A moment later, Baukis stormed back across the courtyard, her back stiff with fury. She went up the stairs. The door to the women's quarters slammed. This time, Philodemos was the one who said, “Oh, dear.” And, a moment after that, Sikon rushed into the andron shouting, “I can't stand it any more! Tell that woman to keep her nose out of my kitchen from here on out, or I quit!” “That woman happens to be my wife,” Philodemos pointed out. “And you can't quit,” Menedemos added. “You're a slave, in case you've forgotten.” By Sikon's comically astonished expression, he had forgotten. With reason, too: in the kitchen, a good cook was king. And Sikon was more than a merely good cook. He said, “The way she goes on, you'd think we were trying to scrape by on five oboloi a day. How am I supposed to do anything interesting if I'm looking over my shoulder all the time for fear I spend a khalkos too much?” “You've managed so far,” Philodemos said. “I'm sure you can keep right on doing it. Naturally, my wife worries about expenses. That's what wives do. You'll find a way to go on making your delicious suppers, come what may. That's what cooks do.” No, he never took so soft a line with me, Menedemos thought. Maybe I should have been a cook, not a trader. But Sikon wasn't satisfied, either. “Cooks cook, that's what they do. How can I cook when she's driving me mad?” He threw his hands in the air and stomped out of the andron. When he got back to the kitchen, he showed what he thought of the whole business by slamming the door as hard as Baukis had upstairs. “Well, well,” Philodemos said, a phrase Menedemos had been known to use himself. Philodemos pointed to him. “You're closer to the krater than I am, son. Is there enough wine left for another cup?” “Let me look.” Menedemos did, and then reached for the dipper. “As a matter of fact, there's enough left for two.” He filled one for his father, one for himself. “That man is so difficult,” Baukis told him a couple of days later. “He simply will not see reason. Maybe we just ought to sell him and try someone else.” Menedemos tossed his head. “We can't do that. People would talk—he's been in the family his whole life. And he's a very good cook, you know. I wouldn't want to lose him, and neither would my father.” Baukis made a sour face. “Yes, I've seen as much. Otherwise, he would have laid down the law to Sikon.” She threw her hands in the air. “What am I supposed to do? I'm not going to give up, but how can I make a proper fight of it? Maybe you have the answer, Menedemos.” She looked toward him, her eyes wide and hopeful. Why did she appeal to him against his father, her husband? Because she was looking for a weapon to use against Philodemos and Sikon? Or simply because the two of them weren't so far apart in years, and Philodemos' beard was gray? Whatever the reason, Menedemos knew she was giving him his chance. He'd made the most of far less with plenty of other women. Why not here, with Baukis? It would be easy, he thought. He bit down on the inside of his lower lip till he tasted blood. “I don't know,” he said woodenly. “I
Вы читаете The Gryphon's Skull
