The expression fascinated Menedemos. All her expressions fascinated him. They were part of the same household, so she didn’t veil herself against his eyes as respectable women usually did around men. Watching her bare face was almost as exciting as seeing her naked.

He had to remind himself to pay attention to what she was saying, too.

He’d given his father plenty of reasons to quarrel with him-and had also got plenty of reasons to quarrel with his father. He didn’t want to putadultery with his father’s wife on the list. That might be a killing matter, and he knew it very well.

Most of him, at any rate, didn’t want to put adultery with Baukis on the list. One part did. That part stirred. He sternly willed it back to quiescence. He didn’t want Baukis noticing such stirrings under his tunic.

“Sikon has his pride,” he said. Talking about quarrels in the kitchen might help keep his mind off other things. “Maybe you would have done better right from the start if you’d asked him to be more careful what he spent than marching in there and giving him orders. That puts his back up, you know.”

“He’s a slave,” Baukis repeated. “When his master’s wife tells him what to do, he’d better pay attention, or he’ll be sorry.”

In theory, she was right. In practice, slaves with special skills and special talents-and Sikon had both-were almost as free to do as they pleased as were citizens. If Baukis didn’t know that, she’d lived a sheltered life before she was married. Or maybe her parents were among the folk who treated slaves like beasts of burden that happened to be able to talk. There were some.

He said, “Sikon’s been here a long time. We’re still prosperous, and we eat as well as a lot of people who have more silver.”

Baukis’ frown got deeper. “That’s not the point. The point is, if I tell him to do it the way I want, he should do it.”