“Especially not going to Athens,” Lysistratos said.

“Especially not going to Athens,” Sostratos agreed. “I can’t imagine a worse place in the world to try to bring in olive oil. They stopped growing grain there a couple of hundred years ago, by the gods, so they could plant more olive trees. They export oil; they don’t import it. Zeus on Olympos, Father, at the Panathenaic Games they give the winners amphorai of olive oil-their own olive oil.”

“We both know that…” his father began.

“Damonax knows it, too,” Sostratos said. “He studied at the Lykeion in Athens before I got there. How can he help knowing it?”

Lysistratos let out a sad little chuckle. “Well, son, when someone marries into the family, you don’t just get the good. You get all the problems he brings with him, too. And Damonax and his family probably think of us as a bunch of stingy whoresons.”

Sostratos dipped his head. “That’s true. But there’s a difference- we’re right.” He knew he was being silly. So did his father. They both laughed. But it wasn’t as if he didn’t mean it, too.

Two days of bright sunshine in a row made Menedemos want to rush down to the Great Harbor to make sure the Aphrodite was fully laden and ready to put to sea. His father said, “You don’t want to go out too early, you know. Better to wait a few extra days than to get caught by the last big blow of winter.”

“But others will be setting sail now,” Menedemos protested. “I don’t want them to get the jump on me.”

“Some skippers always set sail sooner than they should,” Philodemos said. “A lot of the time, they end up paying for it.” Menedemos fumed. Watching him fume, his father smiled a thin smile and added, “I’m going down to the agora, to find out what the news is. I expect you to be here when I get back.”