Pride of Carthage Read Online Free PDF Page B

craned his neck around to see, but before he had done so Imilce showed her teeth and nipped the flesh of his shoulder. He spun away from her and then swept back and pressed her to his chest and carried her toward the bed, feet dangling above the floor.
    Later that evening, Hannibal lay upon blankets thrown across the floor. He spread out on his chest, eyes intent on nothing except the folds on the fabric just before him, the ridges and swells of it, the range of peaks that he had plucked up with his fingers and now studied like objects made of stone. Imilce slipped quietly back into the room. She paused to watch him from a dim place against the wall, and then she let her gown drop again. She dipped her fingers into a bowl of flavored water and swept them across her swollen nipples. She moved forward into the lamplight. She climbed on her husband's back and settled with her spine cradled in his, her shoulders resting on the stretch of his back, his buttocks molded into the hollow above hers. Neither spoke for some time, but when Imilce did it was clear enough of what she spoke.
    “So, you are going to do it, are you not? You will attack Rome?”
    “The time is near and I am ready.”
    “Of course you are ready. When were you ever not ready? But Hannibal, I do think you push things too quickly. I will not try to convince you of this. I know your mind is your own, but tell me, love, where will this course lead?”
    “To glory.”
    Imilce stared up at the ceiling as she thought about this. One of the lamps had begun to smoke and a ribbon of black haze floated across the plaster like an eel seeking a home. “Is that all?” she asked. “Glory?”
    “And justice as well. Freedom. And yes, you might ask—vengeance.” Hannibal exhaled a long breath and spoke with a curtness to his words. “I will not have this discussion with you. Imilce, your husband is no normal man. I was born for this. That is all there is to it. I love you too much to be vexed with you; so stop.”
    Imilce rolled over and nestled under his arm. He adjusted to suit her and pulled her in close. “Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” Imilce asked. “It wasn't on our wedding day, as you may think. I spied on you before that. I hid once in the curtains along the walls in my father's court when he was entertaining you. I slit the fabric just enough to look out at you.”
    “You're father would've skinned you alive for that,” Hannibal said.
    “Perhaps, but he was desperate to wed himself to the Barcas. He was not so powerful as you believed.”
    “I know. The Baetis are of little importance now. Perhaps I should throw you to the side and find another bride.”
    Imilce pressed her teeth against the flesh of his shoulder, but otherwise ignored his comment. “I was afraid of you,” she said. “Resting on the couches you looked like a lion so confident in his strength he has only to lie down and stretch to make others tremble. I feared that you would devour me. I thought for a moment that I should step out from behind that curtain and disgrace myself and ruin the marriage plans.”
    “But you did not do that.”
    “No, because as much as I trembled at the thought of you, you pulled me toward you. I felt, perhaps, like an insect so attracted to the light of the torch that it flies into the flame. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
    Hannibal nodded. “At Arbocala I met a young soldier who'd behaved bravely,” he said. “In honor of this I bestowed upon his humble family a plantation outside of Carthage. I gave his people slaves and a small fortune in silver and in the space of a few moments changed their lives forever. That is the power I have because of the things I accomplish. And if I can give all of that to a boy soldier, what is a suitable present for my wife? Not simply treasure. Not more servants. These things are not enough. In two years, you will be able to look from the balcony of this or any other palace you choose