At last, the kitharist struck one more perfect chord, bowed very low, said, “I thank you, most noble ones,” and left the stage.
Menedemos clapped till his palms were sore. He wasn’t the only one, either; a tremendous din of applause filled the tavern, enough to make his head ring. Cries of “Euge!” rang out from all sides.
“How is he next to Stratonikos?” Menedemos asked as they left the building.
“It’s been a while since I heard Stratonikos,” Sostratos replied, judicious as usual. “I think Areios is at least as good with the kithara itself-and I’ve never heard one better tuned-
“Yes, I thought the same thing myself,” Menedemos said.
Diokles dipped his head. “Me, too.”
“But Stratonikos, if I remember rightly, had a better voice,” Sostratos finished.
“I’m glad we went,” Menedemos said. He clapped the keleustes on the back. “Good thing you heard he was playing, Diokles-and I hope Nikokreon’s shade got himself an earful tonight.”
Sostratos wasn’t sorry to see Cyprus recede behind the Aphrodite ’s goose-headed sternpost and the boat the akatos towed in her wake. He also was not eager to face Phoenicia or the land of the Ioudaioi. What he was was coldly furious at his brother-in-law. “When we get back to Rhodes,” he said, “I’m going to pour melted cheese and garlic over Damonax and fry him in his own olive oil. We’ll have plenty left to do the job, with some left over for the barley rolls we’ll serve with his polluted carcass.”
“You must be angry, if you’ve got the whole menu planned,” Menedemos said.
“Herodotos puts the Androphagoi far to the north of the Skythian plains, beyond a great desert,” Sostratos replied. “I wonder what he would have thought if he’d heard a Rhodian wanted to become a man-eater. “
“He’d probably wonder what wine went best with brother-in-law,” Menedemos said. “Something sweet and thick, I’d say.”
“Gods bless you, my dear,” Sostratos said, “for you’re the best man I’ve ever known when it comes to helping someone along with his mood, whatever it happens to be. I’m not surprised men often choose you symposiarch when they throw a drinking party-you’re the one to take them where they want to go.”
“Well, thank you, () best one,” Menedemos answered, raising his right hand from the steering-oar tiller to give Sostratos a salute. “I don’t know that anyone’s ever said anything kinder of me.”
“Now that I think about it,” Sostratos went on in musing tones, “that’s probably the same sort of knack that gets you so many girls, isn’t it?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Menedemos said.
“Papai!” Sostratos exclaimed, now dismayed. He stared at his cousin, hardly believing what he’d heard. “Why not? Don’t you know what Sokrates said?-’The unexamined life is not worth living.’ He’s right.”
“I don’t know about that,” Menedemos said. “I’m usually too busy living my life to step back and take a look at it.”
“Then how do you know if you’re living well or not?”
Menedemos frowned. “If we go down this road, I’m going to get all tangled up. I can see that coming already.” He wagged a finger at Sostratos. “I can see you looking forward to it, too.”
“Who, me?” Sostratos said, not quite innocently enough, “Answer my question, if you please.”
“How do I know if I’m living well?” Menedemos echoed. Sostratos dipped his head. His cousin frowned in thought. “By whether I’m happy or not, I suppose.”
“Amazing, O marvelous one!” Sostratos said. Menedemos shot him a dirty look. Sostratos went on, “Could a dog or a goat speak, it would give the same answer. For a dog or a goat, it would be good enough, too. But for a man? No. Artaxerxes Okhos, the Great King of Persia, was happiest when he was killing people, and he killed a lot of them. Does that mean he lived well?”
“No, but killing people doesn’t make me happy.” Menedemos fixed Sostratos with a mild and speculative stare. “For certain people, I might make an exception.”
“You’re still talking around the question,” Sostratos said. “Just think, too: if you knew why you were so charming, you might get more women yet.”
That made Menedemos look sharply at him. Sostratos had thought it might. “Do you think so?” his cousin asked.
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t,” Sostratos replied. “An archer who knows what he’s doing is more likely to hit the target than one who just picks up the bow and lets fly, isn’t he?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.” But Menedemos sounded suspicious. A moment later, he explained why: “I still think you’re trying to turn me into a philosopher behind my back.”
“Would I do such a thing?” Again, Sostratos sounded as innocent as he could.
He sounded so very innocent, in fact, that both Menedemos and Diokles burst out laughing. “Oh, no, my dear, not you,” Menedemos said. “No, indeed. Never you. The thought wouldn’t cross your mind.” He laughed some more, louder than ever,
“What I’d like to know,” Sostratos said with more than a little heat, “is what’s so dreadful about the notion that one man should want to persuade another to love wisdom and look for it, instead of just stumbling over it when he chances upon it or turning his back on it altogether. Can you tell me that?”
“Philosophy’s too much like work,” Menedemos said. “I’ve got real work to do, and I haven’t got the time to worry about becomingness or essences or any of that other philosophical nonsense that makes my head ache.”
“Do you have time to think about whether you’re doing the right thing, and why?” Sostratos asked. “Is anything more important than that?”
“Getting the Aphrodite to Phoenicia and not sinking on the way,” his cousin suggested.
“You’re being troublesome on purpose,” Sostratos said. Menedemos grinned at him. Sostratos went on, “Yes, you want to survive. Any living thing wants to survive. But when you get to Phoenicia, will you do good or evil?”
“Good to my friends, evil to my enemies,” Menedemos replied at once.
Any Hellene who answered without thinking was likely to say something much like that. Sostratos tossed his head. “I’m sorry, my dear, but what was good enough for Homer ’s heroes isn’t any more.”
“And why not?” Menedemos demanded. “If anybody does me a bad turn, I’ll give him a knee in the balls first chance I get.”
“What happens then? He’ll give you one back, or his friends will.”
“And then I’ll get my own back, or I’ll have a friend help me against his friend,” Menedemos said.
“And your faction fight will go on for years, maybe for generations,” Sostratos said. “How many poleis have been ruined by feuds like that? How many wars between poleis have started through feuds like that? By the gods, if the poleis of Hellas hadn’t spent their time fighting amongst themselves, could the Macedonians have beaten them?”
He thought that was an invincible argument. But Menedemos said, “Ha! Now I’ve got you!”
“You do not!”
“I do so.” His cousin leered at him. “For one thing, the Macedonians fight amongst themselves, too, even worse than regular Hellenes, Go ahead-tell me I’m wrong. I dare you.” He waited. Sostratos stood silent. He couldn’t disagree. “Ha!” Menedemos said again. “And, for another, if Philip of Macedon hadn’t whipped the Hellenes into line, and if Alexander hadn’t come along right afterwards, who’d be running Phoenicia now? The Great King of Persia, that’s who. So I say hurrah for feuds, I do.”
Sostratos stared at him, then started to laugh, “huge!” he exclaimed. “That’s the best bit of bad argument I think I’ve ever heard. Some people learn to argue from Platon and what he says of Sokrates. You took your model from Aristophanes ’ Clouds.”