'Yes, I see.' Menedemos' eyes swept the harbor. 'Looks good, and nobody else seems to be making for it, either.' He pulled one steering-oar tiller forward, the other back, and guided the akatos toward the pier. 'Easy there - easy,' Diokles told the rowers as the Aphrodite came alongside. 'Back oars . . . a couple more strokes, stop her nice and smooth. One more . . . Oop!' The rowers rested. Longshoremen trotted up the pier toward the Aphrodite. Sailors near the bow and stern tossed them lines. They made the akatos fast. 'What are you carrying?' one of them asked in the broad Doric spoken through most of Great Hellas. 'We have papyrus and ink,' Menedemos answered in a loud voice: not only the longshoremen but also the usual gaggle of spectators were listening. 'We have the finest perfume, made from Rhodian roses. We have fine Koan silks and fine Khian wine - not just Khian, mind you, but Ariousian.' That sent a hum through the Tarentines, though Menedemos doubted whether any of the people standing on the wharf could afford the splendid wine. He struck a dramatic pose. 'And, for the very first time ever in this part of the world, we have for sale a peacock, five - uh, four - peahens, and eggs to yield more peafowl.' That produced another buzz, but less than he'd hoped for and expected. A moment later, somebody's question explained why the buzz was subdued: 'Just exactly what kind of a thing is a peacock, anyways?' Before Menedemos could answer, the thing in question let out one of its horrible, raucous screeches. Smiling, he said, 'That's a peacock.' 'You're selling it for its pretty song, right?' a wag in the crowd asked, and got a laugh from the Tarentines. Menedemos laughed, too. He said, 'I'll show you why we're selling it. Sostratos . . .' He waved to his cousin, who'd already gone up onto the foredeck. This would be a free show, unlike the ones they'd put on at other stops. They hoped to do business here. 'Ladies and gentlemen,' Sostratos said, fumbling with the hooks and eyes on the cage, 'behold - the peacock!' He threw open the door. The bird, however, declined to come forth. That drew more laughter. Sostratos muttered something uncomplimentary to every bird ever hatched. Having cared for the peafowl all through the voyage, having finally failed to keep one of them from leaping into the sea, he loathed them with a pure, clean loathing that far outdid Menedemos' dislike for them. 'Behold the peacock!' he repeated, and got ready to drag out the bird by main force. But, perverse as usual, it chose that moment to emerge on its own. And then, instead of running around and making a nuisance of itself as it often did, it peered up at the people on the pier like an actor looking up at the crowd in a theater - and, like an actor taking his cue, spread its tail feathers as wide as they would go. 'Ahhhh!' That was the sound Menedemos had hoped to hear when he announced they had peafowl for sale. It was a little late, but it would do. 'That's a pretty bird, sure enough, but what good is it?' somebody asked. 'If you're pretty enough, you don't have to be anything else,' Menedemos replied. 'What good is a beautiful hetaira?'
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