Nikodromos coming, too. The priest carried a leather sack. When he set it down on a table in the andron, it clinked. “Here you are,” he said. “Four minai, twenty drakhmai. Go ahead and count it. You'll see all is as it should be.” With some men, that invitation to count would have told Sostratos he didn't have to. With one so mean as Nikodromos, he did anyhow. When he'd finished, he looked up and told the priest, “I'm afraid you're still six drakhmai short, O marvelous one.” He'd laid the silver coins in neat rows and stacks; Nikodromos could hardly challenge his assertion. In a low, furious voice, the Aiginetan said, “I'll get them,” and hurried away. “Shameless,” Sostratos said. “Are you surprised?” Menedemos kept looking toward those stairs. Sostratos noticed that with as much resignation as alarm: up till now, Menedemos hadn't eyed anyone else's wife with desire on this trading run. Sostratos had started to wonder if his cousin were off his feed. Before he could warn Menedemos, Nikodromos and Asine started yelling at each other. Sostratos couldn't make out the words, but they both sounded furious. “Charming couple,” Sostratos murmured. Menedemos grinned. “Aren't they just? Still, though . . . Oh, wait, here comes the priest back again.” What had he been about to say? Maybe I don't want to know, Sostratos thought. Nikodromos stormed into the andron, his scowl black as moonless midnight. He slapped down half a dozen drakhmai. “There,” he snarled. “Are you satisfied now?” “Perfectly so, best one,” Sostratos answered. “It is what we agreed to, after all.” “To the crows with—” Nikodromos began, but he caught himself. Trying to sound civil, he said, “The Huntress will be glad to have the lion-skin cloak.” “Of course she will.” Menedemos sounded as smooth—and as greasy—as olive oil. Sostratos' suspicions flared; he'd heard that particular conspiratorial tone before. Sure enough, Menedemos went on, “Would you be interested in some fine Rhodian perfume, sir? Or even”—he lowered his voice almost to a whisper—”in emeralds? I've got a couple of fine ones, straight from Egypt.” “Now why would I want anything like that?” Nikodromos kept the growl in his voice, but leaned toward Menedemos even so. “You never can tell what will sweeten up a woman,” Menedemos remarked, for all the world as if he hadn't heard—as if the neighbors hadn't heard—the priest and his wife quarreling a moment before. Nikodromos grunted. “That's true, I suppose.” “For that matter,” Menedemos added, as if just remembering, “I also have some Koan silk, which is not the sort of stuff every lady in Aigina would be wearing.” “Do you?” Nikodromos said. Menedemos gravely dipped his head.
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