Over the Wine Dark Sea

  'Hail, Pixodaros,' Sostratos said.   'My master will be as pleased to see you as I am, best ones,' Pixodaros said. 'Let me go get him.' He bowed again, beamed at Sostratos, and hurried into a back room.   'How did you remember his name?' Menedemos whispered. 'You could set a vulture tearing at my liver, the way Zeus did with Prometheus, and I couldn't have come up with it.'   'Isn't that why you bring me along?' Sostratos answered. 'To keep track of details, I mean?'   'He's just a slave,' Menedemos said, as if Pixodaros weren't important enough to be even a detail.   But Sostratos tossed his head. 'He's more than just a slave. He's Xenophanes' right-hand man. If he's happy with us, his master will be, too. That can't hurt, and it might help.'   Pixodaros returned, Xenophanes following him and leaning on a stick like the last part of the answer to the riddle of the Sphinx. The silk merchant's white beard spilled down over half his chest. A cataract clouded his right eye, but the left remained clear. He shifted the stick to his left hand and held out his right. 'Good day, gents,' he said, his Doric drawl more pronounced than that of the Rhodians.   Menedemos and Sostratos clasped his hand in turn. His grip was still warm and firm. 'Hail,' Menedemos said.   'What's that?' Xenophanes cupped a hand behind his ear. 'Speak up, young fellow. My hearing isn't quite what it used to be.'   It hadn't been good the year before, Sostratos remembered. Now, evidently, it was worse. 'Hail,' Menedemos repeated, louder this time.   Xenophanes dipped his head. 'Of course I'm hale. If a man my age ain't hale, he's dead.' He laughed at his own wit. So did his slave. And so, dutifully, did Sostratos and Menedemos. Xenophanes turned to Pixodaros. 'Fetch us some stools from the back, why don't you? And a jar of wine, too. I reckon we'll chat for a spell before we commence to dickering.'   Pixodaros made two trips, one for the stools, the other for the wine, some cool water to mix with it, and cups. He served Xenophanes and the two Rhodians.   'Thanks,' the silk merchant said. He waved toward the stools. 'Set a spell,' he told Sostratos and Menedemos as he perched on the one Pixodaros had brought for him. The Karian had also brought one for himself, and sat down beside his master.   They sipped wine and swapped news. Like the rest of the Koans, Xenophanes hadn't heard about Polemaios' defection from Antigonos. 'The nephew will have seen that the sons are rising men,' Pixodaros remarked.