“I think a dead man would be bored on Telos,” Sostratos said. “I think you're right,” Menedemos replied. He turned to Diokles. “Do you expect we'll make Knidos by nightfall?” “If we don't, we'll be pretty close.” The keleustes gauged the breeze, which blew straight into his face. “It'll be rowing all the way, though. If you want to go north during the sailing season, that's mostly how it is.” Menedemos dipped his head. “I know. If we were a round ship, we'd spend forever tacking back and forth, back and forth, sailing four or five stadia, maybe more, for every one we went forward.” He paused. “Of course, if we were a round ship, we wouldn't have tried beaching ourselves, and we wouldn't have lost that steering oar.” He eyed his cousin, who was peering ahead with a hand to his forehead to shield against sun glare. “What's chewing on you, Sostratos?” “I was just wondering how big a fleet old One-Eye has in Knidos,” Sostratos answered. “If it's big enough, it might have come out against Ptolemaios'. We don't want to wander into the middle of a sea fight.” “No, eh?” Menedemos said slyly. “Think what it would do for your history, if you ever get around to writing it.” Sostratos raised an eyebrow. “Wandering into the middle of a sea fight is one of the best ways I can think of to make sure I don't live long enough to write a history.” Menedemos would have argued with him, but found no way to do it. The Aphrodite came into Knidos with the sun low in the northwest and the sky streaked with red and gold. Sostratos let out a sigh of relief. He didn't mind the discomfort of a night at sea; reaching port so late, he would probably sleep on the poop deck tonight anyhow. But out on the Aegean the merchant galley was hideously vulnerable to any storm that might blow up. Better, far better, to spend the night tied up at a Knidian quay. Knidos was sort of a double city, like Syracuse in Sicily, though the offshore island that formed a part of it lay a little farther out in the sea than did Syracuse's Ortygia. Moles improved the harbor and connected the island to the mainland. Sostratos counted about twenty ship sheds, the sort in which war galleys stayed to keep their timbers dry when they weren't on campaign. No wonder they didn't sally against Ptolemaios, he thought. He bad to have twice that many ships, maybe three times as many. The passage of Ptolemaios' fleet hadn't gone unnoticed, and had, understandably, left Antigonos' garrison in Knidos nervous. No sooner had the Aphrodite found a berth than an officer in corselet and helmet came storming up the pier toward her, “What ship are you?” he barked. “Where are you from?” “We're the Aphrodite , out of Rhodes,” Sostratos answered soothingly. “We spent last night on Telos.” “Rhodes, eh?” the officer said. “Ptolemaios' catamites, are you?” “We're a free and autonomous polis, and we're neutral,” Sostratos said, knowing he had to hold his temper. Antigonos' officer snorted. “Probably a pack of stinking spies.” “Hail, Aristarkhos,” Euxenides of Phaselis said. “Haven't seen you for two or three years—not since we took back Karia.”
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