“You could have done worse,” Philodemos allowed: high praise, from him. Inspiration smote Menedemos. He said, “Why don't you keep one of the stones, Father, and get it made into a ring or a bracelet for your new wife? She'd like that, I'd bet—it'd be something not many Rhodian women could match.” Only after the words were spoken did he pause to wonder what sort of inspiration that had been. But Philodemos, to his great relief, noticed nothing out of the ordinary. “Do you know, that's not a bad idea,” his father said. “Women are fond of trinkets.” He eyed Menedemos. “You know all about what women are fond of, don't you?” That was just general sarcasm; Philodemos sounded about as pleased as he ever did. “No man knows all about what women are fond of,” Menedemos said with great conviction. “I may have found out a little something, though.” His father snorted. “Enough to get you into trouble from Halikarnassos to Taras.” Enough to get me into worse trouble right here at home, if I let it, Menedemos thought. His father went on, “Here, pick a nice one for me,” and held out his hand. “My eyes aren't up to such things these days.” “This one has a fine color,” Menedemos said, holding up an emerald. “So it does,” Philodemos agreed. “I can see it better when you hold it than when it's in my own hand. Isn't that a sorry business? Old age is bitter, no doubt about it.” “Baukis will be happy, I think,” Menedemos said. Will she find out this was my idea and not my father's? I can't very well tell her, and half of me —the sensible half I'm sure —doesn't want her to. Philodemos' thoughts were going down a different track. “What's a fourteenth part of five hundred and fifty drakhmai? I can't do that in my head.” “Neither can I,” Menedemos said. “Sostratos probably could.” “Never mind; there's a counting board in the andron. I'll figure it out there.” His father walked over to the men's chamber, where, sure enough, an abacus lay on a table. Philodemos flicked beads back and forth in their grooves. “Thirty-nine drakhmai—a couple of oboloi over, in fact. I'll have to move the silver from my own money to the business.” “Why bother?” Menedemos said. “Because I'm buying it from the business, that's why,” Philodemos said. “Because Lysistratos would bellow like a bull and roar like a lion if I didn't—and because he'd be right when he did. Never cheat the business, son, not if you want to stay in business.” “All right.” Menedemos dipped his head. Father is as stern with himself as he is with everybody else, he thought. That made Philodemos more admirable, but hardly easier or more comfortable to live with. His father pointed to the leather sack that held the rest of the emeralds, “Where do you think you can get the best price for those?”
Вы читаете The Gryphon's Skull
