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.