The Gryphon's Skull

“I'm afraid we must.” Sostratos pointed to the gryphon's skull. “Wrap the sailcloth around that, and let's get's going.” He wanted to get out of there as fast as he could. Damonax had shown even more interest in the skull than he'd expected, and not of the sort he'd looked for. If the gentleman farmer suddenly called out half a dozen hulking slaves . . . If that idea hadn't yet occurred to Damonax, Sostratos thought it wise to leave before it did.

“Are you sure I can't persuade you to let me take that skull off your hands?” Damonax said. “I offered a good price: six minai is a lot of money.”

“I know, O best one,” Sostratos answered. “But I want to take it to Athens. And who knows? I may do better there.”

He didn't believe it for a moment. By Damonax's expression, neither did he. But the older man didn't try to keep Sostratos from leaving, and no burly slaves appeared to rape away the gryphon's skull. Once out in the street again, Sostratos breathed a long sigh of relief. He and Arlissos hadn't gone more than a few steps back toward his own house before the slave asked, “Did he really say he'd give you six hundred drakhmai for these miserable old bones?”

“Yes, that's what he said.” Sostratos dipped his head.

“And you turned him down}” Arlissos sounded disbelieving. He sounded more than disbelieving; he sounded as if he'd just witnessed a prodigy. “By Zeus Labraundeus, master, I don't think you'd turn down six hundred drakhmai for me?

He might well have been right. Karian slaves were cheap and easy to come by in Rhodes, while the gryphon's skull was—and, Sostratos was convinced, would remain—unique. Instead of saying so straight out, Sostratos tried a joke: “Well, Arlissos, you have to understand: it eats a lot less than you do.”

“Six hundred drakhmai,” Arlissos said; Sostratos wondered if the slave had even heard him. “Six hundred drakhmai, and he said no.” He looked down at the shrouded skull and spoke to it as if they were equals in more than price: “Hellenes are crazy, old bone, you know that?”

Sostratos indignantly started to deny it. Then he thought about what Menedemos would say if his cousin found out he'd turned down six minai for the gryphon's skull. Menedemos would be certain at least one Hellene was raving mad.

“No,” Menedemos said impatiently when Sostratos began to pester him again. “We can't sail for Athens as soon as you want,”

“But—” his cousin began.

“No,” he repeated. “I want to get out of Rhodes, too, but we can't, not right now. Have you seen these new gemstones coming in from Egypt, the ones called emeralds?”

“I've heard of them. I haven't seen any yet,” Sostratos replied.

“Well, my dear, you'd better, if you think you can pry me out of Rhodes before I pry some emeralds out of this round-ship captain who has some,” Menedemos declared.

“But the gryphon's skull—” Sostratos protested.

“No!” Menedemos tossed his head. His shadow tossed, too, and frightened a butterfly from a flower in the courtyard garden of Lysistratos' house. He watched it flitter away, then resumed: “The skull's been buried since before the Trojan War. We talked about that. Whether it gets to Athens now or next month or month after that doesn't matter so much. Whether I can get my hands on these emeralds does.”

“That is logical,” Sostratos admitted. Then, when Menedemos hoped that meant he would be reasonable, he added, “But I still don't like it.”

“Too bad,” Menedemos said heartlessly.

Too heartlessly: he put his cousin's back up. “What makes these emeralds so special?” Sostratos demanded.

“They're fine gems, that's what,” Menedemos answered. “They're as fine as rubies, except they're green, not red. They're greener than green garnets; they're as green as ... as ...” He was stuck for a comparison till he plucked a leaf from one of the plants in the garden. “As this.”

“That's my sister's mint, and she'd give you a piece of her mind if she saw you picking sprigs,” Sostratos said.

“How immodest,” Menedemos said. Except for her wedding, he hadn't seen Erinna unveiled since she was a little girl.

“She does speak her mind,” Sostratos said, not without a certain pride. And she was probably up there in the women's quarters listening to every word said here in the courtyard. Women of good family might not get out much, but that didn't mean they had no way to find out—and to influence—what went on around them.

“Let's give her a chance to talk behind our backs, then,” Menedemos said. “Till you've seen these stones, you have no idea why I'm in such an uproar about them. Thrasyllos has no idea I'm in such an uproar, you understand, and I'll thank you kindly not to give the game away.”

“You know me better than that, I hope.” Sostratos sounded affronted. “Thrasyllos is the man who has these emeralds?”

“That's right. He's just in to Rhodes from Alexandria with a round ship full of Egyptian wheat.”

“Why has he got them, then?” Sostratos asked.