Diokles said, “Pity the wind's straight in our face. Otherwise, we could lower the sail from the yard and give the rowers a rest.” “It usually blows out of the north at this season of the year,” Menedemos answered, and the oarmaster dipped his head in agreement. Menedemos went on, “But I will take half the men off the oars now. We'll make Kaunos by sundown without hurrying.” “We'd better,” Diokles said. He left off clanging his mallet on bronze and called out, “Oop!” The rowers rested at their oars. The akatos eased to a halt. Diokles went on, “Starting from the bow, every other man take a rest.” The rowers coming off hauled in their long, dripping oars and stowed them atop medium-sized jars of crimson dye; small, round pots of ink; and oiled-leather sacks full of papyrus from Egypt. “Rhyppapai!” the keleustes sang out. “Rhyppapai!” The men left on the oars went back to work. The Aphrodite began to move again, not with the speed she'd shown before but still well enough to suit Menedemos. “We'll practice tactics for a sea fight a good deal on this cruise,” he told the crew. “Never can tell when we'll need them. Except right around Rhodes, pirates are thick as flies round a dead goat.” No one grumbled. Anybody who went to sea knew he told the truth. Sostratos said, “If anybody besides our polis cared about keeping those vultures off the water ...” He clicked his tongue between his teeth. “But no one does.” Menedemos called to one of the sailors who'd just stopped rowing: “Aristeidas! Go up to the foredeck and keep an eye on things. You're the best lookout we've got.”