“I suppose so,” Ptolemaios' officer said grudgingly. Then, as the fellow aboard the war galley had done, he asked, “Have you really got a tiger skin aboard?” “By the dog of Egypt, we do,” Menedemos answered. “Do you want to show him, Sostratos?” “Why not?” Sostratos said, thinking he shouldn't have bothered rolling up the skin and stuffing it back into its sack after displaying it to the naval officer. As he had out on the Aegean, he called on a couple of sailors to give him a hand. They soon had the skin stretched out. Not only the officer but his retinue and the usual gaggle of portside loungers crowded up to the edge of the quay for a good look. We ought to charge a khalkos or two for a peek, the way we did with the peafowl last year. Sostratos thought. The officer stared and stared. “It's a ... very big beast, isn't it?” he said at last. Seeing the hide shown that way made it seem even bigger than it was. Sostratos gravely dipped his head even so. “Bigger and fiercer than a lion,” he said. He had no idea whether a tiger really was fiercer than a lion. He did know this hide was bigger than either lion skin aboard the Aphrodite . When he started to stow the skin in its sack once more, the officer sighed as if sorry to have to come back to the mundane world, “All right, Rhodians,” he said. “Good trading here in Kos.” He turned and walked back down the quay, his hangers-on following. Some of the loungers drifted away, too. Others crowded forward, hoping for something else new that might make interesting gossip. They were disappointed. Perfume and balsam and papyrus and dye were much less interesting than tiger skins. Again, no one had said a word about emeralds—Sostratos hoped nobody would, not here—and the gryphon's skull remained in its wrappings. This wasn't the place to take it out. “At least they're still willing to let us trade,” Sostratos said. “Once we talk them into it, yes,” Menedemos said. “I wonder how much longer they will be, though. I don't know which is worse for people like us; pirates prowling as they please or war among the marshals.” Sostratos eyed his cousin in some surprise. Menedemos didn't usually think in such terms. Sostratos said, “They go together. If the marshals weren't warring, someone would put down the pirates. As things are, the marshals use them, and so they flourish.” “You're probably right.” Menedemos waved around the crowded harbor. “Ptolemaios could put them down if he had a mind to. He's got the fleet for it right here. So could Antigonos, though his ships are more scattered. But who does the pirate-hunting around these parts? Our little Rhodes, that's who.” “If one of the marshals won, he might care more about proper rule for the lands he held.” Sostratos sighed. “But they've been fighting among themselves ever since Alexander died, and even the truces they've made haven't been much more than breathing spells.” “No end in sight, either,” Menedemos said. Sostratos wished he could have argued with his cousin, but he clipped his head in agreement instead. Whitewash AND marble and bright tile roofs against the lush green of springtime made Kos one of the prettier cities around the Aegean—indeed, around the whole of the Inner Sea. Menedemos hurried down the quay from the Aphrodite , Sostratos close behind. “I even remember how to find old Xenophanes' place,” Menedemos said. “Two streets in, turn right, three streets over, and it's right across from the boy brothel.”
Вы читаете The Gryphon's Skull
