“Perhaps we'd better see the proxenos,” Sostratos answered. “He'll wonder if he's done something to offend unless we call on him. But would you be kind enough to send someone to the Aphrodite to let our men know where we'll be?” Menedemos might have been tempted to stay and see how the freedman's kitchen did, but Sostratos was formally correct, and he knew it. So did Pixodaros, who dipped his head, playing the Hellene again. “As you wish, of course.” He called for a couple of slaves. A year before, they would have been his fellows; now he owned them. Menedemos wondered what they thought of that. Did one of them hope to inherit the business, as Pixodaros had? Whatever they thought, they obeyed. One headed down to the harbor. The other took Menedemos and Sostratos to the house of Kleiteles son of Ekdikos, the wineseller who looked out for Rhodian interests on Kos. Menedemos gave the slave an obolos and sent him back to his master. Kleiteles was a plump, happy man of about forty, who looked to enjoy having guests. “Pleased to see you, my friends,” he said. “I heard you were in port, and told the cook to make sure we had plenty.” “Thank you very much,” Menedemos and Sostratos said together. “My pleasure, believe me,” Kleiteles answered. “Don't just stand there in the front hall—come along to the andron with me. Come, come.” He shooed them along as if they were children. He had practice at such things; in the courtyard, a boy of about eight and another perhaps five were playing in the fading light. “Run upstairs,” Kleiteles told them. “You'll eat in the women's quarters tonight. I have company.” “Your sons?” Menedemos asked—they had the look of the Koan, Kleiteles dipped his head. “Promising lads,” Menedemos remarked. “You're too kind, best one.” Kleiteles waved toward the andron. “Go on in, both of you. Use my home as your own.” A slave was lighting lamps and torches in the andron. In one corner of the room stood a wickerwork cage with a jackdaw inside. The gray and black bird hopped up and down a little ladder with a tiny bronze shield in its beak. Kleiteles laughed and tossed it some seeds. It dropped the shield with a clink and started pecking them up. Such things always fascinated Sostratos. Sure enough, he asked, “How long did it take you to train the bird?” “Less time than you'd think: only a couple of months,” Kleiteles answered. “They're surprisingly clever—and, of course, the toy shield is shiny, and jackdaws like such things.” “How interesting,” Sostratos said. Menedemos wondered if he would try to buy a jackdaw for himself when he got back to Rhodes. They ate reclining on couches. With only three men in the andron, each had one to himself. The sitos was barley porridge flavored with onions and mushrooms and fennel. For opson, the cook brought in a casserole of shrimp and cheese and olives. If nothing was spectacular, everything was tasty. And the wine, which came out after the supper dishes were cleared away, was very good indeed. Menedemos and Sostratos traded news with Kleiteles, who said, “Ah, so you saw Ptolemaios' fleet go by, did you? I don't know how long he'll stay here, but business will surely be fine for as long as that is. I've heard his wife is with him, and that she's with child.” “Hadn't heard that myself,” Menedemos said. Sostratos tossed his head to show he hadn't heard it, either. “I don't know it's true, mind you,” Kleiteles said. “If Berenike is here, she doesn't do her own shopping in the agora.” He chuckled.
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