The Gryphon's Skull

Even with his passage worth a talent of silver, Polemaios was asking for trouble by calling Menedemos a little chap. Before Menedemos could lose his temper—or, at least, before he could show he'd lost it—Sostratos said, “We'll have you out past Attica provided the Euripos cooperates, that is. If the current is flowing north, we'll just have to wait till it turns around.” “A pestilence!” His cousin snapped his fingers in annoyance. “I'd forgotten that.” He eyed Polemaios. “I don't suppose you'd like to go north around Euboia?” Antigonos' nephew tossed his head. “Not likely! I'd be heading straight up toward Kassandros if I did, and I want to get away from him. I'd sooner wait till the Euripos turns around.” “All right,” Menedemos said mildly—so mildly, Sostratos shot him a sharp look. Had he been thinking something like, If Polemaios is worth a talent to Ptolemaios, how much is he worth to Kassandros? No way to prove it. Something else occurred to Sostratos. He spoke with as much diplomacy as he had in him: “You do know, sir, we'll be sailing through the Kyklades on our way back to Kos?” “And through my gods-detested uncle's polluted Island League.” Polemaios might have been harsh and crude, but he wasn't stupid. He went on, “Don't you worry about that. I won't travel under my right name.” He looked from Sostratos to Menedemos and back again. “And I will bring some bodyguards with me.” “Of course, best one.” The two Rhodians spoke together. If they hadn't promptly agreed to that, Sostratos doubted they would have got back to the Aphrodite alive. As things were, Polemaios said, “I'll see you in the morning, early,” and called for the slave. At his brusque gesture, the fellow led Sostratos and Menedemos out of the house and all but slammed the door in their faces. Outside, the big bodyguard barked, “You find out what you needed to know?” Sostratos dipped his head. The guard said, “Why don't you get lost, then?” He set a hand on his swordhilt to let them know it wasn't a suggestion. They left in a hurry. “What a charming fellow,” Menedemos said once they were around a corner and out of earshot. “Who?” Sostratos asked. “The man himself, or his comrade?” In a polis full of Polemaios' soldiers, he didn't name Antigonos' nephew, “I had the man himself in mind,” Menedemos answered. “But his comrade's just as delightful, isn't he?” “Every bit.” Sostratos walked on for a few paces, then turned to his cousin. “I wonder just how many friends the man himself will bring to the symposion.” He didn't mention bodyguards or the merchant galley, either, but Menedemos had no trouble following him. “What an interesting question,” he said brightly. “Not so many that they get in the way of the slaves, I hope.” “So do I,” Sostratos said. “This gets more and more complicated, doesn't it?” His cousin flashed him a smile. “Well, my dear, have you ever heard of anything that didn't?”