Harry Turtledove - The Gryphon's Skull

“Those abandoned rascals blacken my name,” Nikodromos complained.

“Easiest way to prove that, sir, is to give us the price you agreed to,” Menedemos said. “As soon as we have the turtles, we'll sing your praises at every stop we make.”

“Of course, we won't do anything of the sort if you go back on the bargain,” Sostratos added. Sometimes—often, in fact—knaves acted like honest men if the choice was having their knavery published to the world.

Knave or not, Nikodromos let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Come along, then, both of you,” he said. “You'll get your money. Bring the hide. Let there be no doubt that I am a man who keeps the agreements he makes.”

“Let's go,” Menedemos said.

When they got to Nikodromos' house, Sostratos wondered whether the priest would be able to pay them at all, for no slave opened the door to let them in: Nikodromos had to do it himself. Was a man without a slave likely to be a man who had more than four minai of silver in his home? It struck Sostratos as unlikely.

He relaxed a little when he saw a woman tending a flower garden in the courtyard. A maidservant might not answer the door, but at least Nikodromos had some help. Then the priest snapped, “Go back to the women's quarters, Asine. I have traders with me.”

“Yes, my husband,” the woman said, and hurried away, though she did look back over her shoulder at the Rhodians.

“She wasn't expecting company,” Nikodromos said apologetically.

“It's all right, best one,” Sostratos said, though what he was thinking was, Just you and your wife? How do you get anything done? You might as well be peasants, or even barbarians.

“Quite all right,” Menedemos echoed. His tone was all it should have been. Even so, Sostratos disliked the way his eyes slid toward the stairway to the second floor, the stairway up which Asine had gone.

You barely got a look at her, Sostratos thought. She barely got a look at you. Why do I think — why do I know — you want to lie with her if you can? Why? You're my cousin, that's why. I've seen you around women too many times by now. I've seen you land in trouble too many times by now, too.

Trying not to think about what might be—what all too likely was—going through Menedemos' mind, Sostratos asked Nikodromos, “Shall we wait here while you get the money?”

“Oh, I suppose you can step into the andron,” Nikodromos said grudgingly. “I won't be long.”

In a proper household, a slave would have offered them wine and olives or raisins. Here, they simply sat in the men's room and waited. “Well, what do you think?” Menedemos asked, almost without moving his lips. “Is he lying to us, or is he the greatest miser since Midas?”

“I don't know,” Sostratos answered. “But I'm guessing he's a cheapskate. Would he have had the gall to bring us here if he couldn't pay us?”

“We'll find out,” Menedemos said. “His wife's pretty. Did you notice?”

“No, and I wish you wouldn't have, either,” Sostratos said. His cousin made a face at him.

Before they could start arguing in earnest, Menedemos let out a sharp hiss. Sostratos fell silent; he'd seen Nikodromos coming, too. The priest carried a leather sack. When he set it down on a table in the andron, it clinked. “Here you are,” he said. “Four minai, twenty drakhmai. Go ahead and count it. You'll see all is as it should be.”

With some men, that invitation to count would have told Sostratos he didn't have to. With one so mean as Nikodromos, he did anyhow. When he'd finished, he looked up and told the priest, “I'm afraid you're still six drakhmai short, O marvelous one.”

He'd laid the silver coins in neat rows and stacks; Nikodromos could hardly challenge his assertion. In a low, furious voice, the Aiginetan said, “I'll get them,” and hurried away.

“Shameless,” Sostratos said.

“Are you surprised?” Menedemos kept looking toward those stairs. Sostratos noticed that with as much resignation as alarm: up till now, Menedemos hadn't eyed anyone else's wife with desire on this trading run. Sostratos had started to wonder if his cousin were off his feed.

Before he could warn Menedemos, Nikodromos and Asine started yelling at each other. Sostratos couldn't make out the words, but they both sounded furious. “Charming couple,” Sostratos murmured.

Menedemos grinned. “Aren't they just? Still, though . . . Oh, wait, here comes the priest back again.”

What had he been about to say? Maybe I don't want to know, Sostratos thought. Nikodromos stormed into the andron, his scowl black as moonless midnight. He slapped down half a dozen drakhmai. “There,” he snarled. “Are you satisfied now?”

“Perfectly so, best one,” Sostratos answered. “It is what we agreed to, after all.”

“To the crows with—” Nikodromos began, but he caught himself. Trying to sound civil, he said, “The Huntress will be glad to have the lion-skin cloak.”

“Of course she will.” Menedemos sounded as smooth—and as greasy—as olive oil. Sostratos' suspicions flared; he'd heard that particular conspiratorial tone before. Sure enough, Menedemos went on, “Would you be interested in some fine Rhodian perfume, sir? Or even”—he lowered his voice almost to a whisper—”in emeralds? I've got a couple of fine ones, straight from Egypt.”

“Now why would I want anything like that?” Nikodromos kept the growl in his voice, but leaned toward Menedemos even so.

“You never can tell what will sweeten up a woman,” Menedemos remarked, for all the world as if he hadn't heard—as if the neighbors hadn't heard—the priest and his wife quarreling a moment before.

Nikodromos grunted. “That's true, I suppose.”

“For that matter,” Menedemos added, as if just remembering, “I also have some Koan silk, which is not the sort of stuff every lady in Aigina would be wearing.”

“Do you?” Nikodromos said. Menedemos gravely dipped his head.

Sostratos sat there putting the coins back in their sack and doing his best not to laugh out loud. Nikodromos thought Menedemos was interested in helping him make up with his wife after their fight, and in making some money doing that. Sostratos knew better. Oh, his cousin wouldn't mind making money off Nikodromos. But what Menedemos really wanted was Asine. If he sold Nikodromos perfume or jewels or silk, he would use his visits here to make himself known to her—even if she stayed in the women's quarters while he was around—and to scout out the ground and see what his chances were.

“Maybe you should bring some of these things by, give me a chance to look at them,” Nikodromos said. “Not today: I should take the hide up to the temple now, and I'll be sacrificing through the afternoon. Tomorrow morning, not too early?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Nikodromos agreed. “I'll see you then.”

Nikodromos had hardly closed the door behind them when Sostratos wagged a forefinger under his cousin's nose. “I know what you've got in mind,” he said.

“My dear, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.” But Menedemos' eyes danced. He couldn't make that sound convincing no matter how hard he tried. “Why aren't you swelling up like a toad and telling me what a bad character I am?”

Sostratos had been wondering about that himself. He gave the most honest answer he could: “If anyone ever had it coming, that petty thief of a Nikodromos does.”

“Well, well,” Menedemos said, and then again, “Well, well.” He walked on for a few paces before adding, “There's no guarantee, you know.”

“Don't put yourself in danger,” Sostratos said. “Nikodromos isn't worth it.”

His cousin chuckled. “Of course he isn't. Asine, now, Asine just may be. I'll have to see how it goes, that's all.” He tapped Sostratos on the chest with his finger. “One thing, though.”