The Gryphon's Skull

“Bargain,” Sostratos said at once. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don't thank me, not till after you know what you talked yourself into.” Ptolemaios turned to Menedemos. “What about you? Do you want to watch Polemaios die, too?”

Menedemos tossed his head. “Not me. What I want is a carpenter.”

As if on cue, the man Ptolemaios had sent out came back into the andron. “Well?” the ruler of Egypt barked at him.

“Your Excellency,” the man replied, “the shipwrights all say these Rhodians have been clinging to them like leeches in a swamp.”

“Oh, they do, do they?” Ptolemaios rumbled. His messenger dipped his head. The marshal pointed at Menedemos. “You'll have your woodworker tomorrow. You can keep an eye on him instead of on Polemaios.”

“Thank you very much,” Menedemos said. “I think that's a better bargain.”

“You and your cousin both want to see things for yourselves,” Ptolemaios said. “You just want to see different things, that's all.” He gestured toward the doorway of the andron. “Go on, get out of here. I've wasted too much time on you,”

“May we beg a torch, to light our way back to the ship?” Sostratos asked.

“Take one from the courtyard.” Ptolemaios gestured again, even more imperiously than before. Sostratos retreated, his cousin on his heels.

Outside, a little twilight still lingered: enough, with the torch, to help the Rhodians find their way. As soon as they were well away from Ptolemaios' residence, Menedemos burst out, “Are you out of your mind?”

“What?” As Sostratos tossed his head, he stepped in something damp and nasty. He scrapped his foot in the dirt to clean it. “No, just curious. Ptolemaios understood that. He understood it better than I thought he would.”

“He understood it wouldn't cost him anything to humor a zany,” Menedemos said.

Sostratos tossed his head again. “No, I don't believe that's what he was thinking. He's read Platon himself. I never would have guessed that of a Macedonian, even if Aristoteles did teach Alexander.”

His cousin walked along for a couple of paces before saying, “Well, maybe it worked out for the best. You did convince him we weren't plotting with Polemaios. And”—Menedemos did a couple of dance steps, his shadow swooping wildly in the torchlight—”we'll get the Aphrodite fixed up.”

“That's good,” Sostratos agreed. “That's very good. We'll finally be able to press on towards Athens.”

“Toward Miletos first,” Menedemos said as they started up the quay. Sostratos swallowed a sigh.

“Gods be praised!” Diokles said when they came aboard the merchant galley once more. “When the soldiers took you away, I didn't know what would happen next.”

“As a matter of fact, neither did we,” Sostratos said. “It's all right, though.”

“It's better than all right,” Menedemos added. “We get a carpenter tomorrow.”

“Euge!” Diokles exclaimed. Then he asked, “What does Polemaios get?”

“Something to drink,” Sostratos answered. “He won't be thirsty afterwards, either.”

“Something to .. . ? Oh.” The oarmaster didn't need long to figure that out. “Well, can't say I'm surprised. You play those games and lose, you pay.”

“Just so,” Sostratos said, and waited for Menedemos to tell Diokles and the handful of sailors aboard the merchant galley what he'd be doing in the morning.

But Menedemos said only, “Kleiteles will be wondering what happened to us. I'll have to send someone over there tomorrow and let him know. I wouldn't have minded another round or two with his slave woman, either.” He shrugged. “Well, it'll be a hard deck tonight, not a soft bed and a wench. Can't be helped, I suppose.” He lay down on the planking as calmly as if there were no such things as beds or women within a thousand stadia.

Diokles went forward to sleep sitting on a rower's bench and leaning against the planking, as he always did when aboard ship. Sostratos took off his chiton, folded it up for a pillow, and lay down beside Menedemos, wrapping a himation around himself for warmth. “Good night, my dear,” he murmured.

“Good night,” his cousin answered. “You'd better not sleep late tomorrow, or you'll miss your big chance.”

He meant it sarcastically, which didn't mean he was wrong. Sostratos said, “You usually wake before I do. Give me a shake if I'm still sleeping.”

“All right, though why you'd want to watch such a thing . . .” Menedemos said no more, but rolled onto his side with his back to Sostratos. In a few minutes, he was snoring. Sostratos stayed awake a little longer, but not much.

Next thing he knew, Menedemos' prodding hand was on his shoulder. The sun hadn't risen. Sostratos needed a moment to remember why his cousin was getting him up so early. When he did, he stopped the feeble complaints he'd been making and said, “Thank you. I know what needs doing now.”