The Gryphon's Skull

Sostratos blew on his gobbet, then cut it with the knife he wore on his belt. “Gray clear through,” he complained. “I like it pink.” Before Menedemos could answer, a skinny man tapped his elbow and said, “That's a big chunk of meat you've got there, O best one. Could you spare a bite for a hungry fellow?” Meat from a sacrifice was supposed to be shared. Menedemos dipped his head. “Here you go, pal.” He cut off a strip and gave it to the man. Another customer came over to Sostratos and said, “If you don't fancy the way your meat's cooked, sir, I'll help you get rid of it.” That made Sostratos laugh. He said, “I'll bet you will,” But, as Menedemos had, he gave some to the man. They both ended up serving out about half the meat they'd brought into the tavern. At last, Menedemos got to eat some. He sighed at the luxurious taste and feel of hot fat in his mouth. If the warriors in front of Troy ate beef all the time, no wonder they were so strong, he thought. “More wine?” the tavern-keeper asked. “No, thanks,” Menedemos and Sostratos said together, in tones of such emphatic rejection that the tavern- keeper looked wounded. Menedemos only snorted. Either the fellow was playing for sympathy or he didn't know what slop he'd just served them. Neither possibility impressed the Rhodian, who turned to his cousin and pointed to the door. Sostratos dipped his head. They left. As they headed toward the harbor, Sostratos said, “You weren't sharing out drakhmai the way we shared out the meat, were you?” “No, by the gods.” Menedemos held up the leather sack Diome-don had given him. “Unopened, unslit, unplundered, still a maiden,” “Very good,” Sostratos made as if to applaud, then gestured for Menedemos to get the money out of sight. As Menedemos lowered the sack to his side once more, Sostratos went on, “I do wonder why Polemaios was sacrificing there.” “Of course you do, since he wouldn't say. It is an interesting question, isn't it?” Menedemos thought for a couple of paces, then suggested, “In thanks for getting here to Kos in one piece?” “No. He would have said if it were something simple like that.” Sostratos' reply was quick and certain. “And you saw him on the ship. You saw him when he met Ptolemaios, too. He wouldn't waste a bullock on anything like running away. He had that done to him. He's a man who wants to do things himself.” “Well. . . you're probably right,” Menedemos said. “Which leads to the next question: what does he want to do, and to whom?” “Sure enough,” Sostratos agreed. “I'll tell you one thing, though.” “Only one?” Menedemos said. His cousin ignored that, continuing, “Ptolemaios is a lot more interested in the answer than we are.” Precise as usual, he checked himself: “Perhaps he's not more interested in it, but he's more concerned about it.”