mantles. She started spreading them in the sun to dry. “Hail,” Sostratos said. “Hail, young master,” she answered in her oddly accented Greek. Carrying a load of wet clothes had got the front of her own tunic wet, too, so that it clung to her breasts. Sostratos eyed her. She noticed him doing it, and spoke quickly: “You excuse me, please, young master? I terrible busy.” He took her up to his bedroom every so often. She was only a slave girl; how could she say no? Even asking him to wait would have landed her in trouble in some households. But taking her for his own pleasure while she was in the middle of work would have landed him in trouble with his mother and sister. And, since she was more resigned to their occasional couplings than eager for them, he was less eager for them himself than he might have been. And so he said, “All right, Threissa,” though he didn't leave off eyeing the way the wet wool displayed her nipples. “I thank you, young master,” she said. “You a kind man.” Despite such praise, she stood with her back to him as much as she could. Terrible to be a slave, Sostratos thought. Terrible to be a woman and not a man. And if you're unlucky enough to be both, what can you do? Turn your back and hope, no more. Gods be praised I'm a free man. He might have gone upstairs with her when she finished spreading out the clothes, but his father got back while she was busy there. Lysistratos looked pleased with himself, saying, “I may have a deal for some olive oil of the very first pressing. That won't be long now; the fruit's getting on toward being ripe.” “That's good, Father,” Sostratos said, “but what's this I hear about Damonax son of Polydoros sniffing around after Erinna?” “Well, I don't quite know what it is,” Lysistratos answered. “It's all very tentative right now. But she should be married again if we can arrange it—you know that. And I wouldn't mind a connection to Damonax's family—I wouldn't mind that at all.” “I understand—they've owned land for generations,” Sostratos said. “Why do they want anything to do with us, though? Have they fallen on hard times?” “That occurred to me, too, but not that I know of,” his father said. “I am sniffing around—I'm sniffing around like a scavenger dog sniffing for garbage, as a matter of fact. Haven't found anything out of the ordinary yet.” “There must be something. Otherwise, he wouldn't be willing to join with mere tradesmen.” Sostratos smiled a sour smile. People whose wealth lay in land always looked down their noses at those who made money by their wits. Land was safe, stable, secure—boring, too, Sostratos thought. “Actually, son, you had something to do with it,” Lysistratos said. “Me?” Sostratos' voice was a startled squeak. “What? How?” “Seems you impressed Damonax no end when you wouldn't sell him the gryphon's skull this spring,” Lysistratos told him. “I wish I had. Then it would still be here.” “That's as may be,” his father said. “But Damonax thought all merchants were whores, and they'd do anything
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