The Gryphon's Skull

So did Menedemos. But Sostratos said, “Oh, Berenike. That's not Ptolemaios' wife; that's his concubine. He's married to Eurydike, old Antipatros' daughter.” He kept track of such things as carefully as he kept track of the relative values of silk and perfume. “Is he?” Kleiteles said in a slightly crestfallen voice. He'd had his news . . oh, not quite turned false, but at least weakened. With a little thought, Menedemos might also have remembered to whom Ptolemaios was married. He didn't think he would have come out and said so, though. Relentless precision could make a man harder to get along with. But the proxenos, fortunately, didn't seem much offended. After a few sips of wine, his smile came back like the sun returning from behind a small cloud. He called for a slave, spoke briefly to the man, and sent him away. The fellow returned a bit later, saying, “Everything is ready, master.” “Good, good. Go on off to bed, then—we won't need you any more tonight,” Kleiteles said. The slave nodded and disappeared. Kleiteles turned to the Rhodians. “I know you've had a busy day. Your rooms are waiting for you.” “Thank you for your kindness,” Menedemos said, and drained his cup. He wouldn't have minded drinking a bit longer, but he knew a hint when he heard one. Sostratos might not have, but did own wit enough to get to his feet when Menedemos did. He cast a last glance at the jackdaw as Kleiteles led them out of the andron and into the courtyard. A couple of torches flickering there gave the wineseller enough light to lead the two cousins back to their rooms. “Have a pleasant evening,” he said, “and I'll see you in the morning.” Off he went, whistling a bawdy tune. “Good night,” Sostratos said, and went into one of the chambers. “Good night,” Menedemos replied, and went into the other. The room held a stool, a small clay lamp perched on it, and a bed. The bed held a woman not far from Menedemos' age—one of Kleiteles' slaves, without a doubt. She smiled at him. “Hail,” she said. “Hail,” Menedemos answered with a smile of his own. He wondered if Sostratos had company in his bedroom, too. Probably. Kleiteles was indeed a considerate host. “What's your name, sweetheart?” “I'm called Eunoa,” the woman answered. “Well, Eunoa, get out of your chiton, and we'll go on from there.” Menedemos pulled his own tunic off over his head. As soon as the woman was naked, too, he lay down on the bed beside her. He took her hand and set it on his manhood, while he kissed and caressed her breasts and rubbed Her between the legs. As most women did, she'd singed off the hair there; her flesh was soft and very smooth. Presently, Menedemos stood her up and had her lean forward against the bed. He poised himself behind her. He was about to thrust home when she looked back over her shoulder and said, “I wish I didn't have to worry about making a baby.” He could have ignored her. She was there to do as he wanted, not the other way around. But he shrugged and said, “Bend a little more, then,” and, after spitting on himself to ease the way a little, went in at the other door. “There. Is that better?” “I... suppose so,” Eunoa answered. “It does hurt some, though.” “It was your choice,” Menedemos said, not pausing to wonder whether she'd had a choice about coming to his