“Time to serve out weapons,” he said. “I just don't like the way things feel. If we're ready for trouble, maybe we can hold it away from us.” “Probably not a bad idea,” Diokles said. Men put on sword belts and leaned pikes and javelins by their benches or in other spots where they could grab them in a hurry. Menedemos set his bow and a full quiver of arrows on the poop deck behind him. He could string the bow and start shooting in the space of a couple of heartbeats. “Aristeidas, go forward,” he called. “I want the best lookout we've got up there.” The sharp-eyed sailor waved and hurried to the fore-deck. Menedemos dipped his head to Diokles. “All right. We can get going again.” “Rhyppapai! ” the keleustes sang out. “Rhyppapai! ” The oars bit into the blue water of the Aegean. The merchant galley slid forward again. Sostratos came back to the raised poop. He had a sword on his hip and contrived to look foolish with it, like an actor in a role he hadn't rehearsed. “In Athens,” he said, “they talk about nervous men who see every distant headland as a pirate ship.” Menedemos declined to get ruffled, “In Athens, from what I hear, they don't do much of anything bat talk,” he said. “Tell me, best one, how many islands in the Kyklades?” “Some say twelve, others fifteen,” his cousin answered. “That's about what I've heard,” Menedemos agreed. “But when they make that count, do they reckon in rocks like the one ahead?” He pointed to an islet just big enough to support a handful of bushes. “Certainly not,” Sostratos said, as if making a rejoinder in a philosophical discussion. But this was property, not philosophy; freedom or slavery, not words. “Could pirates hide behind that nasty rock and come charging out when they see a merchantman go by?” Menedemos asked. “Yes, without a doubt.” Sostratos laughed. “I sound like one of Sokrates' foils, don't I?” “I was thinking the same thing, as a matter of fact,” Menedemos said. “You'd know better than I would, though—I'm sure of that. But it doesn't really matter. What matters is that you take my point.” Sostratos set a hand on his swordhilt. He still didn't look very warlike, but he said, “Would I be wearing this if I didn't?” No hemiolia or pentekonter emerged from behind the rock. But another rock lay ahead, only fifteen or twenty stadia away. Beyond that one was the bulk of Tenos, whose jagged west coast offered raiders countless lairs. The polis of Tenos, like Panormos, hardly rated the name. It had no fleet to speak of, and didn't even try to keep pirates down. Andros, the next island to the north and west, might have been Tenos' twin. And a pirate ship based on Syros, off to the west toward Attica, might spot the Aphrodite coming by and dash out to try to seize her. “It's not just Aristeidas up by the stempost,” Menedemos said. “We all have to keep our eyes open, because we'll all pay for it if we don't.” “Well, certainly,” Sostratos said.
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