The man reclined on a couch in his stately furnished rooms on the first floor of the tavern, and was finally able to relax. At a slight twitch of his fingers a slave hurried to serve a glass of chilled, watered wine. "Will there be anything else Master?" The Greek closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, contemplating the irony of it all. He was rich, very rich, and he was powerful. All these riches and the influence he wielded he owed to the maritime trade (and his own creative use of it), yet he couldn't stand being aboard a ship. His stomach started squirming as soon as he did as much as step on a plank.

The man's long and delicate fingers traced the elegant lines of the glass and he admired the colour of the liquid shimmering pale inside the goblet. The wine was as chilled as he had ordered it; tiny droplets of water had attached themselves on the outside of the glass. With a soft moan of pleasure he took another sip and savoured every drop that rolled over his tongue. "Zopyros …" "Master?" "Go and let the landlord know that I am pleased with the wine as much as I am pleased with the accomodation."