Back in Ioudaia, Sostratos had despised Hekataios of Abdera for being able to travel as he pleased and having the leisure in which to write history… and for not knowing how lucky he was. Menedemos’ sympathy when he heard about that had been distinctly muted. Now, though, now he understood.

“Have you got more of this oil?” Demetrios asked, licking his fingers.

“Sorry, but no,” Menedemos said, while Sostratos, whose mouth was full, tossed his head. Menedemos went on, “Your, ah, predecessor bought all we brought here.”

“Demetrios of Phaleron is a man of taste; no way around that,” Demetrios son of Antigonos said. “Clever fellow, and a nice fellow, too. Pity he chose the other side and not my father’s. I wonder where he’ll turn up next, and what he’ll do there. As long as he’s not working against Father’s interests, I wish him well.”

He sounded as if he meant it. Menedemos doubted he could have been so dispassionate about an enemy. But he hadn’t heard too many Athenians who truly despised Demetrios of Phaleron. Yes, they were glad to see their ancient democracy restored (though some of the decrees they’d passed made it look as if they’d forgotten the point of ruling themselves). But the general opinion was that Kassandros’ puppet could have been worse. For a man who’d ruled as a tyrant for ten years, the verdict could have been far harsher.

Having swallowed, Sostratos said, “We have no more oil, O Demetrios, but we do have truffles from Lesbos. Your cooks can shave them, if you like, and steep the shavings in oil. Or they can cook the truffles themselves, if you’d rather,”

“If I’d rather?” Demetrios laughed another of his easy laughs. “Don’t you find, in your households, that the cooks think they’re the lords and everyone else their subjects? Mine certainly do. Myriads of soldiers jump to obey my orders, but if I tell a cook to steam a fish and he’s intent on baking it, I’ll have baked fish for supper that night.”

“Oh, yes,” Menedemos said. “My father’s cook has been squabbling with my stepmother ever since Father remarried a few years ago.”

“My family’s cook isn’t quite so temperamental as Menedemos’,” Sostratos said. “But there are times when he has a whim of iron; no doubt about it.”

“After supper, talk to my servants. I’ll buy whatever truffles you have left,” Demetrios said, “Let the men know I want them. You’ll get a fair price, I promise.”

Now Menedemos didn’t look at Sostratos. Still, he was sure his cousin was as delighted as he was. Demetrios’ servants would have to buy after orders Like that, and would have to pay a price better than just fair. Demetrios was one of the richest men in the world. To him, a silver drakhma counted for less than a bronze khalkos did for most mere mortals-hardly even small change.

More slaves brought in course after course of opson; stewed eels, steaks cut from the belly of a tuna, roast dogfish. There were also smoking beef ribs. They obviously came from an animal butchered on purpose; they weren’t the gobbets handed out at random after a sacrifice. Menedemos occasionally ate pork, but he didn’t think he’d had deliberately butchered beef before.

Maybe his surprise showed on his face, for Demetrios said, “We Macedonians live lives closer to those of Homer’s heroes than most Hellenes do. We’re meat-eaters, for we have broader lands on which to pasture cattle.”

“I wasn’t complaining, most noble one,” Menedemos replied. “Is that cumin in the sauce?” He smacked his lips. “Tasty.”

“I do believe it is, and black pepper from Arabia, too,” Demetrios said.

After the ribs came fruit candied in honey and a cheesecake similarly sweetened. “A splendid supper,” Sostratos said. “We thank you for your kindness.”

“My pleasure.” Demetrios’ smile fairly glowed. He had charm; no doubt of that. After a sip from his cup of wine, he went on, “And where does Rhodes stand amidst all the confusions of the world that’s taken shape since Alexander died?”

It seemed nothing but a casual, friendly question. Menedemos answered it the same way: “We’re neutrals, and happy to be neutral. We have no quarrel with anyone.”

Euxenides of Phaselis spoke up: “The Rhodian certainly speaks the truth for himself and his cousin, Demetrios. They carried me the same as they would have carried one of Ptolemaios’ men a couple of years ago.

“Good. That’s good.” Demetrios’ smile remained charming. But he went on, “What was true a couple of years ago could be less true now, though. And it isn’t easy to stay neutral when one is a small polls in a world of large… powers.” What had he almost said? Kingdoms? None of Alexander’s squabbling marshals claimed a crown for himself, though all of them were kings in everything but name.

“So long as we do business with everyone, and so long as we stay free and autonomous, we’ll hold on to our neutrality,” Sostratos said.

“Oh, yes. So long as.” Demetrios’ voice also stayed silky-smooth. “But when you do the bulk of your business with one fellow, well, naturally your other neighbors wonder just how free and autonomous you truly are. Athens, after all, claimed to be free and autonomous before I liberated her.”

Rhodes did much more business with Ptolemaios’ Egypt than with the lands of any other marshal… including Antigonos. And Antigonos’ lands were near neighbors to Rhodes. Menedemos didn’t care for the turn the conversation had taken, especially since he doubted whether Athens was any freer or more autonomous now than before her “liberation.”

Sostratos said, “Surely, most noble one, you can’t be thinking of Rhodes. Why, we’ve built ships for your father’s fleets. If that isn’t how a proper neutral behaves, I don’t know what would be.”

“Just so.” Menedemos beamed across Demetrios’ couch toward his cousin. Nobody could match Sostratos when it came to bolstering arguments with good, solid facts. His cousin was so logical, so rational, disagreeing with him seemed impossible.

And Demetrios didn’t disagree with him. Smiling still, Antigonos’ son said, “I do hope you can see, my friends, that free and autonomous poleis like Athens and Rhodes can sometimes need protection against those who would try to force them into leaning in an… unfortunate direction.”

“Not being an Athenian, I would not presume to speak for Athens,” Sostratos said. “As far as Rhodes goes, since only we Rhodians choose how we lean or if we lean, the question doesn’t arise.”

“I certainly hope it never will,” Demetrios said. “That could be… very unfortunate indeed.”

Was he giving them a warning? It sounded like one. Menedemos said, “I’m sure all my fellow Rhodians will be glad to know of your concern.”

“Oh, good. I hope they are.” Demetrios turned his head and shouted for more wine. Out it came: that splendid Thasian, thick and sweet and potent even when mixed. No one worried about anything as abstract as neutrality for the rest of the evening.