The Gryphon's Skull

Before he could warn Menedemos, Nikodromos and Asine started yelling at each other. Sostratos couldn't make out the words, but they both sounded furious. “Charming couple,” Sostratos murmured.

Menedemos grinned. “Aren't they just? Still, though . . . Oh, wait, here comes the priest back again.”

What had he been about to say? Maybe I don't want to know, Sostratos thought. Nikodromos stormed into the andron, his scowl black as moonless midnight. He slapped down half a dozen drakhmai. “There,” he snarled. “Are you satisfied now?”

“Perfectly so, best one,” Sostratos answered. “It is what we agreed to, after all.”

“To the crows with—” Nikodromos began, but he caught himself. Trying to sound civil, he said, “The Huntress will be glad to have the lion-skin cloak.”

“Of course she will.” Menedemos sounded as smooth—and as greasy—as olive oil. Sostratos' suspicions flared; he'd heard that particular conspiratorial tone before. Sure enough, Menedemos went on, “Would you be interested in some fine Rhodian perfume, sir? Or even”—he lowered his voice almost to a whisper—”in emeralds? I've got a couple of fine ones, straight from Egypt.”

“Now why would I want anything like that?” Nikodromos kept the growl in his voice, but leaned toward Menedemos even so.

“You never can tell what will sweeten up a woman,” Menedemos remarked, for all the world as if he hadn't heard—as if the neighbors hadn't heard—the priest and his wife quarreling a moment before.

Nikodromos grunted. “That's true, I suppose.”

“For that matter,” Menedemos added, as if just remembering, “I also have some Koan silk, which is not the sort of stuff every lady in Aigina would be wearing.”

“Do you?” Nikodromos said. Menedemos gravely dipped his head.

Sostratos sat there putting the coins back in their sack and doing his best not to laugh out loud. Nikodromos thought Menedemos was interested in helping him make up with his wife after their fight, and in making some money doing that. Sostratos knew better. Oh, his cousin wouldn't mind making money off Nikodromos. But what Menedemos really wanted was Asine. If he sold Nikodromos perfume or jewels or silk, he would use his visits here to make himself known to her—even if she stayed in the women's quarters while he was around—and to scout out the ground and see what his chances were.

“Maybe you should bring some of these things by, give me a chance to look at them,” Nikodromos said. “Not today: I should take the hide up to the temple now, and I'll be sacrificing through the afternoon. Tomorrow morning, not too early?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Nikodromos agreed. “I'll see you then.”

Nikodromos had hardly closed the door behind them when Sostratos wagged a forefinger under his cousin's nose. “I know what you've got in mind,” he said.

“My dear, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.” But Menedemos' eyes danced. He couldn't make that sound convincing no matter how hard he tried. “Why aren't you swelling up like a toad and telling me what a bad character I am?”

Sostratos had been wondering about that himself. He gave the most honest answer he could: “If anyone ever had it coming, that petty thief of a Nikodromos does.”

“Well, well,” Menedemos said, and then again, “Well, well.” He walked on for a few paces before adding, “There's no guarantee, you know.”

“Don't put yourself in danger,” Sostratos said. “Nikodromos isn't worth it.”

His cousin chuckled. “Of course he isn't. Asine, now, Asine just may be. I'll have to see how it goes, that's all.” He tapped Sostratos on the chest with his finger. “One thing, though.”

“What's that?” Sostratos asked with sinking heart.

“However the other turns out, I expect I'll make a profit from that polluted priest,” Menedemos said.

“Huzzah,” Sostratos said in hollow tones. Menedemos laughed out loud.

Menedemos rubbed his chin. He'd taken care to shave before coming up from the harbor to Nikodromos' house. He'd done a good job; his skin felt almost as smooth as it had when he was a beardless boy. He had on the cleaner of his tunics, too. Nikodromos would interpret all that as being no less than his own due—he had plenty of self-importance. How Asine would interpret it, if she would interpret it at all...

“I'll find out,” Menedemos murmured, and rapped on the priest's door.

Nikodromos opened it himself. With what he'd spent on the lion skin, he'd shown he had plenty of money, but he was too mean to buy a slave to make life easier for himself and his wife. “Hail,” he said now. “Where's your cousin?”

“In the market square, selling to whoever will buy,” Menedemos answered easily. “You, though, best one, you're a special customer, so I'm here to show you these goods with no one else's eyes on them.”

As he'd thought it would, that tickled Nikodromos' vanity. “Come in, come in,” the priest said. He even went so far as to add, “Go on into the andron, and I'll bring you some wine.”