Hanno laughed.

  “You forget that Carthage is on the same continent,” he said.

  “The northern sea is a different world from the southern lands,” Liva pointed out. “It doesn’t need you, and all you’ll bring is towers and fighting men.”

  “And women. They can fight as well,” Hanno clarified.

  “Africa has no want of Carthage, Hanno. We do not need your fleet. I thought you’d act to preserve it like with the trees of Solois, but once you see open fields you don’t live upon them, you subdue them.”

  “That is the way of civilization.”

  “Your civilization. Not Africa’s.”

  Hanno glared at Liva without speaking.

  “You seem to assume we have a choice in this matter,” he said.

  “You always have a choice,” Liva said.

  “To do what? Go home? Look here.”

  Hanno struck a finger against the eastern Mediterranean on his map.

  “Here lies the empire of Persia, who enslaves all that they see and who has destroyed our motherlands of Phoenicia. Here…” Hanno said, and pointed to Greece. “The Greeks grow in strength. They destroyed my father and his army in Sicily. To the west are the long-since populated colonies of Carthage itself. All lands are settled, saturated, and claimed.”

  “And you want to do the same with my lands,” Liva spat.

  “We have too many people. Where would you have us go?”

  The two crossed their arms over their chests and stared at the map, both its blank and inked-in sections, when Bostar shouted, “Hanno! A river.”

  A bend in the coast heralded the outflow of a wide inlet. Thick, green grass framed the river on either side, gradually lowering and growing sparser further along the southern shore.

  Mountains supported the horizon. The terrain grew steadily upward, and it appeared the river ran downhill from these distant peaks.

  “Do you have a name for this river, Liva?” Hanno asked.

  Liva sniffed, and said, “This is the great river Lixus. There are many peoples who travel along its waters.”

  “I can see that.”

  As they drew nearer, the crew discerned shapes along the river’s edge. A great many goats wandered about the thick grass, munching beside thinly coated sheep. Amidst the distant braying of the lambs came a shout from a shepherd holding aloft a crooked staff.

  “A herder. Your nomadic peoples?” Hanno asked.

  Liva frowned, and narrowed her eyes to better see the shepherd.

  Several more approached the coast. They cried out and waved at the ships.

  “Do you know the name of these people?” Hanno asked.

  Liva’s eyes widened. “The Lixitae,” she gasped, and fled the rail.

  She dashed below deck without another word.

  Bostar and Hanno exchanged a glance, and Bostar strung his bow.

  “They don’t appear fearsome,” Bostar noted.

  “We still have wind and light if you want to move on,” Artemisia offered.

  “They’re on our colonies’ side of the river. If these Lixitae are to meet their new neighbors, best it be first with the king,” Hanno declared. He glanced around to see if Liva had returned, but she remained below deck. “And we shall decide what needs be done.”

  Jabnit played the tune to signal their landing.

  “Bostar, fetch Liva. If she is to be our translator she should translate,” Hanno ordered.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “I think it would be wise if you were to ask,” Bostar countered.

  “Why is that?”

  “Do you want her commanded or requested?”

  “I want her to translate.”

  “And which method do you think will most likely result in that outcome?”

  Hanno huffed, and stomped to the steps.

  Below deck, the oarsmen peeked through the gaps in the planks to glimpse the approaching river, pulling hard to overcome the current.

  Liva stood near the mast post. Hanno nodded to the deck officer before shouting, “Liva! Do you speak the language of the Lixitae?”

  The woman stood still.

  “Liva!” Hanno called out.

  Still, she didn’t move.

  “We are fast approaching the shore and will soon need to communicate with these people,” Hanno said as he approached Liva. “Come to the top deck or we might have trouble. Bostar’s already readied his bow and Artemisia’s likely prepping the catapult.”

  “No!” Liva warned, suddenly turning to face Hanno. “Don’t hurt them.”

  “Then speak for them.”

  Liva bit her lip.

  “I have no desire to hurt these people, but if confusion like what happened with the trees of Solois happens here it could lead to bloodshed,” Hanno advised.

  “These people aren’t trees,” Liva insisted.

  “Then you can speak for them.”

  Liva took a deep breath, and nodded.

  “On one condition. Two conditions,” Liva said.

  “Follow me to the top deck and name them,” Hanno said, and turned around.

  “First, you don’t attack them.”

  “That was a given, and why you’re speaking for them.”

  “Second… does Aba have a spare cloak?”

  Hanno paused on the steps. “Why?”

  “I’d like to borrow it.”

  “Do you plan on sneaking off and joining these people? Is this where you leave us?”

  “Not here. Maybe soon, but not here. And I’ll not have you storming into this river blindly.”

  Liva shoved her way past Hanno and made it to the top deck.

  “Aba, fetch a spare robe for Liva,” Hanno ordered when he returned to his post on the stern.

  Aba, who’d been kneeling in prayer and readying a pigeon for sacrifice, stood and asked, “What for? She is no priest. She worships none of the gods of Carthage.”

  “She named a god of the wind, that’s holy enough.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a holy garment, just something. An old robe maybe,” Liva offered. She glanced at the river as the oars splashed their way inland. “And hurry, please.”

  “I have an old robe you can borrow,” Jabnit offered. She ran to the stores below deck and returned with a thin white and brown garment.

  “That’s for use in the temple!” Aba scolded.

  “Do the Lixitae have temples?” Jabnit asked Liva.

  “No,” Liva replied.

  “All the world is the Lixitae temple. So Liva dons the holy robes.”

  Jabnit pressed the garment over Liva’s head then played her pipe, dancing away before her mother could stop her.

  Mapen applauded.

  Hanno pulled Liva to the rail to prevent any further protests. Liva quickly straitened the robes and donned the hood, concealing her face.

  “Do not speak my name, Hanno,” Liva cautioned.

  “You are known among these people?” Hanno guessed.

  “Do not speak my name. I will translate. Bostar, stay close. I will speak into your ear and your ear alone, then you will speak to the king.”

  “That seems unnecessary,” Bostar noted.

  “And lower your bow!”

  The Lixitae drew back at the approach of the ships. Artemisia led their trireme up the river to make use of the more even shore. She weaved through the shallows to reach ground about a hundred yards inland. By then, a great assembly of people had gathered in the grasses. They stood between the beached craft and their flocks, men holding shepherd’s crooks or spears made of dark, polished wood.

  Hanno waited for them to form ranks, or to raise the weapons above their shoulders and let loose a volley. But the Lixitae remained just off the shore. One of them called out in words Hanno didn’t understand.

  “He wants to know what sort of people you are,” Liva whispered.

  “Tell them we are Carthaginians,” Hanno replied.

  “They won’t know what that is.”

  “They asked.”

  The Lixitae repeated the question.

  “Hanno,” the king shouted in answer, then told Bostar, “Keep your bow ready. The rest of you, javelins. Only throw if they attack first.”

  Hanno knew his friend would relay the order, and leapt down onto the sand. He spread his arms wide and pressed a hand to his chest, then repeated the announcement, “Hanno.”

  The king approached the men, and one stepped forward. He was dark and well-muscled, tall, and with skin hardened by sun and travel. He wore a golden lion’s fur over his shoulders that made him stand out against the cloth of his fellows.

  He spoke once more and once more Hanno didn’t understand him.

  “Hanno,” the king said, and gestured to himself. “Trireme.” He pointed to the ship. “This is ridiculous. Liva! Get down here!”

  The man gasped.

  He spoke quickly, and this time Hanno heard him also say the word, “Liva.”

  Liva hurried down the rope ladder and rushed to Hanno’s side, Bostar on her heels.

  “Don’t say my name!” Liva scolded, straining to lower her voice.

  “Is it really respectful to keep your face cloaked like that?” Hanno asked.

  “Worry about your own problems,” Liva said.

  She spoke to the man wearing the lion pelt in his own language, though she once more lowered her voice.

  The man cocked his head to the side, and spoke back.

  Liva replied.

  “Tell him we offer friendship, that we have many peoples settled nearby, and are happy to trade with his people if he will have peace with our colonies,” Hanno offered.

  Liva did so.

  The Lixitae man replied.

  Liva whispered into Bostar’s ear, and Bostar told Hanno, “He says they want to know where the colonies are.”

  “Ask him first if we have peace,” Hanno said.

  Liva spoke in her deep, concealed voice, and the Lixitae spoke back.

  “He says he doesn’t know who we are, and that there is much land to have, so why do we need to declare peace?” Bostar said, relaying Liva’s whispered words.

  “Stop playing the fool, Liva, just speak for us,” Hanno said, and pulled back Liva’s hood.

  The man in the lion pelt gasped and stepped back, as did the rest of the Lixitae.

  “Tell him we want peace, but we also want—” Hanno began.

  “Liva!” the Lixitae man said.

  Liva spoke to him, and stepped away.

  The man looked at Hanno, his eyes wide, and embraced the king before he could retreat.

  “Hanno,” Liva said. “Meet Gana. My father.”