Diokles spoke up: “Whether we go through now or in the morning, I'd serve out weapons first. You never can tell.” “That's a good idea,” Menedemos said. “I wish it weren't, but it is.” He rubbed his chin as he thought. “I do believe I'm going to bring us up a little farther north before we anchor for the night. That way, I can run straight before the wind in the morning, and we'll slide through as fast as may be.” “Very nice,” the keleustes said. “You're right as can be—the sooner we're through there, the better.” The sun was just on the point of setting when Menedemos ordered the anchors into the sea. Sostratos still looked glum. “Cheer up,” Menedemos told him. “See? We're even aimed the right way now.” Sure enough, he'd swung the Aphrodite around so her bow pointed southwest, straight toward the gap between the islands—and toward the mainland of Attica beyond. His cousin sighed. “I know it, my dear. But it hasn't happened yet, and I'm not going to be content till it does.” Or even after that, Menedemos thought. The ideal world Sostratos built up in his mind sometimes made him have trouble accepting reality and its imperfections. Menedemos didn't twit him about it, though; the akatos was too crowded a place to make arguments worse. Bread and olive oil, cheese and olives, rough red wine: a sailor's supper at sea. Not even a taste of mullet to savor tonight; the men hadn't caught anything much above sprat size. Menedemos shrugged. I'll eat better when we get to Athens, he thought. “Another night on the planks,” Sostratos said as they stretched out side by side on the poop deck. “I won't be sorry to sleep in a bed again.” There, Menedemos thought he could jab without making his cousin angry, and he did: “Back in Miletos, you weren't doing much in the way of sleeping when you ended up in that hetaira's bed.” Sostratos snorted. “You're a fine one to talk.” “Who, me?” Menedemos did his best to sound innocent. “I didn't do anything much in Miletos.” “No, not in Miletos,” Sostratos said darkly. Menedemos made some other protest, but only deep, heavy, even breathing answered him. Before very long, he fell asleep, too. He woke somewhere in the middle of the night, wondering why he had. Then he realized the Aphrodite's, motion had changed. The swells from out of the north remained, but the wind-driven chop had eased. He muttered something or other under his breath, wrapped his himation tighter around himself, and went back to sleep. But when he woke the next morning, he wasn't surprised to find that the wind had died even though he hardly remembered rousing before. Catching his eye, Diokles mimed rowing motions. Menedemos dipped his head to the oarmaster. “All I have to say is, it's a good thing we're not a round ship,” Sostratos declared after Menedemos woke him and he realized they were becalmed. “If we were a round ship that had to lie here on the sea so close to Athens with no way to get any closer, I do believe I'd scream.” “I believe you'd scream, too,” Menedemos said. His cousin gave him a dirty look. He went on, “But, since we go
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