“Then let's go,” Sostratos said. He wished Menedemos were getting the hide; he would have liked sitting around and chatting with Ptolemaios better. It can't be helped, he told himself. And we've turned a nice profit, too. But he still knew regrets as he started off toward the harbor. Chances for buying and selling came every day, but when would he next be able to talk with a man like the ruler of Egypt? Ever again? He had his doubts. When he got to the Aphrodite , Diokles gave him a curious look. “There's been a lot going on this morning, hasn't there, young sir?” the oarmaster said. “Oh, you might say so.” Sostratos did his best to keep his tone casual. By Diokles' expression, his best wasn't good enough. “First, Kleiteles' slave came, saying Ptolemaios had summoned your cousin and you. Then Pixodaros' slave showed up, saying he knew he'd have to wait with his silk on account of Ptolemaios. It was like Pixodaros wanted to get huffy about that but didn't have the nerve.” “I should hope not,” Sostratos said; a Karian freedman wouldn't care to measure his privileges against those of Alexander's marshal. “Ptolemaios heard about our tiger skin from the officer who questioned us after the war galley made us heave to, and he's bought it.” “Ah. Is that what's been going on?” Diokles slowly dipped his head. “I did wonder, and I'm not lying. But that's good news, then, real good news.” “It certainly is. I'm going to take the skin now, and get our pay for it.” Sostratos boarded the Aphrodite , found the leather sack with the right hide, and brought it back onto the quay. Alypetos didn't say anything, but looked about to burst from curiosity. Taking pity on him—and also realizing he might make a useful connection— Sostratos undid the rawhide lashing that held the sack closed and gave him a look at the tiger skin. “Isn't that something?” Ptolemaios' man said softly. He reached out and stroked the fur. “And the beast is as big as a lion?” “We have two lion skins aboard, too, and this one's bigger than either,” Sostratos answered. “The tiger doesn't seem to have a mane, though, as lions do.” “Isn't that something?” Alypetos repeated. He needed a moment to gather himself. “Well, let's get on back. I can see why Ptolemaios would pay for a hide like that, indeed I can,” At the house the ruler of Egypt had taken for his own, more leather sacks, these fat with silver, lay waiting on a table in the andron. Ptolemaios had a couple of his men take the hide from the sack and spread it out so he could examine it. He sighed. “That's a tiger skin, sure enough. Been fifteen years since I last saw one of the beasts, but I'm not likely to forget.” “Have you a scale, sir, so I can weigh the coins?” Sostratos asked. “That would go much faster than counting them.” Menedemos looked horrified. Sostratos had almost got himself into trouble with a request like that the summer before in Syracuse, and Ptolemaios was vastly more powerful than Agathokles of Syracuse even dreamt of being. But the marshal's tone was mild as he asked, “Don't trust me, eh?” “I didn't say that, sir,” Sostratos replied. “Anyone can make a mistake, or have servants who make a mistake— and I like to keep things straight.” “Yes, I've noticed that,” Ptolemaios said. “Let's see what we can do.” His men found a balance in the kitchen, but the weights weren't of the proper standard. “Count the drakhmai in one sack,” he suggested, “and then weigh the others against it.”
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