“You're the one who's not being reasonable.” But Nikodromos nervously looked up toward the women's quarters, as if expecting another pot to shatter at any moment. A proverb crossed Menedemos' mind: even Herakles can't fight two at once. Nikodromos might have held his own against Menedemos. Against Menedemos and his own wife, he had no chance.
“Are we agreed, then?” Menedemos asked not too much later.
“I suppose so.” The priest gnawed at a fingernail. “Seven minai, fifty drakhmai for the emerald. One mina, sixty drakhmai for the silk. And twelve drakhmai for the perfume.” He gave the Rhodian a triumphant smirk at that last price.
Menedemos smiled back, as if acknowledging that Nikodromos had beaten him down there. He didn't tell Nikodromos he'd purposely gone easy on the small haggle because he'd done so well on the larger ones. Let Nikodromos keep his tiny triumph, if it made him happy. Counting on his fingers, Menedemos said, “That makes ... let me see . . . nine minai, twenty-two drakhmai altogether. If you'll fetch the silver, you may choose whichever emerald you like.”
“Wait here,” Nikodromos said gloomily. “I'll be back.” A hunted look on his face, he scurried into the house. Menedemos cocked his head toward the women's quarters. To his disappointment, Asine kept quiet. But she'd already made her presence felt.
When the priest came back with a fresh leather sack, Menedemos said, “If you don't mind, I'm going to take this into the andron.”
“I made one small mistake, and now everyone thinks I'm a thief,” Nikodromos said, more glumly than ever.
Of course. What else would you expect? Menedemos thought. He didn't say that out loud, though he was tempted. What he did say, was, “Not at all. I'm like my cousin, though: I want to have things straight.”
When he'd counted up the coins and put them into glittering rows and stacks in the andron, he found that Nikodromos' payment was four drakhmai over. He picked up four turtles and handed them to the priest without a word: he was convinced the Aiginetan had put them there to test his honesty. “Er—thank you,” Nikodromos said, a faintly embarrassed expression on his face.
“You're welcome,” Menedemos answered. “I don't want more than my due, just what you said you'd pay.” That wasn't strictly true, but Nikodromos couldn't know it wasn't. A show of virtue made the best shield. “I'm sure your wife will enjoy everything you've bought for her.” He raised his voice a little to say that, hoping it would carry up to the women's quarters.
“I want her to,” Nikodromos said. “I want to get my money's worth. And now, if we have no more business ...”
That was barely polite enough to be a hint; in a moment, he'd be shouting, Get out of my house'. Menedemos scooped the coins back into the sack, captured a couple that fell on the floor and tried to roll away, and headed out the door in a hurry. Nikodromos all but slammed it behind him. As Menedemos went, he started whistling a Persian love song whose tune Alexander the Great's men had brought back to Hellas.
While he whistled, he looked up to the second floor, to what he thought were the windows of the women's quarters. If one of those shutters opened, he would see what happened next. If not, he would go back to the Aphrodite knowing he'd pried plenty of silver out of Nikodromos.
A shutter had to open pretty soon. He couldn't stand outside the house whistling for very long, or Nikodromos would figure out why he was doing it. Fleeing an angry husband after a seduction was part of the game. Fleeing before a seduction was nothing but an embarrassment.
Menedemos abruptly stopped whistling, for a shutter did open. The woman who looked down at him wasn't beautiful, but she was . . . prettier than Nikodromos deserves, Menedemos thought. “Hail, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice. “Your husband's bought you some very nice things.” If Asine was more faithful than the priest deserved, that remained safe enough.
When her eyes flashed, he knew he had a chance. “What if he did?” she answered, nothing but scorn in her voice. “I listened to you shaming him into doing it. What would it be like to be with a man who cared about what I wanted without having someone else remind him he ought to?”
Menedemos grinned. He'd hoped she would feel something like that. Had he been married to Nikodromos, he was sure he would have. He couldn't have asked for a better opening. He said, “Dear, if you want to find out, tell me when he won't be home.”
Asine couldn't very well misunderstand that. She couldn't, and she didn't. “He's going up to the temple tomorrow morning,” she said, “He'll be there most of the day.”
“Well, well. Isn't that interesting?” Menedemos said. “So if I were to knock on the front door, there'd be only a poor lone woman in the house?” He winked.
Asine didn't. She looked furious. “He's too stingy to buy me a slave,” she snapped. “It's a wonder you got him to do this. You must be able to talk anyone into doing anything.” Her expression changed: now she was paying attention to Menedemos, not raging at her husband. “Who knows what you'll be able to talk me into doing?”
“We'll find out tomor—” Menedemos broke off, for she closed the shutter in a hurry. Maybe Nikodromos was coming up the stairs to show her what he'd bought.
When Menedemos went back to the Aphrodite, Sostratos greeted him with, “How did it go?” By way of reply, Menedemos handed his cousin the leather sack. Sostratos hefted it and whistled softly. “There must be nine or ten minai of silver in here—and that's Aiginetan minai, too, which means they're heavier than ours.”
“Nine and a quarter,” Menedemos answered. He eyed Sostratos with reluctant respect. His cousin could be fussy as a broody hen, but he knew what he knew. “How did you figure that out so fast?”
“My first guess was in Rhodian weight, because that's what I'm most used to,” Sostratos said. “I know what part of an Aiginetan mina a Rhodian mina is, so I converted from one to the other in my head before I spoke.” He made it sound as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. And so it wasn't—for him. After a moment, he added, “You squeezed him pretty hard, then. Euge.”
“Thanks,” Menedemos said.
“The money isn't really what I meant, though,” Sostratos said. “How did the other go?”
Menedemos needed a moment to understand him. When he did, he blinked. Sostratos wasn't in the habit of asking about his pursuits of other men's wives, except to try to talk him out of them. “You really must dislike Nikodromos,” Menedemos murmured. His cousin dipped his head. Menedemos said, “He's going up to the temple to sacrifice tomorrow. I'm going back to his house.”
“Euge,” Sostratos said again. “Wear a sword, though.”
“A sword?” Menedemos tossed his head. “I intend to use my spear.”
Sostratos snorted. “I know what you intend. I don't know what Nikodromos and the woman have in mind. He may come back to the house when you don't expect him to—remember the window you jumped out of in Taras last summer? Or the woman may be playing a different game from the one you think she is. Wear a sword.”
When Menedemos saw Asine, he saw what he wanted. When Sostratos thought about her, he saw trouble. If that didn't sum up the differences between them, Menedemos didn't know what did. But he hadn't seen that trouble himself, and he couldn't deny it might be real. “All right,” he said. “I'll wear one. I'll swagger through the streets like a bandit or a barbarian.”
“Good,” his cousin said.
When morning came, Menedemos couldn't go into town as early as he would have liked. Nikodromos liked to sleep late, and knocking on the door before the priest left didn't strike him as a good idea. He made himself wait till the sun stood well above the eastern horizon before leaving the harbor and heading into Aigina. The bronze scabbard of his sword bumped against his left hipbone at every step. A couple of Aiginetans gave him odd looks, but no one seemed inclined to ask too many questions of an armed man.
He knocked on Nikodromos' door. As soon as he did, his hand fell to the hilt of the sword. If Asine was playing games of the sort Sostratos imagined . . .
She opened the door. “Come in,” she said. “Quick. Don't hang around for the neighbors to see.”
She sounded practiced at deceit. Maybe I'm not the first one who's come in while her husband's away, Menedemos thought. But if she was so practiced . . . “Should you be wearing that perfume?” he asked. “Nikodromos is liable to notice it.”
“He'll think I put it on for him. He thinks everything's for him.” Asine didn't try to hide her scorn.
“Ah,” Menedemos said politely; that fit what he'd seen of the priest. He smiled at Asine. “When he has such a pretty wife, I can understand why he feels that way.”
She studied him as he was studying her. “You're smooth, aren't you?” she said. “How many times have you done this?”
“Often enough to know that's a question better left unanswered.” Menedemos wagged a finger at her. “It's better left unasked, too.”
He watched her think it over. She dipped her head. “You're probably right. So ...” She took a step toward him.
He put his arms around her. She was only a couple of digits shorter than he was. She hardly needed to tilt her face up at all to let her mouth meet his. Her breath was sweet. She was somewhere not far from twenty: too young to have had much trouble with her teeth. The kiss went on for a long time.
When Asine at last drew back, amusement danced in her eyes. “I will say I haven't kissed a man who shaves before. It's . . . different.”
For a moment, Menedemos' mind worked as precisely as Sostratos' so often did. Just because you'll say it doesn't mean it's true. “Is it better or worse?” he asked, and then went on before she could answer: “Why don't we try it again, so you have a better idea?”
They did. Her body molded itself to his. Her breasts were soft and firm. He stroked her hair with one hand; the other cupped a buttock. Before long, he was firm himself, though far from soft. Asine rubbed herself against him. “Sweet,” she murmured.
He kissed the side of her neck and nibbled at her earlobe. His thumb and forefinger teased her nipple through the thin linen of her tunic. Her head fell back. She sighed softly. He took her hand and guided it to his manhood. Her fingers closed on him. She squeezed, not too hard. After a little while, he pulled away. He'd been at sea for a while. He didn't want to spend himself too soon.
“Come on, then,” she said. “Let's go up to my bedroom.”
They were walking through the courtyard when he said, “Wait.” Asine stopped, raising an eyebrow. Menedemos said, “Why not right here?”
“In the sunshine?” Both eyebrows rose this time. “You are shameless.”
“You make me that way.” Menedemos untied the girdle that bound her tunic at the waist, then pulled the tunic off over her head.
When she was naked, he bent his head to kiss her breasts. Her nipples were wider and darker than he'd expected; faint pale lines marked her belly. “You've borne a child,” he said in surprise.
Her face clouded. “I've borne two. Neither lived past its second birthday. Maybe your seed will be stronger than Nikodromos'.”
“I hope so, if that's what you want.” His hand slid down toward the joining of her legs. She spread them a little to make it easier for him to stroke her. After a while, he said, “Bend forward.” Asine did, resting the palms of her hands on a stone bench. She looked back over her shoulder as Menedemos took off his own chiton and poised himself behind her.
“Oh,” she said softly when he went into her. He held her by the waist—his skin sun-darkened, hers almost white—as he thrust home again and again, pausing every now and then to spin out the pleasure for him and for her. She shook her head. Her dark hair flew back and forth. She gasped and shuddered and let out a little muffled cry. At the same time, she squeezed him from within, so that he couldn't hold back another instant. He drove deep, the world utterly forgotten in his moment of joy.
He patted her backside. She started to pull away and straighten up. “Don't,” he said, beginning once more: he had been at sea for a while.
Asine looked back at him again. “Well, well,” she said. “No wonder you've been able to do this before.”
“No wonder at all,” he said, so smugly that she laughed. He kept on with what he was doing. He didn't have to pause this time to keep from spending too soon; despite his boast, he began to wonder if he would be able to spend at all. But, panting, he managed, and brought Asine with him, too. No sooner had he finished than he flopped out of her. A third round wouldn't come soon, which meant it likely wouldn't come at all.
He and Asine both dressed in a hurry. Now that they'd done what they'd set out to do, they were warier with each other than they had been. Maybe it's just that we aren't blind with lust any more, Menedemos thought as he put his sword belt on again. “You didn't need that,” Asine told him.
“Never can tell who might get home at the wrong time,” Menedemos answered. He didn't mention that he'd worried Asine might be helping her husband play a game of their own.
She tossed her head. “He'll be out there all day. He cares about that more than he cares about me. He cares about everything more than he cares about me. Maybe if my son had lived ...” Asine tossed her head again. “I don't think so. He would have cared about the boy, but not about me.”
“I'm sorry,” Menedemos said.
“Are you? Why?” Her laughter was barbed as an arrow point. “You got what you wanted. What do you care now?”
How many men had come through the door while Nikodromos went to the temple? Menedemos almost found himself sympathizing with the priest, the last thing he would have expected. Nettled, he said, “I wasn't the only one.”
“No,” Asine said. “You gave me what I needed. You couldn't possibly give me what I want.”
What would that be? Menedemos wondered. The answer took shape in his mind almost at once. A couple of slaves, a better place among the families of Aigina. Sure enough, these sweaty couplings couldn't give her that. She could get it only from her husband—and he didn't much care whether she had it or not.
Menedemos said, “The silk and the emerald will help some.”
“A little,” Asine said—she was one of those people who, no matter what they had, always wanted more. Menedemos understood that well enough; he was the same way himself. “You'd better go,” she told him.
“Yes, you're right.” He wondered if coming here in the first place had been worthwhile. He supposed so. He hadn't been looking for anything more than a morning's pleasure. It had never felt so empty afterwards, though.
Asine gave him a kiss as she unlatched the door. “Will you remember me after you sail away?” she asked.
“I'll never forget you,” he answered. It could have been a pretty compliment, a polite fib, but he heard the raw truth in his voice. Asine must have heard it, too, for she smiled, pleased with herself. She'd taken it for praise, then. As a last favor, Menedemos didn't tell her otherwise.
A couple of naked little boys, one perhaps eight, the other six, were playing with a toy oxcart in the dusty street. They looked up as Menedemos came out of Nikodromos' house—looked up and started to giggle. His ears burned. He hurried off toward the market square.
Sostratos waved to him as he came over to the little display the men of the Aphrodite had set up. “Glad you're back,” he called, and then, “Well?”
“Very well, thanks. And you?”
His cousin rolled his eyes. A couple of the sailors who'd fetched and carried for Sostratos guffawed. A third looked blank. One of the others leaned close to mutter something to him. Menedemos couldn't hear what it was, but saw the obscene gesture accompanying it. The third sailor laughed, getting it at last.
“All right,” Sostratos said. “You didn't get held for ransom, you didn't get murdered—”
“Not that I noticed, no,” Menedemos agreed.
“Interrupt all you please,” Sostratos told him. “I'm still going to ask the questions that need asking. For instance, can we stay in Aigina without worrying about getting knifed wh
enever we show our faces away from the Aphrodite?”
That was indeed a question worth asking. Menedemos thought about the two giggling little boys. They probably weren't the only neighbors to have noticed his coming to Nikodromos' house when the priest wasn't home. That meant. . . Menedemos tossed his head. “Maybe not.”
“Another place we can't visit again anytime soon,” Sostratos said with a sigh. “Seems as though there's one every voyage, doesn't it?”
“This isn't like Halikarnassos or Taras,” Menedemos said. “I think I'm just one in a long line of men Nikodromos hates.”
“Ah. Like that, is it?”
“Afraid so.” Menedemos didn't feel like dwelling on what he'd done, so he asked, “How are things going here?”
Sostratos shrugged. “I've sold some silk and some crimson dye with it and a few jars of perfume, but people aren't rushing up to buy. Probably about time to have Diokles start pulling sailors out of the taverns and whorehouses, wouldn't you say?”
“Time to leave Aigina, you mean,” Menedemos said, and Sostratos dipped his head.
Menedemos thought it over. After a moment, he did the same. He said, “We might not do badly to head back to Rhodes. It's a little early in the season, but only a little, and we've gone through most of what we set out with.”
“Do you know, my dear, I was thinking the very same thing not an hour ago,” Sostratos said. “Strikes me as a good idea. We'll show a solid profit if we do. But if we cruise around for another month without accomplishing much, maybe not. And I don't mind getting home early at all.”
“Neither do I,” Menedemos said. What a liar I am, he thought.
11
As the Aphrodite glided east through the Saronic Gulf, away from Aigina, Sostratos mournfully peered north toward the mainland of Attica. There were Athens' two chief ports, Peiraieus and Phaleron, seeming almost close enough to touch. There on the higher ground inland lay Athens itself, the magnificent buildings of the akropolis tiny but perfect in the distance. Pointing to port, he burst out, “A pestilence take those pirates! We should be there now.”
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