sound so accusing,' Menedemos said with a laugh. When the sailors rowed them to the beach the next morning, Philippos, Kallikrates, and Rhoikos were all waiting for them. As Sostratos had for the past several days, he said, 'Not today, not unless we get lucky.' The mercenaries growled things that didn't sound complimentary under their breaths. And then Menedemos pointed in the direction of the huts and tents and said, 'Hello! Somebody wants to see us.' Sure enough, a man was trotting down toward the beach. He wore a tunic and sandals, and carried a soldier's panoply in a canvas sack. 'You there!' he called. 'Do I hear rightly that you're sailing for Italy?' 'Yes, that's so,' Sostratos answered. 'I'll give you a quarter of a mina to take me there,' the fellow said, 'as long as you sail today.' Sostratos and Menedemos looked at each other. Here was somebody who didn't just want to go to Italy; here was someone who needed to go there. 'You'd be our fourth passenger,' Sostratos said. 'We were hoping for six.' 'What are you charging for each?' the newcomer asked. 'Twelve drakhmai,' Sostratos answered. He and Menedemos exchanged another look, this one not altogether happy. If the other three mercenaries hadn't been standing right there, he could have named a higher figure. 'All right, then. I'll give you' - the newcomer paused to count on his fingers - 'thirty-six drakhmai to leave today.' He rummaged through the sack and pulled out a smaller leather bag that clinked. Philippos and Rhoikos muttered under their breath. Rhoikos stared at the fellow with the fat moneybag, or perhaps at the moneybag itself. Along with the silver, they saw the same thing Sostratos had: anybody willing to spend so freely was bound to have an urgent reason to be so willing. 'Hold on,' Sostratos said. 'Tell me who you are and why you're in such a hurry to leave Tainaron.' Menedemos looked sour. Sostratos pretended not to see him. No matter how sour Menedemos looked, no matter how anxious he was to come off with a profit, Sostratos didn't want to carry a murderer, say, away from justice - assuming any justice was to be found at this southernmost tip of the mainland of Hellas. 'I'm Alexidamos son of Alexion,' the mercenary answered. 'I'm a Rhodian - like you, if what I heard is right.' Sostratos dipped his head. Alexidamos' accent wasn't far removed from his own. The fellow continued, 'I, ah, got into a disagreement with a captain named Diotimos, and all his men are looking for me, or will be soon.' Kallikrates pointed. 'So you're the fellow who buggered Diotimos' boy! I'd get out of Tainaron, too, if I were you.' That told Sostratos what he needed to know. It told Menedemos the same thing. 'Pay my toikharkhos now,' he said dryly. 'Something tells me you won't be so grateful once we've put Tainaron under the horizon.'
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