“There's a difference between plain and too plain, if you ask me,” Sostratos said. “And Doric columns are squat. These Corinthian ones can be taller for the same thickness. They make the building more graceful.” “More likely to fall down in an earthquake, you mean,” Menedemos said. Then he and Sostratos both spat into the bosom of their tunics to avert the evil omen. In the lands around the Inner Sea, temblors came too often even without invitation, A young priest greeted them as they came up the steps and walked into the shrine. “Good day,” he said. “Have you come to offer a sacrifice to the god?” “No.” Menedemos tossed his head, then pointed toward the life-sized marble cult image of the king of the gods. “As a matter of fact, we've come to adorn your statue there. Show him, Sostratos.” “I will.” His cousin undid the lashing that closed the leather sack he carried. He drew out the lion skin. Menedemos helped him spread it on the floor. “Oh, very good!” The priest clapped his hands. “I'd loved to see that draped over the god's shoulders. But I fear I'm not the one with whom you'll have to haggle. You'll need to talk with my father, Diogenes. I'm Diomedon, by the way.” “Pleased to meet you.” After giving his own name, Menedemos went on, “As I said, this is my cousin, Sostratos. Where is your father? Can you fetch him?” “He's sacrificing at the altar behind the temple,” Diomedon replied. “As soon as he's finished, I'm sure he'd be pleased to talk with you. I hope you can make a bargain. Painting isn't enough to make the statue very impressive, I'm afraid.” Smiling, Menedemos said, “I think I'd sooner dicker with you than with your father.” “Of course.” Diomedon smiled, too. “You can tell I'm a soft touch. You won't have such an easy time with him as you would with me.” “Why is your altar at the back of the sacred precinct, instead of in front or inside the temple?” Sostratos asked. “The other two arrangements are more common.” Diomedon dipped his head. “I know they are. When this temple was going up—it's almost sixty years ago now, when this whole polis was being built—one of the priests went to Zeus' oracle at Dodona, and placing it there was part of the advice the god gave.” “Can't argue with that,” Menedemos said. Sostratos looked as if he wouldn't have minded arguing about it, but a glance from Menedemos kept him quiet. They were here to sell the priests a lion skin, after all. Annoying or angering them wouldn't make that any easier. “Here comes my father,” Diomedon said. The man who walked into the temple through a doorway next to the cult image was a grizzled version of Diomedon himself. Not noticing his son or the two Rhodians inside, Diogenes turned back to the man who had offered the sacrifice and said, “The god was glad to receive your offering.” “I was glad to give it,” the man replied. He was so tall, he had to duck his head to get through that doorway. Menedemos nudged his cousin. Sostratos hadn't needed any nudging: he'd recognized Polemaios, too.
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