They had resupplied in the small harbor town of Opuntia, where Menander had forced Aristotle to cover himself in a hooded cloak, once again assuming the role of the austere reclusive soothsayer. The cruelest blow of the day had been Menander’s selling of Polos, Cyno and poor old Xenophile on the auction block to pay for supplies. Polymara had only been saved by the intercession of Selene, to whom the girl was then reassigned as a servant, no longer permitted to keep Arlene’s company. She knew then that Menander would only tolerate those people who had demonstrated the ability to provide him with a service.

Arlene had, on a few occasions, used her medical kit and skills to perform minor surgeries for wounded men under the Spartan’s command. This and her connection to Aristotle would save her. Selene was safe for obvious reasons, as the Spartan could not keep his hands off of her, even though she was six months pregnant.

That’s it. At some point the bastard will call me in to see to Selene. I’ll definitely be the midwife.

You can’t wait that long. Aristotle is quitting, quitting in his mind. The loss of Polos and Xenophile devastated him. This kind of depression in the elderly can be lethal. And Sebastian will be sold next.

You have to act by the time we get to Delphi at the latest. It’s a shame I can’t act like an actress. Then maybe I could pull some ruse. Hell, I can’t even lie convincingly. Thank God Ari got us heading to Delphi—look at that, girl!

They were approaching a broad shallow lake bounded by low mountains on this—the northeast—side and stretching as far as the eye could see. It was Lake Kopiak, long since dried up in her Time, but now making the landscape look a little more like Scotland than the desiccated Greece of modern times.

The lake was pretty enough, even in winter, after the dreary wine-dark sea they had been looking out over for the past two days. What really caught her eye was the grand house before her. Not a house as she had understood houses in modern America, but a house after the classical Hellenic fashion, except that it was surrounded by a low stone wall, impractically broken by seven decorative gates, only one of which seemed to be in use, the others serving as grape arbors. She caught her breath to ask Ari and he interrupted her, in a troublingly laconic voice, “The House of Seven Gates. It is the home of the famed companion, Labia, who is the sister of the leading woman of Thebes that was spared by Alexander along with her family when he sentenced the city to death and its sons and daughters to slavery. Few men in Hellas can afford her company. But, like all of her kind, she is sworn to secrecy concerning her visitors, and might be trusted by Menander to entertain me and my companion.”

His mouth did permit a slight smile, which made her slightly happy. “Oh, Ari, she would surely see you, and I would be happy to meet her.”

He then smiled a little more fully. “Yes, and you could surely benefit from some instruction in the finer things. I have yet to hear you pluck the lyre or ring your finger-clickers to a song.”

She blushed. “I will ask her for lyre lessons. But please, don’t ask me to dance with the castanets. It’s so embarrassing.”

Aristotle then turned to Sebastian. “Student—last of many—see to an audience with Labia for Menander, Myself and My Companion. I shall see to payment of the thinking kind rather than coin or flesh. Menander shall be my honored guest.”

The old fellow has some balls. I’ll give him that.