Over the Wine Dark Sea

'We won't get this cheap, will we?'   'Your cousin was trying 'is best,' the wine seller said dryly. 'But no, my friend, you won't. I know what I've got, and I know what it's worth.'   'I'm sure you do.' Menedemos dipped his head. He sipped again. His eyes closed, as if a flutegirl at a symposion had started doing something extraordinarily pleasurable. 'Oh, my. That is the real stuff. No one could mistake it, not even for a heartbeat. And what they'll pay in Italy!' His eyes closed again, this time contemplating a different sort of ecstasy.   'I should say it is, and I should say they will.' Aristagoras dipped his head, too, and then looked daggers at Sostratos.   Sostratos, for his part, felt like looking daggers at Menedemos. The only reason he didn't was to keep Aristagoras from getting even more of the upper hand in the dicker. But, from everything Sostratos could see, the wine merchant already had a sizable edge, and Menedemos seemed intent on giving him more.   Menedemos drained the little cup Alyattes had given him and sighed. At Aristagoras' gesture, the Lydian slave filled it again. 'I thank you,' Menedemos told him. He gave Aristagoras a seated bow. 'And I thank you.' He took another sip. 'Exquisite, just exquisite. I wouldn't be surprised if you were getting twelve drakhmai for an amphora, maybe even thirteen.'   'I'm getting twenty,' Aristagoras said. But he didn't get angry, as he had with Sostratos. Menedemos' charm had softened him a little; he no longer glared like a blunt-nosed viper about to bite. Sostratos saw what he'd done wrong -  saw it, as one usually does in such affairs, too late.   'I can well believe that you'd ask twenty.' Menedemos' smile remained easy, ingratiating. 'But it's a long haul from Khios to Italy, and I have expenses, too -  and the Italiotes, in spite of what people say, aren't quite made of money. What do you say to fourteen drakhmai a jar?'   He'd come up twice now, and without even being asked. Would Aristagoras move at all? If he didn't, would Menedemos give him every obolos he demanded? Sostratos had the dreadful feeling his cousin would. If they bought wine, even Ariousian, at twenty drakhmai the amphora, could they sell enough of it in Italy at a high enough price to make it worthwhile? He doubted it.   'Your expenses aren't my worry,' Aristagoras said, and Sostratos' heart sank.   'I know that, sir,' Menedemos said. Suddenly, Sostratos' hopes began to rise. Whenever his cousin sounded that earnest, good things followed -  good things for Menedemos, that is. This was the tone he used to sweet-talk other men's wives into bed with him. He went on, 'I do so want to do business with you, but twenty seems the tiniest bit high. You'll have met my father, I expect. You know what he's like. Old-fashioned? I should say so!' He rolled his eyes. 'I just don't think he could stay reasonable if he heard a number like that.'   Sostratos waited. Had he haggled like that, Aristagoras would have thrown him out onto the street on his backside. He was sure of it. With Menedemos . . . With Menedemos, the wine seller said, 'Well, you've gone up a couple of drakhmai. I don't suppose the Persian Empire will come back to life if I drop one.'   They settled at sixteen drakhmai the amphora. Sostratos would have been happier at fifteen, but he hadn't been able to make Aristagoras move at all. Menedemos, now, Menedemos had Aristagoras eating out of the palm of his hand. 'Have the slaves bring the jars to my ship tomorrow morning,' he said.