She did, then got into bed in the dark. Sostratos patted her, yawned again, and fell asleep. Menedemos crouched under the Aphrodite 's poop deck, mournfully eyeing the sprung planks, the sailcloth stuffed between them, the broken tenons, the mortises that had turned into actual breaks in the timbers. He cursed the blundering round ship that had run into the akatos in the rain. He cursed Ptolemaios, too, for his siege of Halikarnassos, and for good measure cursed every carpenter in Kos. When he came out from under the poop deck, he didn't duck far enough and, not for the first time, banged his head. That left him cursing life in general. With some sympathy, Sostratos said, “I've done that, too.” Well, of course you have, Menedemos thought sourly. You're taller than I am, and clumsier, too. He rubbed his head before speaking. That was probably just as well, for all that came out of his mouth was, “I know.” “What do you think?” Sostratos asked. “Have you changed your mind?” “I only wish I had,” Menedemos answered. “There's too much damage for me to want to risk the ship going anywhere very far, and too much for us to do the repairs ourselves. Resourceful Odysseus made a boat starting with nothing but logs, but we can't quite imitate him.” He stroked his chin. “Maybe we could get up to Myndos. Maybe...” Sostratos tossed his head. “I don't think that will do us any good. Halikarnassos is still holding out, but Ptoiemaios' men just took Myndos.” “Which means the carpenters there will be busy working for him, same as the ones here.” Menedemos rubbed his scalp again. The bump he'd got wasn't the only thing making his head ache. “That's right,” Sostratos said. “When did you hear that about Myndos?” Menedemos asked. “It's news to me.” “Just now, as a matter of fact.” His cousin pointed to a couple of men walking along the quay. “They were talking about it. If you hadn't been all muffled down below, you would have heard them, too.” With a sigh, Menedemos said, “Well, let's gather up our perfumes and such and head for the market square. Maybe we'll do enough business to break even.” “Maybe.” Sostratos didn't sound as if he believed it. For that matter, Meneclemos didn't believe it, either. Sostratos put the best face on things he could: “The more we sell, the less we lose, even if we don't break even,” To Menedemos' surprise, they promptly sold four jars of perfume to a fellow with his right arm bandaged and in a sling. He had scarred shins, too, and a scar seaming his chin, and was missing the lobe of his left ear. “I've got to keep my hetaira sweet on me,” he said. “You've got to give 'em presents, or they forget all about you, and how was I supposed to give her presents when I was sitting in a tent in front of Halikarnassos?” “You weren't sitting in a tent all the time.” Menedemos pointed to the soldier's wounded arm.
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