“Euge!” Sostratos said. “To the crows-to the cross-with pirates.”

“Pity you couldn’t have burned them, too,” Menedemos added.

“We sank a couple of others, and many goodbyes to the whipworthy rogues they carried,” the sailor said. “Whoever came up with the notion for the Dikaiosyne was a pretty clever fellow, let me tell you. And now farewell, friends-I’m off for some wine and a go or two at a boy brothel.” With a wave and a smile, he hurried away.

“Well, you pretty clever fellow, what do you think of that?” Sostratos asked.

“I like it,” Menedemos said. “Let the pirates beware, by the gods. Here’s a ship they can’t hope to fight, and one that can hunt them down even when they try to run. I hope we build a fleet of trihemioliai, a big fleet. It’d make things a lot safer for merchant skippers. What do you think, my dear?”

“I’m with you,” Sostratos answered. “With any luck at all, your name will live forever-and deserve to.”

He expected his cousin to strut even more after that. He didn’t praise Menedemos every day. When he did, Menedemos had to know he meant it, and to be sure such praise was well deserved. But Menedemos, as it happened, wasn’t thinking about him just then. With a sigh, he said, “I could be as famous as Alexander, and it wouldn’t be enough to suit my father. He’d stay convinced nobody’d ever heard of me.”

“You must exaggerate,” Sostratos said. “It can’t be so bad as that.”

“As a matter of fact, it can be worse than that. It can be-and it is,” Menedemos said.

“That’s… unfortunate,” Sostratos said. “And you didn’t give him anything to complain about this sailing season. See what a handy thing your oath was?”

“Oh, yes.” But that was sarcasm from his cousin, not agreement. “He started railing at the whole younger generation, not just at me.”

“Why did he start railing at the-?” Sostratos broke off. “You told him about Zilpah?” he asked in dismay.

“I’m afraid I did, O best one. I’m sorry. Part of me is sorry, anyhow. He was holding you up for a paragon, and I wanted to show him you were made of flesh and blood, too, not cast from bronze or carved in marble. But that wasn’t the lesson he drew. I suppose I should have known it wouldn’t be.”

“Yes, you should have.” For a moment, Sostratos was furious. He discovered he couldn’t hold on to his anger, though. “Never mind. It can’t be helped, and it’s not as if you told him about anything I didn’t do.” He kicked at a pebble with the side of his foot. “I understand the temptation now, where I never did before. To have a woman want you enough to give herself to you regardless of the risk-that’s a powerful lure. No wonder you enjoy fishing in those waters.”

“No wonder at all,” Menedemos agreed. “In fishing, though, you eat what you catch. With women, if you like, what you catch eats you.”

Sostratos made a face at him. “I should have known better. Here I was trying to tell you I’d found some sympathy for what you’ve been doing, and what do I get for it? A lewd pun, that’s what. I think all your Aristophanes has gone to your head-or somewhere.”

“Why, whatever can you mean, my dear?” Menedemos asked archly. Sostratos made another face. Menedemos went on in a more serious vein: “You’re right, though. That’s what makes wives more fun than whores- they really want it. Anybody can buy a whore’s twat. Wives are different. Some wives are, anyhow.”

“True enough. Some wives stay loyal to their husbands.”

“Well, yes, but those aren’t the ones I meant,” Menedemos said. “Some wives’ll give it away to just about anybody, too. They aren’t worth having. That horrid Harpy of an Emashtart…” He shuddered. “You had the luck with women this trip, believe me.”

“Mine wasn’t all good,” Sostratos said.

“Mine was just about all bad,” Menedemos said. “I could make it better, but-” He tossed his head.

“What do you mean?” Sostratos asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Not a thing,” Menedemos answered quickly.

He was lying. Sostratos had no doubt of that. But, whatever the truth was, his cousin wouldn’t give it to him.

A delicious smell came from the kitchen. Menedemos drifted toward it, sniffing like a hunting dog on the trail of a hare. He stuck his nose in the door. “What is that?” he asked the cook. “Whatever it is, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Thanks, young master,” Sikon answered. “Nothing fancy-just prawns baked with a little oil and cumin and some leeks.”

“ ‘Nothing fancy,’ he says.” Menedemos came all the way in. “If the gods had you for a cook, they’d be better-natured than they are.”

“That’s kind of you-mighty kind.” Sikon scooped a prawn, still in its shell, off the clay baking dish and handed it to Menedemos. “Here. Why don’t you try one? Supper won’t be for a little while yet, and I expect you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” Menedemos agreed. As it often did, flattery had its reward. Holding the prawn by the tail, he left the kitchen. He paused just outside to peel off the shell and take a big bite, then sighed ecstatically. It tasted as good as it smelled. He could imagine no higher praise. Another bite got him down to the tail. He took the prawn by the very end, bit gently, and pulled it away from his mouth. The flesh stuck in the tail came free. Savoring the last delicious morsel, he tossed the empty tail to the ground next to the rest of the shell.

“I hope you enjoyed that.”

By the way Baukis sounded, she hoped Menedemos would have choked on the prawn. “Oh. Hail,” he told his father’s young wife. All of a sudden, the treat didn’t seem nearly so sweet and succulent. He went on, “I didn’t notice you come into the courtyard.”

“I’m sure of that.” She sounded chillier yet. “You had your eyes closed while you slobbered over your seafood.”

That stung. “I don’t slobber,” Menedemos said. “And it was good. You’ll see for yourself-supper won’t be long.”

“I’m sure Sikon gave you that prawn from the goodness of his heart.”

Menedemos wondered where Baukis, who was very young and who, like any woman of good family, had led a sheltered life, had learned such irony. “Well, why else?” he asked.

“To keep you sweet, that’s why!” Baukis flared. “As long as you get little tidbits every now and then, you don’t care how much they cost. Your tongue is happy, your tummy’s happy, and to the crows with everything else.”

“That’s not fair,” he said uncomfortably. Was Sikon devious enough to do such a thing? Easily. The next question Menedemos asked himself was harder. Am I foolish enough to fall for a ploy like that? He sighed. The answer to that looked to be the same as the one before: easily.

“You’re right-that’s not fair, but what can I do about it?” Baukis looked and sounded on the edge of tears. “If the slaves in my own house won’t obey me, am I a wife or just a child? And if no one else in the family will back me against a slave, am I even a child, or only a slave myself?”

Her words held a painful amount of truth-certainly painful to her. But Menedemos said, “My dear, you’ll find yourself without allies if you pick the wrong fight. I’m afraid that’s what’s happened here. We really can afford to eat well, so why shouldn’t we?”

She stared at him, then did start to cry. “Oh! You hate me! Everyone hates me!” she stormed. She spun away from him and rushed toward the stairs. Up she went. A moment later, the door to the women’s quarters slammed.

“Oh, a pestilence,” Menedemos muttered. Now he was liable to end up with not only Baukis but also his father angry at him. Philodemos could find any excuse for getting in a temper against him, but Baukis… He muttered some more. Having her dash away from him was the last thing he wanted-even if it may be the best and safest thing for you, he told himself.

That slamming door brought his father out into the courtyard. “By the gods, what now?” Philodemos asked, scowling.