The Gryphon's Skull

Khremes pointed north and west, toward the military harbor. “If you don't find one of the admirals at the ship sheds, I'd be mighty surprised. And, by the gods, I think this is something they need to hear.”

“Come with me, will you?” Menedemos said, suddenly and uncharacteristically modest. “After all, you're one of the men who'd have to build a trihemiolia, if there were to be such a thing.”

The carpenter stuck the hammer on his belt, carrying it where a soldier would have worn a sword. “Let's go.”

Ship sheds lined the military harbor: big, wide ones that held the fives Rhodes used to defend herself against other naval craft; smaller ones for the triremes that hunted pirates. When not on patrol or on campaign, war galleys were hauled up out of the water so their hulls stayed dry and light and swift.

A few guards tramped back and forth by the ship sheds. When Menedemos and Khremes came up to one of them and asked their question, the fellow dipped his head, which made the crimson-dyed horsehair plume on his helmet nod and sway. He pointed with his spear. “Yes, as a matter of fact, Admiral Eudemos just went into that shed there. The Freedom's been having trouble with her sternpost, and he wants to make sure they got it fixed.”

When Menedemos walked into the shed that housed the five, his eyes needed a few heartbeats to adjust to the gloom. He heard Eudemos before spotting him up on the deck of the war galley: “You really think she's sound this time?” he was asking a carpenter.

“Yes, sir, I do,” the man answered.

“All right. She'd better be,” Eudemos said. “Nothing much wrong with having trouble—that's going to happen. But taking three tries to fix it? That's a shame and a disgrace.” He noticed Menedemos and Khremes at the mouth of the shed and raised his voice to call out to them: “Hail, the two of you. What do you need?”

For a moment, Menedemos didn't know what to say. Come on, fool, he told himself. You've got something to sell, same as you would in the agora. That steadied him. “Sir, I've had an idea that might interest you,” he said.

“It's a good one, Admiral,” Khremes added.

“That you, Khremes?” Eudemos said. He might not have recognized Menedemos' voice, but he knew the carpenter's at once. “You've got pretty good sense. If you say it's worth listening to, I'll hear it.”

He came down the Freedom's steeply sloping gangplank and hurried toward Menedemos and Khremes. Menedemos got the notion he did everything in a hurry. He was somewhere in his forties, with a graying beard, a jutting nose, and hard, watchful eyes. “Ah, Philodemos' son,” he said to himself, placing Menedemos. “All right— you know a little something about ships, anyway. Say on.”

Menedemos did, finishing, “Too many pirates get away. If we had some ships like these, maybe some of them wouldn't. That's what I'm hoping for.” He waited to see how Eudemos would take the idea.

The admiral had heard him out without giving any sign of what was in his mind. Once Menedemos finished, Eudemos said not a word to him, instead turning to Khremes and asking, “Can we build such ships?”

“Yes, sir,” the carpenter answered. “Yes, sir, without a doubt we can. They might even be cheaper than ordinary triremes. You'd want 'em light—you wouldn't close in the whole deck or build on an oarbox of solid planks, so you'd save timber.”

That got Eudemos' attention. “I—see,” he said, and turned back to Menedemos. “You've given me something new to think about, and that doesn't happen every day. A whole new class of warship . . . Euge!”

“I was just passing the time of day with Khremes when I said something that struck both of us,” Menedemos said. “That was when we came looking for you.”

Eudemos briskly dipped his head. “Having a good idea is one thing. Knowing you've had a good idea is something else again. People have lots of good ideas when they're just passing the time of day. Usually, they keep right on talking and forget all about them. You didn't. A trihemiolia, eh?” He tried the unfamiliar word, then dipped his head again. “A lot of pirates may be sorry you didn't, too.”

“By the gods, I hope so,” Menedemos growled.

“Yes, you're another one who got attacked, aren't you?” the admiral said.

“I certainly am, sir.”

“Well, as I say, the pirates who struck you and a lot of their mates may be sorry they did it. That may prove one of the most important bits of piracy since Paris stole Helen, but not the way the pirates had in mind.” Eudemos sounded as if he thought it was.

Sostratos thought it was one of the most important bits of piracy of all time, too, on account of that polluted gryphon's skull, Menedemos thought. But then, the admiral has to think straighter than my cousin.