Harry Turtledove - The Gryphon's Skull

“You think you can sail into Aigina with your fancy goods and cheat people out of their shoes because we don't see such things very often,” the priest grumbled. Since that was exactly what Menedemos thought, he denied it with special vigor. He'd made his initial demands so high, even Nikodromos' first counteroffers guaranteed him no small profit. And he didn't intend to settle for those first counteroffers.

Once, during the dicker that followed, Menedemos wondered if he'd pushed too hard. Nikodromos stamped his foot and shouted, “No, by the gods! Not another drakhma! Take your trash and get out of my house!”

“As you wish, best one,” Menedemos said coldly. A moment later, a crash came from upstairs: someone had dropped—or hurled—a pot. Sure enough, we're playing to an audience, Menedemos thought. He pretended not to notice the noise or the way Nikodromos flinched, but gathered up the silk and the perfume and started for the door.

“Wait!” Nikodromos said unhappily. “Maybe we could talk a little more.”

“Maybe.” Menedemos did his best to sound as if he were doing the priest a favor. “If you're ready to be more reasonable.”

“You're the one who's not being reasonable.” But Nikodromos nervously looked up toward the women's quarters, as if expecting another pot to shatter at any moment. A proverb crossed Menedemos' mind: even Herakles can't fight two at once. Nikodromos might have held his own against Menedemos. Against Menedemos and his own wife, he had no chance.

“Are we agreed, then?” Menedemos asked not too much later.

“I suppose so.” The priest gnawed at a fingernail. “Seven minai, fifty drakhmai for the emerald. One mina, sixty drakhmai for the silk. And twelve drakhmai for the perfume.” He gave the Rhodian a triumphant smirk at that last price.

Menedemos smiled back, as if acknowledging that Nikodromos had beaten him down there. He didn't tell Nikodromos he'd purposely gone easy on the small haggle because he'd done so well on the larger ones. Let Nikodromos keep his tiny triumph, if it made him happy. Counting on his fingers, Menedemos said, “That makes ... let me see . . . nine minai, twenty-two drakhmai altogether. If you'll fetch the silver, you may choose whichever emerald you like.”

“Wait here,” Nikodromos said gloomily. “I'll be back.” A hunted look on his face, he scurried into the house. Menedemos cocked his head toward the women's quarters. To his disappointment, Asine kept quiet. But she'd already made her presence felt.

When the priest came back with a fresh leather sack, Menedemos said, “If you don't mind, I'm going to take this into the andron.”

“I made one small mistake, and now everyone thinks I'm a thief,” Nikodromos said, more glumly than ever.

Of course. What else would you expect? Menedemos thought. He didn't say that out loud, though he was tempted. What he did say, was, “Not at all. I'm like my cousin, though: I want to have things straight.”

When he'd counted up the coins and put them into glittering rows and stacks in the andron, he found that Nikodromos' payment was four drakhmai over. He picked up four turtles and handed them to the priest without a word: he was convinced the Aiginetan had put them there to test his honesty. “Er—thank you,” Nikodromos said, a faintly embarrassed expression on his face.

“You're welcome,” Menedemos answered. “I don't want more than my due, just what you said you'd pay.” That wasn't strictly true, but Nikodromos couldn't know it wasn't. A show of virtue made the best shield. “I'm sure your wife will enjoy everything you've bought for her.” He raised his voice a little to say that, hoping it would carry up to the women's quarters.

“I want her to,” Nikodromos said. “I want to get my money's worth. And now, if we have no more business ...”

That was barely polite enough to be a hint; in a moment, he'd be shouting, Get out of my house'. Menedemos scooped the coins back into the sack, captured a couple that fell on the floor and tried to roll away, and headed out the door in a hurry. Nikodromos all but slammed it behind him. As Menedemos went, he started whistling a Persian love song whose tune Alexander the Great's men had brought back to Hellas.

While he whistled, he looked up to the second floor, to what he thought were the windows of the women's quarters. If one of those shutters opened, he would see what happened next. If not, he would go back to the Aphrodite knowing he'd pried plenty of silver out of Nikodromos.

A shutter had to open pretty soon. He couldn't stand outside the house whistling for very long, or Nikodromos would figure out why he was doing it. Fleeing an angry husband after a seduction was part of the game. Fleeing before a seduction was nothing but an embarrassment.

Menedemos abruptly stopped whistling, for a shutter did open. The woman who looked down at him wasn't beautiful, but she was . . . prettier than Nikodromos deserves, Menedemos thought. “Hail, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice. “Your husband's bought you some very nice things.” If Asine was more faithful than the priest deserved, that remained safe enough.

When her eyes flashed, he knew he had a chance. “What if he did?” she answered, nothing but scorn in her voice. “I listened to you shaming him into doing it. What would it be like to be with a man who cared about what I wanted without having someone else remind him he ought to?”

Menedemos grinned. He'd hoped she would feel something like that. Had he been married to Nikodromos, he was sure he would have. He couldn't have asked for a better opening. He said, “Dear, if you want to find out, tell me when he won't be home.”

Asine couldn't very well misunderstand that. She couldn't, and she didn't. “He's going up to the temple tomorrow morning,” she said, “He'll be there most of the day.”

“Well, well. Isn't that interesting?” Menedemos said. “So if I were to knock on the front door, there'd be only a poor lone woman in the house?” He winked.

Asine didn't. She looked furious. “He's too stingy to buy me a slave,” she snapped. “It's a wonder you got him to do this. You must be able to talk anyone into doing anything.” Her expression changed: now she was paying attention to Menedemos, not raging at her husband. “Who knows what you'll be able to talk me into doing?”

“We'll find out tomor—” Menedemos broke off, for she closed the shutter in a hurry. Maybe Nikodromos was coming up the stairs to show her what he'd bought.

When Menedemos went back to the Aphrodite, Sostratos greeted him with, “How did it go?” By way of reply, Menedemos handed his cousin the leather sack. Sostratos hefted it and whistled softly. “There must be nine or ten minai of silver in here—and that's Aiginetan minai, too, which means they're heavier than ours.”

“Nine and a quarter,” Menedemos answered. He eyed Sostratos with reluctant respect. His cousin could be fussy as a broody hen, but he knew what he knew. “How did you figure that out so fast?”

“My first guess was in Rhodian weight, because that's what I'm most used to,” Sostratos said. “I know what part of an Aiginetan mina a Rhodian mina is, so I converted from one to the other in my head before I spoke.” He made it sound as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. And so it wasn't—for him. After a moment, he added, “You squeezed him pretty hard, then. Euge.”

“Thanks,” Menedemos said.

“The money isn't really what I meant, though,” Sostratos said. “How did the other go?”

Menedemos needed a moment to understand him. When he did, he blinked. Sostratos wasn't in the habit of asking about his pursuits of other men's wives, except to try to talk him out of them. “You really must dislike Nikodromos,” Menedemos murmured. His cousin dipped his head. Menedemos said, “He's going up to the temple to sacrifice tomorrow. I'm going back to his house.”