The Gryphon's Skull

by H. N. Turteltaub

  After half an hour or so, Nikodromos' creditors threw their hands in the air and left. He hadn't promised them a thing. In an abstract way, Sostratos admired him. In the real world with which he had to deal, he wondered if this image of Artemis really needed to be draped with a lion skin after all.

  “Hail,” the priest said, coming up to the two Rhodians. “And what do you want today? You've been patient as can be while those idiots spouted their lies.”

  He didn't seem too sour to Sostratos, but then, Sostratos hadn't been trying to get money out of him. His foxy features did not inspire confidence, though. Neither did his squabbles with a pair of Aiginetans unconnected to each other. Nonetheless, after naming himself and Sostratos, Menedemos said, “We've got a splendid Karian lion skin here, with which you can adorn the statue of the Maiden.”

  “Do you indeed?” Nikodromos' eyes widened slightly. Excitement or art? Sostratos wondered. He would have bet on art. Those eyes were a light brown that in certain lights seemed tinged with amber: as foxy as the rest of him, or maybe even more so. He went on, “Let me see it, best ones. By all means, let me see it.”

  Menedemos and Sostratos spread out the skin on the temple floor. Then Sostratos, with a happy inspiration, picked it up and draped it over the marble Artemis' shoulders. “See how fine she'd look?” he said.

  “Not bad,” Nikodromos said—small praise, but praise. “That skin might remind people of what a great huntress she is, true. But, of course, one question remains: how much do you want for it?”

  “Five minai,” Menedemos said. Sostratos hid a smile behind his hand. If his cousin would get cheated, he aimed to get cheated out of a lot of money.

  Nikodromos coughed. “My dear fellow, you can't be serious.”

  Menedemos smiled his most charming smile. “I'll make it six if you like. Not so many lions left in Europe these days, you know.”

  “And so you think you can charge whatever you please when you bring one here?” the priest said.

  “Not quite,” Sostratos told him. “But no one ever said we had to sell our goods at a loss, either.”

  “Five minai is out of the question,” Nikodromos said. “I might pay two.”

  “You might indeed,” Menedemos said pleasantly. “But not to us. As my cousin said, we need to make money to stay in business.”

  “Well, two minai and a half, then,” Nikodromos said.

  “Come on, Menedemos,” Sostratos said. “Let's head back to the ship. Plenty of other temples, plenty of other poleis.”

  They made as if to begin rolling up the lion skin and putting it back into its leather sack. Sostratos watched Nikodromos out of the corner of his eye. If the priest let them leave, then he did, that was all. But they hadn't got very far before Nikodromos said, “Wait. I might go to three.”

  “We might talk a little more, in that case,” Menedemos said.

  Nikodromos would have failed as a trader for more reasons than sleeping late. He kept coming up and up, and didn't draw the line till the price had gone to four minai, twenty drakhmai, though he grumbled and whined every step of the way. He did his best to make it seem as if he were doing the Rhodians a favor by dealing with them at all.

  “Four minai, twenty.” Sostratos looked from him to Menedemos and back again. “Bargain?”

  “Bargain.” His cousin and the priest spoke at the same time.

  “Good enough.” As far as Sostratos was concerned, it was better than good enough. They hadn't got nearly such a fine price for the other hide back on Kos. Nice, solid profit, he thought.

  And then Nikodromos said, “Let me take the hide back to town, and I'll bring you your money right away.”

  A lot of people had made requests like that over the years. More often than not, Sostratos and Menedemos, like most traders, said yes. Most people were honest. Sostratos wasn't so sure about Nikodromos. He saw his cousin wasn't, either. Smiling, Menedemos tossed his head. “You can bring the money here and then we'll give you the hide, or else we'll come down to Aigina with you.”

  Nikodromos sent him a sour stare. “You're afraid I'll cheat you. That is an insult.”

  “Best one, we just stood here watching a couple of your own people trying to get money out of you,” Sostratos answered.“If they have trouble prying their silver loose, why wouldn't we? We're just a couple of foreigners to you. Better not to take chances.”

  “I told you, the silver they want isn't theirs at all,” the priest said, making a fine show of indignation. “They're nothing but a couple of temple robbers.”

  With a shrug, Sostratos said, “I don't know anything about your quarrels, any more than you know about the quarrels back on Rhodes. All I know is, you'll have the hide when we have the money.”

  He wondered if that would queer the deal. If it does, too bad, he thought. That would mean this rogue never intended to pay us in the first place. The Aiginetans who'd tried to squeeze silver out of Nikodromos had certainly sounded as if they had a right to it.

  “Those abandoned rascals blacken my name,” Nikodromos complained.

  “Easiest way to prove that, sir, is to give us the price you agreed to,” Menedemos said. “As soon as we have the turtles, we'll sing your praises at every stop we make.”

  “Of course, we won't do anything of the sort if you go back on the bargain,” Sostratos added. Sometimes—often, in fact—knaves acted like honest men if the choice was having their knavery published to the world.

  Knave or not, Nikodromos let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Come along, then, both of you,” he said. “You'll get your money. Bring the hide. Let there be no doubt that I am a man who keeps the agreements he makes.”

  “Let's go,” Menedemos said.

  When they got to Nikodromos' house, Sostratos wondered whether the priest would be able to pay them at all, for no slave opened the door to let them in: Nikodromos had to do it himself. Was a man without a slave likely to be a man who had more than four minai of silver in his home? It struck Sostratos as unlikely.

  He relaxed a little when he saw a woman tending a flower garden in the courtyard. A maidservant might not answer the door, but at least Nikodromos had some help. Then the priest snapped, “Go back to the women's quarters, Asine. I have traders with me.”

  “Yes, my husband,” the woman said, and hurried away, though she did look back over her shoulder at the Rhodians.

  “She wasn't expecting company,” Nikodromos said apologetically.

  “It's all right, best one,” Sostratos said, though what he was thinking was, Just you and your wife? How do you get anything done? You might as well be peasants, or even barbarians.

  “Quite all right,” Menedemos echoed. His tone was all it should have been. Even so, Sostratos disliked the way his eyes slid toward the stairway to the second floor, the stairway up which Asine had gone.

  You barely got a look at her, Sostratos thought. She barely got a look at you. Why do I think—why do I know—you want to lie with her if you can? Why? You're my cousin, that's why. I've seen you around women too many times by now. I've seen you land in trouble too many times by now, too.

  Trying not to think about what might be—what all too likely was—going through Menedemos' mind, Sostratos asked Nikodromos, “Shall we wait here while you get the money?”

  “Oh, I suppose you can step into the andron,” Nikodromos said grudgingly. “I won't be long.”

  In a proper household, a slave would have offered them wine and olives or raisins. Here, they simply sat in the men's room and waited. “Well, what do you think?” Menedemos asked, almost without moving his lips. “Is he lying to us, or is he the greatest miser since Midas?”

  “I don't know,” Sostratos answered. “But I'm guessing he's a cheapskate. Would he have had the gall to bring us here if he couldn't pay us?”

  “We'll find out,” Menedemos said. “His wife's pretty. Did you notice?”

  “No, and I wish you wouldn't have, either,” Sostratos said. His cousin made a face at hi
m.

  Before they could start arguing in earnest, Menedemos let out a sharp hiss. Sostratos fell silent; he'd seen Nikodromos coming, too. The priest carried a leather sack. When he set it down on a table in the andron, it clinked. “Here you are,” he said. “Four minai, twenty drakhmai. Go ahead and count it. You'll see all is as it should be.”

  With some men, that invitation to count would have told Sostratos he didn't have to. With one so mean as Nikodromos, he did anyhow. When he'd finished, he looked up and told the priest, “I'm afraid you're still six drakhmai short, O marvelous one.”

  He'd laid the silver coins in neat rows and stacks; Nikodromos could hardly challenge his assertion. In a low, furious voice, the Aiginetan said, “I'll get them,” and hurried away.

  “Shameless,” Sostratos said.

  “Are you surprised?” Menedemos kept looking toward those stairs. Sostratos noticed that with as much resignation as alarm: up till now, Menedemos hadn't eyed anyone else's wife with desire on this trading run. Sostratos had started to wonder if his cousin were off his feed.

  Before he could warn Menedemos, Nikodromos and Asine started yelling at each other. Sostratos couldn't make out the words, but they both sounded furious. “Charming couple,” Sostratos murmured.

  Menedemos grinned. “Aren't they just? Still, though . . . Oh, wait, here comes the priest back again.”

  What had he been about to say? Maybe I don't want to know, Sostratos thought. Nikodromos stormed into the andron, his scowl black as moonless midnight. He slapped down half a dozen drakhmai. “There,” he snarled. “Are you satisfied now?”

  “Perfectly so, best one,” Sostratos answered. “It is what we agreed to, after all.”

  “To the crows with—” Nikodromos began, but he caught himself. Trying to sound civil, he said, “The Huntress will be glad to have the lion-skin cloak.”

  “Of course she will.” Menedemos sounded as smooth—and as greasy—as olive oil. Sostratos' suspicions flared; he'd heard that particular conspiratorial tone before. Sure enough, Menedemos went on, “Would you be interested in some fine Rhodian perfume, sir? Or even”—he lowered his voice almost to a whisper—”in emeralds? I've got a couple of fine ones, straight from Egypt.”

  “Now why would I want anything like that?” Nikodromos kept the growl in his voice, but leaned toward Menedemos even so.

  “You never can tell what will sweeten up a woman,” Menedemos remarked, for all the world as if he hadn't heard—as if the neighbors hadn't heard—the priest and his wife quarreling a moment before.

  Nikodromos grunted. “That's true, I suppose.”

  “For that matter,” Menedemos added, as if just remembering, “I also have some Koan silk, which is not the sort of stuff every lady in Aigina would be wearing.”

  “Do you?” Nikodromos said. Menedemos gravely dipped his head.

  Sostratos sat there putting the coins back in their sack and doing his best not to laugh out loud. Nikodromos thought Menedemos was interested in helping him make up with his wife after their fight, and in making some money doing that. Sostratos knew better. Oh, his cousin wouldn't mind making money off Nikodromos. But what Menedemos really wanted was Asine. If he sold Nikodromos perfume or jewels or silk, he would use his visits here to make himself known to her—even if she stayed in the women's quarters while he was around—and to scout out the ground and see what his chances were.

  “Maybe you should bring some of these things by, give me a chance to look at them,” Nikodromos said. “Not today: I should take the hide up to the temple now, and I'll be sacrificing through the afternoon. Tomorrow morning, not too early?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Nikodromos agreed. “I'll see you then.”

  Nikodromos had hardly closed the door behind them when Sostratos wagged a forefinger under his cousin's nose. “I know what you've got in mind,” he said.

  “My dear, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.” But Menedemos' eyes danced. He couldn't make that sound convincing no matter how hard he tried. “Why aren't you swelling up like a toad and telling me what a bad character I am?”

  Sostratos had been wondering about that himself. He gave the most honest answer he could: “If anyone ever had it coming, that petty thief of a Nikodromos does.”

  “Well, well,” Menedemos said, and then again, “Well, well.” He walked on for a few paces before adding, “There's no guarantee, you know.”

  “Don't put yourself in danger,” Sostratos said. “Nikodromos isn't worth it.”

  His cousin chuckled. “Of course he isn't. Asine, now, Asine just may be. I'll have to see how it goes, that's all.” He tapped Sostratos on the chest with his finger. “One thing, though.”

  “What's that?” Sostratos asked with sinking heart.

  “However the other turns out, I expect I'll make a profit from that polluted priest,” Menedemos said.

  “Huzzah,” Sostratos said in hollow tones. Menedemos laughed out loud.

  Menedemos rubbed HIS chin. He'd taken care to shave before coming up from the harbor to Nikodromos' house. He'd done a good job; his skin felt almost as smooth as it had when he was a beardless boy. He had on the cleaner of his tunics, too. Nikodromos would interpret all that as being no less than his own due—he had plenty of self-importance. How Asine would interpret it, if she would interpret it at all...

  “I'll find out,” Menedemos murmured, and rapped on the priest's door.

  Nikodromos opened it himself. With what he'd spent on the lion skin, he'd shown he had plenty of money, but he was too mean to buy a slave to make life easier for himself and his wife. “Hail,” he said now. “Where's your cousin?”

  “In the market square, selling to whoever will buy,” Menedemos answered easily. “You, though, best one, you're a special customer, so I'm here to show you these goods with no one else's eyes on them.”

  As he'd thought it would, that tickled Nikodromos' vanity. “Come in, come in,” the priest said. He even went so far as to add, “Go on into the andron, and I'll bring you some wine.”

  That wasn't what Menedemos had in mind. “The courtyard might be better, most noble one,” he said. It would certainly be better for him, because Asine would be able to see and hear him. But he had a plausible explanation, and trotted it out:“You'll want to examine the silk and the jewels by sunlight.”

  “So I will,” Nikodromos said. “I don't aim to let anyone cheat me.”

  “Nor should you,” Menedemos said, ignoring the threat in the other man's words. As he came out into the courtyard, he paused to admire the garden: “What splendid plants! How wonderfully green they are, even in the middle of the dry season. They're perfectly pruned, too.”

  With a shrug, Nikodromos said, “I haven't the time to worry about such trifles. Mv wife tends them.”

  “They're lovely.” Menedemos left it at that; he knew better than to give a woman direct praise in her husband's hearing. His eyes couldn't help slipping to the stairway, and to the rooms above it. What would Asine be doing in there? Spinning? Weaving? No, probably not—he would have heard the loom. Surely, though, she would be listening to—maybe even watching—what went on down below. He said, “Here is the perfume. Smell it. It's from the very best Rhodian roses.”

  “Fripperies,” Nikodromos muttered. But he drew out the stopper and sniffed. In spite of himself, one eyebrow rose. “That's very sweet.” He rallied. “I'd bet the price is enough to sour anybody, though.”

  “Not at all.” Instead of naming it, Menedemos went on, “Let me show you the Koan silk. Any woman who wore a silk tunic would be the envy of all her neighbors. Wool? Linen?” He tossed his head. “They don't compare.”

  “In price, either.” Yes, the priest had a one-track mind.

  “Wool and linen are fine for everyday wear,” Menedemos said. “But your wife will want something special, won't she, when she goes out into the streets on a festival day? After all, women don't get out of the house much, so they like to make the most of it when
they do. And she can wear this Rhodian scent and these emeralds and be the envy of every other woman in Aigina.”

  “Let's see these so-called emeralds,” Nikodromos said. “I wouldn't be surprised if you were trying to sell me a couple of lumps of glass.”

  “By the dog of Egypt, I am not,” Menedemos said indignantly, fishing them from the pouch he wore on his belt. “They come from Ptolemaios' land, as I said. People in Miletos were happy enough to buy them; I made more than a talent on the dozen or so I sold there. My father and my uncle have been traders since before I was born. Their ships go all around the Inner Sea. If I cheat, I ruin the firm's reputation, and we can't afford that. Here, O marvelous one—see for yourself.”

  The two emeralds he had left were the ones he'd intended to take to Athens, including the largest and finest stone he'd bought from the Egyptian round-ship captain. No one, not even Nikodromos, could claim they were glass after seeing their deep, rich color and waxy luster. The priest sighed as he handed them back. “You'll want too much,” he predicted, tacitly admitting they were genuine.

  “I want what they're worth.” Pitching his voice to carry up to the women's quarters, Menedemos asked, “Doesn't your wife deserve the best?”

  Nikodromos waved his hands and shook his head like a man trying to drive away bees. “Let me see this silk you were gabbling about,” he said.

  “Nothing like it for making a lovely woman lovelier,” Menedemos said, again—he hoped—as much to Asine as to her husband. “This is a particularly fine bolt here. Look.” He unrolled it and held it up in the sunlight. “You can practically see through it.”

  “That's indecent,” Nikodromos exclaimed.

  “Only if the woman who's wearing it isn't worth looking at,” Menedemos said with a wink, as one man of the world to another. “My dear fellow, you simply wouldn't believe how much silk my cousin sold to the fanciest hetaira in Miletos.”

  “I don't want my woman looking like a hetaira,” Nikodromos said, but his voice lost force with each succeeding word. Why wouldn't a man want his wife to look as desirable as she could?

  “You need another sniff of the perfume.” Menedemos pulled the stopper from the little jar again. “Here. Sweeter than honey, isn't it?”