Harry Turtledove - The Gryphon's Skull

Once everyone had left the ship, Antigonos’ nephew took the lead behind the messenger and Ptolemaios' officer. Menedemos, a proud and touchy man in his own right, seemed inclined to dispute Polemaios' place. Catching his cousin's eye, Sostratos tossed his head. Polemaios was the tunny here; the captain and toikharkhos of the Aphrodite were just a couple of sprats. To Sostratos' relief, Menedemos didn't push it, but hung back with him.

They all went up to Ptolemaios' residence, the ruler of Egypt's soldiers surrounding Polemaios' bodyguards, who in turn formed up around their master and his wife. After watching all those nodding horsehair plumes and all that gleaming bronze for a while, Sostratos glanced from his ordinary chiton to Menedemos' and back again. “We're underdressed,” he murmured,

“I don't care,” Menedemos answered; even more than Sostratos, he had a seaman's indifference to fancy clothes and abhorrence of armor. “We're not baking like a couple of loaves in the oven, either.”

With the sun high and hot in the sky, Sostratos was sweating by the time the procession got to the house Ptolemaios was using as his own. The soldiers surely were baked by then. At the doorway, Polemaios got into an argument with Ptolemaios' officer, who refused to let any of his bodyguards into the house. The officer said, “If you think you need bodyguards when dealing with Ptolemaios, O best one, you shouldn't have come to Kos.”

Polemaios fumed, but had to yield. So much for that equal alliance, Sostratos thought. Antigonos' nephew shifted his ground: “Will Ptolemaios at least have a slave girl waiting to take my wife to the women's quarters? By the nature of things, she's been out among men and under their eyes more than she should have since I left Khalkis.”

“Certainly, sir. Let me go take care of that.” By yielding at once on the smaller point, Ptolemaios' officer emphasized how unyielding he was on the larger. He disappeared into the house, returning a moment later to say, “A girl will be there waiting for your wife. Just come along with me.” He started to turn back, then snapped his fingers, annoyed at himself. “And you Rhodians, you come along, too.”

Sostratos and Menedemos made their way through the soldiers to get to the door. Ptolemaios' men simply stood aside. Polemaios' bodyguards glared. They were trained and paid to keep their master safe, and here they couldn't do their job. Even if they had been allowed into the residence, Ptolemaios' men would have preceded them and outnumbered them, but they didn't think in those terms. They didn't want to be on one side of a wall when Antigonos' nephew was on the other, and resented anyone who could go in while they couldn't.

When Sostratos walked along the entrance hall and into the courtyard, he got a glimpse of an unveiled slave woman taking Polemaios' wife to a stairway that would lead up to the women's chambers. Polemaios stood in the courtyard, looking after her.

Ptolemaios courteously waited in the andron till his new ally's wife-was out of sight. Then he emerged, saying, “Hail, Polemaios. Welcome to Kos.” He held out his hand.

Polemaios clasped it. Antigonos' nephew was more than a head taller than the lord of Egypt, and twenty years younger besides. Neither size nor youth mattered a khalkos' worth here. Ptolemaios, solid and blocky, was the stronger of the two.

He took that for granted, too, going on without giving Polemaios a chance to speak: “We'll strike some heavy blows against your uncle.”

“I'll fuck his asshole instead of a sausage skin,” Polemaios declared.

The gross obscenity staggered Sostratos. He hadn't dreamt even a Macedonian could come out with anything so crude. But Ptolemaios just chuckled. And so did Menedemos. Sostratos' horror must have shown on his face, for Menedemos leaned toward him and whispered, “That's Aristophanes.”

“Is it?” Sostratos whispered back. Menedemos dipped his head. Sostratos eyed Polemaios with new respect. Not only had he quoted the comic poet—though what a line to choose!—but he'd been shrewd enough to guess that Ptolemaios would know he was quoting and wouldn't be disgusted.

“You'll have your chance,” the ruler of Egypt said. “I can use every talented officer I can get my hands on, and as your men drift in I expect I'll get good service from them, too.”

Antigonos' nephew looked as if he'd bitten into an unbaked quince. What Ptolemaios was talking about didn't sound like anything close to an equal alliance. Evidently it didn't sound like one to Polemaios, either; he said, “I thought we'd be partners in this.”

“And so we will,” Ptolemaios said easily. He reached up and clapped Polemaios on the back. “Come on into the andron, and we'll drink to everything we're going to do to Antigonos.” He waved to Sostratos and Menedemos. “You boys come along, too. Don't you worry about a thing—I promise I haven't forgotten you.”

In the andron, a slave poured wine for Ptolemaios and Polemaios, and then for the two Rhodians. Sostratos poured out a small libation. When he drank, his eyebrows rose. For one thing, the wine was strong: one to one, wine to water, or somewhere close to it. For another.. . “Very fine, sir,” Sostratos said. “If this is Koan, I'd like to know from whom you got it. I wouldn't mind carrying some on the Aphrodite . We'd get a good price for it.”

“It's better than that pitch-flavored vinegar you and your sailors drink, that's for sure,” Polemaios said.

“It is a local wine, I think, but you'll have to ask my steward for the details.” Ptolemaios waved a negligent hand. One corner of his mouth quirked upward in an engagingly wry smile. “Figuring out how to spend die silver you'll get from me, eh?”

“Yes, sir. Why not?” Sostratos said. Not getting the silver from Ptolemaios was one obvious reason why not. He didn't want to think about that.

“No reason at all, young fellow,” Ptolemaios answered. “You're doing your job the best way you know how. Can't ask for more than that from a man. And you and your captain got this big fellow”—he pointed with his chin at Polemaios—”here in fine time, for which I thank you kindly. What did you think of them, Polemaios?”

“They both have tongues that flap too free. And this one”—Antigonos' nephew glowered at Menedemos—”will not keep his eyes to himself. But,” he added reluctantly, “they do handle their ship well.”

“Rhodians have that knack. Must come of their being islanders,” Ptolemaios said. Two of his servitors came in, each carrying four good-sized leather sacks. When they set the sacks down in front of Sostratos, they clinked. Ptolemaios' eyes glinted. “Here is the balance of your fee. I suppose you'll want to count and weigh to make sure I haven't cheated you.”

“No, sir,” Sostratos answered. “If you're ready for me to do it, that's the best sign I don't need to.”

“You see what I mean,” Polemaios rumbled.

“Tending to one's business isn't insolence,” Ptolemaios said. He pointed north and east, in the direction of Halikarnassos. “You and I have some business in common, some business with Antigonos.”

“So we do,” Antigonos' renegade nephew agreed. “But we'd do better not to talk about it where these fellows can listen.” He pointed to Sostratos and Menedemos as if they were pieces of furniture, unable to understand anything.

That made Sostratos want to bristle, but he didn't show his anger. His cousin did, snapping, “You trusted us far enough to let us bring you here. What makes you think we've suddenly turned into Antigonos' spies since we found a berth in the harbor?”

Polemaios surged to his feet. “I've had everything I'm going to take from you, you pretty little catamite, and—”