Agathokles.' 'That's what I'm here for, too,' Menedemos said as Diokles eased the Aphrodite up against the pier. 'You?' The fellow on the round ship laughed loud and long, displaying a couple of teeth gone black in the front of his mouth. 'We can carry eight or ten times as much in the Leuke here as you can in that miserable little boat. Take your toy home and sail it in your hip-bath.' He laughed again. 'Toy? Hip-bath?' Menedemos was tempted to yell, Back oars!, and then spurt forward to ram the round ship. How much grain would that sneering fellow carry then? But, unfortunately, no. It wouldn't do. Menedemos said, 'However much or little we haul, Syracuse'll still get more with us than without us - and Agathokles'll pay us for it, too, same as he'll pay you.' 'Well, all right. When you put it like that, I suppose you've got something,' the other Hellene said. 'And when the Carthaginians come after us, you can be the one who fights 'em off.' He laughed again, louder than ever. But he wasn't laughing by the time the Aphrodite's crew finished screaming abuse and the details of their battle with the Roman trireme at him. He was white with fury, his fists clenched, his lips skinned back from his teeth. He had to stand there and take it, as did the other sailors on his ship. Had they chosen to answer back, the men from the akatos would have made them regret it - for, while the round ship held more cargo, the merchant galley held more crewmen. A fellow wearing an unusually fine, unusually white wool chiton bustled up the pier toward the Aphrodite. 'Are you here to carry grain to Syracuse?' he asked. 'We certainly are,' Menedemos answered - this chap, unlike the man aboard the round ship, looked to have some clout. 'Who are you, sir?' 'My name is Onasimos,' replied the fellow with the fancy tunic. He also, Menedemos saw, had buckles on his sandals that looked like real gold. With a bow, he continued, 'I have the honor to be the Syracusan proxenos here in Rhegion, and I'm doing what I can to help the polis I represent.' In normal times, a proxenos looked out for the interests of citizens of the polis he represented in the polis in which he dwelt. He was, necessarily, a man of some wealth and importance in his home town. He might aid in lawsuits. He might, at need, lend money. He got no pay for his services, only prestige and business connections. When the polis he represented was in danger, he might do extraordinary things, as Onasimos looked to be doing now. 'How do we get the grain?' Menedemos asked him. 'It's in the warehouses,' Onasimos said. 'Gods be praised, Great Hellas had a good harvest this past spring. I have plenty of slaves and free men ready to bring it aboard for you.' 'Good.' Menedemos dipped his head. 'Now - about arrangements for payment.' 'You've probably heard Agathokles is offering four times the going rate for grain delivered to Syracuse,' Onasimos said. Menedemos tossed his head. 'I hadn't heard exactly how much he offered, as a matter of fact.
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