steering the akatos. His cheeks felt on fire; he hoped the flush didn't show. His cousin looked down his nose at him for preferring Homer and bawdy Aristophanes to Herodotos and Thoukydides, and for preferring wine and flutegirls to philosophical discussion at a symposion. But Sostratos didn't usually come right out and call him a fool, especially not when the whole crew of the Aphrodite could hear him. Of course, Sostratos wasn't usually so harassed as he was while trying to shepherd bad-tempered birds that didn't feel like being herded. Occupied with the peafowl, Sostratos didn't even seem to notice what he'd done. He let Helen out of the net and gave her and the other peahen some more time to run around loose. If either one of them presumed to climb up to the poop deck, Menedemos told himself he'd kick it off no matter how expensive it was. But his cousin and the sailors kept the peafowl away. That left Menedemos disappointed. He was so angry, he wanted to kick something. After Sostratos got the peahens back in their cages, he let out the peacock. All the sailors exclaimed: they hadn't seen the male bird uncaged. 'Be careful of those tail feathers,' Sostratos warned. 'They're what makes the bird worth what he's worth. If anything happens to them - if anything happens to him - it'll come out of your hides.' Menedemos wouldn't have put it that way. Putting it that way, he thought, meant the sailors wouldn't dare do anything much to or with the peacock. And he proved a good prophet. The peacock ran around staring and pecking and kicking and screeching, and Sostratos had to take care of it and recapture it almost completely by himself. Irked at his cousin, Menedemos gave no orders to make life easier for him, as he might have otherwise. Had Sostratos complained, Menedemos would have told him where to head in. But Sostratos didn't complain. He netted the peacock as neatly as a fisherman might have netted some anchovies, and returned him to his cage without taking any wounds. Even Menedemos had to admit to himself it was a job well done. As the Aphrodite made her way toward Knidos, Sostratos gave the other three peafowl some exercise time in turn. One of them drew blood from a rower. His friends had to grab him to keep him from bringing the bird to an untimely end. Once the last peahen was back in its cage, Sostratos mounted the steps to the poop deck. He looked haggard. 'I hope that's done the peafowl some good,' he said. 'It's certainly kept me on my toes.' 'This is what you asked for,' Menedemos reminded him. 'If the birds do look perkier, you'll be doing it every day.' 'Gods,' Sostratos muttered. Menedemos, still feeling heartless, affected not to notice. His cousin spoke a bit louder: 'They're liable to be more trouble than they're worth.' 'Not when they're worth at least three and a quarter minai,' Menedemos said. Sostratos groaned, not loudly but unmistakably. Again, Menedemos pretended not to hear. Knidos had a fine harbor. A little island sat just off the Karian coast. Part of the town was on the mainland, the rest on the island. Stone moles connected the two, dividing the harbor in twain. Sostratos breathed a sigh of relief as longshoremen tied the Aphrodite up to a pier. He looked forward to sleeping in a bed at an inn. It wouldn't match the bed he had at home, but it would have to be an improvement on wrapping himself in his himation and lying down on the sand. A bald man with a gray-streaked bird pointed to the cages on the foredeck and asked, 'What have you got in there?' 'Peafowl,' Sostratos answered. 'Peafowl,'
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