'Homer to sink my teeth into, Aristophanes to laugh at,' Menedemos replied. 'To the crows with everybody else.' Before Sostratos could come back with something indignant, Diokles asked, 'Whereabouts on the island will you want to beach her tonight?' 'You know the gnarled finger of land that sticks out to the south, the one that points to the islet called Tetlousa?' Menedemos said. 'There's a small inlet there, on the western side of it, with the best and softest beach on Syme. That's where I want to put us.' 'I do know that inlet, captain, and I do know that beach.' The oarmaster dipped his head. 'I asked because I was going to speak of them if you didn't.' 'And the town on the island is at the north end, isn't it?' Sostratos said. 'We'll be as far away from a lot of people as we can - though on Syme, that's not very far.' If Sostratos was talking about practical matters again, and not about literature, that suited Menedemos fine. He said, 'You're right. We haven't got that many choices on Syme, anyhow, not when most of the coast is rocky cliffs.' Before long, he ordered the sail brailed up again, for the Aphrodite swung almost due north once it got past Tetlousa - straight into the teeth of the breeze. He put more men back on the oars. The sun was sinking in the west, and he didn't want to have to feel his way into that inlet in the dark. He was all too liable to misjudge things and run the Aphrodite up against the rocks. Sooner than risking that, he would have spent a night anchored at sea, with the rowers sleeping on their benches. They wouldn't be happy about that. They'd have to do it a few times, especially on the journey across the Ionian Sea from Hellas to Italy, but it would be a bad omen the first night out. But he had plenty of daylight left when Aristeidas sang out from the bow. 'There's the inlet, captain!' The lookout pointed to starboard. A moment later, he let out a yelp. 'Papail! That stinking peacock got me on the leg!' Now you've got to watch yourself,' Menedemos said. He leaned on the tillers to the steering oars and swung the akatos into the tiny bay. At the bow, Aristeidas cast a lead-weighted line into the sea to gauge its depth. 'Ten cubits,' he called. Menedemos waved to show he'd heard. That was enough water and to spare. At Diokles' shouted orders, the portside rowers backed water while those to starboard pulled with the usual stroke, so that the Aphrodite spun through half a circle in very little more than her own length. When her stern faced the beach, the keleustes cried, 'Oo!' and the rowers rested at their oars. 'Now,' Diokles said, 'back water all - at the beat, mind - and bring her up onto the sand.' He smote the bronze square with his mallet. After a few strokes, the Aphrodite's false keel - of sturdy beech, to protect the true keel beneath it - scraped sand as the rowers grounded her. 'Oop!' the oarmaster cried again. Sailors sprang out onto the beach to drag the galley farther from the sea. Menedemos dipped his head, more than a little pleased with the way things had gone. 'This was a good first day,' he said to anyone who would listen.
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