, who learned well. When the power of the Philistines was broken by King David of Israel
—
a nation once dismissed as rabble or hill folk
—
the seacoast fringe of the Canaanites took over the sea
trade, now being called Phoenicians (Philistine Canaanites?
—
a tempting juxtaposition, but probably invalid), and became the chief rivals of the Greeks in spreading their culture around the Mediterranean Sea. The Philistine or sea people tribe of Dannuna migrated inland and may have become the Israelite tribe of Dan. The story of Samson and Delilah, vaguely echoed here, may have originated with a Philistine in the role of Samson. Indeed, the celebrated exodus of the Israelites may not have occurred as such; it could have been an aspect of Philistine history, passed along as they assimilated with the Canaanites and the Israelites, for the Philistines did indeed escape Egypt. The increasing sophistication of Israelite military and economic capacity may have derived from the Philistine model. We have surely lost much because we could not record the Philistine oral histories, which were probably kept in poetic verse. Here the validity of the David and Goliath is assumed, but there is doubt that it actually happened. It might have been a military victory later rendered into a mythical individual encounter attributed to King David to enhance his reputation. Later the Philistines were destroyed by the empires of Assyria and Babylon, as were the Israelites, but the Phoenicians remained, thanks to their distant sea trade, apt fortifications, and savvy politics that recognized tribute to the powers of the moment as the lesser of evils.

The Canaanite Poem of Baal was found on recovered tablets dating to about 1400
B.C.
Aspects of it shed light on the Bible's Old Testament and on the mythologies of Greece and Egypt. The Philistines seem gradually to have adopted the Canaanite schedule of gods, so that the Bull of Baal became their hero instead of the nemesis it was to the Greeks and others. When the Philistine power was broken, Baal was reviled as an eater of babies, but though there may have been child sacrifices, these were hardly unique to Baal. Certainly Baal was originally an honorable and powerful god, as portrayed here. As for the temple prostitution
—
this was a standard form of worship in much of the region, and was socially proper. The Israelites, with a forbidding single male god, found it difficult to keep their people in line in the face of the sexual delights of Canaanite worship
—
until they hit upon the notion of making sex itself reprehensible. That may have been the beginning of a long association of religion with the condemnation of sexuality, which continues to the present, requiring the intercession of assorted religious rituals to detoxify it. The Original Sin may have started as the evil of sexual indulgence
—
in the temples of the gods.

Thus this seemingly inconsequential region and time may have had considerable impact on the subsequent course of human history.

CHAPTER 12

PHOENICIAN

Once the Phoenicians, who were in a sense the seafaring arm of the Canaanites, got established, they quickly rivaled the Greeks in explorations, and may have gone considerably farther. They are thought to have circumnavigated the continent of Africa circa 600
B.C.
and explored as far north as the British Isles circa 450
B.C.
They founded colonies around the Mediterranean Sea and established an extensive trade network. Their language was Punic, and it spread widely. The leading city was Carthage ("New City” in Punic), a colony founded by Tyre in 813
B.C.
on the north coast of Africa across the sea from
Italy. Carthage developed a formidable commercial empire, and in due course come into conflict with another developing empire: that of Rome. This was Rome's greatest challenge. Carthage lost the first Punic War (264–241
B.C.
), and had to pay heavy damages, which provoked rebellion by its allies and eroded its African commercial base. But Carthage recovered by exploiting Iberia (Spain) as a resource, founding Cartagena (New Carthage, or “New New City") in 228, and rebuilding its military strength. But the politics of the day could be ferocious: Iberia was tamed by savage conquest, and the natives did not submit meekly. As was clear in 221
B.C.

H
UCAR ran to meet Anice. He could see that she was worn and tired from her ordeal and travel, but she was still the loveliest creature on his horizon. They embraced and kissed, and she wept for relief. Then he bent down to sweep a child in with each arm. “I thought all of you were dead!” he said.

“And we thought you were dead,” Anice said.

“Our house was burned.”

“We know.”

Then it stalled. There was an awkwardness. They had been apart for a month, and much had happened that they didn't want to discuss in the presence of the children.

Hucar saw the man standing nearby. “Who—”

“This is Vik, who guided us here,” Anice said.

“But I thought—”

“My master had other business, so he asked me to attend to this,” Vik said. He was an Iberian who bore the slave mark.

Anice had traveled with a strange man? Hucar decided to let this aspect rest for the moment. “We thank you for your service. You may now return to your master.”

“My service to my master is not complete until I see you safely to New Carthage,” Vik said firmly.

“He has been very good,” Anice said. “We Iberians are loyal to our own.”

“To the death,” Vik agreed.

That brooked no refutation. The man would have to be allowed to complete his mission to the letter, lest he be severely punished on his return to his master.

“We must find a place to stay the night,” Hucar said.

Anice glanced at him. “I thought you had rented a house.”

Hucar looked back at the house. “That one won't do,” he said tightly.

“Why not?” their son Chipu demanded. “It looks like a nice house.”

“We must not know,” their daughter Minih told him.

The boy accepted that. But Hucar felt uneasy; what had the spirits told her?

“The temple will give us a room for a night,” Anice said. “Tomorrow we must travel on toward New Carthage.”

So they walked to the temple of Tanit, where Hucar had often played his music and Anice had danced. They were known there, and would indeed be granted lodging on a temporary basis.

“I do not know whether I can afford a new house here in Baria, when this is done,” Hucar said. “Everything was in the old one.” This was a matter that had not concerned him during his wife's absence, because the family was so much more important. But now it loomed more formidably.

“Where do you think it would be better?” Anice asked.

“New Carthage,” he said. “Perhaps we should remain there, after we have reported to General Hasdrubal. We could entertain more important families, and the rewards would be greater.”

She was hesitant. “Perhaps for you. But you are Punic. I am Iberian. They might not accept—”

“Hasdrubal himself has an Iberian wife!”

“But she is a princess, whom he married for political advantage; she has to be accepted. And she is his second wife.”

“But his brother-in-law Hannibal also married an Iberian woman, and she's not a princess, and not his second wife either.”

“Himilce,” she agreed. “From the town of Castulo. I had forgotten her. But she is beautiful.”

“And you are not?” he asked challengingly. Actually at the moment she was grimy from travel, and her robe and hair were dull. But she was still the creature of his dreams. He had married her for reasons other than her appearance, but no one believed it. As a dancer, it was her business to be beautiful, and she fulfilled the requirement well. He was surprised by her information on the general's brother-in-law's wife; evidently she was aware of any other beautiful Iberians who had married Phoenicians.

“Perhaps I could dance in New Carthage,” she agreed. He realized belatedly that she had sought his affirmation, perhaps supposing that he might find her unattractive after their ordeal. That was so far from the case that it might as well have been across the sea.

And she had tacitly accepted the notion of living in New Carthage. He had been afraid she would not. He wanted to get away from this city of Baria, because it had become a place of disaster and shame for him. “I am sure you can,” he agreed warmly. “They will love you there.”

They continued walking toward the temple. There was so much they had to say to each other, yet it was so difficult to say, and not just because of the presence of the children. After all, the children had been with Anice during her captivity. What horrors might they have seen?

For it was in his mind that she could have been raped. Such an event was almost inevitable when a lovely young woman was in the power of her enemies. He knew that she might have died, rather than submit—except
for the children. To spare the children, she would do anything. But what would the sight of such a thing mean to them? She would spare them that sight if she possibly could, but she might have had no choice.

But if she had spared them the sight, she could not say so before them. They must remain innocent. So the two of them would have to be alone before they could discuss it. Then—he did not know.

They reached the temple. It took only moments to explain their situation, and they were ushered to a private suite. Far from being the bare chamber he had expected, it was a lavish miniature complex of three rooms and a bath: the type of accommodation normally reserved for a dignitary or extremely generous supporter. Probably it was not supposed to be used for a mere musician's family, but this was a slow time for visitors, so a friend in the temple had made it available. But they would have to be sure to be out before it was needed by a legitimate party. The slave Vik was given inferior lodging in the stable. He did not complain; this was the place for one of his station.

Anice had a luxurious bath, and emerged looking much improved. She donned a robe provided by the temple personnel, and worked on her hair while Hucar saw to the children's bath. He saw that they too were grimy from travel, but without bad bruises: they had not been mistreated. “What happened?” he asked as they splashed in the warm water, enjoying it much as their mother had.

Chipu launched into a from-the-beginning narrative, as was his fashion. Minih let him talk, as was her fashion. She took after her mother in appearance and manner, though she had been adopted from the temple, and it was clear that she was the dominant child despite her tendency to leave the action and expression to her brother. Hucar had often wondered whether that, too, was an accurate echo of Anice's relation to himself.

“And they wrapped us in blankets, and carried us to a wagon or something,” Chipu was saying. “It was bumpy. Then they tied us up, and this man came and took us away to his house and locked us in, and his slave woman fed us. And he came and talked to Mother while we ate, and she was sad.”

The man had met with Anice alone. That could mean anything from a threat to a rape. She would conceal its nature from the children, of course, but her emotion would suffer.

“And in the night Mother's Iberian friend came and rescued us,” Chipu continued. “We hid in his wagon, and Mother pretended to be his wife, and we sneaked out of the city, and she danced naked in an inn. The men really goggled. Next day Vik was there, and he showed us the way and brought us here.”

Anice had danced naked before strangers?

“It was all right, Father,” Minih said. “They were keeping the secret.”

Hucar now had a sufficient notion of their time in captivity. The children
had not been abused or unduly frightened, but he wasn't sure about Anice. But one other thing bothered him. “The man who showed you the way back—Vik—what is he like?”

“He's all right,” Chipu said brightly. “He showed me how to gamble with bone-bits.”

“I don't like him,” Minih said darkly. “He has a secret.”

“He might hurt you?” Hucar asked sharply, completing the pattern of their dialogue. His son was usually cheerful, while his daughter had a streak of foreboding that was at time eerie in its accuracy. Thus Hucar paid close attention to her, but tried to seem otherwise, so that there would be no favoritism.

“No, he doesn't care about us,” she said. “But there's a big pain in him.”

“People do have pains. It surely isn't our business. He will go to deal with it, once he has seen us to New Carthage.”

“Yes.” But she continued doubtful.

When the children were ready, Hucar cleaned up too, making himself presentable. He carefully shaved the sides of his head with a razor, and reworked his single braid to be even throughout. He shaped his beard so that no hair was out of place. Then he emerged from the lavatory.

Anice was still tired, but she was beautiful again. She wore blue eye shadow, her cheeks were rouged with cinnabar, her lips were reddened, and her fingernails and toenails were orange with henna. She had applied fine perfume, and her hair was lustrous.

All of them looked good. This was necessary, because a person did not dishonor the goddess Tanit by appearing at her altar poorly garbed.

They went as a group to the main hall of the temple. This section was architecturally elegant, with massive columns, high arches, and a lovely mosaic floor. There they presented themselves before the altar. “O Tanit,” Hucar said. “I come to thank thee for thy beneficence, and for saving my family from captivity, and I bring to thee this gem in token of my appreciation.” He dropped a small pearl, part of his pay for a recent performance at a festival, into the altar cup.

He stepped back, and Anice approached the altar. “O Tanit, I think thee for preserving me and my children from adversity among the pagans,” she said. Of course she had been pagan herself, before she married Hucar, but she had converted and worshipped primarily the Punic gods ever since. She dropped a smaller pearl into the cup, because Hucar's was the main one for the family. “And for allowing my family to stay in the temple for this night.”

She stepped back, and Chipu came to the altar. He repeated the ritual, and donated a tiny grain of silver. Then Minih came, and dropped her own grain of silver. “I am with you always, my lady Tanit,” she said, smiling.

There was no direct sign from the goddess, but that was good; it meant that she accepted them and their offerings. They withdrew quietly, and went to the temple mess hall for a meal. Then at last they were able to retire to
their suite to catch up on rest and personal matters. It was only late afternoon, but there was no question about it: it was time for a long sleep.

The children were so tired they were asleep almost before being undressed. That left Hucar and Anice.

“We should do the same,” he said. “I know you are fatigued, and tomorrow may be difficult in its own way.” He was suggesting that he would not demand sex of her.

Anice smiled. “The journey was wearing, but reunion with you restores my strength.” She was indicating that she was nevertheless amenable to it.

“I want nothing so much as just to hold you, and know that you are really safe and well,” he said.

“Hold me close!” she agreed. She came to him and embraced him passionately. “Oh, Hucar, I feared I would never see you again.”

“When I saw those ashes of our house, and believed your bones were there—”

“He told me you had come after me, and been ambushed and killed,” she said, her tears flowing. “I should have known better than to believe it!”

“What did Minih say?”

“She said you were not dead. Yet I so feared—”

“We each believed foolishly,” he said.

“We each tend to trust others,” she agreed. “Even when we know they are not trustworthy. I should have realized that Zabub wanted only to—” She broke off, unwilling to say what was clear enough regardless.

“And that his sister was of the same stripe,” he said. “There was no truth in her.” Yet there was a tinge of doubt. He
hoped
she had lied throughout.