"My slave and Itold you it was a peacock," said the Phoenician merchant, who'd probablynever heard of the Birds. "And be careful with your hands around it. Itbites."

"Where does it comefrom?" Sostratos asked.

"India," Himilkon replied. "Since the divine Alexander went there with an army ofyou Hellenes, more of these birds have come back to the Inner Sea than ever before. I have the peacock here, and five peahens still caged in the warehouse.They're quieter than he is, Baal be praised."

"From India?" Sostratos scratched his head in bewilderment. "But Herodotos doesn't talkabout peafowl in India in his history. He talks about the clothes made fromtree-wool, and the enormous ants that mine gold, and the Indians themselves,with their black hides and their black semen. But not a word about peacocks. Ifthey came from India, you'd think he'd say so."

Himilkon shrugged."I don't know anything about this Hellene, whoever he is. But I know wherepeacocks come from. And if he didn't talk about them, my bet is he didn't knowabout them."

With a chuckle,Menedemos said, "You can't argue with that, Sostratos." He enjoyedteasing his cousin, who, he sometimes thought, would sooner read about lifethan live it. He took another look at the peacock, then asked Himilkon,"What are those feathers piled up on top of it? They don't look likethey're growing out of its back."

"No, no, no."The Phoenician made little pushing motions, as if to deny the very idea."Those are tail feathers. The cage is too small, too crowded."

"All that mess? Itstail?" Menedemos raised that eyebrow again. "You're having meon."

"No suchthing." Himilkon drew himself up, the picture of affronted dignity."I'll show you." He turned to Hyssaldomos. "Open the door andlet it out, to show the gentlemen. They may be customers, eh?"