“Why, Ptolemaios,” the Koan said. Sostratos frowned. “Doesn't he already have a son named Ptolemaios? His wife bore the other one, not his mistress.” “I think you're right,” Menedemos said. The longshoreman shrugged. “I don't know anything about that. He's the richest fellow in the world. Who's going to tell him he can't have two boys with the same name, if that's what he wants? Not me, by Zeus.” “Nor me,” Sostratos agreed. “But I wonder how happy his wife will be, knowing his mistress has a little Ptolemaios, too.” “You're too young to have a wife of your own, aren't you, best one?” asked the longshoreman, whose hair was thinning on top and gray at the temples. He didn't wait for Sostratos to answer, but continued, “You must be— you're nowhere near thirty. But I'll tell you something: you've got that right, whether you learned it from your own wife or not. She'll be steaming, sure as sure.” “Of course, Eurydike is back in Alexandria, and Berenike's here along with Ptolemaios—the grown-up Ptolemaios, I mean,” Sostratos said. “He'll go home sooner or later, and so will his lady—and so will their brat,” the Koan said. “And how long he's been away won't matter a khalkos. What's-her-name back there will have plenty to say to him, no matter how long it is.” He spoke with a mixture of glum certainty and gloating anticipation; Sostratos wondered who ruled the roost at his house. No, actually he didn't wonder—he thought he could guess. Something else struck him: “Eurydike is Kassandros' sister, remember. He won't be happy if she loses her place.” “One more reason for a fight, maybe,” Menedemos said. “Don't the Macedonians have enough already?” Sostratos said. “It's not as if they need more.” “They're like a gang of pankratiasts fighting it out,” the longshoreman said. “They won't quit till only one's left standing.” Sostratos thought uneasily of Kleomedes of Astypalaia. He'd slain his foe, and been disqualified for it. Nobody disqualified a Macedonian marshal who killed a rival or a royal heir. Unlike athletes, the marshals advanced their positions through murder. Menedemos said, “Now that we've put Dionysios ashore here, to the crows with me if I'm not tempted to head straight for Rhodes and not spend even a night.” Diokles gave him a reproachful look. “Seeing how hard the men worked through the hot spell, skipper, and seeing all the miserable, good-for-nothing places we stopped at on our way across the Aegean, don't you think they deserve one night's fun in a real polis?” “Oh, I suppose so.” Menedemos donned a lopsided grin. “I may even deserve a night's fun in a real polis myself.”
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