

From Chapter Four of the third book in the "Hannibal's Elephant Girl" series
​
​
​
Tapaz left the other silver work to her father as she began on the armor for Rocrainum.
​
She began with the wrist guards, getting a feel of how she wanted the artwork to look.
​
Three engraved plates were tossed to the dirt, one after the other.
​
Calogo picked them up and dropped them into the smelting pot to be melted and reused.
​
“This one is very nice, Tappy.” Calogo picked up a fourth piece of engraved silver. “What kind of dog is that?”
​
“Very funny, little brother. That’s a horse.”
​
“Oh.” He dropped it into the bubbling pot of silver.
​
“Make the next plate thicker,” she said.
​
Calogo made a new clay mold, then pulled the stone plug at the bottom of the flume to pour the orange-hot liquid metal into the mold. Using a clay spoon, he dipped off the slag. After the orange glow cooled to ashen white, he tipped it out of the mold and onto a wood plank.
​
Using thick squares of leather, he lifted the new block of silver and placed it on Tapaz’s work table.
​
She tapped the new plate with her small mallet, listening to the ping.
​
Calogo watched her tilt her head, bringing her ear closer.
​
She tapped it again and smiled. “Perfect.”
​
“I’ll make another for you, Tappy.”
​
Ten days after starting on the wrist guard, she had the engraving of her sixth attempt almost finished. The metal plate was still flat; she would warm it after completing the artwork to curve it to fit Rocrainum’s wrist. Then she’d make a matching second one.
​
“There he is,” Calogo whispered from near the fire.
​
Tapaz glanced up to see the officer striding across the market square, coming toward her.
​
She pulled her long, curly hair back and tied it into a knot behind her neck, then wiped the sweat from her face.
​
After rubbing her hands on her thighs, she leaned over her work; carving a curling filigree along the edge of the metal. She tried to calm her pounding heart.
​
“What do you have there?” Rocrainum was just on the other side of her table.
​
“A shoe for a donkey. What does it look like?” She glanced up at him, twisting her face into a scowl, but she felt her cheeks flush.
​
He tilted his head to the side, looking closer. “Well, that donkey will be quite happy with such a beautiful shoe.”
​
She struggled to think of a retort.
​
“Perhaps,” he said, “it could be curved into a shin guard for him.”
​
“Maybe. Why are you in Carthage?”
​
“I came to the slave market.”
​
“To buy a wife?”
​
“Maybe.”
​
She reached for her onglette chisel. “Most men court ladies before asking for their hands in marriage.” She tapped the chisel, cutting a fine, deep line.
​
“I never learned to court.” He picked up her midsized mallet to examine it.
​
“I thought it came naturally…to normal men.”
​
“Those of us who are not normal, purchase a woman, then woo, then marry.”
​
“A bought woman would make a caustic housemate.”
​
“If not charming, then obedient,” he said.
​
“Sounds like you want to marry a dog, or better a cow. Then you would have obedience and milk for your breakfast.”
​
“But not much of a bedmate.”
​
Calogo giggled. When they looked his way, he bent down to stoke the fire.
​
“Try to buy a deaf mute woman. Then you would have an obedient bedmate without idle conversation.” She reached for the mallet in his hand. “Or backtalk. I have work to do.”
​
“Yes.” He let go of the mallet. “The donkey is probably impatient for his shoes.”
​
“He comes braying at me almost every day.”
​
“Does that make you work faster?”
​
“No. I don’t mind the braying; it’s the smell that ruins my day.”
​
He made to leave but then turned back. “You’re going to make someone a wonderful wife.”
​
“I know.” She tapped on the chisel. “The donkey. He promised to bathe before our wedding night.”
​
“How thoughtful.” He turned away. “I’ll be back at the next full moon.”
​
“So soon?”
​
She folded her arms, watching his back for a moment. “Oh, how I hate that man,” she whispered.
​
“Really, Tappy?” Calogo tipped another plate from his mold. “We could have a donkey?”
​
​
​
​
​