Harry Turtledove - The Gryphon's Skull

“Same route we used to pick up Polemaios, of course,” Sostratos said, “though they'll probably be sick of seeing us in the Kyklades.”

“That's what I was thinking about,” Menedemos said. “Those are dangerous waters—we saw it for ourselves. And they're going to be more dangerous than usual. Polemaios' men, or some of them, will be heading this way. I don't want to run into them. The only real difference between mercenaries and pirates is that pirates have ships. When mercenaries take ship, they're liable to turn pirate, too.”

“You have been thinking,” Sostratos said. “That's well put.”

“And, of course, on our way back, the cities of the Island League may have learned we smuggled Antigonos' nephew past them,” Menedemos continued. “Since the league is Antigonos' creature . . .”

“They may not be any too happy with us,” Sostratos finished for him. Menedemos dipped his head. His cousin scowled. “How do we get to Athens, then?”

“That's what I've been thinking about,” Menedemos replied. “Suppose we go on up to Miletos and do some trading there.”

“Suppose we don't,” Sostratos said. “That's one of old One-Eye's chief strongholds, and ...” He broke off, looking foolish. “Oh, I see. Word of what we've done won't have got there yet.”

Now Menedemos indulged himself with a sarcastic, “Ettge.”

His cousin's scowl returned. “I still don't like it.”

Laughing, Menedemos said, “Of course you don't, my dear. It means one more pause before your precious gryphon's skull can be formally introduced to Athenian society. But consider: from Miletos, we can sail northwest to Ikaria, either stopping at Samos on the way or spending a night at sea, and then strike straight across the Aegean for the channel between Andros and Euboia instead of hopping from island to island. Traders hardly ever use that route, which means pirates don't, either. We could get almost to Attica without having anybody notice.”

He watched Sostratos contemplate that. It wasn't what his cousin wanted; Menedemos knew as much. Most men, when thwarted in their desires, lashed out at whoever held them back. Menedemos had seen that, too. Sostratos' mouth twisted. But he didn't let loose whatever curses he was thinking. Instead, he said, “Well, I don't like to admit it, but that's likely best for the ship and best for business. Let it be as you say.”

“I did think you would fuss more,” Menedemos said.

Sostratos smiled a crooked smile. “I will if you like.”

“Don't bother.” Menedemos smiled, too. “I'm glad you're being so reasonable. I was just thinking that not many men would.”

“Oh, I'll fight like a wild boar when I think I'm right, and I'll rip the guts out of the hunting dogs of illogic that nip my heels,” Sostratos said. “But what's the point in getting hot and bothered when that would be wrong?”

“You might win anyhow. Some would say you had a better chance, in fact,” Menedemos answered. “Look at what Bad Logic did to Good Logic in the Clouds.”

“You keep coming back to that polluted play,” Sostratos said. “You know it's not my favorite.”

“But there's a lot of good stuff in it,” Menedemos said. “By the time Bad Logic is done, Good Logic sees that practically all the Athenians are a pack of wide-arsed catamites.”

“That's not true, though,” Sostratos protested.

“It's what people think.” Menedemos applied the clincher: “And it's funny.”

“What people think to be true often influences what they do or say, and so becomes a truth of its own,” Sostratos said thoughtfully. “I’ll chase truth where it leads me, and it leads me there.” He wagged a finger at Menedemos. “But I would never throw truth over the rail for the sake of getting a laugh.”

“You're the soul of virtue.” Menedemos could have spoken mockingly; his cousin did get tiresome at times. But Sostratos really did have a great many virtues, and Menedemos was more willing than usual to acknowledge them because his cousin wasn't fussing about heading up to Miletos.

Sostratos pointed. “There's the Aphrodite .”

A couple of sailors aboard the merchant galley spotted their captain and toikharkhos and waved. Menedemos waved back. He also wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Hot and muggy,” he grumbled.

“It is, isn't it?” Sostratos looked north. “Breeze is picking up a little bit, too, I think,”

He spoke as if hoping Menedemos would tell him he was wrong. Menedemos, unfortunately, thought he was right. “I hope we don't get a blow,” he said. “It would be late in the year for one, but I don't like the feel of the air.”

“No. Neither do I,” Sostratos said, and then, “We might have done better not to let the crew do its celebrating here.”

Menedemos shrugged. “If it is a storm, we'd get it in Miletos, too. Just as well not to get it out in the middle of the Aegean, though,” His feet went from the gravelly dirt of the street to the planks of the quay, hot under the sun but worn smooth by the passage of countless barefoot sailors.

When he and Sostratos came up to the Aphrodite , Aristeidas asked, “Will they bring some of this famous Koan wine aboard tomorrow?”

“Afraid not.” Menedemos tossed his head. “Nikomakhos wouldn't come down far enough to make it worth our while to buy.”

“Ah, too bad,” the lookout said. A fair number of sailors had a lively interest in the business end of what the Aphrodite did; Aristeidas was one of them. Maybe he dreamt of owning a merchantman himself, or maybe of serving as captain aboard one and going on trading runs for the owner. The first was unlikely. The second was by no means impossible. Had things gone better for Diokles, he would have been doing that this sailing season. His time might— probably would—still come.

In his turn, Menedemos asked, “See anything interesting across the water at Halikarnassos?”

“No, skipper,” Aristeidas answered. “Everything's quiet over there. Ptolemaios' war galleys go back and forth outside the harbor here, and you can see Antigonos', little as bugs, doing the same thing over there. They don't even move against each other.”

“Just as well,” Menedemos said. “I wouldn't want to sail out of here and end up in the middle of a sea fight.”

“I should hope not,” Aristeidas exclaimed.

In a low voice, Sostratos said, “Oh, you had warships in mind when you asked about Halikarnassos? I thought you were still worrying about the husband you outraged a couple of years ago.”

“Funny,” Menedemos said through clenched teeth. “Very funny.” If he hadn't got out of Halikarnassos in a hurry, he might not have been able to get out at all; that husband had wanted his blood. But he made himself look northeast, toward the city on the mainland. “I'll get back there one of these days.”

“Not under your right name, you won't,” Sostratos said. “Not unless you come at the head of a fleet yourself.”

He was probably right. No: he was almost certainly right. Menedemos knew as much. He didn't intend to admit it, though: “I could do it this year if I had to, I think. In a couple of years, that fellow won't even remember my name.”

His cousin snorted. “He won't forget you till the day he dies. And even then, his ghost will want to haunt you.”

“I doubt it.” Now Menedemos spoke with more confidence. “He'll have another man, or more than one, to be angry at by then. If his wife bent over forward for me, she'll bend over forward for somebody else, too. Women are like that. And she'll probably get caught again. She's pretty, but she's not very smart.”

As was Sostratos' way, he met that thoughtfully. “Character doesn't change much, true enough,” he admitted. But then he pointed at Menedemos. “That holds for men as well as women. You in Taras last summer ...”