after sunrise; the akatos neared Khalkis not long after noon. A wooden bridge spanned the Euripos, the narrow channel separating Euboia from the mainland of Hellas. The fortress of Kanethos on the mainland protected the bridge, and was reckoned part of the city of Khalkis. Putting in at Khalkis proved a good deal harder than getting to it had been. A strong current flowed south through the Euripos; the rowers had to pull hard to hold the merchant galley in place, let alone make headway against the rushing water. “You couldn't even get near this place from the south in an ordinary round ship,” Menedemos said. “Be patient, best one,” Sostratos told him. Sure enough, after something less than an hour, the current abruptly reversed itself and began flowing north. It almost carried the Aphrodite past Khalkis. Only some smart rowing let her ease her way alongside a pier. “By the dog of Egypt, I'd heard of that, but I wasn't sure I believed it,” Menedemos said. He raised his voice to call out to the sailors: “Make sure she's securely moored. We don't want her swept away.” “Now you see it's true,” Sostratos said as the men checked the lines and the knots. “The current In the Euripos changes direction six or seven times a day. Sometimes more—sometimes even twice that.” “Why would it do such a mad thing?” his cousin asked. “I haven't the faintest idea, and I don't think anyone else has, either,” Sostratos replied. “One of your philosopher friends ought to look into it,” Menedemos said. “Either it's something natural, in which case he'll figure it out, or it's a god putting his finger in there, in which case a philosopher won't do anybody much good.” “A cause could be natural without being easy to understand,” Sostratos said. His cousin didn't rise to the argument. Instead, Menedemos said, “Get that letter from Ptolemaios and come on. We've got to find Polemaios.” The winding streets of Khalkis were full of soldiers who followed Antigonos' rebellious nephew. They all had swords or spears. Quite a few of them had taken on too much wine. Ordinary Khalkidians mostly stayed indoors. Seeing how quarrelsome the soldiers were, Sostratos couldn't blame the locals. One of the soldiers, though, directed him and Menedemos to a house not far from the market square. As at Ptolemaios' residence back on Kos, sentries stood guard in front of this one. One of them—an immense man, three or four digits taller even than Sostratos—rumbled, “Yes, he's here. Why should he want to see you people, though?” “I have a letter for him.” Sostratos showed it to the sentry. “He'll have some kind of answer to give us, I expect.” “Give me the letter,” the big guard said. “I'll take it to him. You wait here.” He held out his hand. That was, plainly, the best offer Sostratos would get. He handed the fellow the letter. The big man went into the house. The remaining guard set a hand on his sword-hilt, as if expecting Sostratos and Menedemos to try to leap on him and beat him into submission. Polemaios, Sostratos reflected, had burned two bridges in rapid succession. Maybe it was no wonder that his men seemed jumpy. Antigonos and Kassandros both wanted their commander dead. How could they be sure a couple of Rhodians weren't a couple of hired murderers? That was simple: they couldn't. And Polemaios himself had to feel more hunted than any of his soldiers.
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