Ikaria and back again. Then he did something Menedemos hadn't done: he looked to the Asian mainland east of Samos. 'There's Mount Latmos, back of Miletos, and I'd say it's taller than anything on Samos.' 'I . . . think you're right,' Menedemos said; Mount Latmos was also farther away, which made its height hard to judge. 'Even if you are, though, so what?' 'I don't know for certain, but it looks to me as if the islands carry the mountains of the mainland out into the sea,' his cousin answered. 'If that's so, it would stand to reason that the peaks would get lower the farther out into the sea the islands went. After a while, no more peaks - and no more islands, either.' Menedemos considered, dipped his head, and sent Sostratos an admiring glance. 'That would make sense, wouldn't it?' 'It seems to me that it would,' Sostratos answered. 'I don't know whether it's true, mind you - that isn't the same as being logical.' 'Close enough for me,' Menedemos said. His cousin raised an eyebrow, but didn't rise to the bait. Samos rose ever higher out of the sea, while the sun sank ever closer to the water. 'Looks to me like we'll make it, skipper,' Diokles said. 'We will if the boys put their backs into it,' Menedemos replied. Actually, he was pretty sure the keleustes was right, but he wanted to get the rowers working as a team. 'Call everyone to the oars and give them a sprint, why don't you? Let's pretend we've got a hemiolia full of Tyrrhenians on our trail.' Diokles stroked the ring with the image of Herakles Alexikakos on it to turn aside the evil omen. 'That could happen, you know, even here in the Aegean. Those polluted whoresons don't stay in the Adriatic any more. They're like cockroaches or mice - they're all over the stinking place.' Like any merchant sailor, Menedemos knew that entirely too well. He dipped his head, but said, 'They've got more teeth than mice, worse luck. Come on - get the men to the oars and up the stroke. We'll see what kind of crew we've got.' 'Right you are.' The oarmaster shouted the whole crew to their benches and kept right on shouting once they were in their places: 'We're going to push it to get to port before sundown - and so we know what we can do if pirates come after us. Give it everything you've got, boys. Rhyppapai! Rhyppai!' Mallet met bronze in an ever-quicker rhythm. Diokles hit the bronze harder, too, so each clang seemed more urgent. The rowers didn't spare themselves. Panting, their bodies glistening with oil and sweat, their muscular arms working as if belonging to Hephaistos' automata from the Iliad, they worked like men possessed. And the Aphrodite fairly seemed to leap ahead. She arrowed through the deep-blue water; a creamy wake streamed from her bow. After a very short time, Menedemos grew sure they would make Samos. Diokles held the oarsmen to the sprint as long as he could, and eased off as slowly as he could. 'Not too bad, captain,' he said. 'No, not too bad at all. And the rowing's smooth as that silk you bought. We knew we had some good men here, and this proves it.'
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