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 to 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.
