Compared to its counterpart back in Carthage, the Sophet’s new villa was a humble single-story affair, perhaps half the size of the original. Some saplings and shrubs from the forest had been transplanted to decorate its front courtyard, and a rectangular pit had been excavated in the middle for a pool, but they had yet to cover it with tiles and put water in. Behind the whitewashed wooden columns that hemmed in the courtyard, the walls were painted blue and red with images of green palm trees and African wildlife such as elephants, lions, and leopards. No other piece of decorative artwork Isceradin had seen recently could clash more with the autumnal tone of the world outdoors.
Absalon was waiting for him on a beach under the shade of an immature oak tree at the courtyard’s far edge. The old Sophet poured an oily substance from a bottle onto the hairless top of his pate and smeared it into the skin, a habit Isceradin had seen him do more than once before.
“You don’t actually think that will make your hair grow back, do you?” Isceradin asked.
“So far, it hasn’t, but a man can keep on trying,” Absalon said. “Good of you not to keep me waiting, Iberian. How is family?"
“They’re doing all right, though I can tell the wife doesn’t like the change in season here.”
“Neither do I. It was so hot a month or two ago, and now it’s almost like Britain or Gaul. Peculiar how these northern climes can fluctuate so much over the year.”
After he was done with the oil, Absalon picked up a pipe of Inu’naabe make and puffed on it, letting out little acrid clouds of smoke which Isceradin fanned away. A lot of Carthaginian men were picking up that as a habit, even going as far as to plant tobacco in the fields they had cleared outside the city. Not only was Isceradin starting to find the pollution from that noxious, but a lot of the men who engaged in it had come down with bad cases of constant coughing, wheezing, and pain in the chest. But at least it must have made them warmer in this weather.
“I have to hand it to those Atlanteans, this tobacco may be one of the best indulgences they’ve ever taught us,” Absalon said. “I swear, once you try it, you can’t go without it anymore. Speaking of the Atlanteans, my Iberian-descended citizen, we appreciate all you’ve done in building rapport with the ones who call themselves Inu’naabe. You almost have them eating out of our hand.”
“I wouldn’t describe our relations with them that way,” Isceradin said. “We’ve depended on them as much as they’ve depended on us. They’ve shown us the layout of the land, what we can gather and hunt in it, what we can grow here, and so much more. They are, for all intents and purposes, our equals.”
“And yet we still have much that they do not. Before we came over here, they had no livestock, no tools of iron, no horses or elephants to ride into battle, not even the wheel. You yourself have admitted they have formidable enemies in this land, such as—what did they call them—the Shaw-na-wak-ee?”
“You mean the Shaawanaki?”
“Of course, that’s what I meant. Which is why I’ve drafted an offer I would like you to propose to them. How about, we declare them, the Inu’naabe people, a protectorate of our colony?”
“A protectorate? You mean make them our subjects?”
“In a sense, yes. But I prefer to think of it as, well, protecting them from enemies like the Shaawanaki. Of course, we need to make the arrangement quid pro quo, as the Romans would say.”
“Quid pro quo? They already give us as much as they can, my Sophet. What more could we ask of them?”
“Well, their loyalty, for one. Also, their service in our wars. And, as generous as the Atlanteans have been thus far, we can get even more out of them through obligation, through tribute…”
“You mean, through taxation and exploitation. What if they refuse?”
The corner of Absalon’s mouth moved up in a half-smile. “Then, for once since we’ve landed here, we put our forces to good use. It shouldn’t be too hard. We might even impress the Shaawanaki, while we’re at it.”
Isceradin paused, the blood in his veins coursing colder than the autumn winds. “Have you talked to Himilco or the Senate about this?”
“Truthfully, I don’t need that fat fool’s input, or that of the Senate, if I can talk to you myself. Here, why don’t you have this in exchange?”
The Sophet took out a leather purse and poured a sparkling pile of gold coins onto his palm.
“I don’t need any of that,” Isceradin said. “My wife makes plenty of shekels for us already.”
“Then you don’t understand how much of a difference even more coin can make. With this sort of payment, my friend, you could buy yourself a respectable position in the Senate, or maybe the army. You might even become a Sophet like me, or a fearsome general like Hannibal Barca.”
Isceradin studied his own reflection on the coins. He had never fancied himself much of a politician, but a warrior and commander on par with the great Hannibal himself was another matter. Why, if he could buy and train his way into a higher position of leadership, he might even succeed where Hannibal had failed. He could be the one to beat back the Roman menace, ensuring Carthaginian security once and for all.
“I will try,” he said. “I can’t promise they will agree to it.”
“Like I said, we will take care of that then,” Absalon said as he trickled the coins from his hand into Isceradin’s.