“I’m glad to hear it, best one,” Sostratos said. “Even so, though, as I hear my father and uncle told you, I don’t expect we’ll want another cargo of olive oil when we go out next spring. I’m letting you know now, so you can’t say we’re pulling a surprise on you then.”

“But why not, when you did so well?” his brother-in-law said. “You made money with it.”

“Yes, but not so much money as with other goods that have more value and less bulk,” Sostratos replied. “And I must say I think we were lucky to do as well as we did this past sailing season. I doubt we could come close to matching what we made if we go to Athens, as looks likely. Athens exports oil; you don’t bring it there.”

Damonax whistled, a low, unhappy note. “You’re very frank, aren’t you?”

“I have to be, wouldn’t you say?” Sostratos replied. “You’re part of my family now. I did business for you, and I’m glad it went so well. You need to understand why I don’t believe it would go that well again. I have nothing against you or your oil. In bulk, on a round ship without the great cost of paying an akatos’ crew every day, it would do splendidly. But the Aphrodite truly isn’t the right ship to carry it. Menedemos feels the same, even more strongly than I do.”

“Does he?” Damonax said. Sostratos dipped his head. Damonax grunted. “And he’s the captain, and he’s not married to your sister.”

“Both those things are also true,” Sostratos agreed. Trying to soften the disagreement, he went on, “This isn’t malice, most noble one-only business. Silver doesn’t spring from the ground like soldiers after Kadmos sowed the dragon’s teeth.”

“Oh, yes. I do understand that.” His brother-in-law managed a wry grin. “My own reverses these past couple of years have made me all too painfully aware of it.”

How angry was he? Not too, or he would have shown it more openly. Hellenes looked down their noses at men who felt one thing but feigned another. How could you trust anyone like that? Simple-you couldn’t. Sostratos said, “May I see my sister for a few minutes? I’d like to congratulate her myself.”

As Erinna’s husband, Damonax could say yes or no as he chose. “Certainly nothing scandalous about it, not when you’re her brother,” he murmured. “Well, why not?” He called for a slave woman to bring her down from the women’s quarters.

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.”