The Gryphon's Skull

“Maybe I am.” Menedemos was convinced he'd grown up some years before. He was also convinced his father would never believe it. He asked, “How are things between her and Sikon?” That was a safer question.

His father snorted. “You know cooks. He's convinced he rules the roost. If you try to tell him anything else, he starts screaming that nobody will be able to eat his food any more, and that we'll never manage another proper dinner party again. He spends money as though he stamped it himself.”

“He doesn't steal much,” Menedemos said. “Everything he makes is good. If we can afford good opson, why shouldn't we enjoy it?”

On the instant, Philodemos' features returned to the hard cast Menedemos knew so well. “Yes, if. If, on the other hand, mullet and squid and dogfish bankrupt us, then we should keep a closer eye on what he spends. You may not care about such things—”

“Who says I don't?” Menedemos broke in.

His father ignored him. “—but Baukis believes in watching where the drakhmai go. We still eat well, but we'll have some silver left for you to squander when you do come into your inheritance.”

“That's not fair. I'm making us money,” Menedemos said.

“Less than last year,” Philodemos said again.

Menedemos made as if to tear his hair. “Last year you called me an idiot for taking some of the chances I took. I took fewer chances this year, and we made less money. Now you complain about that! How can I please you?” It's simple, he thought. / can't.

“Lower your voice. Do you want the slaves hearing all our business?” Philodemos said.

“No.” All Menedemos wanted was to get away. That was generally true whenever he talked with his father. It had been true before Philodemos wed Baukis, and was doubly true these days. Now he wanted—he needed—to escape Rhodes altogether, not just the andron or the house. And he would be stuck here till spring. With a growl that might have come from the throat of a cornered wolf, he got to his feet. “If you'll excuse me, Father...”

He went into the kitchen, where Sikon was expertly shucking boiled prawns out of their shells. The cook was chewing as he worked, which meant he'd sampled a few, or maybe more than a few. Philodemos fed his slaves well; he wouldn't mind that. And who'd ever heard of a scrawny cook, or at least of a scrawny cook worth having?

But when the door opened, Sikon looked up in alarm. When he saw Menedemos coming in, he relaxed. “Gods be praised, it's just you, sir. I was afraid it might be the lady.” He rolled his eyes and let his head twist bonelessly in a gesture he must have filched from the comic stage.

“She'll learn,” Menedemos said uncomfortably. He didn't like to hear anyone criticize Baukis. That had little to do with her position as manager of the household, much more with the position he would have liked her to . .. Stop that! he shouted at himself, as he did several times a day.

Sikon, of course, had no idea what he was thinking. Had the cook known, he wouldn't have dared roll his eyes again and say, “Maybe she will, but when? And will she drive me daft before she does? She fusses over every obolos I spend.”

“You've got to make her happy,” Menedemos said, and sternly told himself not to pursue that line of thought, either.

“Make her happy?” Sikon howled, peeling another prawn. “How am I supposed to manage that, short of serving nothing but barley porridge for the next six months? I think her mother must have been frightened by a tunny while she was in the womb.”

Menedemos pointed to the prawn shells and the tiny bits of flesh clinging to them. “Instead of throwing those in the street in front of the house, why don't you give them to her to bury in the garden? They'll make her flowers and herbs grow better, and she's bound to like that.”

“Is she? If you want to know what I think, I think she's more likely to grill me about how much the polluted prawns cost,” the cook said. As Menedemos did when his temper began to rise, he drummed his fingers on the outside of his thigh. Sikon recognized the danger sign. “All right, all right. I'll give them to her, and I hope it does some good, that's all I've got to say.”

It wasn't all he had to say, nor anywhere close to it. And he said still more when Menedemos reached out and hooked a fat prawn from the bowl into which he'd been tossing them. Mouth full, Menedemos retreated.

A moment later, he wished he hadn't: Baukis had come down from the women's quarters and was picking up a hydria so she could water the garden. “Hail,” she called to him.

“Hail,” he answered. His gaze flicked to the andron. Sure enough, his father still sat inside. He would have to be all the more careful about what he said, then.

But before he had a chance to say anything, Sikon stormed out of the kitchen, both hands full of prawn shells. He all but threw them at Baukis' feet. “Here you are, my lady,” he said. “They'll make good manure for the plants, I hope.”