The Gryphon's Skull

“Is he?” Kleiteles said in a slightly crestfallen voice. He'd had his news . . oh, not quite turned false, but at least weakened. With a little thought, Menedemos might also have remembered to whom Ptolemaios was married. He didn't think he would have come out and said so, though. Relentless precision could make a man harder to get along with.

But the proxenos, fortunately, didn't seem much offended. After a few sips of wine, his smile came back like the sun returning from behind a small cloud. He called for a slave, spoke briefly to the man, and sent him away. The fellow returned a bit later, saying, “Everything is ready, master.”

“Good, good. Go on off to bed, then—we won't need you any more tonight,” Kleiteles said. The slave nodded and disappeared. Kleiteles turned to the Rhodians. “I know you've had a busy day. Your rooms are waiting for you.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Menedemos said, and drained his cup. He wouldn't have minded drinking a bit longer, but he knew a hint when he heard one. Sostratos might not have, but did own wit enough to get to his feet when Menedemos did. He cast a last glance at the jackdaw as Kleiteles led them out of the andron and into the courtyard.

A couple of torches flickering there gave the wineseller enough light to lead the two cousins back to their rooms. “Have a pleasant evening,” he said, “and I'll see you in the morning.” Off he went, whistling a bawdy tune.

“Good night,” Sostratos said, and went into one of the chambers.

“Good night,” Menedemos replied, and went into the other.

The room held a stool, a small clay lamp perched on it, and a bed. The bed held a woman not far from Menedemos' age—one of Kleiteles' slaves, without a doubt. She smiled at him. “Hail,” she said.

“Hail,” Menedemos answered with a smile of his own. He wondered if Sostratos had company in his bedroom, too. Probably. Kleiteles was indeed a considerate host. “What's your name, sweetheart?”

“I'm called Eunoa,” the woman answered.

“Well, Eunoa, get out of your chiton, and we'll go on from there.” Menedemos pulled his own tunic off over his head. As soon as the woman was naked, too, he lay down on the bed beside her. He took her hand and set it on his manhood, while he kissed and caressed her breasts and rubbed Her between the legs. As most women did, she'd singed off the hair there; her flesh was soft and very smooth.

Presently, Menedemos stood her up and had her lean forward against the bed. He poised himself behind her. He was about to thrust home when she looked back over her shoulder and said, “I wish I didn't have to worry about making a baby.”

He could have ignored her. She was there to do as he wanted, not the other way around. But he shrugged and said, “Bend a little more, then,” and, after spitting on himself to ease the way a little, went in at the other door. “There. Is that better?”

“I... suppose so,” Eunoa answered. “It does hurt some, though.”

“It was your choice,” Menedemos said, not pausing to wonder whether she'd had a choice about coming to his bed. He went on. It didn't hurt him at all: on the contrary. After he finished, he patted her round bottom. “Here, dear, this is for you,” he said, and gave her a couple of oboloi. “You don't need to tell Kleiteles you got them from me.”

“Thank you,” Eunoa said. “It wasn't so bad.” The little silver coins evidently made it a good deal better.

Menedemos had thought they would. He lay down on the bed. “Sleep with me. We'll do it again in the morning, whichever way you like.” He didn't say he would give her more money then, but he didn't say he wouldn't, either. She lay down willingly enough. The bed was narrow for two, but not if they snuggled together. His arms around the slave girl, Menedemos fell asleep.

Sostratos woke up when the woman Kleiteles had lent him for the night almost kicked him out of bed. He had to clutch at the frame to keep from landing on the floor. His sudden motion woke the slave up, too. They both needed a moment to remember what they were doing there lying side by side. Sostratos needed another moment to remember her name. “Good day, Thestylis,” he said when he did.

“Good day, sir,” she answered, sitting up and yawning. Her breasts sagged a little; her nipples were wide and dark. He guessed she'd borne a child before. Maybe it hadn't lived. When he reached out and idly stroked her, she said, “Just a minute, sir. Let me use the pot first, if you don't mind.”

He wasn't sure he wanted her again till she said that. Then he decided it would be a nice way to start the day. “Go ahead,” he told her. “And after you're done, I'll use it myself. And then . . .”

But he'd just set down the pot when brisk footsteps resounded out in the courtyard. Someone knocked first on his door, then on the one beside it it, the door to Menedemos' room. Thestylis let out a startled squeak. She plainly hadn't expected anyone to disturb them so early; the light leaking out through the shutters was predawn gray.