The Gryphon's Skull

But they'd hardly begun singing the praises of their own goods before a man with the careful, forward-leaning walk of the shortsighted came up to them and said, “You'd be the Rhodians who got in last night?” “That's right, best one,” Menedemos answered. “What can we do for you?” “Papyrus,” the fellow answered. That surprised Menedemos. The man went on, “Aristarkhos said you had papyrus.” That surprised Menedemos even more. This fellow looked about as much like a soldier as a black Ethiopian looked like a fair-haired Kelt. “That's right,” Menedemos repeated cautiously. “Who are you?” “I'm Diodoros son of Diophantos,” the nearsighted man said, leaning closer to Menedemos for a better look at him. Then he explained himself: “I'm Antigonos' paymaster hereabouts.” “Ah.” Menedemos dipped his head. That made Diodoros a customer, all right. “Yes, best one, we do have papyrus. Quite a bit of it, as a matter of fact.” “Gods be praised!” Diodoros exclaimed. “My dear fellow, do you have any idea how difficult it is to keep proper records when your commander is at war with Egypt? I've been writing on leather; on boards; even on potsherds, the way they did in the old days when they decided whom to ostracize.” He spoke Attic Greek; Athens was the home of ostracism. “We can probably help you,” Menedemos said. Diodoros might be the paymaster, but he was too excited to make much of a bargainer. Menedemos asked Sostratos, “How much papyrus have we got left? I know you sold some in Kaunos.” “Oh, dear!” Diodoros sounded horrified at the thought of any of the stuff slipping through his fingers. “We still have seventy-one rolls left,” Sostratos answered; Menederaos had been sure he'd have the number at his fingertips. His cousin added, “We have some excellent ink, too.” He pointed to one of the little round pots that held it. Diodoros dipped his head. “Ink is all very well, but I can make my own at a pinch. I wish I could make my own papyrus. How much do you want per roll?” How hard can I bit him? Menedemos wondered. It was a nice calculation. True, Diodoros was a paymaster, and knew how much things cost. But he'd also made it plain he badly needed what Menedemos had for sale. Still, if Menedemos asked too high a price, Antigonos' officer was liable to set soldiers on him and simply take what he wanted. Yes, a nice calculation indeed. Menedemos made it between one breath and the next. “Six drakhmai,” he replied. “You said it yourself, sir: there's a war on. Once I sell what we've got, who knows when I'll see more?” “You're a Rhodian, Dealing with Egypt, that gives you an advantage,” Diodoros said. He could remember business, at least to some degree. Sostratos chose that moment to take a roll of papyrus out of a sack and examine the smooth, creamy writing surface. Without saying a word, he smiled and put it back, Diodoros' eyes followed it as if it were a beautiful hetaira closing a door behind her. He sighed. “Necessity is the master of us all. I'll give you four drakhmai a roll for fifty rolls.” Even that was above the going rate. The dicker that followed didn't last long. They settled on five drakhmai, two oboloi per roll. After some thought, Diodoros decided to buy sixty rolls, not fifty, Menedemos felt like jumping for joy. As the paymaster went off to get the silver and a sailor hurried back to the ship for the requisite rolls of papyrus, he turned to Sostratos and said, “We made a profit here! Who would have believed it?”