The Gryphon's Skull

It didn't last long. Someone came rushing back toward the little chamber. Torchlight sneaked under the bottom of the door. Kissidas knocked and called, “Open up, in the name of the gods!” Menedemos got out of bed without bothering to put his chiton back on. He spoke to Sostratos: “Maybe it's our worry after all.” Opening the door, he addressed the Rhodian proxenos in more normal tones: “Good heavens, what's happened?” “I'll tell you what.” Kissidas was practically hopping in agitation; the torch trembled in his hand. “Ptolemaios has brought an army and a fleet up to Phaselis, in eastern Lykia. The town fell to him a few days ago, and he's heading west—heading this way.” “Oimoi!” Menedemos whistled. Lykia, like most of Anatolia, was held by Antigonos. The summer before, Ptolemaios' general Leonides had struck at Alexander's one-eyed general in Kilikia, farther east along the southern Anatolian coast. Antigonos' son Demetrios promptly drove him away. But Ptolemaios, who ruled Cyprus as well as Egypt, didn't seem ready to give up the fight. Kissidas wasn't worrying about the larger shape of the war between the marshals. His concern was more immediate, more personal. “When Hipparkhos hears about this, he's going to nail me to a cross,” he moaned. “I give thanks to Zeus that the first man here with the news was a fellow who's bought my oil and olives for years.” From behind Menedemos, Sostratos said, “If Antigonos' captain here in Kaunos suspects the Rhodian proxenos of favoring Ptolemaios, he'll suspect a couple of real Rhodians even more.” “Just my thought.” Kissidas eagerly dipped his head. “You have to get away—this very moment, if you can. And take me and mine with you.” Awkwardly, he went to his knees and embraced Menedemos around the legs in supplication. “Get up,” Menedemos told him. His wits worked furiously. His cousin and the olive merchant were right—to a point. “We can't flee in the night, not with half my crew in the taverns and the brothels here, not unless I want to leave them behind. This customer of yours—he won't go to the garrison commander with this word, will he?” “No,” Kissidas said. “He does not love Antigonos.” “AH right, then. We'll sail at first light tomorrow. If you and yours are aboard when we leave, we'll take you down to Rhodes,” Menedemos said. The proxenos gabbled out thanks. Sostratos made approving noises. Menedemos hardly heard either one of them. Only he knew how little he wanted to return to his home town. 2 Sostratos stood on the Aphrodite's tiny foredeck, peering into Kaunos. “Where is he?” he grumbled. Twilight was coming on, paling the waning crescent moon, Kronos' wandering star not far from it, and Zeus' bright wandering star now low in the west. “I don't know where he is,” Menedemos answered from the poop; Sostratos' voice must have carried better than he'd thought. His cousin continued, “I don't much care, either. If he's not here by the time the sun climbs up out of the sea, we're sailing anyhow. Furies take me if I'm going to risk my ship in this stupid war.”