Over the Wine-Dark Sea

by Harry Turtledove

  "We'll soon have chicks for sale - for a good deal more," Sostratos added. "You can save some money if you want to gamble a little."

  "You'll ask something outrageous, I'm sure," Makrobios muttered.

  Menedemos smiled his suavest smile. "You have some fellow citizens who don't think so. You even have a barbarian neighbor who didn't think so. If you want to be among the first, O best one, you have to pay the price. If we had the second shipload of peafowl into Taras, we couldn't charge nearly so much - because the first ship would have."

  Makrobios looked so unhappy, he might have been a hooked fish. But he said, "The house you're renting is north of the market, isn't it? Maybe I'll see you tomorrow." Before Menedemos could answer, Makrobios pointed to the doorway. "Ah, here come Gylippos' slaves with the wine."

  Menedemos pointed in surprise. "Those are jars of our Ariousian."

  "I sold them to his majordomo this afternoon," Sostratos said, a little smugly. "You were dickering with somebody over a peahen."

  "Krates the potter," Menedemos answered in a low voice: the man in question reclined a few couches away. "He wouldn't meet our price."

  "Well, Gylippos' majordomo did. He talks so strangely, he may be one of these Romans." Sostratos leaned forward to whisper in Menedemos' ear: "And now we get to drink some of the wine we just sold. I quite like that."

  "So do I." Menedemos chuckled.

  Gylippos' slave poured some of the Ariousian into the metaniptron from which they drank the first, neat, toast of the symposion and poured the libation to Dionysos. The guests murmured appreciatively. Menedemos wondered if they would be appreciative enough to elect him symposiarch, but they chose Krates instead. Menedemos wasn't surprised or offended; the potter was one of their circle, while he was a guest.

  Krates was a solid man in his late thirties or early forties, handsome enough that he'd probably been much pursued as a youth. "Ariousian, eh?" he said, and Gylippos dipped his head and waved to Menedemos and Sostratos to remind the men in the andron where it had come from. Krates stood up and declared, "Since the wine is so very fine, let it be mixed one to one with water."

  Everyone clapped. Menedemos laughed out loud. Turning to Sostratos, he said, "It's not his wine, so why shouldn't he mix it lavishly?"

  "We're all going to get very, very drunk." Sostratos sounded disapproving. "I don't remember the last symposion I went to where they mixed it one to one. That's too strong."

  "No wonder you don't remember, then." Menedemos laughed again. His cousin looked annoyed at him for deliberately misunderstanding. Menedemos had been at a good many symposia where the wine went around evenly mixed with water. They weren't like the ones at his father's house, or his uncle's, but they were fun in their own right. He asked Gylippos, "Where's that house called 'the trireme'? I know it's somewhere in Great Hellas. Is it here?"

  " 'The trireme'?" Sostratos echoed. "I don't know that one."

  "I do," their host said. "No, it's not here - it's in Akragas, on the south coast of Sicily. The symposiasts got so drunk, they thought they were in a storm at sea, and started throwing furniture out the windows to lighten ship. When people heard the racket, they came by to see what was going on and started carrying off couches and tables and chairs, and the fellow whose house it was had a nasty time getting things back once he sobered up." He grinned. "That's what I call a symposion."

  He didn't seem to mind Krates' ordering strong wine. Back in Hellas, the Italiotes had a reputation for debauchery. Sostratos still looked primly unhappy. Menedemos enjoyed his father's symposia, but he enjoyed the wilder kind, too. Looking back to his cousin as the slaves mixed the wine, he said, "I don't think you'll have to remember your Euripides tonight."

  "Probably not," Sostratos agreed, "though his verses ransomed some of the Athenians the Syracusans captured in the Peloponnesian War."

  Instead of the long-dead past, Menedemos thought about the cup of potent wine Gylippos' slave - a short, broad-shouldered Italian - handed to him. Before drinking, he paused to admire the kylix. Its pure shape argued for the Athens of a hundred years before, but the yellow and purple glaze accompanying the usual red, white, and black and its obvious newness said otherwise. He nodded to Krates. "A work from your establishment?"

  "Why, yes, as a matter of fact," the potter answered with a pleased smile. "How good of you to guess."

  "It's nicely done," Menedemos said. Krates hadn't bought a peahen today, but he might come back.

  He smiled again. "Thank you." He tasted the wine. His eyebrows rose. "Oh, this is very fine. I'm fond of the local vintages - don't get me wrong - but this makes them seem like vinegar by comparison. If you don't mind my asking, what did Gylippos pay?"

  "Sostratos?" Menedemos said; he didn't know himself.

  "I don't mind at all," his cousin said. "He paid forty-eight drakhmai the amphora."

  Menedemos waited for Krates to wince. And Krates did, but not too badly. "That's steep," he said, but then he sipped again. "I can see why he paid it, though." A couple of other symposiasts also made enthusiastic noises.

  "You'll understand, O best one, it wasn't cheap for us at Khios," Menedemos said, "and the one drawback of a merchant galley, of course, is the high cost of the crew's wages. I really don't see how I can come down." He'd sold for less at Cape Tainaron, but Tainaron was a good deal closer to Khios. And the Tarentines didn't need to know what he'd sold it for there.

  Two flutegirls came in, one with a single flute, one with a double. They both wore short tunics of thin, gauzy linen. Before they began to play, Menedemos called out to them: "Hail, girls! Who's your master? He might want to know I've got fine Koan silk for sale, so transparent the men'd be wondering if you were wearing anything at all. You'd probably get some extra tips for yourselves that way, too."

  "We belong to a man named Lamakhos, sir," replied the girl with the double flute. "You can find him not far from Poseidon's temple." She sighed. "I'd like to wear silk."

  "Thanks, sweetheart." Menedemos blew her a kiss. "You'd look good in it." She smiled at him in a marked manner. He smiled, too, even if he didn't think she was especially pretty. Pretty or not, a willing slave made a much better partner than one who was only doing what she had to do.

  Sostratos said, "I don't know how you do it, but you always do. You've got her eating out of the palm of your hand."

  "It's not that hard," Menedemos answered. "You could do it yourself, if you set your mind to it."

  "I don't think that much of her looks," Sostratos said. Menedemos had expected him to say something like that. His cousin most often seemed to find reasons not to have a good time.

  "Send the wine around again," Krates told Gylippos' slaves - sure enough, this symposion would center on drinking. The symposiarch waved to the flutegirls. "Let's hear some music, too." The girls raised the flutes to their lips and began to play a love song in the wailing Lydian mode. It wasn't a tune Menedemos knew, but a couple of guests started singing along to it.

  He leaned over toward his host. "Is that a Tarentine song?"

  Gylippos tossed his head. "I think it comes from Rhegion, the town right opposite Sicily on the Italian coast. It's been all the rage in Great Hellas for the past year or so, though."

  "I wonder how I missed it when I was in these parts last summer." Menedemos shrugged. "These things happen."

  As the two flutegirls played, a handsome young juggler came into the andron. He was naked; his oiled body gleamed in the torchlight. Gylippos' eyes and those of several other guests hungrily followed him as he kept a stream of balls and knives and cups in the air.

  Menedemos turned to Sostratos. "He's not bad at all. How'd you like him to play with your balls?" His cousin had been taking a sip of wine. He snorted and spluttered and did a good impression of a man choking to death. Menedemos laughed. He held up his own cup to show the slaves it was empty. One of them hurried to refill it.

  As the juggler went from table to table, Krates got up from his couch and came over t
o Gylippos. "What's next?" he asked. "Have you got dancers out there in the courtyard?"

  "I certainly do," Gylippos answered, "a pair of Kelts from the Keltic country this side of the Alps. Are you ready for them to come on?"

  "I think so," Krates said. "People are getting jolly, and there's nothing like a couple of naked girls to liven things up." He spoke to one of Gylippos' slaves, who went over to the doorway and called out into the darkness beyond.

  The symposiasts clapped and whooped as the dancers, graceful as leopards, bounded into the andron and began turning cartwheels. Menedemos joined the applause, but more for politeness' sake than anything else. The girls were nicely shaped, but almost fishbelly pale, with hair the color of untarnished copper - not to his taste at all. Both of them also were several digits taller than he.

  He took a pull at his cup of wine, then leaned toward Sostratos. "I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to bed a woman who looks like she can beat me up."

  Sostratos didn't answer. After taking a look at his cousin, Menedemos doubted whether he'd even heard him. Sostratos was staring at the two redheaded dancers as if they were the first naked women he'd ever seen in his life, the expression on his face somewhere between awe and raw lust. "Aren't they beautiful?" he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

  "Funny-looking, if you ask me," Menedemos answered. That made Sostratos notice him, and look at him as if he'd never heard anything so idiotic in all his born days. Menedemos patted him on the shoulder. "Never mind. Some men would sooner chase boys. Some like their women thin, others like them round. If you want to try to tame a wild Kelt or two, go ahead. You're bigger than they are, anyhow."

  "They're - unusual," Sostratos said. Menedemos just shrugged. What was unusual, as far as he was concerned, was Sostratos' showing interest in women at a symposion. He was much more likely to want nothing to do with them.

  "Enjoy yourself," Menedemos told him. "That's what they're for." He finished the wine in his cup, then set the kylix down and got to his feet. The andron seemed to sway a little as he rose. The Ariousian was potent to begin with, and cutting it with only its own measure of water left it still very strong. He dipped his head to Gylippos and walked out into the courtyard to ease himself.

  However bright the torchlight was inside the men's room, it didn't reach far past the door. Menedemos paused for a moment to let his eyes adapt to the darkness outside, then walked over to the far wall and hiked up his tunic. Behind him, the snatches of song accompanying the flutegirls' music grew more raucous. Then a chorus of men's voices let out a loud, bawdy cheer. He knew what that meant: at least one of the girls had started doing something for one of the men. He hoped she'd chosen his cousin. Sostratos deserved more fun than he usually got.

  As Menedemos turned to go back to the andron, a woman only a few cubits away gasped in surprise. "Who are you?" she said. "What are you doing here?"

  She must not have noticed him in the gloom till he moved. He hadn't seen her, either. "I'm Menedemos son of Philodemos, one of Gylippos' guests," he answered. "And who are you, dear?"

  "My name is Phyllis," she told him. "I came down from the women's room for some fresh air because it's so hot and stuffy up there, and I couldn't sleep with all the noise from the symposion. I didn't expect anyone inside there to notice me."

  "I had to get rid of some of the wine I'd drunk." Menedemos tried to make out what she looked like, but didn't have much luck in the dim light. She wasn't taller than he was, though - on the contrary - and she sounded young. "How about a quick one, sweetheart? Do you want to lean forward against the wall?"

  She laughed quietly. "You work fast, don't you?" she said, and then, giggling again, "Why not? Come over here where it's darker - and hurry."

  "I'd follow you anywhere," Menedemos said. She led him into a corner that was dark indeed, then bent forward and down. Menedemos stood behind her and tugged at her chiton, then yanked up his own. He went into her from behind, his hands clutching her backside. She gave a little mewling cry of pleasure that would have worried him more had the andron not been so noisy - and had he not spent himself a moment later.

  Phyllis quickly set her clothes to rights. "I've got to go back upstairs," she said. "You were sweet."

  "Let me give you half a drakhma," Menedemos said.

  She looked back at him over her shoulder as she hurried toward the stairway. "Did you think I was one of the house slaves?" Her laugh was all breath and no voice, but full of mirth just the same. With a toss of her head, she told him, "I'm Gylippos' wife." She hurried up the steps and was gone.

  Menedemos gaped after her as if she'd hit him in the head with a rock. "Oh, by the gods," he muttered, "how do I get myself into these things?" But the answer to that was only too obvious - and getting into her had been most enjoyable. He laughed, too, though it wouldn't be so funny if his host found out.

  When he strolled back into the andron, Gylippos said, "What were you doing out there so long? Diddling one of the slave girls?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes," Menedemos answered - he couldn't very well brag to the husband he'd just cuckolded. The answer produced whoops from most of the couches. He rocked his hips forward and back, which produced more whoops. "She said it was too hot in the women's quarters, but I made it pretty hot out there, too."

  "Resourceful Odysseus," Gylippos said.

  But your Phyllis is no Penelope, Menedemos thought. He wondered if he would have taken her had he know she was the dried-fish magnate's wife. He didn't wonder long. He was no philosopher, but he knew himself pretty well. He hadn't put in at Halikarnassos because a certain prominent merchant there would have done his level best to kill him on account of the good time he'd had with the fellow's wife.

  A slave handed him a fresh cup of wine. "Thanks," he said. "Looks like I'll have to drink this standing up - no room for me on my couch right now." Sostratos and the redheaded Keltic dancing girl with him were both big people, and the way they were thrashing about left the couch barely big enough for the two of them, let alone anyone else. The flutegirls and the juggler were entertaining other guests, while the other dancing girl, sweaty and unhappy, stood leaning against a wall: aside from Sostratos, nobody seemed much interested in an outsized barbarian bed partner.

  By the time Sostratos finished what he was doing, Menedemos had almost finished his wine. He admired his cousin's stamina. So, evidently, did the Keltic girl. "I hadna thought to find sic a man amongst the Hellenes, indeed and I hadn't," she said in musically accented Greek. Sostratos' face lit up till he seemed to glow brighter than the torches. That that might well have been purely professional praise never seemed to enter the mind of Menedemos' usually so rational cousin. Menedemos didn't intend to enlighten Sostratos, either. A happy man was easier to deal with than a gloomy one.

  Sounds of revelry came from the street. Somebody pounded on the door to Gylippos' house. When one of the house slaves opened it, another band of symposiasts swarmed into the courtyard and then into the andron. Wreaths and ribbons garlanded their hair; more dancing girls came in with them. They seemed a younger, rowdier, drunker crowd than most of Gylippos' guests.

  Gylippos, by then, was far enough into his cups not to care. "Welcome, welcome, three times welcome!" he cried, and called to his slaves for more wine.

  Sostratos woke the next morning with a head he would gladly have traded for anything small and worthless and quiet, not that anyone would have wanted his head in its present sorry condition. He dimly remembered reeling back to the rented house arm in arm with Menedemos behind a couple of torchbearers, each of them trying to sing louder than the other and both succeeding too well.

  Then he remembered the Keltic girl. All at once, his head didn't hurt quite so much. Maybe he liked her looks because he'd bedded the red-haired Thracian slave his family owned. And maybe he'd bedded both of them because redheaded women appealed to him. He chuckled as he got out of bed and threw on his chiton. That sounded as if it might be the subject of one of
the dialogues Platon had put in Sokrates' mouth, even if it was on the bawdy side.

  When he walked out into the courtyard, Menedemos was scattering barley for the peafowl. Menedemos looked about the way Sostratos felt. He managed a smile nonetheless. "Hail," he said. "That was quite a night, wasn't it?"

  "So it was," Sostratos agreed. "I could do with a little wine - well-watered wine - to take the edge off my headache."

  "I've already done that," his cousin said. "It helps a little - not much."

  "Nothing helps a hangover much." Sostratos went into the kitchen, dipped up some water from a hydria, and poured wine into the cup with it. After a few sips, he walked back out into the courtyard. "I was thinking I might go and find this Lamakhos' place today, to see if he wants to buy some of our silk to deck out his girls."

  He kept his voice elaborately casual, but not casual enough. Menedemos laughed at him. "I know what else you're after. You want another look at that Kelt you had at Gylippos' - maybe another go at her, too."

  "Well, what if I do?" Now Sostratos knew he sounded embarrassed. He wanted to rule his lusts, not let them rule him. But he did want to see the girl again, and he wouldn't have minded taking her to bed again, either - not at all.

  "It's all right with me," his cousin said expansively. Menedemos rarely wondered about whether he or his lusts had the upper hand. He smiled an ever so knowing smile. "I did all right for myself last night, too, thank you very much."

  "What? A quick poke with a slave girl out in the dark?" Sostratos said. "Since when is that anything to brag about?"

  Menedemos looked around. Seeing none of the Aphrodite's sailors who guarded the rented house close by, he leaned toward Sostratos and spoke in a whisper: "She wasn't a slave girl, though I thought she was when I asked her. She was Gylippos' wife."

  "Gylippos' . . . wife?" Sostratos repeated the words as if he'd never heard them before and had trouble figuring out what they meant. Then he clapped a hand to his forehead. "You idiot! He could have killed you if he'd caught you. He could have shoved one of those big radishes up your arse. He could have done anything he bloody well pleased, especially since you're a foreigner here."