The Gryphon's Skull

“What you say may be true, my friend, but that doesn't mean we can throw our money away, either,” Menedemos said. “We couldn't stay in business if we did. And even if I wanted to, my cousin would beat me.” He pointed to Sostratos. “He doesn't look it, but he's terribly fierce.”

Sostratos didn't look fierce. He did look annoyed. He didn't like being twitted. Menedemos didn't let that worry him, not when he was getting a dicker going. Pleistarkhos took Menedemos literally, and eyed Sostratos with a wary respect he hadn't shown before. Nikomakhos seemed more amused than anything else.

“Can't 'ave any beatings,” he said. “Well, what do you suppose a fair price would be?” Then he raised a hand. “No, don't answer that. Why don't you taste some first?” He called for a slave—not the bad-tempered Ibanollis—and told him to bring back samples, and some bread and oil to go with them.

The wine was as sweet and strong as it had been in Ptolemaios' andron. It wasn't the magnificent golden Anousian, but what was? After a few sips, Menedemos said, “I can see how you might get four or five drakhmai for an amphora.”

“Four or five?” Pleistarkhos turned red. “That's an insult!”

His father tossed his head. “No it isn't, son. It's just an opening offer. 'E knows it's worth three times that much, but 'e can't come out and say so.”

“It's a good wine,” Sostratos said. “It's not worth three times what my cousin offered. If you think it is—good luck finding buyers at that price.”

“We can do it,” Pleistarkhos said.

“Maybe so, but we won't be among them,” Menedemos said. “That's the kind of money we paid for the Ariousian last year. This is good, but it isn't that good.”

They haggled for most of the morning. Nikomakhos came down to ten drakhmai the amphora; Menedemos and Sostratos went up as high as eight. And there they stuck. “I'm sorry, my friends, but I don't see 'ow I can sell for any less,” Nikomakhos said.

Menedemos glanced at Sostratos. Unobtrusively, his cousin tossed his head. That fit in with Menedemos' view of things. “I'm sorry, too,” he told the Koan. “I don't think we could show a profit if I went higher. If we were heading off to Italy again, I might take the chance, but not for the towns round the Aegean. If ten's really as low as you'll go . . .”

Very often, a threat like that would make the other side see things your way. This time, Nikomakhos sighed and said, “I'm afraid it is.” He turned to his son. “Sometimes the best bargain is the one you don't make.”

“That's true.” Menedemos got to his feet. So did Sostratos. Menedemos dipped his head to Nikomakhos. “A pleasure to have met you, best one. We often come by Kos. Maybe we'll try again another time.”

Ibanollis the Karian slave was still standing in the courtyard when Menedemos and Sostratos headed for the door. With his dour expression and forward-thrusting posture, he reminded Menedemos oi a frowzy old stork perched on a rooftop. “Waste of time,” he croaked to the Rhodians as they left. Had he stood on one leg, the resemblance would have been perfect.

“Lovely fellow,” Menedemos remarked once they were out on the street.

“Isn't he just?” But Sostratos sounded embittered, not amused. He explained why a moment later: “However charming he is, he was right. We did waste our time, and we could have been—”

“Twiddling our thumbs aboard the Aphrodite,” Menedemos broke in. “You were going to say 'heading for Athens,' weren't you? But you're wrong. We couldn't have sailed this morning anyhow, not unless we wanted to break our promise to the crew, remember? And that was your idea, too.”

“Oh,” Sostratos said in a small voice. “That's right.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I don't feel so bad now about getting Nikomakhos' name from Ptolemaios' steward.”

They walked along toward the harbor. After a while, Menedemos said, “I've been thinking.”

“Euge,”

Sostratos replied, his tone suggesting he was offering the praise because Menedemos didn't do it very often.

Refusing to rise to the bait, Menedemos went on, “I was thinking about the best way to get to Athens from here,”

“Same route we used to pick up Polemaios, of course,” Sostratos said, “though they'll probably be sick of seeing us in the Kyklades.”

“That's what I was thinking about,” Menedemos said. “Those are dangerous waters—we saw it for ourselves. And they're going to be more dangerous than usual. Polemaios' men, or some of them, will be heading this way. I don't want to run into them. The only real difference between mercenaries and pirates is that pirates have ships. When mercenaries take ship, they're liable to turn pirate, too.”

“You have been thinking,” Sostratos said. “That's well put.”

“And, of course, on our way back, the cities of the Island League may have learned we smuggled Antigonos' nephew past them,” Menedemos continued. “Since the league is Antigonos' creature . . .”