The Pompaian stuck his forefinger into the cup and flicked out a drop or two onto the dusty ground of the market square to do duty for a libation. He muttered something in Oscan, presumably a prayer to whatever god the Samnites worshiped in place of Dionysos. Then he sniffed the wine, and then, slowly and deliberately, he drank. He made a good game try at not showing how impressed he was, but his eyebrows rose in spite of himself. After smacking his lips, he said, 'Sixty drakhmai is too much, but I can see how you had the nerve to ask for it. I might give you sixty for two amphorai.' Now Menedemos tossed his head. 'Again, there'd be no profit in it for me at that price, not when you reckon in the effort it took me to bring the wine from Khios all the way to Pompaia.' Sincerity filled his voice, as sweetness filled the Ariousian. He wasn't even lying. Maybe the local sensed as much. Or maybe he just had more silver than things he could readily buy in Pompaia, for, as with the peafowl chicks, he didn't seem to haggle so hard as he might have. Before long, he said, 'All right, then, I'll give you a mina for the two jars.' 'Fifty drakhmai the amphora?' Menedemos said, and the Pompaian nodded. Menedemos dipped his head. 'A bargain.' They clasped hands to seal it. Menedemos asked Sostratos, 'How much does our friend owe us altogether?' 'Four minai, twenty drakhmai,' Sostratos said at once, as if he had a counting board in front of him. Menedemos could have figured it out, too, but not nearly so fast. 'Four minai, twenty drakhmai,' the Pompaian repeated. 'I shall bring it. You wait here.' Off he swept, retainers in his wake. When he returned, he brought back silver coined in most of the poleis of Great Hellas, as well as coins from Italian towns. Menedemos and Sostratos had to pay a jeweler three oboloi for the use of his scale. Sostratos, as usual, did the weighing and calculating. When he dipped his head, Menedemos gave the Pompaian the birds and the wine. The local went off, seeming well pleased with himself. In a low voice, Menedemos asked, 'How much extra did we make?' 'By weight, you mean?' his cousin answered. 'A few drakhmai.' 'It all adds up,' Menedemos said happily, and Sostratos dipped his head once more. The next morning found Sostratos spending one of those extra drakhmai on the hire of a mule in the market square and Menedemos loudly dismayed about it. 'Why do you want to go riding around?' he demanded. 'Somebody will knock you over the head, that's what'll happen.' 'I doubt it,' Sostratos said. 'I don't,' his cousin snapped. 'I ought to send a bodyguard out with you, is what I ought to do. You're a hopeless dub with a sword or a spear.' 'You know that, and I know that, but these Italians don't know it,' Sostratos answered. 'All they'll see is a big man, one they'd think twice about bothering. And I want to look around a little. Who can guess when the Aphrodite will come back to Pompaia again, if she ever does?'
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