' 'Whoever isn't altogether disgusted with such a man Will never drink from the same wine cup with us.' ' 'Nor with me.' Sostratos raised an eyebrow. 'I read the historians, and try to remember things they say that will help us when we trade. You read Aristophanes, and what do you remember? The filthiest parts, that's what.' 'If you're going to read Aristophanes, that's the stuff worth remembering,' Menedemos said. 'And I read Homer, too, and there's nothing filthy about him.' He glared a challenge at Sostratos. His cousin was so infected with radical modern ideas, he might even try to argue about that. But, to Menedemos' relief, Sostratos dipped his head. 'Nothing wrong with Homer.' 'And nothing wrong with Aristophanes, either,' Menedemos said stoutly. 'He's just different from the poet.' Wherever Hellenes lived - a vast stretch of ground indeed these days, after Alexander opened the whole of the east - Homer was the poet. 'You're looking for a quarrel,' Sostratos said. Menedemos didn't deny it. If a quarrel would shake Sostratos out of his funk, Menedemos was ready to give him one. But his cousin just laughed. 'I don't really care to squabble today, if it's all the same to you.' 'All right,' Menedemos said. Whether Sostratos felt like squabbling or not, he sounded a little more like himself. And if he sounded more like himself, he could be used: 'Go forward and see how the peafowl chicks are doing. They're still your babies, you know.' 'My babies?' Sostratos exclaimed in moderately high dudgeon. 'The peacock was welcome to his ladies, as far as I'm concerned. All I ever wanted to do with them was roast them, not screw them.' Clicking his tongue between his teeth at the absurdity of the notion, he headed up toward the foredeck. Menedemos chuckled a little, under his breath. Sostratos did seem a bit happier. And every heartbeat put Taras farther behind the Aphrodite. The longer Sostratos was away from Maibia, the more likely he was to stop brooding about her. Maybe he'd get himself another girl he enjoyed. That would help. Sostratos had plenty of hands to help him now: a brisk breeze from the north meant the Aphrodite went by sail, with the rowers off their benches and free to chase chicks. Diokles pointed southwest and asked, 'Do you aim to put in at Kroton, skipper?' 'I hadn't planned to,' Menedemos answered. 'It's a good-sized town, I suppose, but it's not a place where much ever happens.' The keleustes raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He knew his place; he wouldn't come right out and tell his captain he thought him wrong. But his expression was eloquent enough to make Menedemos pause and reflect. 'Oh,' he said. 'You want to find out how the war is going before we try rounding Italy and heading up through the Sicilian Strait, don't you?' 'Might be a good idea.' Diokles' voice was dry. 'Well, so it might,' Menedemos admitted. 'All right, we will put in at Kroton. Who knows? Maybe we'll sell something.'
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