“I don't know. I've never seen one before,” Menedemos answered. “I don't know anybody who has ... or maybe I do.” He glanced over toward Sostratos. His cousin looked to have just struck a bargain with the wool merchant. That meant he could come over and take a look. Menedemos whistled shrilly, then waved to draw his notice. “Oe, Sostratos!” he shouted. “Come here!” Sostratos was more than a little pleased with himself. He'd got the Kaunian wool merchant up to twenty-two drakhmai a jar for six jars of crimson dye. Anything over eighteen drakhmai the jar was profit, so he'd done pretty well. Now that the wool merchant had gone off to get the silver—one mina, thirty-two drakhmai, said the calculating part of Sostratos' mind that rarely rested—he wanted a moment in which he could relax and be proud of himself. He wanted one, but he didn't get it. From halfway across the agora, Menedemos started waving and whistling and generally acting the fool. “Oe, Sostratos!” he called. “Come here!” “What is it?” Sostratos shouted back. He doubted whether anything in Kaunos' market square was worth getting excited about. His cousin, though, evidently disagreed with him, “Come here,” his cousin repeated. “You've got to take a look at this.” “Take a look at what?” Sostratos asked irritably. Menedemos didn't answer. He just waved and called again. Muttering under his breath, Sostratos went over to see what besides a pretty girl could get his cousin in such an uproar. When he got to the flimsy stall by which his cousin was standing, Menedemos pointed dramatically and said, “There!” Sostratos stared. Staring didn't tell him what he needed to know, so he asked the question he had to ask: “What is that thing?” “A gryphon's skull,” Menedemos and the local merchant answered together. They might have come from the chorus in a revived tragedy of Euripides'. “A gryphon's skull?” Sostratos echoed, as if he couldn't believe his ears. As a matter of fact, he couldn't, “But... I always thought— everyone always thought—gryphons weren't real. Herodotos puts them at the end of the world with the one-eyed Arimaspioi and other unlikelihoods.” “This skull comes from the end of the world,” Menedemos said, and told Sostratos what the Kaunian had told him. Before Sostratos could say anything, his cousin added, “And if that's not a gryphon's skull, my dear, I'd like you to tell me what it is.” “I . . don't know.” Sostratos squatted beside the extraordinary skull—it was definitely the skull of some sort of beast, whether gryphon or not—for a closer look. After a moment, Menedemos crouched down beside him. “What have you come across here?” Sostratos asked his cousin, “I already told you,” Menedemos said. “You didn't want to believe me, that's all.” “Do you blame me?” Sostratos said. Menedemos only shrugged.
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