Hannibal's Elephant Girl

I screamed and kicked, trying to get away from him, but he only laughed at my puny efforts to escape. He growled like a wild animal as he pressed his thumbs into my windpipe. Men struck his back with their iron manacles, and the slave next to him tried to pull me away. The uproar caused the hortator to cease his drumming as he stared at the struggle taking place. Without the drumbeat to command them, all the slaves either turned or stretched sideways to see around the other men, leaving their oars to clatter and clash in complete disorder.

I twisted around and reached for the dagger in my purse, but before I could get my hand on it, Horus wrapped his leg around my waist, pinning my arm. He then pressed me backward over his other leg, trying to break my back.

My scream stuck in my throat as a whip slashed down over Horus’s shoulder and wrapped around my forearm. I felt my skin tear when the lash was yanked away, then I saw the whip wrap around Horus’s head, just below his eyes. But still he held me in his ever-tightening grip.

The next pop of the whip circled the lash around Horus’s neck and pulled tight. He cried out as he let go of me and clawed at the braided leather cutting into his throat.

With the help of the other slaves, I scrambled over men and oars to jump onto the center board, where I backed away to the end of the plank, gripped my bleeding wrist, and stared at the ugly event unfolding before me.

The slave master, Sulobo, had taken his time to come to my rescue, and I knew if Hannibal had not been aboard the ship, he surely would have let the crazed slave tear me to pieces. Thankfully, his fear of Hannibal was much greater than his desire to inflict his revenge upon me.

Sulobo was employed by Hannibal to control the slaves and also to replenish their ranks as many of them died from the inhuman misery of their labors. At each port he purchased the strongest men the slave markets had to offer.

Sulobo pulled himself along the length of the whip, keeping it tight. He cursed Horus with every step.

“You Egyptian blood-sucking leach. I would let my whip cut through to your rotten throat if I did not have need of all my slaves to push this stinking boat to shore.”

He stood directly behind the struggling slave, yanked hard on his whip, then uncoiled it from Horus’s neck. Horus gasped, and his chains rattled as he rubbed his neck. When he saw the trace of red on his fingertips, he glared up at Sulobo.

“Your whip does no more than…” he paused for a quick breath, “…than to tickle my skin.”

Sulobo reached to his shoulder, as if to straighten his ragged tunic, but then, quick as a cobra, he struck Horus’s jaw with his clinched fist.

The slave’s head snapped sideways. He tried to stand and if his chains had not restrained him, he would have attacked the fat slave master.

Sulobo stepped back. “At Hippo Regius, I’ll find a fresh slave to take your place and heave your dead body into the sea for the sharks to feast upon.” He rolled up his whip while staring at Horus. “Give me any more trouble, and I’ll throw you over before we get to port and put that half-wit slave girl in your place.”

Without waiting for a response from Horus, Sulobo stepped to the board and advanced on me. He shook his whip in my face.

“Cause me any more difficulties, you filthy little tramp, and you may find yourself accidentally becoming a playmate of the sharks, along with your friend there.” He jerked his thumb toward Horus.

“He attacked me, Sulobo.” I rubbed my neck. “I did nothing wrong, you stupid kusbeyaw.” I still didn’t know what that word meant, but apparently several of the slaves did, because they snickered, elbowed one another, and shot quick glances at Sulobo.

He grabbed my shoulder, squeezing hard. “Shut up, and get on with your water duties, but give none to that putrid Egyptian for the rest of the day. Do you understand me?”

I understood well enough, but didn’t acknowledge him. I shoved away his grubby hand and took up my water bucket, wanting nothing more to do with the ugly gorilla.

When I glanced around for the drinking bowl, a slave two rows ahead held it out. I took it from his hand, and he smiled broadly, showing off his only remaining tooth; a chipped incisor right in the front of his lower jaw. He rubbed the back of his head and tried to look at me, but one eye wandered to his left, and the other to the right. He turned his head to bring the right eye in alignment with me, still holding his open-mouthed grin, and I realized he was as mad as a deranged stump cat. I dipped the bowl in my bucket and put it in his hands, while keeping a wary eye on Horus the Egyptian.

Sulobo made an angry gesture at the hortator with his whip, and the bowlegged little man started up his drumbeat.

Boom, boom, boom-paboom, boom, boom, boom-paboom...

As the slaves slowly took up their oars and worked them into the rote unison of their labor, Calogo and Tin Tin Ban Sunia came down the companionway, each with a bucket of water. I knew from Tin Tin’s glance at me that she sensed trouble, but I shook my head and kept my wounded arm from her sight—we could talk about what happened after we finished our work on the slave deck.

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