Over the Wine Dark Sea

deal, as long as you don't hurt her or do anything that makes her worth less. If you do, I'll take you to law, by the gods.'   'I wouldn't,' Sostratos said. 'I'm not somebody who hurts slaves for sport. In fact, I'll even ask her if it's all right.' He turned to Maibia.   She shrugged. 'Why not? You weren't cruel last night, even with wine in you, and your breath doesn't stink.' Such tiny praise -  if that was what it was -  made Sostratos' ears burn. The Keltic girl went on, 'And if you want me enough to bargain for me, I expect you'll be giving me summat every so often to keep me sweet.'   'I . . . expect I will.' Sostratos didn't know why such a mercenary attitude surprised him. What did Maibia have to bargain with, except the favors she doled out?   Lamakhos stuck out his hand. Sostratos clasped it. 'A bargain,' they said together. The brothelkeeper went on, 'I'll pay for this bolt now, and come to the house you're renting for the rest this afternoon or tomorrow.'   'Good enough,' Sostratos said. 'Ah . . . You ought to know we have some stout sailors keeping an eye on things.'   'Everybody knows that, on account of the Samnite,' Lamakhos said. 'I wasn't going to try and rob you.' But he smiled, as if Sostratos had complimented him by thinking he might. In the circles in which he traveled, maybe that was a compliment. 7   Menedemos probably would have gone to Gylippos' house even without a good excuse. He knew that much about himself, from experience: that was how he'd got in trouble with the merchant he'd cuckolded in Halikarnassos. But he had a perfectly good excuse here -  two perfectly good excuses, in fact, which he carried in a canvas sack.   When he knocked on Gylippos' door, the dried-fish merchant's majordomo, a stonefaced Italian of some sort named Titus Manlius, said, 'Hail, sir. My master is waiting for you.' He did speak Greek with an an accent different from Herennius Egnatius', so maybe Sostratos was right in guessing him a Roman.   As Menedemos walked across the courtyard toward the andron, his eye naturally went to the dark corner near the stairs where Phyllis had bent herself forward for him. The corner wasn't dark now, of course, not with the warm sun of southern Italy shining down on it. Menedemos had hoped for a glimpse of Gylippos' wife, but he was disappointed in that. He shrugged as he walked into the andron. He wasn't sure he could have told her from a slave woman, anyhow. All he really knew was that she was short and young -  and friendly, very friendly.   'Hail,' Gylippos said. 'Have some wine. Have some olives.' He pointed to a bowl on the round three-legged table in front of him.   'Thank you.' Menedemos popped one into his mouth, worked off the pulp with his teeth and tongue, and spat the pit onto the pebbles of the floor mosaic.   Gylippos pointed to the canvas sack. 'So those are the chicks, eh?'   'Either that or I've caught a kakodaimon in there,' Menedemos replied with a grin.   The purveyor of dried