“Some went to the soldiers of Antigonos’ garrison here, after their gods-detested quartermaster wouldn’t pay a decent price,” Menedemos replied. “A Phoenician dealer bought the rest for the luxury trade. The books are all gone-you had a good idea there. And the Koan silk-and I got something better for it.” Just thinking of the silk he’d got from Zaker-baal set excitement bubbling inside him.
“What? More cloth?” Sostratos asked. When Menedemos dipped his head, his cousin looked dismayed. Sostratos, in fact, looked downright disgusted. He said, “What were you drinking, my dear, when the wily Phoenician convinced you of that? There is no finer cloth than Koan silk.”
“We do have some jars of Byblian wine aboard, and crimson dye, too,” Menedemos said. “But you’re wrong about the Koan silk. Before we got here, I would have said you were right, but I know better now.”
“This I have to see for myself,” Sostratos declared.
“Come aboard, then, O best one, and see you shall.” Menedemos steered Sostratos back toward the Aphrodite . He went on, “By what you and the sailors say, you were the best one with the bow. No one could have done better than you did.”
“It wasn’t good enough,” Sostratos said bleakly. “Otherwise, we all would have come back from Engedi.” As always, Sostratos looked for perfection from himself. Being only human, he didn’t always get it. And, when he didn’t, he blamed himself more fiercely than he should have for falling short.
Menedemos almost said so to his face. But then, knowing his cousin as well as he did, he thought better of it. Instead, he simply guided Sostratos down into the merchant galley, guided him along to the leather sacks storing the silk, and opened one of them to draw out a bolt.
Sostratos’ eyes widened. Menedemos had known they would. Sostratos stared at the fine, fine fabric, then reached out to feel it. He dipped his head decisively. “Well, when you’re right, you’re right. The Koans never dreamt of anything like this. Where does it come from? How is it made?” Curiosity came close to bringing him back to his usual self.
“I don’t know how it’s made,” Menedemos replied. “It’s from out of the east, Zakerbaal said-he’s the Phoenician I got it from. From somewhere beyond India, maybe north, maybe east, maybe both.”
“Like the gryphon’s skull,” Sostratos said.
“Yes, that occurred to me, too,” Menedemos agreed. “But I think we’ll see more of this silk coming west into the lands around the Inner Sea, where the gods only know if another skull like that will ever turn up.”
Plainly, Sostratos wanted to argue with him. Just as plainly, he couldn’t. He asked, “What did you pay for this, and how much did you get?” When Menedemos told him, he muttered to himself, then dipped his head again. “That’s not bad.”
“Thanks. I think we’re going to squeeze a pretty fair profit out of this run, though we’ll take a while to do it because so much of what we earn will depend on selling things we’ve got here back in Hellas,” Menedemos said.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure you’re right,” Sostratos said. “I know where we can get a good price for some of this silk, or maybe all of it: in Salamis.”
“Do you really think so?” Menedemos asked. “Don’t you want to take it farther from Phoenicia?”
“Normally, I’d say yes,” Sostratos replied. “But remember, my dear, Menelaos is in Salamis. And if Ptolemaios’ brother can’t pay top price for something strange from far away, who can?”
Now it was Menedemos’ turn to say, “When you’re right, you’re right. I’d thought you meant we’d sell it to some rich Salaminian. But Menelaos is a special case, sure enough. Yes, we’ll definitely have to call on him when we get back to Cyprus.”
“How soon can we leave?” Sostratos asked.
“Now, or as soon as Diokles pulls all the men out of the wineshops and brothels,” Menedemos answered. “I’ve been waiting for you to get back-that’s all that’s been keeping me here. You’ll want to sell the mule and the donkey, too, I suppose, but that won’t take long. Diokles has always been good at getting the crew out of their dives, so we should be ready to go in a couple of days. I won’t be sorry to head home, believe me.”
“I don’t look forward to calling on Aristeidas’ family,” Sostratos said.
Menedemos grunted. “There is that, isn’t there? No, you’re right. I don’t look forward to it, either. But we’ve got to do it. How did he and the others do while you were wandering through Ioudaia?”
Sostratos looked around to see where Moskhion and Teleutas were before he answered. Once he’d made sure they couldn’t hear him, he said, “I haven’t got a bad word to say about poor Aristeidas, or about Moskhion, either. Teleutas… Teleutas did everything he was supposed to do as far as helping me went. He fought bravely against the robbers, too-of course, it was fight or die-but he stole from the Ioudaioi on the way back here from Jerusalem.”
“Did he?” Menedemos eyed Teleutas, who was talking to some of the other sailors, probably telling them of his adventures. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I don’t know. Why aren’t you?” Sostratos said. “I wasn’t all that surprised, either. I was just glad the Ioudaioi didn’t come after us with murder in their hearts. We could have had a lot worse trouble than just robbers. We didn’t, but we could have.”
“Yes, I see that,” Menedemos agreed. “But it’s not the biggest question, not now. The biggest question is, will Teleutas steal from his own shipmates?”
“I know. I wondered about the same thing.” Sostratos looked very unhappy. “I don’t know what the answer is. This is the third year he’s sailed with us, and no one’s complained about theft on the Aphrodite , I will say that. Even so, I don’t like what happened. I don’t like it at all.”
“And I don’t blame you a bit.” Menedemos studied Teleutas again. “He always tries to find out how close to the edge of the cliff he can walk, doesn’t he? When somebody acts like that, he will fall off one of these days, won’t he?”
“Who can say for certain?” Sostratos sounded as unhappy as he looked. “That seems to be the way to bet, though, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. What shall we do about it? Do you want to leave him behind here in Sidon?”
Regretfully, Sostratos tossed his head. “No, I suppose not. He hasn’t done anything to a Hellene that I can prove-though the way he offered to cut Aristeidas’ throat for me chilled my blood. He said he’d had practice, and I believe him. But I think we should take him back to Rhodes. Whether I want him sailing with us next spring… That’s liable to be a different question.”
“All right. I suppose you have a point,” Menedemos said. “If he gives us trouble on the way home, we can always put him ashore in Pamphylia or Lykia.”
“Yes, and do you know what will happen if we do?” Sostratos said. “He’ll turn pirate, sure as we’re standing here talking. One of these days, we’ll sail east again, and there he’ll be, swarming out of a hemiolia with a knife clamped between his teeth.”
“I’d like to go east in a trihemiolia,” Menedemos said. “Let’s see the Lykians come after one of those in their miserable, polluted pirate ships, by the gods.”
“That would be pretty fine,” Sostratos agreed. “It could happen, you know. They’re building one now-probably have built it by this time.”
“I know,” Menedemos said. “But even so, even if it was my idea, they probably won’t name me skipper. How can they, when I have to sail away every spring to make a living? No, it’ll be some kalos k’agathos who can afford to spend his time serving the polis like that.”
“Not fair,” Sostratos said.
“In one sense of the word, no, for I do deserve it,” Menedemos replied. “In another sense, though… Well, who can say? A rich man is able to give his time in a way that I’m not, so why shouldn’t he have the chance?” He muttered under his breath, not wanting to think about whether it was fair or not. To keep from having to ponder it, he called, “Diokles!”