The Gryphon's Skull

And Sostratos couldn't very well argue with that, either. Back before the Persians came, the polis was a hotbed of philosophy; Herodotos said Thales of Miletos had been the first man to predict an eclipse of the sun, an eclipse that also awed the warring Lydians and Medes to make peace with each other. Having seen an eclipse himself the year before, Sostratos understood how one might awe men into almost anything. But these past couple of hundred years, Miletos had been just another city.

Since he couldn't directly disagree, he shifted his ground: “Aren't you curious to see what the philosophers will make of the skull and what they'll be able to learn about gryphons from it?”

“Oh, a little,” Menedemos answered. “What I'm really curious about, though, is how much they'll pay us, and if they'll pay us.”

“The only way to find out is to get to Athens,” Sostratos said. “Not Kos. Not Miletos. Athens.”

“We're sailing tomorrow. Can you be patient that long?”

“I've been patient long enough. I want to know.”

“You sound like me when I'm chasing a pretty girl.”

“That's ridic—” Sostratos broke off. It wasn't ridiculous. It was, when you got down to it, a pretty fair comparison. He did chase knowledge as ardently as his cousin chased women. “Philosophy doesn't have a husband to shove a radish up my arse if he catches me in bed with her.”

“Philosophy won't suck you off, either,” Menedemos retorted. Sostratos' cheeks got hot. He couldn't even complain, not when he'd been crude first. Menedemos laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don't you worry about a thing, my dear. We really do sail tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Sostratos echoed dreamily.

“And believe me,” his cousin added, “I'm as glad to be going as you are.” Sostratos heard the truth in his voice. For the life of him, though, he couldn't figure out why it was there.

If it wouldn't have made people talk, Menedemos would have spent his last night in Rhodes wrapped in his himation on the Aphrodite's poop deck. He would, indeed, have spent most of his nights thus. But someone might have figured out why he was doing so, and gossip with truth behind it was the last thing he wanted.

And so, when he went downstairs before dawn to head for Sostratos' house next door and then down to the harbor, he found Baukis already in the courtyard with some bread and a cup of wine from the kitchen. “Hail,” he said. He couldn't ignore her. She would complain to his father—and she'd have reason—which would only touch off more trouble.

“Hail,” she answered gravely. “A safe trip to you. Come back as soon as you can, and with plenty of silver.”

“Thanks.” Menedemos turned toward the kitchen himself. “I'm going to get some breakfast, too, to eat on the way down to the ship.”

She dipped her head. Everything she did, it seemed, was serious to the point of solemnity. What would she be like, kindled and wanton? Menedemos wondered. Would she burn all the hotter because she's so quiet the rest of the time? He all but fled into the kitchen, running from his own thoughts.

He would have stayed in there, too, hoping she would go back upstairs, but the Aphrodite

wouldn't wait. And if he didn't go get Sostratos, Sostratos would come get him. Out he went, a chunk of bread in his hand.

Baukis remained, still busy with her own breakfast. “Be careful,” she told Menedemos. “All the things we talked about before—they all look like they're coming true. And they're all bad for Rhodes, and they're all bad for trade.”

“I know.” Menedemos tore into the bread, eating as fast as he could. His mouth full, he went on, “But I'll come back. I have to. If I didn't, Father wouldn't have anyone to yell at.”

Baukis drew in a sharp breath. Menedemos realized he hadn't criticized his father where she could hear before. When he'd complained about Philodemos, it had always been to Sostratos ... till now. And complaining about a man to the man's wife was not the ideal way to enlist her sympathy.

She said, “He wants the most for you, from you. Anything less makes him angry.”

And he picks the worst possible ways to try to get it, Menedemos thought. But he didn't say that to Baukis. He stuffed the last of the bread into his mouth, chewed quickly, and swallowed. It scraped down his throat like a boulder. “I'd better go,” he said.

Baukis dipped her head. “Safe journey,” she repeated. “Swift journey, too.”