"Oh, yes, of course," I said. "Wasn't there some dispute about who owned the treasure or some such thing?"
"Yes," she replied. "There certainly was. In the end Peter--that's the owner, he's here with us tonight, the older guy at the end of the table--got screwed, but he's trying again. We're going for gold this time."
"That must be very exciting," I said.
"Best job I ever had," she said. "I couldn't believe my good fortune when Peter took me on. Left the desk job, and I've never looked back. My name's Maggie, by the way."
"I'm Lara. Are you the only ones looking for this shipwreck?" I asked in what I hoped was an innocent voice.
"There's another small outfit, a bunch of archaeologists. One of them came down to Sousse a couple of days ago, and accused Peter of sabotaging his operation. Made quite a scene. He was kind of scary, actually. The guy's insane. Why would we bother? We'll find it first. We have all the latest scanning equipment, and if it's down deep, we have an ROV--a remote underwater vehicle, kind of a robot, that can go down for us. All they've got is side scan sonar, and a rather small boat."
"That's sounds just fascinating," I said. "So are you going to be searching in this area?"
"Yes," she replied. "We've been working south of here, out of Sousse, for the last several weeks, and we're gradually working our way north."
"I hope you enjoy the search." Tactful, that. I wasn't about to wish her success, given my association with Briars. "And it's been nice talking to you, Maggie," I said, heading into the cubicle as the young woman packed up her cosmetic bag.
"Same here," she said. "I hope we're not too noisy here, by the way. We usually sleep on the ship out at anchor, so we won't waste any time going out to where we're working during the day. But every now and then we come in to port--we still sleep on the ship, but we get to come ashore for a little RR--and we can get a little carried away."
"No problem," I assured her.
"Enjoy your stay," she said.
Well, that pretty much confirmed Briars's story, as unlikely as it might all sound. The overwhelming impression I had was that Briars was rather outclassed in terms of technology. "It's a crew from a marine salvage company, Jamila," was all I said back at the table.
"There you are," a familiar voice said. We looked up to see four heads peering down at us from the terrace above: Ben, Ed, Emile, and Chastity. The heads vanished and the foursome descended the stairs to our table.
"Thought you could sneak away, did you?" Ben said.
"You can run, but you can't hide," Ed said, and Chastity giggled.
"We were doing some planning for the next few days," I said, rather primly.
"Nice spot. Do you mind if we join you?" Emile asked as the other men moved a table over to ours. Chastity sat between Emile and me, and Ben and Ed took places next to Jamila.
"Dessert, coffee, ladies?" the waiter asked. "Gentlemen?" The waiter was looking very dashing with a sprig of jasmine blossoms behind one ear.
"Coffee for me," Jamila said.
"Me, too," I said.
"Me, three," Ed joined in. "What's that flower you have behind your ear?" he added.
"Jasmine," the waiter replied. "If a man wears it behind his right ear, then he is married. On the left, he is looking for a wife."
"So you're not married," Chastity said.
He smiled. "Let's just say most men in Tunisia wear the jasmine behind their left ear."
"Don't worry," Jamila said. "The feminist wave will sweep my country yet. But perhaps," she added, "not in our lifetime."
"Do you have baklava?" Ben said, referring to the sweet pastry drenched in honey and nuts.
"Of course," the waiter answered. "Three coffees and one baklava."
"You've already had baklava tonight," Ed scolded.
"I know," Ben replied. "I'm conducting a baklava taste test. At the end of the trip, I'll announce the winner."
"I'll have one, too," Chastity said.
"A brandy for me," Emile said.
"I'd like a brandy, too," Chastity said.
"No, you wouldn't," Ben told her.
"You're just like my mother," Chastity sulked. "Okay, I'll have some of that nice tea with nuts in it."
"Pine nut tea," the waiter said.
"Where is your mother?" I asked.
"Headache," she replied. "She's gone to bed. Can I have a cigarette, Emile?"
"No, you can't. I've been put in charge of Chastity," Ben said to me. I thought that might be a tall order. There was something different about Chastity. She'd pulled her hair back into a tight knot, and applied makeup, perhaps more than necessary for someone her age. She was wearing the same little black scoop-neck dress she'd worn the first evening, but she'd pushed the sleeves down past her shoulders to reveal a lot more creamy skin, and I was pretty sure she'd shortened the dress by several inches. She kept crossing and uncrossing her legs rather provocatively.
"We went shopping after dinner," Ed said. "Chastity found a necklace she liked. It was brutal bargaining for it," he added. "Thrust and parry. It took stamina, guts, and determination. For a while I feared defeat, but in the end, the dealer folded, and victory was ours." We all laughed.
"Let's see it," Jamila said, and Chastity carefully unwrapped a tissue package.
"That's lovely," I told her, and it was, a choker of silver beads, some round, some rectangular, interspaced with malachite stones. "Those silver beads are Berber design, Chastity. The one right in the center is supposed to bring you luck, and ward off evil."
"Bravo, Chastity," Ed said. "Excellent choice. Put it on, why don't you?"
"I'll help," I said, but Chastity had already turned to Emile.
"Will you help me, Emile?" she cooed. I looked over at Jamila, who raised her eyebrows. Chastity was growing up very fast, it seemed--something about the way she caressed the choker and her neck. Emile was very careful not to touch her as he put the necklace on, but she maneuvered it so that she brushed his hand. An embarrassed silence followed. CS--Lolita, I thought, just what Kristi wrote. How had I missed all this?
"So, Ben," I said brightly, in an effort to change the subject as quickly as possible. "How are you finding the trip? Is it meeting your expectations? Are you here to study, or just to relax?" My, I sounded perky.
"I'm enjoying myself immensely," he said, digging into the gooey dessert with gusto. "As for your question about study or rest, I guess it's a little of both. I teach classics as you know, and my personal area of study is the Punic Wars and the period leading up to them. You know what I mean by the Punic Wars, Chastity?"
She screwed up her face very prettily for a moment. "Hannibal, and those elephants in the Alps," she said finally.
"Right." He smiled. "The Punic Wars--there were three of them, from 264 and 146 B.C.E.--were between Rome and Carthage. Hannibal was a Carthaginian general."
"The Carthage we've seen?" Chastity asked.
"One and the same. The term Punic has various derivations, but it applies to the Carthaginians during this period of time. So, yes, the location is part of my area of interest, but I'm really here to have a good time. Of course, I'm always on the lookout for material for my book. It's to be my magnum opus, you see. I've been working on it for years."
"What's it about, Ben?" I asked.
"The working title is Past Imperfect."
"Past Imperfect," Jamila repeated. "Is it a history book or a grammar book?"
"I told you," Ed said.
"It's history. Ed is always telling me the title is a problem. But I like it, and until it's finished and a publisher tells me otherwise, Past Imperfect it is. One of the things I think people need to know about history is that it's written, by and large, by the victorious, and even more than that, by the dominant group within that victorious culture--usually the elite, and of course, usually men. For example, almost all the reports we have of the Punic Wars come from Rome. As usual, it's the victors who get to give their version of events, while the vanquished do not. There are really no Carthaginian accounts of the wars and the political situation that led up to them. My theory is that the wars were clearly started by Rome for their own internal political reasons, with little if any provocation on the part of the Carthaginians. Others, I might add, are more tolerant of the Romans than I am. But that, you see, is why I called it Past Imperfect, because our view of the events of history is skewed in this way."