“Balsam from Engedi. A couple of lion skins. A tiger skin from far-off India,” Menedemos added. He said not a word about the thirteen emeralds in the pouch on his belt. Sostratos would have been astonished if he had. Since they'd been smuggled out of Egypt, these servants of the master of Egypt were all too likely to confiscate them. Sostratos hadn't said anything about the gryphon's skull, either. His reasons were different from the ones Menedemos likely had. He simply couldn't imagine a naval officer caring about old bones or being able to see that the skull might be valuable. “A tiger skin?” the officer said. “You show me a tiger skin and I'll send you right on in to the harbor.” “Just as you say, O marvelous one,” Menedemos replied. Sostratos wouldn't have used that sarcastic formula to a fellow aboard a war galley that could have crushed the Aphrodite like a man stamping on a mouse, but his cousin always liked to push things. Menedemos waved to him. “Show the gentleman the skin, Sostratos,” “Certainly,” Sostratos said. Menedemos assumed he knew exactly where it was stowed, and Menedemos was right. He got out the large oiled-leather sack that protected the tiger skin from seawater and undid the rawhide lashing holding the sack closed. The rank odor of a not quite perfectly cured hide and, he supposed, of tiger itself wafted out. A couple of sailors helped him spread out the great striped skin. The officer leaned forward, staring so hard he almost fell into the sea. The marines aboard the galley gaped, too. Finally, the officer blinked a couple of times and seemed to come back to himself. “I'm a man of my word,” he said, and waved toward the harbor of Kos city a few stadia away. “Pass on.” “Rhyppapai! Rhyppapai!” Diokles called, beating out the stroke with his mallet and bronze square. As the rowers began to work, the oarmaster aboard the war galley also began his endless chant. Those three banks of sweeps bit into the Aegean. Ptolemaios' galley resumed its patrol, and the Aphrodite glided into the harbor. Finding a place to tie up took a deal of time and a deal of shouting. The harbor was much smaller than that of Rhodes. It didn't have nearly enough shipsheds to accommodate all the triremes and bigger galleys from Ptolemaios' fleet; close to half of them had to moor at the quays like so many merchantmen. Because of that, space for real merchantmen was at a premium. Menedemos almost rammed a round ship in his haste to seize a spot near the end of a pier. The round ship's sailors, who stood on deck ready to fend off the Aphrodite with poles, screamed curses at him. The akatos' rowers screamed back, louder and more foully. Since the Aphrodite had five or six times as many crewmen aboard, they shouted down the sailors on the other ship. As had happened at Knidos, an officer came hurrying up to the end of the quay to question the men of the Aphrodite on where she was from, where she'd been, whither she was bound, and what she was carrying. Sostratos' patience frayed. “No one hounded us like this when we came here a year ago,” he complained. Ptolemaios' officer shrugged. “The war hadn't come to these parts a year ago, either.” That held some truth, but only some. As he had at Knidos, Sostratos said, “It's not our war. We Rhodians are free and autonomous and neutral.” “Kos is free and autonomous, too,” the officer said. Sostratos almost laughed in his face. Free to obey Ptolemdios, he thought. Autonomous as long as it does what he wants. The fellow said nothing whatever about Koan neutrality, Menedemos had been drumming his fingers on the mismatched steering-oar tillers for a while, too. Now he inquired, “Do we pass muster?”
Вы читаете The Gryphon's Skull
