By the way Baukis sounded, she hoped Menedemos would have choked on the prawn. “Oh. Hail,” he told his father’s young wife. All of a sudden, the treat didn’t seem nearly so sweet and succulent. He went on, “I didn’t notice you come into the courtyard.”
“I’m sure of that.” She sounded chillier yet. “You had your eyes closed while you slobbered over your seafood.”
That stung. “I don’t slobber,” Menedemos said. “And it was good. You’ll see for yourself-supper won’t be long.”
“I’m sure Sikon gave you that prawn from the goodness of his heart.”
Menedemos wondered where Baukis, who was very young and who, like any woman of good family, had led a sheltered life, had learned such irony. “Well, why else?” he asked.
“To keep you sweet, that’s why!” Baukis flared. “As long as you get little tidbits every now and then, you don’t care how much they cost. Your tongue is happy, your tummy’s happy, and to the crows with everything else.”
“That’s not fair,” he said uncomfortably. Was Sikon devious enough to do such a thing? Easily. The next question Menedemos asked himself was harder. Am I foolish enough to fall for a ploy like that? He sighed. The answer to that looked to be the same as the one before: easily.
“You’re right-that’s not fair, but what can I do about it?” Baukis looked and sounded on the edge of tears. “If the slaves in my own house won’t obey me, am I a wife or just a child? And if no one else in the family will back me against a slave, am I even a child, or only a slave myself?”
Her words held a painful amount of truth-certainly painful to her. But Menedemos said, “My dear, you’ll find yourself without allies if you pick the wrong fight. I’m afraid that’s what’s happened here. We really can afford to eat well, so why shouldn’t we?”
She stared at him, then did start to cry. “Oh! You hate me! Everyone hates me!” she stormed. She spun away from him and rushed toward the stairs. Up she went. A moment later, the door to the women’s quarters slammed.
“Oh, a pestilence,” Menedemos muttered. Now he was liable to end up with not only Baukis but also his father angry at him. Philodemos could find any excuse for getting in a temper against him, but Baukis… He muttered some more. Having her dash away from him was the last thing he wanted-even if it may be the best and safest thing for you, he told himself.
That slamming door brought his father out into the courtyard. “By the gods, what now?” Philodemos asked, scowling.
Despite that scowl, Menedemos knew a certain amount of relief that he could be the first to tell his father what had happened. If Philodemos listened to Baukis first, he probably wouldn’t heed anyone else afterwards. Menedemos summarized what had led to Baukis’ abrupt departure. When he finished, he waited for Philodemos to start railing at him.
But all Philodemos did was slowly dip his head. “Well, maybe it’s for the best,” he said.
“Sir?” Menedemos gaped, hardly believing his ears.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” Philodemos repeated. “Her quarrel with Sikon’s been going on far too long. I didn’t want to stick my nose into it; one or the other of them would have bitten it off. But maybe she’ll pay attention to you. She takes you seriously, though I’m sure I can’t imagine why.”
“Thank you so much,” Menedemos murmured. His father couldn’t possibly praise him without stirring some vinegar in with the honey. Even so, he was glad to learn Baukis did take him seriously.
She didn’t come downstairs for supper. Sikon sent some of the prawns up to her, along with fine white barley rolls for sitos and a cup of wine. When the slave woman brought back the dish without a prawn left on it, the cook looked almost unbearably smug. Menedemos was tempted to smack him. Even Philodemos noticed, and said, “Gloating isn’t a good idea.”
However harsh he was with his own son, he was usually mild to the cook. Sikon got the point. “All right, master-I’ll remember,” he promised.
“See that you do,” Philodemos said.
Clouds drifting down from the north not only warned of the beginning of the autumn rains but also brought darkness sooner than it would have come with good weather. Menedemos was just as glad to be back in Rhodes. He wouldn’t have wanted to try steering the Aphrodite through rain and fog and light murky at best. He tossed his head. No, he wouldn’t have wanted that at all. Too easy to end up aground before you even knew you were in trouble.
Yawning, he went upstairs to bed. These longer nights made him want to curl up like a dormouse and sleep and sleep. But he hadn’t drifted off when his father came upstairs, too. Philodemos went into the women’s quarters. A few minutes later, the bed there started creaking rhythmically.
Menedemos pulled his himation up over his head to smother the noise. No good. After a while, it stopped. After a much longer while, he slept.
He woke before sunrise the next morning and tiptoed down to the kitchen for some barley rolls, olive oil, and wine to break his fast, then sat down on a bench in the courtyard to eat. He managed a wry chuckle when his gaze went to the stairs. After the exertions of the night before, how late would his father sleep?
That thought had hardly occurred to him when he heard footsteps on the stairs. But it wasn’t his father coming down; it was Baukis. She paused in the doorway when she saw Menedemos up before her. For a moment, he thought she would withdraw. After a brief pause, though, she came out. “Hail,” she said, and, after gathering herself, “Good day.”
“Good day,” he answered gravely. “How are you?”
“Well.” Baukis thought about that, then made a slight correction: “Well enough.”
“I’m glad,” Menedemos said, as if he hadn’t heard the correction. He didn’t want to keep up a fight with her. “The rolls from yesterday’s baking are still very good,” he offered. No matter what she thought about Sikon’s choices for opson, she couldn’t very well complain about the sitos… could she?
She came close. “Are they?” she said tonelessly. Menedemos dipped his head. She let out a small sigh. “All right,” she murmured, and went into the kitchen to get her own breakfast.
When she came out again, Menedemos shifted on the bench to give her more room to sit down. She hesitated but did. She poured out a small libation from her cup of wine before tearing off a chunk from a barley roll, dipping it in oil, and eating it.
Sikon came out of his little downstairs room just then. “Good day, young master,” he said, “Good day, mistress.” Whatever he thought about Baukis, he remembered Philodemos’ warning and kept it to himself.
“Hail,” Menedemos said. He wondered if Baukis would scold the cook for not being up before her and hard at work. She seldom missed a chance to fuel their feud.
But all she said this morning was, “Good day, Sikon.” Looking both surprised and relieved-he’d evidently expected a snarl from her, too- Sikon hurried into the kitchen. Pots clattered. Firewood thumped. Baukis let out what was unmistakably a snort of laughter. “He’s showing off how busy he is.”
“Well, yes,” Menedemos agreed. The cook didn’t have to make half that much noise.
Baukis thought the same thing. “He really is an old fraud, you know.”
“Well-yes,” Menedemos said again. “But he really is a good cook, too, you know.”
“I suppose so,” Baukis said grudgingly. She sipped from her wine. “I don’t like quarreling with you.”
“I’ve never like quarreling with you,” Menedemos said, which was nothing but the truth.
“Good.” Baukis ate some more of her barley roll. “This is good, too,” she admitted, licking crumbs and a smear of oil from her fingertips with a couple of quick strokes from the tip of her tongue.
Menedemos watched, entranced. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” he said, a heartbeat slower than he should have. He might have been talking about the barley roll. On the other hand, he might not have been.
Baukis, to his relief, chose to answer as if he was: “Sikon is almost as good with sitos as he is with opson.”