The King of the Lixitae marveled at everything Hanno showed him.

  Part of it was that Hanno did show him truly marvelous things. Part of it was a desire to express gratitude to the man who’d returned what Hanno discovered to be his lost daughter.

  Upon embracing his child and the man who’d brought her to him, Gana sang and danced his way to the rest of his kinsman with Hanno and Bostar in tow. He called out instructions to his people, and the rest of the Libyphoenicians were brought to his camp as well.

  Before Hanno could utter a word to Liva, a bowl made of fossilized wood was thrust into his hands. It was near brilliant as the amber seed the adansonia had gifted him, and filled with a thick, milky brown liquid.

  “Is it a drink?” Hanno asked.

  The king of the Lixitae held up his hands, indicating for Hanno to drink.

  Hanno sipped, and the taste of fermented wine of some fruit he couldn’t identify flooded his senses and widened his eyes.

  He raised the bowl in thanks, and the king of the Lixitae accepted it to take a sip of his own, then let out a shriek like a howling mad man, striking his chest three times.

  “Gana,” he said, and returned the bowl to Hanno. “Hanno.”

  Hanno accepted the bowl.

  Liva had not been allowed to leave her father’s side, as two of her kinsmen held her arms at all times. The gesture looked a caring one, but Hanno noticed his translator had also been unable to move.

  “This is very good,” Hanno said, and offered the bowl to Liva.

  Liva shook her head and said, “I’m not allowed to drink it.”

  She spoke to her father and her father replied three staccato words Hanno assumed were not kind. But the Lixitae king’s smile returned when he clapped Hanno on the back.

  A goat’s throat had been slit, and the Lixitae set to work cleaning it while six men hacked at a rockier stretch of ground with picks and spades. Logs were added to the fire and more of the brownish wine was set before them in wide bottomed, narrow-topped clay jugs.

  The Lixitae found astonishment after astonishment with the Libyphoenicians’ clothing and decorations. Jabnit traded a bronze hairpin for a necklace made of black stones while Mapen clapped his hands to an exchange of poetry neither he nor his Lixitae dancing partner understood. Every member of the remaining colonists was either gifted or traded an item of food or clothing, and while only Liva could translate for anyone, the two peoples found company amidst the many fires and bowls of wine, Carthaginian pipers blending with the Lixitae drums.

  “The ships are grounded and set,” Artemisia announced when she finally arrived at the gathering. “I’m not sure how long these supplies we’re getting will last, but we’d better not trade everything away.”

  “Come now, Artemisia, we have made new friends,” Hanno said. “Even Bostar found someone to enjoy — where did he go anyway?”

  Hanno had lost sight of his friend after being escorted to the Lixitae camp. They’d munched on thick-skinned nuts and dried fruit, trading the words for various items since Liva had been dragged into one of the goatskin tents.

  “Wind’s getting warmer. Supplies might be scarce further south,” the Greek helmsman warned.

  “And we will make do. Liva’s countrymen seem to weather it fine,” Hanno replied.

  “Liva got dragged off into some tent and they buried that goat they slaughtered.”

  “I’m sure they had a reason.”

  “For burying a perfectly good goat?”

  “And for dragging Liva off. There, here she is.”

  Two women escorted Liva to the bonfire where the Libyphoenicians and the Lixitae had gathered. She wore a smaller version of the lion’s pelt her father wore, though a well-combed mane decorated the cloak’s neck. She hunched her shoulders and stared at the ground, struggling to keep the cloak from slipping as she walked.

  A great clatter of drums accompanied her entrance, and the same men who’d buried the goat returned to the smoldering pile of dirt with spades and a thick, wide goatskin. They unearthed the buried meat, and a smell like no other billowed from the pit.

  The goat had been placed atop a pile of low-burning coals, and in the many hours that had passed between its burial and the night’s festivities, it had turned dark, its skin crackling with the fat-absorbed meat.

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  More men and women hacked at the goat with knives, placing the bones and steaming meat in bowls of mashed vegetables or floured nuts or set on wooden plates. This process repeated itself across the shore, a dozen goats unearthed from their pits and laid upon goatskins to be cut and distributed.

  One of the carvers handed Liva a plate full of juice-laden meat. She delivered the dish to where her father and Hanno sat.

  Gana spoke, and gestured to Hanno. He reached into a satchel attached to his leather belt, and revealed a tiny wooden box. He took a pinch of what appeared to be salt from the box with a ceremonial flair, and sprinkled the meat before indicating that Liva was to present it to Hanno.

  “He says I should thank you for saving me,” Liva translated.

  “Did I save you from something?” Hanno asked.

  “My father seems to think so.”

  “Then tell your father you have been great use to us. Tell him how you aided us against the trees, and spoke the words that stopped the winds.”

  Liva glanced at her father and reddened.

  “I’d rather not,” she said. “Just take the meat.”

  Her father spoke again.

  “Very well,” Hanno said.

  He took a bite from the sweet-smelling goat, its herb and salt-glistened juices swimming in his mouth like he’d bitten into a date. It was crisp and tender, sweet and savory, with none of the bitterness typical of goat prepared over an open flame. Hanno had never tasted the like.

  Both kings smiled and enjoyed their shared plate.

  “My father says there are many of your people here. He wants to know if you need flocks to herd,” Liva translated.

  “If he can share how this goat was prepared we will open the gates of Carthage for him!” Hanno declared.

  Liva translated, and her father spoke.

  “He’s not sure what you mean. Do you need flocks or not?” Liva asked.

  “Our people have found herds north of here. We have seeds and fish nets and brewers,” Hanno explained. “Tell the king we can trade these things for his goats and sheep’s wool, and maybe he can share the recipe for this wine of his along with his cooking techniques.”

  Liva translated, and the king laughed. He held his daughter’s hand while speaking. Liva pulled her hand free and replied in an angry tone.

  Gana patted Hanno on the arm, and Liva pulled the cloak from her shoulders.

  A hush fell over the revelers, the Libyphoenicians mimicking, though not understanding, the stilled Lixitae.

  Gana stood, and spoke low, harsh words to his daughter.

  Liva held out the lion pelt for her father, and he pushed it back.

  Liva threw the pelt at Gana and stormed off.

  The Lixitae king shouted at his daughter, but Liva ran.

  No one rose to go after her.

  Only Hanno stood, and Gana spoke angrily at him.

  “I’ll go see what she’s mad about, okay?” Hanno said.

  The Lixitae king spat at the ground.

  “Just go back to your dinner, everyone,” Hanno announced. “Here, I’ll give this to her.”

  Gana twisted away from Hanno to keep the Phoenician from collecting Liva’s lion pelt.

  “Alright then. I’ll bring her back and you can give it to her,” Hanno relented.

  He walked out of the silence of the bonfire and into the night. A half-moon illuminated the low grass beyond. Goats and sheep munched a feast of their own while a handful of shepherds watched over them. A Libyphoenician and Lixitae sentry stood on watch, sharing a bit of the roasted goat on plates of leaves. They waved at Hanno, and he shared the greeting.

  “Your name, sentry,” Hanno said.

  “Kurell, King Hanno,” the Carthaginian replied.

  “Did you see a woman run past, Kurell?”

  “No, King Hanno. Should we search for her?”

  “Stay to your meal. Enjoy your company. I’ll check the river.”

  Hanno strode beyond the camp and called out, “Liva! Liva, if you’ve caused me to insult your father neither of us will be pleased!”

  A flash of movement caught his eye, and Hanno spotted Liva’s head ducking into the shadow of a riverside tree.

  He went toward her without trying to conceal his approach.

  “It will be difficult to speak with your father without someone to translate for us,” Hanno announced.

  Liva didn’t move, though she’d plainly heard the king. She sat on a fallen log at the edge of the river, and remained staring at its fast-flowing water while Hanno stood over her.

  “Come back to the meal, Liva,” Hanno said. “Your father has a pelt for you. He won’t let me take it.”

  “He won’t give it to anyone,” Liva said. “No one but me.”

  Hanno crossed his arms.

  “It’s the cloak of our kingdom’s heir. Or maybe confederation, or group. The word is flawed, but kingdom is the only suitable word in your tongue,” Liva explained.

  “You are his heir then,” Hanno concluded.

  Liva nodded.

  “You did not make this clear when we met,” Hanno noted.

  “I told you the truth. I told you I was a traveler, and that’s what I am. I’m no princess and I will be no queen.”

  Hanno scoffed.

  “You are a king. I do not need to explain my decisions to you,” Liva said.

  “Explain this to me then,” Hanno said. “Your father is the ruler of your people, yes? He commands respect; people obey him. And he wants to give this to you. So you run away?”

  “Make your own conclusions. I’ll offer none.”

  “I conclude that you’re a fool.”

  “A fool who abandons his kingdom like you?”

  Hanno spat.

  “Not by choice,” he said.

  Liva spat and said, “I choose.”

  “You choose to be weak?”

  “I choose to be strong. I choose to learn the stories and words of the world, not cloister myself with just one people.”

  “Your people.”

  “But one people nonetheless.”

  “And so while you venture out into the world, your people have no ruler,” Hanno said.

  “They can choose someone else,” Liva said.

  “Someone worse.”

  “But someone.”

  “And when you allow this someone to lead your people to ruin?”

  “I am choosing what story will be mine. I will not let family or fate or even all the gods of Africa decide for me.”

  “Then what have you chosen?”

  “I choose to not choose. My life is my own. I can go where I wish. It is you, Hanno of Carthage, who are going somewhere.”

  “And where’s that? I would love to go home. I would love to be king but I cannot, so I have to venture through Africa. I have no choice.”

  “Then choose somewhere else. Choose someone else. I have no use of you and I have no use of a weighted cloak.”

  Liva stood and walked into the field. She stopped at the grass’s edge.

  “If there were anyone else to choose I—” Hanno started to say, but caught a flash of movement in the field.

  He scanned the moonlit terrain, and wondered at the few sheep. When he stepped into the grass, he came upon a patch of blood.

  There lay Kurell, along with his Lixitae shepherd companion.