His cousin tossed his head. 'Not much point to it: ordinary wine and plain pottery. I mostly wanted the anchorage.' Menedemos hesitated. 'If we could get our hands on those statues in Hera's temple, though, they'd bring a pretty price in Italy, don't you think?' 'Myron's Zeus and Athena and Herakles?' Sostratos laughed. 'I'm sure they would. But remember, Ikaria's close by, and it got its name because Ikaros fell to earth there after flying too close to the sun. You'd fall and fail if you tried to get those statues, too.' Menedemos laughed. 'I know. Had you worried there, didn't I?' Before Sostratos could answer, the peacock screeched. Menedemos snapped his fingers. 'That reminds me - time to make ourselves a little money. Do you want to show people the peafowl?' 'I'm dying to,' Sostratos replied. He might as well have saved his breath; Menedemos paid no attention to him. Menedemos paid attention to him only when that suited his purposes. Sostratos' cousin hurried up the gangplank to the wharf and started singing the praises of peafowl. In short order, he started collecting khalkoi. Nobody got to look at the birds without handing over a couple of the little bronze coins. Sostratos showed off the peafowl till it got too dark for spectators to see them. 'What's the take today?' he asked when Menedemos gave up on luring any more spectators aboard the Aphrodite. Khalkoi clinked as Menedemos built them into shaky piles. 'Half an obolos, an obolos, an obolos and a half . . .' When he was through reckoning piles, he said, 'A drakhma, four oboloi, six khalkoi. Nothing that'll make us rich, but not bad, either.' 'Sixty-three people,' Sostratos said after a moment's thought. 'No, that isn't bad at all. Peafowl are interesting birds - it'll be interesting to see if we can get them to Italy without tossing them overboard, for instance.' For once, his cousin didn't rise to the bait of the joke. Instead, Menedemos gave him an odd look. 'Without a counting board, I couldn't have figured out how many people saw the birds to save my life.' 'It wasn't hard.' Sostratos changed the subject: 'Will you look for an inn?' Menedemos tossed his head. 'Too late now. I'll just sleep on the deck. I've done it before. I can do it again.' He waved a hand. 'If you want to go into town, though, don't let me stop you. Plenty of sailors heading in for a good time.' 'No, thanks,' Sostratos said. His cousin was the one who was fond of luxury. If Menedemos could stand another night wrapped in his himation on the poop deck, Sostratos could, too. A man of philosophical bent was supposed to be indifferent to bodily pleasures . . . wasn't he? Sostratos wondered about that as he lay with his chiton bundled up under his head for a pillow. Even though he was wrapped in his mantle, he couldn't get comfortable on the planks. He'd had an easier time drifting off on the beach on Leros.
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