John Roberts - A Point of Law

“I’m of a mind to buy some wine for my household. Of course, my steward will be along later to make the purchase, but I want to try the vintage first.”

“Of course, of course. What is your pleasure? Here we have wine from Iberia, from Greece and all the islands: Cyprus, Rhodes, Cos, Lesbos-some fine Lesbian just arrived today, Senator-Delian, Cretan, the list goes on. We have Asian, Syrian, Judean, wine from Egypt, from Numidia and Libya and Mauretania, from Cisalpina-”

“My taste runs a bit closer to home,” I said, interrupting his circumnavigation of the Middle Sea.

“We have wine from every district of Italy,” he assured me. “From Verona, Ravenna, from Luca and Pisae-”

I could see he was starting with the north, so I stopped him again. “Something more southerly, I think.”

“Good choice. We bought almost the entire production of Sicily, we have Tarentine and some interesting new products of Venusia-”

“I prefer vineyards north of that area.”

He beamed. “Of course, you desire Campanian. The very heart of Italian wine country. Naturally, we have wine from Mount Massicus, especially the always-reliable Falernian, grown on its southern slope. We have wine from Terracina and Formiae, and some rather good Capuan, although its yield has been rather inferior these last years due to excessive rainfall.”

Hermes had finally caught on. “The senator has a weakness for the vineyards around the Bay of Neapolis.”

The fat man clapped his hands in approval. “Ah, the incomparable slopes of Vesuvius! There is nothing to compare with volcanic soil, a steep slope, and perfect sunshine. Vesuvius is even better than Aetna. We have Stabian, Pompeiian-”

“I think,” Hermes said, “if you have some really good product from near, say, Baiae, that you’ll make a sale.”

“I see that the senator is a real connoisseur. Not many people understand the qualities of Baiaean. Small vineyards, very low yield, so little is exported. Only wealthy vacationers ever try them, and they keep the news to themselves because they don’t want a rush to start, driving the price up, as happened with Caecuban a few years ago. It just so happens that we have a few amphorae from a select group of the very best vineyards.”

I clapped him on the shoulder. “Lead on, Manius Maelius!”

We took a long walk down the rows of jugs, the skylights admitting the afternoon sun in bars of light divided into small lozenges, the result of the bronze fretwork that protected the warehouse from intruding pigeons.

We ended up in a shed built onto the southern end of the warehouse. It contained no more than a few hundred amphorae, all of them with the characteristic color of Campanian pottery. The racks were labeled by town, the amphorae by vineyard. A single rack bore the name of Baiae.

“We cannot, of course, unseal these amphorae for tasting,” Maelius said. “But, since the finest vintages are bought only by persons of quality, we have an arrangement with each vineyard to supply a small quantity of each vintage for tasting purposes.” He gestured to a table along one wall. It resembled the serving counter in a wineshop, with jugs resting in holes cut in the table, a dipper and a stack of tiny cups beside each jug.

The steward began at one end of the table. “Now this is from a vineyard owned by ex-consul Cicero himself.” He dipped out a cupful and handed it to me ceremoniously.

I sipped. Immediately I knew I was right. It was very similar to the wine Octavia had served. Soil and sunlight will always tell. I reflected that Cicero had never served this vintage when I’d visited him. Keeping it to himself, was he? This confirmation alone would have made the trip a success, but I decided to press my advantage. When the gods have shown you exceptional favor, it makes sense to determine just how much they love you.

“Excellent,” I told him, “but not quite what I’m looking for.”

I tried one from the Puteoli district, then several others, each time closing in on the bay itself.

“This is an especially fine one, Senator.”

He handed me the cup and I tasted. Perfect. It was the very vintage I had tasted earlier that day. My palate is infallible in these matters.

He caught my smile but misinterpreted it. “Ah, I see that this is exactly what you are searching for. Excellent choice, Senator. This wine is from the Baiaean vineyards owned by the great family of Claudius Marcellus.”

“The consul?”

He squinted at the label on the jug. “No, this estate is owned by his cousin, Caius Claudius. He is the one standing for next year’s consulship.” He looked at the rack that held the big amphorae. “You are just in time, Senator.”

“How is that?”

“In previous years we’ve usually managed to get six or seven amphorae from that small estate. This year we got only three and there is one left. Shall I have it set aside for you?”

“Please do so. I’ll send my steward to pick it up tomorrow or the next day.” We left him beaming.

“Do you really intend to buy it?” Hermes said, as we left. “Julia will have your hide off for buying such expensive wine.”

“That’s why you are going to pick it up and take it to the country house. It really is excellent wine. Do you know why they only got three amphorae this year?” As we passed Bacchus I kissed my fingertips and touched them to his toes. He must have been the god who sent my inspiration.

Hermes thought a moment. “Because, last year, a part of the estate went to Manilius.”

“Exactly.”

“But was Manilius being bribed for a specific favor or was it just for his cooperation during his year as tribune?”

“An excellent question. You really are learning how to do this, Hermes. Next year, when I’m praetor, you’ll make me a first-class investigator.”

“ If you’re praetor next year. If you’re alive next year, for that matter.”

“Such are the vagaries of politics. But the gods are on my side, and maybe they’ll continue to favor me.” By this time we were past the Porticus Aemilia and turned rightward along the old Servian Wall toward the Ostian Gate.

“What do we know about the Claudia Marcella?” I asked as we passed beneath the portal.

“Not much,” Hermes answered. “I’ve got a feeling we’d have heard a lot about them if we’d spent more time in Rome these last few years.”

“That is what I think. We need someone who specializes in gossip, the more scurillous the better. Not a respectable type, mind you. We can’t use anyone whose party affiliation compels him to exalt his own side while defaming the others. We need someone who is shameless about vilifying anyone at all. We need-”

“We need Sallustius.”

“Exactly. I loathe the man, but I loathe him for precisely the same qualities I am in need of now. Run on ahead to the Forum, look into the baths. He’ll be wherever the news is to be had, maybe out on the Campus Martius where the legionaries are pitching their tents.”

“That’s a lot of territory to cover,” he complained.

“Sallustius won’t be hard to spot. When you’ve located him, come back and find me and lead me to him. I’ll be making a more dignified progress toward the Forum. I’ll wait for you at the Rostra.”

He dashed off and I ambled my way up the old street past the Temple of Flora and around the northern end of the Circus, stopping to chat with citizens as I went. It was still election time after all. Nobody seemed to be disturbed by my suspect status. So far, so good.

The day was getting on, but there was still plenty of daylight left. My head buzzed pleasantly from the recent wine tasting. I always take satisfaction in mixing business with pleasure.