The Gryphon's Skull

Thoukydides had had some sharp things to say about men who called a thing by one name when it manifestly deserved another. But Sostratos honestly didn't think he was mad for knowledge the way, say, Sokrates had been. Of course, what madman ever believes be is one?

Teleutas said, “I've sailed up past Byzantion onto the Pontos Euxeinos, and I've seen gryphons painted on plates along that coast, and done up in jewelry. Up there, they make 'em out to be pretty. But any beast with a skull like this'd have to be the ugliest thing that ever hatched out of an egg.”

“Now there's a question, my wisdom-loving cousin,” Menedemos said. “Do gryphons hatch from eggs, or are they born alive?”

“It's a question with a simple answer, as far as I'm concerned,” Sostratos replied. “I don't know.”

“An honest answer, anyway,” Menedemos said. “Come on, boys, back to the akatos again. We'll stow these prizes—and the skull— and then see what else we can get.”

“Prizes—and the skull?” Sostratos echoed unhappily, “Why did you buy it if you didn't think we'd make anything from it?”

“Because, my dear, you'd have fussed and fumed this whole sailing season if I'd left it sitting there on the ground. Thirty drakhmai isn't too high a price to pay for a summer's worth of peace and quiet,” Menedemos answered, Sostratos' ears got hot. There were times when his cousin knew him much too well.

“ Oh, that thing,” Kissidas said when Menedemos and Sostratos went back to the Rhodian proxenos' house for supper that evening. “I've seen it in the agora. Everybody in Kaunos has seen it in the market square by now, I daresay. Why in the name of the gods did you want it?”

“Well . . .” Menedemos, usually so glib, found himself at a loss for words. “You see . . . That is .. .” I bought it to keep Sostratos happy didn't seem reason enough, not when he sat in the olive merchant's andron instead of bargaining in the market square.

Sostratos was glib enough here: “I want the philosophers in Athens to see it. It answers many questions about gryphons, starting with whether they're real or mythical beasts. I'd always thought they were the stuff of story myself, but I see I was wrong.”

“Hard to have a real skull for a mythical beast,” Kissidas said with a dry chuckle.

“Exactly so, best one,” Sostratos agreed. He would have made a better merchant if everyday affairs roused the same passion in him as this oddity did. Of course he needs oddities to interest him—he's odd himself, Menedemos thought. His cousin went on, “At the same time, though, having a veritable gryphon's skull raises as many questions as it answers.”

Those questions were for the moment forgotten when Kissidas' cook brought in a dogfish smothered with melted cheese and leeks to accompany his fresh-baked bread. Menedemos made sure he ate enough bread so as not to seem a shameless opsophagos, but the portion of dogfish set before him vanished with marvelous haste. To his relief, his host and his cousin ate their fish just as fast.

But, after Kissidas licked his fingers clean, he asked, “What sort of questions does the gryphon's skull raise? It just looks like ugly old bones to me.”

To me, too, Menedemos thought. But Sostratos answered, “Well, for one thing, why would gryphons make good guards for the gold of the Skythians? They have—or this one has, at any rate—teeth that would be better for grazing than for ripping and tearing, as a lion might do.”

Kissidas blinked. “I never would have thought to look at its teeth. Who would?”

“Sostratos is like that,” Menedemos murmured.

He didn't think the olive merchant heard him. To his relief, he didn't think his cousin did, either. Sostratos went on, “And you're right to say it looks like old bones, but it doesn't feel like old bones. It feels like stone, and it has bits of stone stuck to it here and there. Why should gryphons have skulls made of stone when all other beasts have theirs made of bone?”

“All other beasts? I don't know about that,” Kissidas said.

“Name another beast with a skull of stone,” Sostratos challenged.

“Well, there's Hipparkhos, up in the fortress on the hill,” the Rhodian proxenos said, deadpan.

Menedemos guffawed. “He's got you.”

“So he has.” Sostratos had the grace to chuckle. But then he got back to the business at hand: “You see why I want the philosophers to be able to examine it?”

“Old bones.” Kissidas tossed his head. “You'll never make any silver with old bones.”

“We didn't pay that much,” Menedemos said, stretching a point. “And Sostratos hopes we can get a couple of the philosophical schools in Athens bidding against each other to see who gets to keep the gryphon's skull. So we may turn a profit yet.” He didn't really believe it, but he would back his cousin against a near-stranger.