Harry Turtledove - The Sacred Land

By the haste with which Erinna appeared in the courtyard, she must have hoped Sostratos would ask after her. “Hail,” she said, taking his hands in his. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, my dear,” he answered. “You look well. I’m glad. And I’m very glad you’re going to have a child. I was happier than I can say when Father told me.”

Her eyes glowed when she smiled. She freed her right hand, setting it on her belly. When she did that, Sostratos could see the beginning of a bulge there under her long chiton. “So far, everything seems to be well,” she said. “You’ll have a nephew before you sail next spring.” She didn’t even mention the possibility of a girl.

“That’ll be fine,” Sostratos said, and then stuck fast as he cast about, wondering what to say next. He and Erinna couldn’t talk the way they had back at his family’s house, not with Damonax standing there listening to every word. He’d been foolish to imagine they could. By his sister’s expression, she was realizing the same thing. He sighed. “I’d better be going. It’s wonderful you’re going to have a baby. I’ll help spoil him for the two of you.”

Damonax chuckled at that in an indulgent, husbandly way. Erinna smiled but looked disappointed as Sostratos turned and headed for the doorway. For a moment, he wondered why. He could tell she too knew they couldn’t talk the way they had in the old days. What point to pretending they could?

Then he thought, You can go out that door. You can do what you please in the city. Erinna’s a respectable wife. That means she has to stay here. Such restrictions had chafed at her back when she was living in her father’s house. They were even stronger, even harsher, for a married woman.

“Take care of yourself,” Erinna called after him.

“And you, my dear,” Sostratos answered. “And you.” He hurried away then, not wanting to look back.

Philodemos sat in the andron, drinking wine and eating olives. When Menedemos started out of the house, he wanted to pretend he didn’t see his father’s wave. He wanted to, yes, but he didn’t have the nerve. He stopped and waved back. “Hail, Father,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Come here.” Philodemos sounded as peremptory as usual. “You don’t need to go drinking or whoring right this minute, do you?”

Menedemos’ hackles rose. His father always assumed he was in the wrong. Sometimes he was, of course, but not always. “I’m coming,” he replied with what dignity he could. “As a matter of fact, though, I was going to the agora, not out drinking or whoring.”

“That’s easy enough for you to say.” Philodemos rolled his eyes up to the heavens. “I can’t prove you’re wrong.” By his tone, the matter of proof was just a detail.

After helping himself to an olive from the bowl on the table in front of his father, Menedemos tried a thrust of his own: “You’re the one with the wine cup here.”

“Yes, and it’s properly watered, too,” his father snapped. “Do you want a taste, so you can tell for yourself?”

“No, never mind,” Menedemos said. “Why did you call me?” Except to carp at me, he added, but only to himself. That would have made things worse.

“Why did I call you?” Philodemos echoed. He took a pull from the cup himself, perhaps to disguise his confusion. Menedemos wondered if he’d called for any real reason at all, or just for the sake of exasperating him. At last, Philodemos said, “About the eastern route. Yes, that’s it- about the eastern route. Do you think we can use it every year?”

That was a legitimate question; Menedemos could hardly deny as much. He said, “We can, sir, but I don’t think we’d be wise. It’s not just pirates. The war between Antigonos and Ptolemaios looks to be heating up. Any ship at all heading for Phoenicia is taking a chance these days.”

Philodemos grunted. “If you talk that way, we never should have sent the Aphrodite . ”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t have,” Menedemos agreed.

His father didn’t just grunt this time. He blinked in astonishment. “You really do say that? You, the fellow who took the ship through a Carthaginian siege into Syracuse a couple of years ago?”

Ears heating, Menedemos dipped his head. “Yes, Father, I do say that. Taking the Aphrodite to Syracuse was one risk. As soon as we got past the Carthaginian fleet, we were fine. But there’s risk every digit of the way between here and Phoenicia, from pirates and from the Macedonian marshals. We got into trouble, and I think almost any ship heading that way would. We came out the other side all right. Whether another ship would… Well, who knows?”

“Maybe you really are starting to grow up a little,” Philodemos muttered, more to himself than to Menedemos. “Who would have believed that?”

“Father-” Menedemos broke off. He didn’t want to quarrel if he could help it. That being so, he kept talking about the struggle between the marshals: “Did Alexander the Great’s sister ever get out of Sardis? When we headed east, there was talk she wanted to get away from Antigonos and go over to Ptolemaios. Did old One-Eye let Kleopatra get away with it? We never heard anything after that, going to Sidon or coming back.”

“Kleopatra’s dead. Does that answer your question?” Philodemos replied.

“Oimoi!” Menedemos exclaimed, though he wasn’t really much surprised. “So Antigonos did her in?”

“He says not,” Philodemos answered. “But when she tried to leave Sardis, his governor there wouldn’t let her go. Later on, some of her serving women murdered her. They wouldn’t have done it if the governor hadn’t told them to, and he wouldn’t have told them to if Antigonos hadn’t told him to. He made a show of putting them to death afterwards, but then, he would.”

“Yes.” Menedemos clicked his tongue between his teeth. “Sostratos called that one when we first heard Kleopatra wanted to get away from Antigonos. She wouldn’t marry him, and she was too valuable a prize for him to let any of the other marshals have her.” He sighed. “So now none of Alexander ’s kin is left alive. These Macedonians are bloodthirsty bastards, aren’t they?”

“That they are.” Philodemos dipped his head. “And your cousin is a clever fellow.” Which means you aren’t. Menedemos heard the addition even though his father didn’t say it. It stung. It always did. And then Philodemos quivered, like a dog taking a scent. “Or are you telling me we shouldn’t go back to Sidon because you made it impossible for any ship from our family to go back to Sidon? Whose wife did you debauch while you were there? The garrison commander’s, maybe?”

“Nobody’s, by the gods,” Menedemos said.

“Is that the truth?” But Philodemos checked himself before Menedemos became really angry. “You don’t lie about your adulteries; I will say that. If anything, you revel in them. All right, then. That’s good news.”

“I didn’t have any adulteries to revel in, as I say,” Menedemos replied. “Sostratos did-an innkeeper’s wife down in Ioudaia-but not me.”

“Sostratos… your cousin… seduced another man’s wife?” his father said. Menedemos dipped his head. Philodemos clapped a hand to his forehead. “Papai! What is the younger generation coming to?”

“Probably about the same as yours did, and the one before yours, and the one before that, and the one before that,” Menedemos said with a cheerful grin. “ Aristophanes complained about the younger generation a hundred years ago.”

“Well, what if he did?” Philodemos retorted. “He was an Athenian, and everybody knows about them. You and your cousin are Rhodians. Good people. Sensible people.”