him the wet, gleaming little coin. 'What you do is, you . . .' Sostratos made him go through it twice, then repeated the directions back to make sure he had them straight. 'Is that right?' he asked when he was done. 'Sure is, pal,' the Messenian said, and then added the words so often fatal to a stranger's hopes: 'You can't miss it.' Sostratos felt like spitting into his bosom to avert the omen. But that would have offended the local, who guided his donkey over by the mud-brick front of a house so Sostratos could squeeze past. 'Second right, third left, first right,' Sostratos muttered, and, for a marvel, found the market square. He wondered if he could get back to the harbor again, and looked back into the alley from which he'd just emerged. 'First left, third right, second left,' he said, and then repeated it a couple of times so it would stick in his memory. 'Hail, stranger!' somebody called from behind a basket filled with dried chickpeas. 'Where are you from, and what are you selling?' Having sung his song in Rhegion the day before, Sostratos started singing it again. He traded news with the Messenians, though, as on the pier, they gave him none he hadn't already heard. Here, even more than in Rhegion and much more than in Taras, the people, while interested in what was going on in the east and in the struggles among Alexander's marshals, had other, more immediate, things on their minds. 'D'you suppose there's a chance this Ptolemaios or Antigonos'd come west and put paid to the gods-detested Carthaginians once for all?' asked a fellow selling fried squid. 'I doubt it,' Sostratos answered honestly. Everyone's face fell. He wished he'd been more diplomatic. Menedemos surely would have been. A middle-aged man in a chiton of very fine, very soft wool came up to him and said, 'Did I hear you say your ship had perfume on board?' 'You certainly did, perfume from the finest Rhodian roses.' Sostratos studied the Messenian. The man had a sleek, prosperous look: just the sort of fellow to keep a mistress with expensive tastes. 'If you like, you can tell your hetaira it came straight from Aphrodite. You don't have to say that's the name of my ship.' By the way the local started, Sostratos knew he'd made a good guess. 'You're a clever chap, aren't you?' the Messenian said. 'How much are you asking for this precious perfume?' 'For that, you need to go back to the harbor and talk to my cousin,' Sostratos replied. 'Menedemos is much more clever than I am.' He didn't really think so, not when it came to most things, but Menedemos was at least as good a bargainer. And Sostratos had an ulterior motive: 'Maybe she'd like a peafowl chick, too, or maybe you'd like to buy one for your own house to keep your wife happy even if you do give your hetaira a nice present.' The Messenian rubbed his chin, which was shaved very smooth: another sign of wealth, and also of fastidiousness. 'You are clever,' he said. 'You look young to be married, so how do you know such things?' 'No, I'm not married,' Sostratos agreed, 'but I'm not wrong, either, am I?' 'No, though I wish you were. A peafowl chick, eh? That would keep Nossis quiet for a while.'
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