The Gryphon's Skull

by H. N. Turteltaub

  By the way the priest screwed up his face, he wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. “What. . . what will you want for all this?”he asked at last, sounding almost fearful.

  “For the emeralds, nine minai apiece,” Menedemos answered. “Two minai for the silk, and twenty drakhmai for the perfume.” All the prices were outrageously high. He knew that. With a little luck, Nikodromos wouldn't. He'd certainly overpaid for the lion skin.

  He bawled like a branded calf now. “Outrageous,” he spluttered. “Absurd. Downright criminal, if you want to know the truth.”

  Menedemos shrugged. “If you're not interested, I'm sure someone else will want to deck his wife out in style. Goods like these don't come to Aigina every day, you know, or every year, either.” That was true enough. Back in the old days that fascinated Sostratos so much, Aigina had been an important polis. Not anymore. It was a backwater now, completely overshadowed by Athens. The Aphrodite never would have put in here if not for the pirates.

  The real question was, just how much silver did Nikodromos have?

  Menedemos tossed his head. No, the real question was, how much would he spend? If he wouldn't lay out any on a slave, would he spend any for his wife? If he didn't intend to spend any, had he invited Menedemos back for no better reason than to waste his time? That might make Asine unhappy, and Menedemos had already heard she wasn't shy about letting her husband know how she felt.

  Licking his lips, Nikodromos said, “I will give you five minai for one of the emeralds, one mina for the silk, and ten drakhmai for the perfume.”

  “Only one emerald?” Menedemos said, using three words to imply the priest was surely the meanest man in the world.

  “I can't afford them both,” Nikodromos said. Something in his voice told Menedemos he was lying about that. It will tell his wife the same thing, the Rhodian thought cheerfully. Nikodromos, meanwhile, gathered himself for a peevish outburst:“And I get to choose which stone, do you hear me?”

  “Of course.” Menedemos spoke as if humoring a madman. Then his own voice hardened: “But you won't choose either unless you come closer to meeting my price.” He almost said, unless you meet my price, but that would have given Nikodromos no haggling room at all.

  “You think you can sail into Aigina with your fancy goods and cheat people out of their shoes because we don't see such things very often,” the priest grumbled. Since that was exactly what Menedemos thought, he denied it with special vigor. He'd made his initial demands so high, even Nikodromos' first counteroffers guaranteed him no small profit. And he didn't intend to settle for those first counteroffers.

  Once, during the dicker that followed, Menedemos wondered if he'd pushed too hard. Nikodromos stamped his foot and shouted, “No, by the gods! Not another drakhma! Take your trash and get out of my house!”

  “As you wish, best one,” Menedemos said coldly. A moment later, a crash came from upstairs: someone had dropped—or hurled—a pot. Sure enough, we're playing to an audience, Menedemos thought. He pretended not to notice the noise or the way Nikodromos flinched, but gathered up the silk and the perfume and started for the door.

  “Wait!” Nikodromos said unhappily. “Maybe we could talk a little more.”

  “Maybe.” Menedemos did his best to sound as if he were doing the priest a favor. “If you're ready to be more reasonable.”

  “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 th
e 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. M
aybe 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.