Over the Wine-Dark Sea

Still, he might have been more at ease than Diokles. The oarmaster didn't come from a circle where symposia came along very often, if at all. His chiton and himation were good enough, but, a seaman to the core, he'd arrived at Sostratos' house barefoot. And he kept fidgeting on his couch, trying to find a comfortable position in which to recline.

To Sostratos' relief, the symposiasts had chosen his father as symposiarch. "Let it be five parts of water to two of wine," Lysistratos declared. No one could possibly complain about that, and no one did: it was the perfect mixture, not too strong, not too weak.

On the couch next to Sostratos and Menedemos reclined an olive farmer named Damophon. Like any prosperous landowner, he took symposia for granted. He didn't grumble at the mixture, but did chuckle and say, "I'll bet you boys drank stronger than that in Great Hellas. When the Italiotes put on a revel, they don't do it by halves. That's what everybody says, so I expect it must be true."

"Shall we talk of what people say and what is so?" Sostratos asked. But, at the same time, Menedemos also spoke up: "I'll say we did. This one affair in Taras"  - the only symposion they'd been to in Great Hellas, but he didn't mention that -  "it was one of wine to one of water till nobody could see straight."

Damophon paid no attention to Sostratos, but whistled at Menedemos' words. "One to one will do that, all right, and do it fast." Slaves passed out cups of the mixed wine. The olive grower sipped. He whistled again. "That's mighty fine stuff, that is -  mighty fine."

Several other symposiasts were saying the same thing. Lysistratos smiled. He coughed a couple of times to draw men's eyes to him, then said, "That's Ariousian brought from Khios by my son and my nephew. We should thank the Italiotes and the Italian barbarians for being too ignorant to buy quite all of it, and for leaving this amphora for us to enjoy tonight."

The cheers that rose from the couches in the andron were louder and more fervent than might have been expected for so early in the evening and so mild a mixture. "Euge, Sostratos! Euge, Menedemos!" Xanthos called. "As I was saying in the Assembly the other day - "

Sostratos' father overrode the fat bore: "Since we've gathered together here to drink and to welcome Sostratos and Menedemos back to Rhodes after their safe and prosperous journey to the west"  - more applause interrupted him -  "my thought was that tonight we would speak of others who are on journeys or have returned from them, so that the long absent may be called to mind again."

Menedemos chuckled. "No dirty stories, not when your father's running things."

"If you need that sort of thing at every symposion, my dear, go off and live in Great Hellas," Sostratos answered. Neither spoke loud enough for Lysistratos to notice.

As was the custom, the guests began at the far end of the semicircle from the couches Sostratos and Menedemos and their fathers shared. Diokles, by then, had drunk enough wine to blunt his shyness at drinking with men more prominent than he. He told a fine tale of shipwreck and rescue on the Lykian coast. Another man spoke of a brother who'd set off with Alexander and come back years later short an eye and three fingers on his right hand. Xanthos gave forth with an endless story that seemed to have no point whatsoever. Damophon told of ransoming his father, who'd been captured on a trading voyage by pirates from Crete.

And then it was Sostratos' turn. He rose. Dipping his head to Damophon, he said, "I don't think any man here would shed a tear if Crete sank into the sea, as the divine Platon says the island of Atlantis did in days gone by." No one contradicted him. Several men clapped their hands. He went on, "You meet Rhodians all over the Inner Sea. Menedemos and I ran into one on our journey to Great Hellas. Instead of making a long speech"  - Xanthos wouldn't get the point of that, worse luck -  "I was wondering if anyone here could tell me more about a soldier named Alexidamos son of Alexion."

Menedemos started to say something, then checked himself. Sostratos had only named Alexidamos; he hadn't told anyone what the mercenary had done, or even that he'd done anything. After stopping to think, Menedemos whispered, "Sly."

Sostratos bent down and whispered back: "You know me -  I always want to find out."

"Alexidamos son of Alexion?" Damophon said. "A good-sized fellow a little older than you are, Sostratos, with a scar across his nose?"

"That's the man," Sostratos agreed, and didn't say anything about how he'd drastically revised Alexidamos' nose in Kallipolis.

"Alexion died five or six years ago," Damophon said. "I used to buy fish from him. Instead of taking his father's boat out, Alexidamos sold it and used the silver he got to buy his weapons. He said soldiering had to be an easier way to make a living than fishing. Where did you meet him?"