The Gryphon's Skull

“My dear, they're fighting with one another for the chance to get their hands on my little green stones,” Menedemos said. “I sold two medium-good ones—not the finest, mind you—for ten minai.”

“By the dog of Egypt!” Sostratos exclaimed—the right oath for gems coming out of Ptolemaios' realm. “That's almost twice what we paid for the lot of them.”

“I know,” Menedemos said happily. “And once the fellows who didn't buy take a look at the stones and decide they have to have some, too .. . We really may clear more than a talent from them.”

“Who can buy from the jewelers at such prices, though?” Sostratos asked, “Are there that many rich Milesians?”

“I don't think so,” his cousin answered. “But Antigonos has plenty of rich officers.”

“Ah,” Sostratos said. “That's true. And they'll have wives for whom they'll want rings or pendants—or else hetairai to whom they'll have to give presents.”

Menedemos dipped his head. “You're beginning to understand.”

At another time, his sarcastic tone would have irked Sostratos. His thoughts were elsewhere now. He wished he had a counting board, but managed well enough without one; along with his fine memory, he'd always had a knack for mental arithmetic. When he came out of his study, he found Menedemos looking at him oddly. He'd seen that particular expression on his cousin's face once or twice before. A little sheepishly, he asked, “How long was I away?”

“Not very long,” Menedemos answered, “but I said something to you and you never heard me. What were you thinking about so hard?”

“Money,” Sostratos said, a word that was enough to seize Menedemos' attention by itself. “If you can bring in a talent or so for those emeralds, and. if I keep getting the prices I've been getting for the silk, we'll turn a profit on this run yet.”

“And you would have flung me into the sea for wanting to come here instead of making straight for Athens,” Menedemos said.

“We might have done just as well for ourselves there,” Sostratos said. “We probably would have with the emeralds; Athenian jewelers have Kassandros' officers to sell to, as the Milesians have Antigonos'. And there's the gryphon's skull,”

“So there is.” To Sostratos surprise, Menedemos chuckled and patted him on the back. “I'm all finished arguing about that with you. You want to take it over to a bunch of other men who'll stand around looking at it and thinking so hard, they can't even hear.”

Sostratos kissed him on the cheek. “You do understand!” he exclaimed. Only later did he realize that his cousin's description of the philosophers of the Lykeion might have been imperfectly flattering.

Menedemos said, “I can't stay, my dear. I'm going to the ship, and then back to talk to some more jewelers. And who knows? One of them may turn out to have a pretty wife.” He hurried off before Sostratos could even begin a gasp of horror.

Swallowing a sigh, Sostratos went back to calling out the virtues of the silk he was selling. He did that on purpose, he thought. He wanted to make me jump, and he did. But he also knew that, if one of the jewelers did turn out to be married to a women whose looks Menedemos liked, he might try to seduce her. And if he does, we may have to head for Athens sooner than he wants. Sostratos tossed his head. They were doing such good business here, they really needed to stay a while. And he wanted to be able to come back to Miletos next year or the year after.

A plump man wearing a chiton of snowy linen and sandals with gold buckles came up and waited to be noticed. “Hail,” Sostratos said: the fellow looked prosperous enough to make him hope he was a customer. “Would you be interested in buying some silk?”

“ 'Ail,” the man replied, his accent not just Ionian but something else, something that told Sostratos he wasn't a Hellene. “Not for myself, no. But I 'ave come to tell you that my mistress may well be, if you 'ave what she wants.”

“Your. . , mistress?” Sostratos hoped his startlement didn't show.

Few Milesians dressed as well as this fellow; Sostratos had assumed he had money of his own. If he was someone's slave, how much money did his owner have?

“Yes, sir,” the plump man said. “My mistress is Metrikhe, who is well known in Miletos. She might be interested in your silk, if you 'ave any fine enough. For . . . professional purposes, you understand.”

“Yes,” Sostratos said. A hetaira. She has to be, he thought. And one of the very rich ones, if she can afford a slave like this. “I'll be happy to show you what I've got here.”

“Thank you, sir, but not to me.” The plump man shook his head, again proving himself no Hellene. “If you would bring it to my mis­tress' house, though ...”