The dull red Dionysios turned had nothing to do with the heat. The harbor at Koressia, into which the Elixos River ran, held no other ships besides the Aphrodite : only little fishing boats that never got out of sight of the island. How long would the traveler have to wait for another vessel bound for Kos? Menedemos had no idea, and neither, plainly, did Dionysios. With twin splashes, the akatos' anchors went into the sea. Sailors wrestled water jars into the boat and went ashore with them. The men made for the Elixos to fill the jars. Menedemos said, “Shall we go into the market square with some perfume and a little silk and see if we can sell 'em?” “Here?” Sostratos' glance was eloquent. “I don't think they've done anything here since they sent a couple of ships to fight the Persians at Salamis.” Menedemos laughed. “You're probably right. Even so, though, they're bound to want their women to smell sweet and look pretty.” “I suppose so,” his cousin admitted. “But can they pay for what they want?” “Always a question,” Menedemos admitted. “I think it's worth finding out.” Next to no one in Koressia was stirring as the two Rhodians made their way to the agora. Men stayed in wineshops or squatted like lizards in whatever shade the walls gave them. A couple of drunks lay snoring, empty cups or wine jars beside them. Sostratos raised an eyebrow. Menedemos only shrugged. They nearly had the market square to themselves. A man hawked raisins, while a farm woman displayed eggs and cheeses. Neither had any customers or seemed to expect any—they were going through the motions of selling, no more. Menedemos had seen that before; it always made him scornful. “Come on,” he told Sostratos. “Let's show these people not everybody sleeps all the time.” His cousin yawned. “I'm sorry, best one. Did you say something?” Snorting, Menedemos raised his voice till it filled the agora: “Perfume from Rhodes! Fine silk from Kos! Who wants to buy? We won't stay here long, so you'd better come quick. Who wants to buy?” The man with the raisins and the woman from the farm both stared at them. Sostratos took up the call and joined with Menedemos. For a while, though, Menedemos wondered if anyone cared but a couple of doves grubbing whatever they could from the ground. Koressia wasn't just a sleepy town; it might have been a dead one. At last, though, a middle-aged man strolled into the agora. “ 'Ail,” he said, dropping his rough breathings as did those who used the Ionic dialect. “What 'ave you got for sale?” Why. I'm selling doors and roof tiles. Haven't you heard me crying them? Menedemos thought. But Sostratos was already displaying a bolt of filmy silk. Grudgingly, Menedemos admitted he and his cousin also sold perfume. “ 'Ow about that?” The Kean gaped as if he'd never heard of either commodity. “ 'Ow much do you want for 'em?” Menedemos named his prices, adding, “That's in Athenian drakhmai, of course.” Keos was part of Antigonos' Island League, but had more intimate connections with nearby Attica.
Вы читаете The Gryphon's Skull
