“Three,” Sostratos answered.
“Three?” Bodashtart laughed scornfully. “And you call me a thief? You are trying to steal from me, and I will not have it.” He drew himself up to his full height, but was still more than a palm shorter than Sostratos.
“Maybe we have no deal,” Sostratos said. “If no deal, I am pleased to meet you even so.”
He waited to see what would happen next. If Bodashtart didn’t want to trade, he would take back the beeswax and go on his way toward Sidon. If he did, he would make another offer. The Phoenician bared his teeth in what was anything but a friendly grin. “You are a bandit, a robber, a brigand,” he said. “But to show that I am just, that I uphold fair dealing, I will take only nine jars of perfume for this splendid, precious wax.”
Now Bodashtart waited to see if the Rhodian would move. “I maybe give four jars,” Sostratos said reluctantly.
They shouted at each other again and accused each other of larcenous habits. Bodashtart sat down on a boulder by the side of the road. Sostratos sat down on another one a couple of cubits away. The sailors escorting him started throwing knucklebones for oboloi while he haggled. His mule and ass and Bodashtart’s donkey began to graze.
After a fair number of insults, Sostratos got up to six jars of perfume and Bodashtart got down to seven. There they stuck. Sostratos suspected six and a half would have made a decent bargain, but perfume, except to cheaters, didn’t come in half-jars. Bodashtart showed no inclination to accept only six, and Sostratos didn’t want to part with seven. The market for beeswax wasn’t enormous, and did fluctuate. If someone close to home came up with a lot of it, he’d lose money even paying only six jars of perfume for this lump.
He and Bodashtart glared at each other, both of them frustrated. Then the Phoenician said, “Look at the cloth I have to sell. If I give you a bolt of that-it’s about three cubits long-with the wax, will you give me seven jars of your perfume?”
“I know not,” Sostratos answered. “Let me see it.”
Bodashtart got up and opened a leather sack on the ass’ back. Sostratos would have carried fine cloth inside an oiled-leather sack, too, to make sure water didn’t damage it. Rain at this season of the year would have been unlikely in Hellas and, he judged, was even more so here, but Bodashtart’s donkey might have to ford several streams between here and Sidon.
When the Phoenician held out the length of cloth, all three of Sostratos’ escorts inhaled sharply. In Greek, Sostratos snapped, “Keep quiet, you gods-detested fools! Do you want to mess this up for me? Turn your backs. Pretend you’re looking out to the hills for bandits if you can’t keep your faces straight.”
To his relief, they obeyed. Bodashtart asked, “What did you say to them? And will the cloth do?”
“I said they should watch for bandits in the hills.” Sostratos feared he’d made a hash of indirect discourse; the Aramaic construction was quite different from the accusative and infinitive Greek used to show it. But Bodashtart nodded, so he must have made himself understood. He went on, “Let me have a better look, please.”
“As you say, my master, so shall it be,” Bodashtart replied, and brought it up to him.
The closer the Phoenician came, the more splendid the cloth appeared. Sostratos didn’t think he’d ever seen finer embroidery. The hunting scene might have come straight from real life: the frightened hares, the thorn bushes beneath which they crouched, the spotted hounds with red tongues lolling out, the men in the distance with their bows and javelins. The detail was astonishing. So were the colors, which were brighter and more vivid than those in use back in Hellas.
He’d managed to keep his men from exclaiming over the piece. Now he had to fight to keep from exclaiming over it himself. To him, it had to be worth more than the beeswax. Doing his best to keep his voice casual, he asked, “Where did it come from?”
“From the east, from the land between the rivers,” Bodashtart told him.
“Between which rivers?” Sostratos asked. But then the Greek equivalent of what the Phoenician had said formed in his mind. “Oh,” he said. “From Mesopotamia.” That, of course, meant nothing to Bodashtart.
Sostratos knew Mesopotamia lay too far east for him to go there himself. He would have to get this work from middlemen like the fellow with whom he was haggling.
“Will it do?” Bodashtart asked anxiously. To him, the embroidery seemed nothing out of the ordinary: just a small extra he could throw in to sweeten the price for perfume he really wanted.
“I… suppose so.” Sostratos had trouble sounding as reluctant as he knew he should. He wanted the embroidered cloth at least as much as the wax. Only later did he realize he might have asked for two cloths. Menedemos would have thought of that right away and would have done it, too. Menedemos automatically thought like a trader, where Sostratos had to force himself to do so.
Bodashtart, fortunately, noticed nothing amiss in Sostratos’ answer. He smiled. “We have a bargain, then-the cloth and the wax for seven jars of perfume.” He thrust out his hand.
Sostratos took it. “Yes, a bargain,” he agreed. “Seven jars of perfume for the wax and the cloth.” They exchanged the goods. The Phoenician put the perfume into a leather sack and led his ass on toward Sidon.
“You cheated him good and proper,” Teleutas said as Sostratos loaded the beeswax and the embroidered cloth onto his pack donkey.
“I think I got the better of him, yes,” Sostratos answered. “But if he makes a profit with the perfume, then no one cheated anybody. That’s the way I hope this trade works out.”
“Why?” the sailor asked. “Why not hope you diddled him good and proper?” He had a simple, selfish rapacity that wouldn’t have been out of place on a pirate.
Patiently, Sostratos answered, “If both sides profit, they’ll both want to deal again, and trade will go on. If one cheats the other, the side that gets cheated won’t want to deal with the other the second time around.”
Teleutas only shrugged. He didn’t care. He had no eye for the long term, only for quick gain. Some merchants were like that, too. They didn’t usually stay in business long, and they fouled the nest for everyone else. Sostratos was glad he had more sense than that. Even Menedemos had more sense than that. Sostratos hoped his cousin had more sense than that, anyhow.
He walked over to the mule. “Someone give me a leg-up,” he said. “We can get some more travel in before the sun goes down.”
Menedemos was beginning to feel at home in and around the barracks that housed Antigonos’ garrison in Sidon. He preferred working the barracks to going into the market square. Not enough people in Sidon spoke Greek to make selling in the agora worthwhile for him. Around the barracks, he was dealing with his own kind. He was even starting to understand bits of Macedonian. It wasn’t so big an accomplishment as Sostratos’ learning Aramaic, but it made Menedemos proud.
When he came up to the barracks one morning, a guard who’d seen him before said, “Haven’t you sold all your books yet?”
“I’ve still got a couple left,” Menedemos answered. “Want to buy one?”
The soldier tossed his head. “Not me. Only use I’d have for papyrus is wiping my arse, on account of I can’t read.”
“You wouldn’t want it for that. It’s scratchy,” Menedemos said, and the sentry laughed. Carefully keeping his voice casual, Menedemos asked, “What’s the name of your quartermaster here, eh?”
“What do you want to talk with Andronikos for?” the soldier replied. “With his shriveled-up little turd of a soul, he won’t want to buy your books.”
“Well, maybe you’re right and maybe you’re not,” Menedemos said easily. “I’d still like to find out for myself.”
“All right, Rhodian.” The sentry stood aside to let him into the building. “He’s got an office on the second floor. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Menedemos had to be content with that less than ringing endorsement. He paused inside the barracks to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Someone on the first floor was reading aloud the story of Akhilleus’ fight with Hektor. Menedemos dared hope it was from a copy of the relevant book of the Iliad he’d sold. He didn’t stop to find out, though. He made his way to the stairs and went up them.