“Don’t worry about it,” Sostratos said. “I know you’re sick of me.”

He didn’t mention the obvious corollary. Aristeidas did it for him: “You’re sick of us, too, eh?”

Once again, Sostratos faced the dilemma of choosing between an unpalatable truth and an obvious lie. In the end, he chose neither. With a wry smile, he asked, “How on earth could you dream of such a thing?” That made the sailors laugh, which was better than offending them or treating them like fools.

They tramped on. After a while, Teleutas said, “I think we ought to look to our weapons. We’ve come this far without any trouble. It’d be a shame if we got robbed when we were so close to getting back to Sidon.”

Sostratos wanted to tell him he was worrying over nothing. He wanted to, but knew he couldn’t. What he did say, regretfully, was, “That’s a good idea.”

He’d never let Menedemos’ bow get far from him while he was on the road. Now he took it out of its case and strung it. The case itself, which also held his arrows, he wore at his left side, slung over his right shoulder with a leather strap. “You look like a Skythian nomad,” Aristeidas said.

“The case looks like a Skythian nomad’s,” Sostratos said, tossing his head, “for we use the same style they do-I suppose we borrowed it from them. But tell me, my dear, when have you ever imagined a Skythian nomad aboard a plodding mule?” That made the sailors laugh again. Sostratos, a thoroughly indifferent rider even on a mule, thought it was pretty funny, too.

Toward noon, half a dozen Ioudaioi came down the road toward the Hellenes. The strangers were all young men, all on the ragged side, and all armed with spears or swords. They gave Sostratos and his companions long, thoughtful looks as the two parties drew near. The Rhodians looked back, not in a way suggesting they wanted a fight, but as if to say they could put up a good one if they had to.

Both little bands got halfway off the road as they edged past each other. Neither seemed to want to give the other any excuse for starting trouble. “Peace be unto you,” Sostratos called to the Ioudaioi in Aramaic.

“And to you also peace,” a man from the other band replied.

One of the other Ioudaioi muttered something else, something Sostratos was even gladder to hear: “More trouble than they’re worth.” A couple of the young man’s friends nodded.

Despite that, Sostratos looked back over his shoulder several times to make sure the Ioudaioi weren’t turning around to come after his companions and him. Once, he saw a Ioudaian looking back over his shoulder at him and the sailors. “We made them respect us,” he told the other Rhodians.

“A good thing, too,” Moskhion said, “for I always respect bastards who outnumber me-you’d best believe I do.”

“If we run into six bandits, or eight, or even ten, we’re probably fine,” Sostratos said, “because a little band like that can see we have teeth. They might beat us, but we’d cost them half their men. One of those fellows called us more trouble than we’re worth. That’s how most bands would feel about us.”

“What about a band with forty or fifty men in it, though?” Aristeidas asked worriedly. “A bandit troop that big could roll right over us and hardly even know we were there.”

“The thing is, there aren’t very many bandit troops with forty or fifty men in them.” Teleutas spoke before Sostratos could answer. “A troop like that is more like an army than your usual pack of robbers. It needs a village of its own, pretty much, on account of keeping that many men fed isn’t easy. And it’s the big bands that soldiers move against, too. Most bandits turn back into farmers when soldiers come sniffing after ‘em. A big troop can’t do that, or not easily, anyhow-too many people know who they are and where they roost. It either splits up into a bunch of little bands or else it stands and fights.”

Aristeidas thought it over, then dipped his head. “Makes sense,” he said.

It did indeed make sense. It made so much sense, Sostratos sent Teleutas a very thoughtful look. How had the sailor acquired such intimate knowledge of the way robber bands worked? Had he been part of one, or more than one, himself? That wouldn’t have surprised Sostratos, not a bit. There were technical treatises on things like cookery and how to build catapults, but he’d never heard of, never imagined, a technical treatise on how to become a successful bandit. Even if such a monster of a book existed, he didn’t think Teleutas could read.

Moskhion must have been thinking along with him. “I got out of sponge diving because pulling an oar was a better job,” he said. “What did you get out of to turn sailor, Teleutas?”

“Oh, this and that,” Teleutas answered, and gave no details.

The Hellenes took a more westerly route up to Sidon than they had on their way down to Jerusalem. They spent the night in a village called Gamzo. The place was so small it didn’t even have an inn. Having got permission from the locals, Sostratos built a fire in the middle of the market square. He bought bread and oil and wine and, feeling extravagant, a duck. He and the other men from the Aphrodite roasted the meat over the fire and feasted.

Children-and more than a few adults-came out of their houses to stare at the Rhodians. As elsewhere in Ioudaia, Sostratos wondered if these people had ever seen a Hellene before. He got to his feet, bowed in all directions, and spoke in Aramaic: “Peace be unto you all.”

Even though he’d already dickered with them for food, some of them seemed surprised he spoke their language. By their expressions, some seemed surprised he spoke any human language. But three or four men answered, “And to you also peace.” That was the right response.

Even though it was, it didn’t feel hearty enough to satisfy Sostratos. He bowed again. This time, he said, “May your one god bless Gamzo and all its people.”

That did the trick. Broad smiles gleamed on the faces of the Ioudaioi. All the men bowed to Sostratos. “May the one god bless you as well, stranger, and your friends,” a graybeard said. The rest of the villagers nodded.

“Stand up,” Sostratos hissed in Greek to the other Rhodians. “Bow to them. Be friendly.”

One after another, the sailors did. Aristeidas even proved able to say, “Peace be unto you,” in Aramaic. That made the people of Gamzo smile. Moskhion refrained from trotting out his frightful Aramaic obscenity. That made Sostratos smile.

Another gray-bearded man, this one wearing a robe of fine wool, said, “You are Ionians, not so?” Sostratos remembered to nod. The Ioudaian said, “We have heard evil things of Ionians, but you seem to be good enough men, even if you are foreigners. May the one god bless you and keep you. May he lift up his countenance unto you and give you peace.”

“Thank you,” Sostratos said, and bowed once more. A little more slowly than they should have, the sailors bowed again, too. Sostratos added, “And we thank you for your generous hospitality.”

“You are welcome in Gamzo,” the Ioudaian-plainly a village leader- declared. He strode up, clasped Sostratos’ hand, and kissed him on both cheeks. Then he did the same with the rest of the Rhodians. The men in the crowd came up after him. They greeted Sostratos and his companions the same way. Even the women drew near, though the Hellenes got no handclasps or kisses from them. Remembering the kisses he’d had from Zilpah in Jerusalem, Sostratos sighed. Somehow he’d pleased her and made her desperately unhappy all at the same time.

Deciding the Rhodians were safe enough, the folk of Gamzo withdrew back into their homes. Even so, Sostratos said, “We’ll divide the night into four watches. Everybody will take one. You never know.” The sailors didn’t argue with him. He’d half expected that they, or at least Teleutas, would, on the grounds that one sentry couldn’t keep the locals from doing whatever they were going to do. Maybe they’re starting to take me seriously, Sostratos thought with no small pride.