Over the Wine Dark Sea

-  or was it arrogance? Menedemos had never yet found himself in a spot from which he couldn't wiggle out, and so seemed convinced he never would.   Sostratos hoped his cousin was right without believing it. That wasn't how things worked. Hoping Menedemos would prove right this particular time seemed a better bet . . . though not a very good one. We'll know tomorrow, Sostratos thought. He wrapped himself in his himation and lay down on the sacks of grain. They were a little more yielding than the planks of the poop deck, if lumpier.   He thought he would worry too much to find sleep, but exhaustion proved stronger. Next thing he knew, Menedemos announced the new day like a rooster. Several sailors let out groans and sleepy curses. Sostratos said, 'If I were wearing shoes, I'd throw one at you.'   'It's a day worth celebrating,' Menedemos said, his voice full of the false heartiness some traders used to sell things that weren't worth buying. 'Tonight we'll feast in Syracuse, a polis famed for its feasts wherever Hellenes live.'   That made some of the sailors cheer up. It did nothing to raise Sostratos' spirits. For one thing, Syracuse was a city under siege. What kind of feast would the Syracusans be able to make? For another, weren't the Aphrodite's crew and those of the rest of the fleet likelier to make opson for the eels and crabs than to feast off seafood themselves?   But all around the fleet captains were shouting their crews awake, even if none of the others chose to crow. There was Aphrodite's wandering star glowing through the twilight in the east, with the very thinnest sliver of moon not far from it. Were it not for the blazing beacon of the wandering star, Sostratos doubted he would have noticed the moon at all.   Menedemos wasn't worrying about either the moon or Aphrodite's wandering star. Like any captain worthy of the name, he was tasting the wind. 'Out of the north, sure enough,' he said. 'As long as it holds, we can slide right into the northern harbor -  the Little Harbor, they call it -  at Syracuse.'   Well, we could if it weren't for the Carthaginian war galleys, Sostratos thought. They're between us and where we want to go, and with oars driving them they don't care which way the wind blows. Those are the things Menedemos conveniently forgets to mention.   His cousin went right on not mentioning them, too. The crew raised the dripping anchors. They lowered the sail from the yard. The round ships' big sails were coming down, too, and filling with the fine breeze that would waft them in exactly the direction they were mad enough to choose to go.   Again, the Aphrodite felt much more solid, much more stable, in the water than usual. And again, she moved through the water much more slowly than usual. Sostratos went up onto the poop deck. 'If we had to,' he asked Menedemos, 'could we have the men who aren't rowing throw sacks of grain overboard?'   'You mean, to lighten ship if the Carthaginians were chasing us?' Menedemos asked, and Sostratos dipped his head. His cousin shrugged. 'We could have them do it. I doubt it would help much.'   The answer struck Sostratos as honest if uninspiring. He watched Katane come into view and then disappear behind him. It was a good-sized town, bigger than Messene. He clicked his tongue between his teeth. He still thought it would be a good place to pause for, say, twenty or thirty years. But Menedemos didn't care what he thought, and Menedemos was in command. Sostratos wondered why more soldiers led by a bad general didn't simply run away.   He couldn't run away, not in a ship. Katane was too off away to swim to, and a lot of sailors couldn't swim at all. And Sostratos didn't know Menedemos was a bad captain. He did, however, have a strong opinion about that.