to make the best of it. The Pompaian didn't seem displeased. 'Life is full of gambles, is it not?' he said. 'If I bought two of these little birds, I should have a reasonable chance of getting at least one peacock, eh? What is your price?' Menedemos spoke before Sostratos could: 'Two Tarentine minai apiece.' With a cough, the man in the toga said, 'That is a lot of silver.' 'It's a lot less than Herennius Egnatius paid for his birds,' Sostratos put in. 'Which does not make what I said any less true,' the Pompaian replied. 'Half your price might strike me as reasonable.' 'Half my price strikes me as unprofitable,' Menedemos said. The Pompaian smiled. He might be a barbarian in a peculiar garment, but he knew the start of a dicker when he heard one. And it turned out to be quite a quick dicker, too, for he wanted to buy as much as Menedemos wanted to sell. They didn't take long to settle on one mina, sixty drakhmai for each bird. The local spoke a couple of crackling sentences of Oscan to the retainers who stood near him, then returned to Greek: 'I shall go to my house to get the money. And when I return, I may have a thing or two to say about your wine, as well.' Menedemos bowed, 'Just as you say, O best one. Would you care to talk about the price now, so you'll know how much silver to bring back here to the market square?' The Pompaian plucked at his graying beard. 'Do you know, that is not a bad notion. You Hellenes have a knack for picking smooth ways to do things. How much will you try to steal from me?' 'Sixty drakhmai the amphora,' Menedemos said calmly. 'What?' Now the local dug a finger in his ear, as if to make sure he'd heard right. He spoke in Oscan, presumably translating the price. His retainers all made horrified noises. Not a bad ploy, Menedemos thought. The Pompaian went back to Greek again: 'You Hellenes say your gods drink something called nectar, is it not so? Have you got nectar inside those jars?' With a smile, Menedemos said, 'You are closer than you think. Any Khian wine is among the best that comes from Hellas, and Ariousian is to common Khian as common Khian is to ordinary wine. It's so sweet and thick and golden, you almost hate to mix it with water.' 'As far as I am concerned, you Hellenes are daft for mixing wine with water in the first place.' The Pompaian folded his arms across his chest. 'I shall not pay even a khalkos, though, before I taste this wine for myself. Peafowl are hard to come by. Wine, now - wine is easy.' At Menedemos' dip of the head, one of the sailors unsealed an amphora. At the same time, one of the Pompaian's men borrowed a cup from a local wineseller. Menedemos poured some of the precious Ariousian into it and handed it to the local. 'Here you are. See for yourself.'
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