The Gryphon's Skull

“See you soon,” the Kean said, and strolled away. Menedemos hated to let the man out of his sight. Would he really come back? Some of the sweat pouring down the merchant's face had nothing to do with the beastly weather. In due course, the Kean did return, this time with a bigger leather sack, which he handed to Sostratos. “Count 'em out, friend. If I'm one or two light, I'll give 'em to you.”

Count them Sostratos did. “As a matter of fact, best one, you're one drakhma over,” he said, and handed the Kean an owl.

“I thank you.” The man popped it into his mouth. It was heavy enough to make his cheek sag slightly. “A pleasure to know I'm dealing with 'onest men.”

He put that extra coin in on purpose, to see what we'd do, Menedemos realized as he passed the Kean the emerald. The fellow might move slowly and talk like a rustic, but he was no fool. Nikodromos had played the same game, but only after he'd been caught cheating himself. This felt different—not nearly so annoying.

“A pleasure to know our goods please you,” Sostratos said.

“You might say so.” The local dipped his head. “Yes, you just might say so. 'Ail, the two of you.” Without any fuss, he turned and ambled out of the market square.

I never even found out his name, Menedemos thought. He called out to the fellow selling raisins: “Ea, friend, who's that man we were doing business with?”

The fellow's eyes got big. “You don't know Kallimedes son of Kallias?” By the way he said it, everybody on Keos knew him. Sure enough, the raisin seller went on, “ 'E's got bigger wheatfields and more olive trees than anybody else on this island, maybe more than everybody else on this island put together—I wouldn't be surprised.”

“No wonder he could afford what we were selling,” Sostratos murmured.

“No wonder at all,” Menedemos whispered back. He asked the man with the basket of raisins, “Was he buying our dainties for his wife or for a favorite hetaira?”

“Kallimedes?” The raisin seller stared again. “You must not know him. Those are bound to be for a pretty boy. 'E's mad for boys, Kallimedes is.”

“Oh,” Menedemos said in slightly crestfallen tones.

“Ha,” Sostratos said. Menedemos tried to step on his foot, but missed. His cousin laughed. Menedemos muttered under his breath. He hadn't really intended doing anything with Kallimedes' wife, if the Kean had one. He'd just asked out of curiosity. And he'd got his answer.

“I think we're done here,” he told Sostratos, who dipped his head in agreement. As they headed back toward the Aphrodite. Menedemos wished he were wearing his sword. He hadn't expected to be carrying so much silver. But he and Sostratos had no trouble. Not even the panting scavenger dogs found a couple of strangers worth barking at.

On board ship, Dionysios son of Herakleitos remained in a foul mood. “You've certainly gone and wasted the best part of the day.”

“Wasted? I should say not, O marvelous one.” Menedemos held up the two sacks of coins he'd got from Kallimedes son of Kallias. “Do you see these? Which do you suppose is more important to me, the business I did here or your paltry fare?”

“Paltry?” Dionysios said. “You've got your nerve, calling it that.”

“Next to this, it is,” Menedemos said. “You'll get to Kos soon enough, but you're out of your mind if you think I won't do business along the way.”

“And you're out of your mind if you think we didn't need fresh water,” Sostratos added. “We're not going to have our rowers fall over dead from working the oars too hard in this heat.”

Dionysios looked back toward Cape Sounion, whose headland was still plainly visible in the west. “I could have swum this far,” he grumbled.

“If you keep complaining, you will swim from here on out,” Menedemos said, no trace of smile on his face. That got through to the passenger, who fell silent.

The following day dawned as hot and bright as the one before. The breeze that came up from the south might have blown from a smithy's furnace. But it was a breeze; Menedemos ordered the akatos' sail lowered from the yard. By the time the sun came up over the eastern horizon, the Aphrodite had left Keos behind.

“Are you going to make Syros tonight?” Sostratos asked.

“I'm going to try,” Menedemos answered. “If the wind holds, we shouldn't have any trouble.”

“And if we don't run into pirates,” his cousin added. Menedemos spat into the bosom of his tunic. After a moment, Sostratos did the same. He went on, “Shall I pass out the weapons again, just in case?”

“Maybe you'd better,” Menedemos said with a sigh.