Damonax's smile, bright and bland, told him nothing. “Of course I expect she'd bring a suitable dowry with her,” he said, “but that would be true of any man seeking her hand, is it not so?” It was so, and Sostratos knew it perfectly well. He did say, “What one side finds a suitable dowry may seem outrageous to the other.” Damonax surprised him by saying, “Oh, I hope not, not here. I knew your sister's first husband—we weren't close, but he was good friends with my older brother, who was nearer his age. He would sing Erinna's praises by the hour, in the areas where a wife should be praised: her spinning, her weaving, the way she ran the household. So I already have some notion of what I'd be getting, you might say, and I'm looking forward to it.” “Really?” Sostratos said. Maybe that explained why he was paying court to a widow and not to a maiden. Maybe. Sostratos still had his suspicions. He knocked on the door. When Gyges opened it, he told the Lydian majordomo, “Here's Damonax, whom I ran into on the street. He's come to talk with Father.” “Yes, of course, sir—we're expecting him.” The house slave turned to Damonax and gave him a polite little bow. “Hail, most noble one.” “Hail,” Damonax answered. “Is Lysistratos in the andron?” “That's right,” Gyges said. “Just come with me. I'll take you there.” He glanced toward Sostratos. “You may find this interesting yourself.” “So I may,” Sostratos said. “One of these days, I may have a daughter myself. I'd like to see how the dicker goes.” “You've already missed a good deal,” Damonax said. “That's all right. I expect you and Father will start raking things up again.” The older man chuckled. “You're probably right.” In the andron, Lysistratos waited till a slave had served out wine and olives and cheese before getting down to business. Sostratos' father said, “So Damonax, you don't think a dowry of two talents of silver is enough?” “No, sir,” Damonax answered with polite firmness. “Neither do my kinsfolk.” Lysistratos sighed. “I'm sorry to hear that, best one. Don't you think two talents would help you redeem some of your olive crop?” Damonax flinched. “Redeem it? From whom?” Sostratos asked. “From creditors, I'm afraid,” his father answered. “Damonax's family sank a lot of silver into part of a cargo on a round ship—and the ship either met pirates or it sank, because it never got to Alexandria. The year's olive crop is collateral.” “How did you find that out?” Damonax demanded. “Our creditors swore they wouldn't blab.”
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