“That's a problem,” Antigonos' man admitted, “You'll have to do what you think best, then.” Menedemos was tempted to linger. Old One-Eye might be very glad indeed to learn that his unpleasant nephew wouldn't bother him anymore, with or without the help of Ptolemaios. But he'd meant what he said; the Aphrodite 's crew was expensive. If he waited half a month, he'd go through half a talent of silver. Sounding like someone who'd just had a reprieve, Sostratos asked the officer, “What's the news here?” “Not much right here,” the fellow said, “though some from Hellas came in the other day.” “Tell us!” Menedemos spoke as quickly as his cousin, “Well,” the officer went on, with the smug smile of someone who knows something his listeners do not, “you may have heard tell of the youth called Herakles, Alexander's bastard son by Barsine.” “Oh, yes.” Menedemos dipped his head. “The one who got out of Pergamon last year, and went across to Polyperkhon to help him drive Kassandros mad in Macedonia.” “That's right,” Antigonos' officer said, at the same time as Sostratos spoke out of the side of his mouth: “This Herakles likely isn't Alexander's get at all, but a tool of Antigonos' against Kassandros.” “I know. Shut up,” Menedemos hissed to him, before asking the officer, “What about this youth?” “He's dead, that's what,” the officer answered. “Dead as Polemaios, if what you say about him is true. Kassandros persuaded Polyperkhon that Alexander's kin were too dangerous to leave running around loose, and so—” He drew a finger across his throat. “They say Polyperkhon got land in Macedonia for it, and soldiers to help him fight down in the Peloponnesos.” “Kassandros doesn't want any folk of Alexander's blood left alive, because they weaken his hold on Macedonia,” Sostratos said. “He's just a general; they could call themselves kings.” “That's true,” Menedemos said. “Look how he got rid of Alexander's legitimate son, Alexandras, winter before last—and Roxane, the boy's mother, too.” “Sure enough, you can't trust Kassandros,” Antigonos' officer declared. He started hack up the quay. “I'm off to tell my superiors of your news. Like I say, you can be sure they'll be glad to hear it.” He hurried away. “ 'You can't trust Kassandros,' “ Sostratos echoed, irony in his voice. “You can't trust any of the Macedonian marshals, and they all want to see Alexander's kin dead.” “No doubt you're right,” Menedemos said, “but it's still news. It hadn't got to Kos yet.” “I don't think there's even a bastard pretender from Alexander's line left alive now,” Sostratos said. “His sister Kleopatra's still up in Sardis, isn't she?” Menedemos asked.
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