Charley Brindley - Hannibal's Elephant Girl

Hannibal’s Elephant Girl

Book Two

Voyage to Iberia

by

Charley Brindley

charleybrindley@yahoo.com

https://www.charleybrindley.com/

Edited by

Karen Boston

https://bit.ly/2rJDq3f

Cover by

Elena Dudina

https://www.elenadudina.com/

© 2019 by Charley Brindley all rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition November 2019

This book is dedicated to

James Brindley

Some of Charley Brindley’s books

have been translated into:

Italian

Spanish

Portuguese

French

Dutch

Turkish

Chinese

and

Russian

The following books are available in audio format:

Raji, Book One (in English)

Do Not Resuscitate (in English)

The Last Mission of the Seventh Cavalry (in English)

Hannibal’s Elephant Girl, Book One (in Russian)

Henry IX (in Italian)

Other books by Charley Brindley

1. Oxana’s Pit

2. Raji Book One: Octavia Pompeii

3. Raji Book Two: The Academy

4. Raji Book Three: Dire Kawa

5. Raji Book Four: The House of the West Wind

6. Hannibal’s Elephant Girl Book One: Tin Tin Ban Sunia

7. Cian

8. Ariion XXIII

9. The Last Seat on the Hindenburg

10. Dragonfly vs Monarch: Book One

11. Dragonfly vs Monarch: Book Two

12. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book One : Exploration

13. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book Two: Invasion

14. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book Three

15. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book Four: The Republic

16. Sea of Sorrows

17. The Last Mission of the Seventh Cavalry

18. Do Not Resuscitate

19. Rod of God

20. Henry IX

21. Casper’s Game

22. Qubit’s Incubator

Coming Soon

23. Dragonfly vs Monarch: Book Three

24. The Journey to Valdacia

25. Still Waters Run Deep

26. Ms Machiavelli

27. Ariion XXIX

28. The Last Mission of the Seventh Cavalry Book 2

29. Hannibal’s Elephant Girl, Book Three

See the end of this book for details about the other books

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Tin Tin Ban Sunia and I slipped through the darkness, keeping low. I glanced up at the mainsail; it was slack, lifeless, its broad red stripe running down like fresh blood on sand. I turned to look back at Obolus. He stood in the center of the deck, his head down, with the last curl of his trunk resting on the layer of dirt covering the rough pine boards. He would sleep until hunger woke him. Pale moonlight spilled over his body like liquid silver flowing over a towering gray mountain.

Tin Tin stopped me with a hand on my wrist. “You hear that one?” she whispered.

I nodded. A low murmur came from the ship’s bow. She motioned, and I followed, both of us crouching below the row of shields lining the rail of the ship. The moon gave us a little light as we made our way forward.

So late at night…who could it be?

As we neared the bow, a few words floated back to us. “…with one voice…the priest…taking the ransom…”

I tripped over a coiled rope and fell. My knee hit the deck, hard. Tin Tin’s hand was over my mouth in an instant, keeping me from crying out. I rubbed my knee as we stared wide-eyed toward the front of the ship. The voice stopped. My heart galloped as if Turanyu himself had gone wild inside my chest. I pulled Tin Tin’s hand away and gulped air, fearing all the while they would hear my pounding heart.

Who are they, and what are they talking about?

Our ship lay perfectly still in the dead black waters of the Middle Sea; nothing moved anywhere. We were so far from shore, we couldn’t see land in any direction.

Other than my ragged breathing, not a sound could be heard. Even the rigging that seemed always to creak and moan lay silent.

“…but not so Agamemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly away.”

Tin Tin looked at me, grinning—the words had begun again. It was a man’s husky voice, talking to someone but apparently taking no notice of us. I whispered a silent thanks to our Great Queen Elissa, long ago passed away but still watching over us.

I heard soft footfalls on the opposite side of the ship, coming forward. I gripped Tin Tin’s hand and nodded that way. She pulled me to the mast, and we ducked behind it, pressing ourselves flat against the polished wood. The mast was thicker than my body and made from the trunk of a single fir tree.

The voice at the bow stopped, then we heard the newcomer. “Lord Hannibal.”

“Yes, Captain Xipan.”

Tin Tin whispered to me, “Is Hannibal.”

“And the captain, too,” I said.

“Shall we set the slaves to work with the oars, sir?” the captain asked.

I eased up on my tiptoes to see Hannibal look out over the flat sea.

After a moment, he glanced up at the crescent moon. “It is well past midnight and near to dawn,” Hannibal said, turning back to the captain. “Let the slaves rest. If there is no wind with the sunrise, then we shall set them to work.”

The captain did not answer; only slapped a hand to his chest in confirmation of Hannibal’s order. Captain Xipan hurried back toward the companionway leading below decks.

“Captain.” Hannibal raised his voice.

The captain stopped, turning back to Hannibal.

“If the water boy is awake, send him to me.”

The captain saluted as before and continued toward the hatch.

I looked at Tin Tin Ban Sunia and saw the smile on her face. I rolled my eyes to the sky. Yes, we both knew who would next appear on deck.

Tin Tin, always the braver of the two of us, took my hand to lead me forward. Soon we knelt, only a few heartbeats away from Hannibal.

“Old man,” Hannibal said, “let me not find you tarrying about our ships, nor yet coming hereafter. Your scepter of the god and your…”

We could see Hannibal clearly now, standing before his table in the moonlight. He wore his red tunic with the fine double stitching. Upon the table sat a small olive oil lamp illuminating a scroll, partially unrolled. He bent low, peered at the scroll for a moment, then straightened up to address his companion; it was Turanyu, his warhorse!

“…and your wrath shall profit you nothing. I will not free her.” Hannibal, with a flourish of his hand, spoke forcefully toward Turanyu, but the horse was obviously dozing, and, just as Obolus often did, he slept while standing.

Tin Tin giggled, then I did, too.

“Liada!” Hannibal said.

I stood up, still giggling, but also frightened.

“And Tin Tin Ban Sunia, too, I suppose.” He was apparently trying hard to display a feint of anger.

“It is myself,” Tin Tin said as she squeezed my hand.

I knew Hannibal could never be angry with Tin Tin, but me, yes, sometimes he was angry with me, and I had seen how he disciplined his men. I remembered quite clearly how he had humbled Sakul with his sword and javelin, and he had caused Sulobo to receive forty lashes across his back. This punishment Sulobo had always blamed on me.

“Come here,” Hannibal commanded.

I edged closer to Tin Tin as we walked slowly toward him.

“What are you doing?”

At this time, Hannibal was seventeen summers in age, but already a grown man in charge of the elephant training camp at Carthage, where he commanded several thousand men and oversaw the training of a hundred war elephants. Tin Tin was eleven summers, and I was twelve.