“Amphorai have better lines than this floating hip-bath ever dreamt of,” Sostratos answered, also in a low voice.
But Thrasyllos' big, ugly ship had certain advantages of its own. He had a much smaller crew than Menedemos needed on the Aphrodite, for he required no rowers, only men to handle the enormous square sail now brailed up against the yard. That kept his expenses down, and meant he could haul cargo that wouldn't have been profitable aboard the merchant galley.
Thrasyllos also enjoyed more comfort than Menedemos did. He had a real deckhouse on the poop, and could sleep in a bed even if the Aura had to spend a night at sea. Menedemos didn't mind occasionally wrapping himself in his himation and sleeping on the timbers, but he could see how other men might.
“Show my cousin these emeralds,” he said as he came up to the round ship's captain.
“Let's go inside the deckhouse,” Thrasyllos said nervously. “You never can tell who might be watching.”
Menedemos was willing, but Sostratos tossed his head. “No. The light won't be any good in there. If I'm going to look at these stones, I want to be able to do a proper job of it.”
“My cousin has a point,” Menedemos said.
“Oh, all right.” Thrasyllos didn't sound happy about it. He kept peering around the harbor, as if he expected Ptolemaios himself to emerge from behind a careened fishing boat. “Here.” He reached into a leather sack with a drawstring mouth, took out a couple of stones, and set them in Menedemos' palm as if not trusting Sostratos to touch them.
“Let me see,” Sostratos said. Menedemos handed him the emeralds; whether Thrasyllos did or not, he knew his cousin was almost painfully reliable.
He also knew, just at a glance, that Thrasyllos was showing his biggest and finest gems. One of them was wide as his fingernail, the other only a tiny bit smaller. Both had the astonishing deep rich green color that had drawn his eye when the captain from Egypt first showed him the stones.
“Interesting,” Sostratos said, keeping his voice as neutral as he could make it. He was a merchant; he knew better than to show any sort of enthusiasm. But he couldn't help adding, “They are gemstones of a sort, no doubt about it.”
“I said so,” Menedemos told him.
“So you did.” Sostratos gave him a measuring stare. “But you've been known to ... How should I put it? To let your enthusiasm run away with you.”
“At least I have enthusiasms. You're as cold-blooded as a frog.” Were they alone, Menedemos might have had a good deal more than that to say. Sostratos wasn't the real opponent here, though. Thrasyllos was. And so Menedemos contented himself with adding, “You see why I'm interested in them.”
“I can see why you might be, anyhow.” Sostratos looked at Thrasyllos. “My cousin didn't tell me what you're asking for them.”
Thrasyllos licked his lips. “A mina apiece,” he said.
“A pound of silver?” Sostratos made a production of returning the emeralds. “I'm sorry, O marvelous one, but I have to tell you I think you're quite mad.”
“Brekekekex koax koax,” Menedemos said softly—the noise of the chorus of frogs in Aristophanes' play. Sostratos ignored him, and Thrasyllos plainly had no idea what the nonsense words meant.
The captain of the Aura said, “You wouldn't talk like that if you know what my nephew went through to sneak these out of the mines. He stuck 'em up his arse, is what he did, then dosed himself with poppy juice so he wouldn't have to take a shit for a couple of days, till he was well away from there.”
Sostratos unobtrusively rubbed the palm of his hand on his chiton. Menedemos fought down laughter. His cousin had always been a little on the prissy side. But Menedemos was using Sostratos as a weapon against Thrasyllos here, and so he said, “They are interesting, but your price is way out of line.”
“Somebody will pay it,” Thrasyllos said, but he sounded none too confident.
“Somebody will give your name to Ptolemaios, is what will happen,” Menedemos said, and Thrasyllos flinched as if he'd hit him. Pressing his advantage, Menedemos went on, “He's not down in Alexandria—he's right over there in Lykia with a big fleet. You think you can outrun his war galleys in this wallowing scow? Good luck, best one.”
“Menedemos and I now, we know how to keep quiet,” Sostratos added, his tone suggesting they were the only people in the whole world who did. Menedemos dipped his head in solemn agreement.
Thrasyllos licked his lips again. His shoulders stiffened, though. Menedemos would have bet he was going to be stubborn. But one of the Rhodian dock loungers chose that moment to wave and call out, “Oë, Menedemos!”
“What is it, Moiragenes?” Menedemos asked impatiently.
The shabby, skinny man couldn't have played his part better had Menedemos paid him a mina of silver. “You hear the latest?” he said. “Ptolemaios just took Xanthos in Lykia away from old One-Eye, and they say he's going to move on Kaunos, too.”
“No, as a matter of fact, I hadn't heard that,” Menedemos answered, watching Thrasyllos much more closely than he seemed to. The news hit the merchant skipper like a twenty-mina rock flung from a catapult.
“How do you know it's true?” Sostratos asked Moiragenes. Menedemos wished his cousin hadn't chosen that moment to play the historian.
“Fellow who brought the news is called Euxenides of Phaselis,” Moiragenes answered. “He got out of his home town two jumps ahead of Ptolemaios, got out of Xanthos one jump ahead of him, and he didn't want to try his luck at Kaunos, so he came here instead.” He waved and went on down the pier to pass the news to someone else.
“Well, well,” Menedemos said to Thrasyllos. “Isn't that interesting?”
“Ptolemaios won't come here,” Thrasyllos said.
“Of course not,” Menedemos said in soothing tones. “Gods be praised, Rhodes really is a free and autonomous polis. But sooner or later, you're going to have to sail away. Do you want to deal with traders whose grandfathers were in the business of buying and selling things, or will you take a chance on getting a little more from somebody who might cut your throat or might just blab instead?”
“To the crows with you,” Thrasyllos whispered. “You're not a man. You're an evil spirit.”
“All right. If you don't want to dicker . . .” Menedemos took a few steps toward the gangplank. Sostratos followed him.
He hadn't left the Aura's deck before he heard the word he'd been hoping for: “Wait!” Thrasyllos croaked.
For dramatic effect, Menedemos did take a couple of steps up the gangplank before pausing. Even then, he asked Sostratos, “Do you think it's worth our while?”
“No,” Sostratos said, and Menedemos could have kissed him. In lieu of that, he spent a little while taking his cousin around so he could stay and haggle with Thrasyllos. Sostratos did such a good job of acting reluctant, Menedemos wondered if he really was. No matter. Menedemos got his own way, as he was accustomed to doing.
“Well, if you won't pay a mina apiece, what will you pay?” Thrasyllos demanded when Menedemos and Sostratos finally came back to him.
“How many of those emeralds have you got to sell?” Menedemos asked in turn.
“Fourteen,” Thrasyllos said. “How big an arsehole do you think my nephew has?”
“You'd know that better than I, O best one,” Menedemos murmured. Sostratos almost succeeded in turning a guffaw into a cough. The joke, fortunately, went right by Thrasyllos. Menedemos said, “I haven't seen all fourteen of these stones yet, you know. I'm sure the ones I have seen are the best you've got, so the others are going to be worth less.”