Before Menedemos could point out that his staying at the steering oars did have a certain importance to the journey, someone hailed them from the brush beyond the beach. ' 'Ere, what's making that 'orrible noise?' 'Ionians, you see,' Sostratos said smugly. 'No rough breathings.' He didn't say it very loud. In similarly soft tones, Menedemos answered, 'Oh, shut up.' He raised his voice and called, 'Come and see for yourself,' to the stranger. 'You'll not seize me for a slave and 'aul me off to foreign parts?' the Lerian asked anxiously. 'No, by the gods,' Menedemos promised. 'We're traders from Rhodes, not pirates.' In another soft aside to Sostratos, he added, 'Some withered old herdsman wouldn't be worth our while grabbing, anyhow.' 'True enough,' Sostratos said. 'And it wouldn't be sporting, not after you've promised to leave him alone.' Menedemos cared little for what was sporting and what wasn't. But the rustic who emerged from the scrubby brush was middle-aged and scrawny. He wore only a goatskin tunic, hairy side out. That by itself made Menedemos' lip curl; country bumpkins were the only ones who preferred leather to cloth. And, when the Lerian got closer, Menedemos' nostrils curled, too: the fellow hadn't bathed in a long time, if ever. 'All right,' he said. ' 'Ere I am. What was that screeching like it was being turned into a eunuch?' 'A peacock,' Menedemos answered. 'For a khalkos, you can go aboard and see it for yourself.' He didn't think he would be able to get two bronze coins out of the local; even one might be pushing it. As things were, the fellow in goatskins made no move to produce a khalkos. He just stared at Menedemos. 'A what?' he said. 'You're 'aving me on. You think because I live on a little no-account island you can tell me anything and I'll swallow it. Can't fool me, though. I know there's no such beasts, not for true. Next thing is, you'll be telling me you've got 'Ades' three-'eaded dog Kerberos on your ship, or else a tree nymph out of 'er tree. Well, you must think I'm out of mine, and I'm 'ere to tell you I ain't.' He stomped off, his nose in the air. 'No, you can't fool him,' Sostratos said gravely. As if to prove the Lerian couldn't be fooled, the peacock let out another screech. 'Sure can't,' Menedemos agreed. 'He knows what's what, and he's not about to let anybody tell him anything different.' 'He would have voted to make Sokrates drink the hemlock,' Sostratos said. 'How does that follow?' Menedemos asked. 'You said it yourself,' his cousin answered. 'He already knows everything he wants to know. That means anyone who tries to tell him anything else must be wrong - and must be dangerous, too, for wanting to tell him wrong things.'
Вы читаете Over the Wine Dark Sea
