Once it had got out of arrow range, Menedemos allowed himself the luxury of a long sigh of relief. Diokles dipped his head to show he understood why. 'That could have been sticky,' the oarmaster said. 'That was sticky,' Menedemos said. 'But you're right. It could have been even stickier. He might not have stopped to ask questions. He might have just lowered his masts and charged right at us.' He paused, imagining the Eutykhes' ram bearing down on the Aphrodite, driven toward her by three hundred rowers pulling like madmen. The mental picture was vivid enough to make him shudder. He tried to drive it from his mind: 'Maybe we could have dodged.' 'Maybe,' Diokles said. 'Once, maybe.' He didn't sound as if he believed even that. And Menedemos didn't argue with him, because he didn't believe it, either. Having wrestled the peacock into its cage once more, Sostratos made his way back to the stern. 'Ptolemaios' men must be jumpy now that they're fighting Antigonos again,' he said, and waved toward the mainland of Asia off to starboard. 'Plenty of towns where old One-Eye could put a fleet together for the invasion of Kos. And the channel between the island and the mainland can't be more than twenty-five stadia wide. You can almost spit across it.' 'You're right, and I'm an idiot,' Menedemos said. Sostratos gaped at him, not used to hearing such things: Menedemos was more likely to call him an idiot. Not now, though. Menedemos went on, 'I didn't see the connection between Kilikia and here till you rubbed my nose in it. I probably wouldn't have, either.' 'All the pieces fit together,' his cousin answered seriously. 'That's what history is all about - showing how the pieces fit together, I mean.' 'Well, maybe it's good for something after all, then,' Menedemos said. 'Maybe.' He didn't quite know it, but he sounded as dubious as Diokles had when talking about the Aphrodite's chances of escaping the Eutykhes had the five chosen to attack. He didn't worry about that, though. He had more important things to worry about: 'On to Kos, and let's see if we can get some silk.' Kos, the main city on the island of Kos, was a new town, even newer than Rhodes. The Spartans, Sostratos knew, had sacked Meropis, the former center, during the Peloponnesian War after an earthquake left it half wrecked. Meropis had stood in southwestern Kos, looking back toward Hellas. The new city of Kos was at the northeastern end of the island, and looked across the narrow strait to Halikarnassos on the Asian mainland. Like Rhodes', the new city's harbor boasted all the modern improvements: moles to moderate the force of the waves, and stone quays at which merchantmen and war galleys could tie up (though the galleys usually stayed out of the water in shipsheds to keep their timbers from getting heavy and waterlogged). 'It's a pretty sight, isn't it?' Sostratos said as the Aphrodite eased up to a quay. 'The red tile roofs of the city against the green of the hills farther inland, I mean.' 'When I get a chance to look, I'll tell you,' Menedemos answered, making a minute turn with the port steering oar. All his attention was on the quay, none on the scenery. He turned to Diokles. 'I think that will do it. Bring us to a stop just as we come alongside here.' 'Right you are, skipper.' The keleustes raised his voice: 'Back oars!' A couple of strokes killed the akatos' forward motion. 'Oop!' Diokles shouted, and the men rested at the oars with the Aphrodite motionless in the water only a short jump from the quay. Sailors tossed lines to
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