“No such thing,” Thrasyllos said, but his show of indignation couldn't have sounded convincing even to himself, for he didn't push it.
“I'll give you . . oh, two minai for the lot of 'em,” Menedemos said. “Two pounds of silver free and clear for you—or one for you, one for your nephew, if you're in a generous mood.”
“Two minai?” the captain of the Aura echoed. This time, his anger was altogether unfeigned. “You time-wasting, whipworthy bastard, get off my ship, and take your kinsman with you. If I had a dog, I'd set him on you both.”
“Well, what do you think they're worth?”
“I already told you: a mina apiece. Fourteen minai all told.”
“And I already told you, I'm not going to pay that much. What would you take? I'm gambling, remember. These stones are new, so I don't know what I can resell them for.”
“To the crows with you, pal—that's not my worry.” Thrasyllos hesitated, then went on, “I wouldn't take a khalkos, not a single copper, less than twelve minai for the lot of them.”
“Still too much. Still far too much,” Menedemos said. He'd been afraid the round-ship captain wouldn't come down at all. That would have meant he'd have to go up first, and would have shown weakness, for he would have gone up—he wanted those stones. Now he could say, “I might give you three,” and not worry: Thrasyllos had weakened first.
He got the emeralds for five minai, fifty drakhmai. “Thief,” Thrasyllos ground out even as he clasped Menedemos' hand to seal the bargain.
“By no means,” Menedemos said, though he was sure he would turn a handsome profit on the deal. “Ptolemaios won't hear about this even if he brings his whole fleet into the harbor here.” That made Thrasyllos nervous all over again, as Menedemos had hoped it would. He turned to Sostratos. “Would you be so kind as to get the gentleman his silver while I wait here with him?” I'll make sure he doesn't change his mind, was what he meant.
Sostratos knew as much. He knew more than that, for as he dipped his head, he said, “If I get it, your father won't hear about it quite so soon,”
“Maybe.” Menedemos waved him away. Sostratos went, a grin on his face. Menedemos didn't like yielding him the last word, but liked squabbling with him in front of a stranger even less.
When Sostratos got back, he wore a sword on his hip and had a couple of burly slaves with him. Even in law-abiding Rhodes, carrying five and a half minai of silver was not to be taken lightly. “Here you are,” Sostratos said, handing Thrasyllos the fat leather sack he'd brought. Menedemos held out his hand, and Thrasyllos gave him the much smaller sack with the emeralds.
Before leaving the Aura's deck, Menedemos opened the sack, poured the stones into the palm of his hand, and counted them. “Don't you trust me?” Thrasyllos asked in aggrieved tones.
“. . . twelve . . , thirteen . .. fourteen,” Menedemos muttered. Then, having satisfied himself, he replied, “Of course I do, best one.” Now I trust you. “Better to be safe, though.”
“Safe?” the round-ship captain echoed. “I don't think I'll ever feel safe again. You'd better go now, before one of my sailors comes back and wonders who you are and what you're doing here.”
“Just as you say,” Menedemos answered. If this wasn't Thrasyllos' first smuggling venture, he would have been amazed. I wonder if I could blackmail him into giving us the emeralds for nothing, he thought. More than a little reluctantly, he tossed his head. He'd made a bargain. “Come on, Sostratos.”
Thrasyllos dashed into the deckhouse with his silver, no doubt to stow it in the safest, most secret place he could find. As Menedemos and Sostratos went down the pier, Sostratos said, “You were thinking about squeezing him even harder, weren't you? I saw it in your eyes.”
“Who, me?” Menedemos said in his most innocent tones. They both laughed.
When Menedemos got home, he found his father waiting for him in the courtyard. “Let's see those gemstones you just bought,” Philodemos said.
So much for keeping things quiet, Menedemos thought. Sostratos must have told his father why he needed the money, and Uncle Lysistratos would have hotfooted it next door to give Philodemos the news. “Here you are, sir,” Menedemos said, and handed his father the little sack he'd got from Thrasyllos.
As he had himself, Philodemos poured the emeralds out into the palm of his hand, Menedemos had brought them up close to his face for a better look. His father didn't. Philodemos held them out at arm's length. Even then, he grumbled; his sight had lengthened over the past few years. But at last he dipped his head. “You'll get some money from jewelers and rich men, sure enough. How much did you pay for the lot of 'em? Six minai?”
“Five and a half, Father,” Menedemos answered.
“You could have done worse,” Philodemos allowed: high praise, from him.
Inspiration smote Menedemos. He said, “Why don't you keep one of the stones, Father, and get it made into a ring or a bracelet for your new wife? She'd like that, I'd bet—it'd be something not many Rhodian women could match.”
Only after the words were spoken did he pause to wonder what sort of inspiration that had been. But Philodemos, to his great relief, noticed nothing out of the ordinary. “Do you know, that's not a bad idea,” his father said. “Women are fond of trinkets.” He eyed Menedemos. “You know all about what women are fond of, don't you?”
That was just general sarcasm; Philodemos sounded about as pleased as he ever did. “No man knows all about what women are fond of,” Menedemos said with great conviction. “I may have found out a little something, though.”
His father snorted. “Enough to get you into trouble from Halikarnassos to Taras.” Enough to get me into worse trouble right here at home, if I let it, Menedemos thought. His father went on, “Here, pick a nice one for me,” and held out his hand. “My eyes aren't up to such things these days.”
“This one has a fine color,” Menedemos said, holding up an emerald.
“So it does,” Philodemos agreed. “I can see it better when you hold it than when it's in my own hand. Isn't that a sorry business? Old age is bitter, no doubt about it.”
“Baukis will be happy, I think,” Menedemos said. Will she find out this was my idea and not my father's? I can't very well tell her, and half of me—the sensible half I'm sure—doesn't want her to.
Philodemos' thoughts were going down a different track. “What's a fourteenth part of five hundred and fifty drakhmai? I can't do that in my head.”
“Neither can I,” Menedemos said. “Sostratos probably could.”
“Never mind; there's a counting board in the andron. I'll figure it out there.” His father walked over to the men's chamber, where, sure enough, an abacus lay on a table. Philodemos flicked beads back and forth in their grooves. “Thirty-nine drakhmai—a couple of oboloi over, in fact. I'll have to move the silver from my own money to the business.”
“Why bother?” Menedemos said.
“Because I'm buying it from the business, that's why,” Philodemos said. “Because Lysistratos would bellow like a bull and roar like a lion if I didn't—and because he'd be right when he did. Never cheat the business, son, not if you want to stay in business.”
“All right.” Menedemos dipped his head. Father is as stern with himself as he is with everybody else, he thought. That made Philodemos more admirable, but hardly easier or more comfortable to live with.