Despite that scowl, Menedemos knew a certain amount of relief that he could be the first to tell his father what had happened. If Philodemos listened to Baukis first, he probably wouldn’t heed anyone else afterwards. Menedemos summarized what had led to Baukis’ abrupt departure. When he finished, he waited for Philodemos to start railing at him.

But all Philodemos did was slowly dip his head. “Well, maybe it’s for the best,” he said.

“Sir?” Menedemos gaped, hardly believing his ears.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Philodemos repeated. “Her quarrel with Sikon’s been going on far too long. I didn’t want to stick my nose into it; one or the other of them would have bitten it off. But maybe she’ll pay attention to you. She takes you seriously, though I’m sure I can’t imagine why.”

“Thank you so much,” Menedemos murmured. His father couldn’t possibly praise him without stirring some vinegar in with the honey. Even so, he was glad to learn Baukis did take him seriously.

She didn’t come downstairs for supper. Sikon sent some of the prawns up to her, along with fine white barley rolls for sitos and a cup of wine. When the slave woman brought back the dish without a prawn left on it, the cook looked almost unbearably smug. Menedemos was tempted to smack him. Even Philodemos noticed, and said, “Gloating isn’t a good idea.”

However harsh he was with his own son, he was usually mild to the cook. Sikon got the point. “All right, master-I’ll remember,” he promised.

“See that you do,” Philodemos said.

Clouds drifting down from the north not only warned of the beginning of the autumn rains but also brought darkness sooner than it would have come with good weather. Menedemos was just as glad to be back in Rhodes. He wouldn’t have wanted to try steering the Aphrodite through rain and fog and light murky at best. He tossed his head. No, he wouldn’t have wanted that at all. Too easy to end up aground before you even knew you were in trouble.

Yawning, he went upstairs to bed. These longer nights made him want to curl up like a dormouse and sleep and sleep. But he hadn’t drifted off when his father came upstairs, too. Philodemos went into the women’s quarters. A few minutes later, the bed there started creaking rhythmically.

Menedemos pulled his himation up over his head to smother the noise. No good. After a while, it stopped. After a much longer while, he slept.

He woke before sunrise the next morning and tiptoed down to the kitchen for some barley rolls, olive oil, and wine to break his fast, then sat down on a bench in the courtyard to eat. He managed a wry chuckle when his gaze went to the stairs. After the exertions of the night before, how late would his father sleep?

That thought had hardly occurred to him when he heard footsteps on the stairs. But it wasn’t his father coming down; it was Baukis. She paused in the doorway when she saw Menedemos up before her. For a moment, he thought she would withdraw. After a brief pause, though, she came out. “Hail,” she said, and, after gathering herself, “Good day.”

“Good day,” he answered gravely. “How are you?”

“Well.” Baukis thought about that, then made a slight correction: “Well enough.”

“I’m glad,” Menedemos said, as if he hadn’t heard the correction. He didn’t want to keep up a fight with her. “The rolls from yesterday’s baking are still very good,” he offered. No matter what she thought about Sikon’s choices for opson, she couldn’t very well complain about the sitos… could she?

She came close. “Are they?” she said tonelessly. Menedemos dipped his head. She let out a small sigh. “All right,” she murmured, and went into the kitchen to get her own breakfast.

When she came out again, Menedemos shifted on the bench to give her more room to sit down. She hesitated but did. She poured out a small libation from her cup of wine before tearing off a chunk from a barley roll, dipping it in oil, and eating it.

Sikon came out of his little downstairs room just then. “Good day, young master,” he said, “Good day, mistress.” Whatever he thought about Baukis, he remembered Philodemos’ warning and kept it to himself.

“Hail,” Menedemos said. He wondered if Baukis would scold the cook for not being up before her and hard at work. She seldom missed a chance to fuel their feud.

But all she said this morning was, “Good day, Sikon.” Looking both surprised and relieved-he’d evidently expected a snarl from her, too- Sikon hurried into the kitchen. Pots clattered. Firewood thumped. Baukis let out what was unmistakably a snort of laughter. “He’s showing off how busy he is.”

“Well, yes,” Menedemos agreed. The cook didn’t have to make half that much noise.

Baukis thought the same thing. “He really is an old fraud, you know.”

“Well-yes,” Menedemos said again. “But he really is a good cook, too, you know.”

“I suppose so,” Baukis said grudgingly. She sipped from her wine. “I don’t like quarreling with you.”

“I’ve never like quarreling with you,” Menedemos said, which was nothing but the truth.

“Good.” Baukis ate some more of her barley roll. “This is good, too,” she admitted, licking crumbs and a smear of oil from her fingertips with a couple of quick strokes from the tip of her tongue.

Menedemos watched, entranced. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” he said, a heartbeat slower than he should have. He might have been talking about the barley roll. On the other hand, he might not have been.

Baukis, to his relief, chose to answer as if he was: “Sikon is almost as good with sitos as he is with opson.”

“You shouldn’t tell me that,” Menedemos said. She raised an eyebrow in surprise. “By the gods, Baukis, you shouldn’t,” he insisted. “You should go right into the kitchen and tell Sikon to his face.”

She didn’t have to think about that, but dipped her head at once. “You’re right-I should. I should, and I will.” She got to her feet and strode into the kitchen as a hoplite might have gone into battle. Menedemos, though, wouldn’t have watched a hoplite striding into battle in anything like the same way.

He had trouble reading her expression when she came out again. “Well?” he asked.

“He asked me how much wine I’d had, and if I’d bothered putting any water in it at all. That man!” Baukis looked as if she didn’t know whether to be furious or to burst out laughing. After a moment, laughter won.

“What’s so funny?” Philodemos called from the bottom of the stairs.

Menedemos got to his feet. “Hail, Father.”

“Good day, sir,” Baukis added, prim as a young wife should have been.

“What’s so funny?” Menedemos’ father asked again. Baukis explained. Philodemos listened, then chuckled. “Let me understand you, my dear,” he said after a moment. “You went in to Sikon and told him this? And then he said that to you?”

“That’s right, sir,” Baukis answered. “It was Menedemos’ idea.”

“Was it?” Menedemos’ father gave him a long look. “Well, good for you,” he said at last. “Good for both of you, in fact. High time everyone remembers we’re all living in the same house here.” He went into the kitchen to get his own breakfast.

“Thank you, Menedemos,” Baukis said quietly.

“Why?” he said. “I didn’t do anything-you did.” He smiled at her. She smiled back, looking as happy as he’d seen her since she came into the household.

Philodemos walked out munching on a roll, a cup of wine in his other hand. “Did I tell you, son, I’m going to a symposion at Xanthos’ tonight?” he said. “You’re invited, too, if you care to come along.”

“No, thanks,” Menedemos said at once, miming an enormous yawn.

Philodemos chuckled again. “I told his slave I was pretty sure you had another engagement,” he said, “but I did think I’d let you know about it. The wine and the food and the entertainers will be good.”

“No doubt, sir, but the price is listening to one of Xanthos’ windy speeches, or maybe more than one,” Menedemos replied. “That’s more than I care to pay, thank you very much. And with Sikon in the kitchen, the food here will be good, too.”