he would be like if he reached his father's years - tried and felt himself failing. 'That's a long way off.' 'You mark my words,' Philodemos repeated. 'The generals have been going at each other ever since Alexander died. Why should they stop? What would make them stop?' 'One man winning,' Menedemos said at once. His father looked thoughtful. 'Yes, that might do it,' he admitted. 'But if one of them looks like winning, all the others gang up on him, the way everyone is against Antigonos now. That's how it's gone so far. Why should it change?' 'Panta rhei,' Menedemos replied ' 'Everything flows'?' Philodemos echoed. 'Some philosopher or other, isn't it? I thought you left showing off how much you know to your cousin.' 'I'm sorry. I usually do.' Menedemos liked his father much better when he was slighting Sostratos than when he was praising him. Philodemos grunted. 'Well, that's not much of an apology, but I suppose it's better than nothing.' You always find fault, Menedemos thought. If I cut my liver out for you, you'd complain that the priest didn't read good omens from it. But then his father said, 'You beat a trireme? And you came home with that much silver? I suppose, all things considered, you could have done worse. Here, let me pour you some more wine.' Menedemos was almost too startled to hold out his cup - almost, but not quite. But as Philodemos poured, he asked, 'And how many husbands did you outrage in Great Hellas?' Even when he tried to praise, he couldn't do it unmixed with spite. And Menedemos answered with quick truth when, again, he might have done better lying: 'Only one.' His father muttered something under his breath, then sighed and asked, 'Where was it this time? Will you ever be able to do business there again, or is it as bad as Halikarnassos?' 'Taras, Father,' Menedemos said, and Philodemos grunted as if he'd been hit in the belly. Menedemos went on, 'I don't think it's quite so bad as at Halikarnassos.' He didn't think Gylippos' toughs had intended to kill him, but only to beat him up. The fellow in Halikarnassos had definitely wanted him dead. 'Not quite so bad.' Philodemos looked as if he were sipping vinegar, not wine. 'And Taras is an important polis, too, the first one you're likely to come to on the way west from Hellas. What are we going to do with you, son?' Menedemos found it expedient to stay mute. His father grunted again, then said, 'Well, at least you don't do things like that here in Rhodes, the gods be praised.' Menedemos didn't answer that, either. His father, fortunately, took silence for agreement.
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