The Gryphon's Skull

family of fisherman living on it, I'd be amazed.” “So would I,” Menedemos answered. “But I don't want any nasty surprises.” The keleustes could hardly argue with that, and didn't. But the small, sheltered bay was empty save for shore birds, which flew up in white-winged clouds as the Aphrodite beached herself. The beach seemed so deserted, Menedemos wondered if sea turtles laid their eggs here, too. I'll send out some men to probe the sand with sticks, he thought. Sostratos came over to him. “Lebinthos,” he said, pronouncing the name of the island like a man prodding his teeth with his tongue, feeling for a bit of food that might have got stuck there. And then, being the sort of fellow he was, he found what he was looking for: “Didn't Ikaros fly past this place on his way north from Crete?” Menedemos looked up to the sky. Stars would be coming out very soon now. “I don't know,” he answered. “If he did fly by, he probably took one look at it and pissed on it from up high,” “Scoffer.” Sostratos laughed. He seemed to have forgotten he was supposed to be angry at Menedemos, and Menedemos didn't remind him. “It's true,” Menedemos said. “Well, it could be true, anyhow. Maybe that's why this is such a blighted little place.” His cousin laughed again, but then turned serious. “If a few people did live on Lebinthos, they'd probably turn that into a myth to explain why more people couldn't.” That made a certain amount of sense. But being sensible didn't make Menedemos comfortable with it. “You called me a scoffer,” he said. “I was just making a silly joke. You sound like you mean it.” “Don't you think that's how a lot of myths got started?” Sostratos asked. “As explanations for the way things are, I mean?” “Maybe. I never worried about it much, though,” Menedemos answered. The idea of asking why about a myth, as one might to a story of how a cart broke a wheel, made him nervous. “Myths are just myths, that's all.” “Do you really think so?” Sostratos said. Even at sunset and the beginning of twilight, his eyes gleamed. Ob, dear, Menedemos thought. I've found an argument that interests him. Will I get any sleep tonight? Sostratos went on, “How do you know that till you've examined them?” Trying to head him off, Menedemos chuckled and said, “You sound like you come straight out of Sokrates' thinking-shop in the Clouds.” That didn't work. He should have known it wouldn't. Sostratos said, “You know what I think of Aristophanes for that.” They'd argued over the play before. With a small sigh, Menedemos dipped his head. “Yes, I do.” He tried again, this time by pointing into the eastern sky; “There's Zeus' wandering star,” He poked his cousin in the ribs with an elbow. “And what else could it possibly be but Zeus' wandering star?” “I don't know,” Sostratos admitted, “but we can't get close enough to examine it, so how can we be sure?” He sent Menedemos a sly look. “Maybe Ikaros could have given you a better answer.”