"Be that as it may, we do know these people controlled much of the trade in the Mediterranean from a city-state called Tyre, located in what is now Lebanon. They were fabulous sailors, having mastered the art of celestial navigation, and knowing intimately the currents and winds of the Mediterranean Sea. No other nation at that time could touch them on the seas.
"At this time, there was a king in Tyre called Mattan. He had a daughter and a son, and he made his wishes quite clear. On his death, Tyre was to be ruled jointly by both of them. You could say he was a man ahead of his time. When he died, though, the people wanted just one ruler."
"Could you possibly guess which one they picked?" Marlene said.
"The people chose the son," Briars went on.
"No kidding," Marlene sneered. "I would never have guessed that, would you?" Her face was framed against the backdrop of the ancient city, the bright sun behind her casting part of her face in shadow. Marlene, I realized, was in the grip of what might be permanent cynicism, which was etching itself into bitter lines about her mouth and eyes. Chastity cringed at her mother's tone.
"The son's name was Pygmalion," Briars said. The wind ruffled his hair, what was left of it, that is. He was an attractive man, in a burly, outdoorsy kind of way, his face and forearms freckled from so much time spent outdoors--a kind of maleness that draws a woman. Nora noticed it, too. For a moment she gave him her undivided attention. Then Cliff and Catherine shared a chuckle, and hearing them, Nora turned away from Briars and returned to Cliff's side, as if reminded of her duty.
"Pygmalion!" Chastity exclaimed. "I've heard of him." I noticed with relief that she looked interested for the first time since we left home.
"His sister's name was Elissa," Briars continued. "Elissa was married to the high priest of Tyre, a man by the name of Zakarbaal. The high priest would have been the second most powerful person in Tyre, after the king. Perhaps Pygmalion thought Zakarbaal a threat, or maybe he was just plain greedy. In any event Pygmalion had Zakarbaal killed. Elissa fled the city with some of her followers, and headed to sea. She stopped first in what we now call Cyprus, added a number of temple priestesses to her retinue; then after sailing from port to port, eventually found this spot on the north coast of Africa.
"When she and her followers arrived here, they were welcomed by the inhabitants, led by a Libyan chieftain named Hiarbas. In this case, the term Libyan refers to one of the groups of people living here when the Phoenicians arrived. Elissa asked to buy some land, and Hiarbas agreed to sell her as much territory as could be covered by the hide of an ox. Elissa, a clever woman and never one to back down from a challenge, cut the hide into the narrowest of strips and encircled this hill, which is called Byrsa now, after the Greek word for ox hide. It was here, on this hill that, in the year 814 B.C.E., she founded what was called Qart Hadasht, or new city, the place we now call Carthage. Qart Hadasht was not the first city the Phoenicians founded on the shores of North Africa, nor would it be the last. But it was unquestionably the most important, eventually outstripping its parent, Tyre, in both grandeur and power. Its people, now called Carthaginians, dominated the Mediterranean for many hundreds of years. It was to become a cultured, cosmopolitan city of temples and marketplaces, ateliers and beautiful homes. And it was strong enough to hold off even the Roman juggernaut for a very long time."
"I thought you said this was tragic," Chastity pouted. The others laughed. She flushed with anger or embarrassment.
"Wait," Briars said, smiling at her. "For a while the two peoples, the Phoenicians and the native Libyans, lived in harmony. The woman who had been Elissa in Tyre, became known as Dido, or the wandering one, in North Africa, and it is by this second name that she has come down to us through history. Then Hiarbas decided he wanted to marry Elissa. She, still loyal to her dead husband, refused him. When his entreaties failed, he resorted to threats, saying if she didn't agree, he would kill all her followers. Elissa built a huge bonfire for what looked to be a great ceremony. And a great ceremony it was. Try to picture it: all the people gathered to see the lighting of the great fire, Dido in the magnificent robes of city founder. Perhaps off in the distance, Hiarbas and his followers stood watching and waiting, Hiarbas, in eager anticipation of the prize that was about to be his. And then, as the flames licked at the wood, crackling and spitting and soaring higher and higher, Elissa Dido threw herself into the flames, which became her funeral pyre. Rather than submit to Hiarbas, rather than betray her dead husband, Dido sacrificed herself."
"Tragic enough for you, Chastity?" Ed joked. But Chastity stood transfixed by the story. As I watched her, a single tear left the corner of one eye and began its journey down her cheek. She was a lonely and impressionable young girl.
"The astounding thing about this story," Briars went on, "is that parts of it may actually be true. While the archaeological evidence to date goes back only as far as the eighth century, it is close enough to give some credence to the stories of Carthage's founding. We do know that there was political upheaval in Tyre during Pygmalion's reign, and we know that he ruled at the time traditionally given as the founding of Carthage. We also know that sacrifice by fire was an important ritual for the Carthaginians, that in times of great danger they may even have sacrificed their own children, and that the wife of the last leader of Carthage threw herself into the flames, along with her children, rather than be taken by Rome at the fall of the city in 146 B.C.E. Be that as it may, Dido's story--her journey, her steadfast love for her husband, her courage, and her tragic death--has resonated through the ages.
"The Romans liked the story, of that we are certain, because they adopted it as their own, with some variations that suited their particular egotistical view of history. To the average Roman citizen, Rome was, let's face it, the center of the universe," Briars said, smiling.
"Writing in the first century B.C.E., Virgil, one of the great storytellers and poets of ancient Rome, began his tale of the foundation of Rome with the words, Arma virumque cano, of war and a man I sing, and tells the story of Aeneas, a Trojan, who flees the defeat of Troy at the hands of the Greeks, and sets sail, later to found Rome. Fato profugus, exiled by fate, multum ille et terris iactatus, much tossed about, buffeted, on land and sea, as Virgil describes it, Aeneas arrives on these shores to be welcomed by Dido herself. In this version of the story, Juno, consort of the Greek god Zeus, casts a spell on Dido, under the influence of which the Queen of Carthage falls madly in love with the dashing Aeneas, only to be left behind when duty calls and he sets sail again to meet his destiny. Overcome with grief at his betrayal, Dido casts herself into the flames." Briars paused for a moment. "Now let's go and have a look around the site, before you proceed from ancient Carthaginian rituals to modern-day Tunisian commerce with Lara and Jamila, who will be taking you on a tour of the medina or marketplace." Everyone laughed.
"T HE FORMAL PART of our tour of the Medina of Tunis ends here," I told the group sometime later. "You now have some time to explore on your own, shop a little if you want to, or just sit in a coffee house and watch the world go by.
"I have maps of the area for each of you," I said, handing them around. "You are here," I explained, holding up a map and pointing, "in the Souk des Chéchias, so if any of you want to buy one of the red skull caps, the chéchia, this is the place to do it. Also, right over there," I said, pointing once again, "is the Café Chaouechin, the oldest coffee house in Tunis. There's also Café Mrabat in Souk el Trouk, the souk of the Turks, which is over that way. The café is actually built right over the tomb of a saint. For the more adventurous among you, there are some public baths in the medina; they're called hammams. Most are for men, but there is one that has women's hours about now," I said, checking my watch. "You would be sampling a very important part of Tunisian life, if you opt for the baths. You'll recognize them from the very distinctive red doorways." From the shaking of heads, I gathered that public baths were not a popular option.