The Gryphon's Skull

Menedemos said, “I can't stay, my dear. I'm going to the ship, and then back to talk to some more jewelers. And who knows? One of them may turn out to have a pretty wife.” He hurried off before Sostratos could even begin a gasp of horror. Swallowing a sigh, Sostratos went back to calling out the virtues of the silk he was selling. He did that on purpose, he thought. He wanted to make me jump, and he did. But he also knew that, if one of the jewelers did turn out to be married to a women whose looks Menedemos liked, he might try to seduce her. And if he does, we may have to head for Athens sooner than he wants. Sostratos tossed his head. They were doing such good business here, they really needed to stay a while. And he wanted to be able to come back to Miletos next year or the year after. A plump man wearing a chiton of snowy linen and sandals with gold buckles came up and waited to be noticed. “Hail,” Sostratos said: the fellow looked prosperous enough to make him hope he was a customer. “Would you be interested in buying some silk?” “ 'Ail,” the man replied, his accent not just Ionian but something else, something that told Sostratos he wasn't a Hellene. “Not for myself, no. But I 'ave come to tell you that my mistress may well be, if you 'ave what she wants.” “Your. . , mistress?” Sostratos hoped his startlement didn't show. Few Milesians dressed as well as this fellow; Sostratos had assumed he had money of his own. If he was someone's slave, how much money did his owner have? “Yes, sir,” the plump man said. “My mistress is Metrikhe, who is well known in Miletos. She might be interested in your silk, if you 'ave any fine enough. For . . . professional purposes, you understand.” “Yes,” Sostratos said. A hetaira. She has to be, he thought. And one of the very rich ones, if she can afford a slave like this. “I'll be happy to show you what I've got here.” “Thank you, sir, but not to me.” The plump man shook his head, again proving himself no Hellene. “If you would bring it to my mis­tress' house, though ...” Sostratos almost burst out laughing, Menedemos will be sorry he's off talking to jewelers, he thought. If he were here, he'd do anything this side of bashing me with a rock to go himself. “Yes, I'll come,” he told the slave. “Let me find some bolts that might best suit her,” As he gathered them up, he told the couple of sailors with him, “If anyone comes looking to buy, let him know I'll be back before too long.” “Right you are,” one of them said. With a grin, he added, “Tough bit of work you've got ahead of you, sounds like.” “Doesn't it, though?” Sostratos answered, deadpan. He turned to the slave. “I'm ready. Take me to your mistress.” As in most poleis, the houses of the rich and poor lay side by side, and it wasn't easy to tell which was which from the outside: the rich hid their wealth behind their walls. When the slave stopped and said, “ 'Ere we are,” Sostratos saw that the house was whitewashed and had a very solid-looking door. Both suggested money; neither proved it. Another slave opened the door when the fellow with Sostratos knocked. “Come with me, sir,” he told Sostratos, and led him to the andron. Again, Sostratos held in amusement, thinking, In a hetaira's house, is this still the men's chamber? And if it is, what exactly does that mean? The chairs and tables in the andron were well made. The courtyard at which Sostratos looked out also