"It's our custom," the stranger replied with a shrug. "Many people here in Italy wear the toga. We Samnites do, and so do the Lucanians, and even our enemies the Romans farther north. As for how we wear it . . ."
He folded the toga in half at its broadest point, then draped it over his left shoulder so that one corner was level with his left foot. He wrapped the rest of the garment over his back under his right arm, and back over his left shoulder again, then slowly turned so Sostratos could see how the enormous mantle covered him.
"Thank you very much," Sostratos told him. "I hope you will not mind if I say a himation seems much less . . . cumbersome."
"No, I don't mind," the Samnite answered. "I often wear a himation myself. But I am Herennius Egnatius, a man of some importance among my people, and so I sometimes wear the toga to show who and what I am."
To Sostratos' way of thinking, a barbarian coming into a Hellenic city should have wanted to make himself look as much like a Hellene as he could. He gave his own name, and clasped the Italian's hand. Then he stroked his beard in thought. If this Samnite with the cumbersome name was important, he might well be rich. And if he was rich . . . "Sir, as I've been saying all through the agora, among the things my cousin and I have brought from the east are fine Khian wine - Ariousian, in fact; the best of the best - and several peafowl. I am sure no Samnite today is lucky enough to own a peacock. In fact, the birds we brought are the first of their kind in Great Hellas." He wasn't absolutely sure that was true, but he thought so - and no one in Taras seemed to have seen one before.
"I know something of good wine," Herennius Egnatius said. "But what sort of a bird is a peacock?" He pronounced the unfamiliar name with care. "If I have one of these birds, will it show I am a man not of the common sort?"
"That it will, O best one - it will indeed." Sostratos coughed delicately. "Because these birds are rare, you will understand that we do not sell them for a few oboloi."
"Of course," the Samnite said. "One of the marks of a man's distinction is what he can afford. Is your ship in the harbor on the Little Sea?"
"Yes, but Menedemos - my cousin - and I have taken a house here in Taras, the better to show off the peafowl to men who might want to buy them," Sostratos said.
Herennius Egnatius drew himself up very straight. He was at least a palm shorter than Sostratos, but, like Menedemos, acted as if he were taller. "Take me there," he said. "My toga made you curious. Your . . . peafowl do the same for me."
Sostratos thought about going through the agora for a while longer, but then wondered why. He'd been trying to drum up customers, and here he . . . might have one. Worth finding out, he decided and dipped his head to the Samnite. "Come with me."
Aristeidas looked surprised when he knocked on the door to the rented house. "I didn't expect you back so soon, sir," he said.
"This foreign gentleman" - Sostratos nodded to Herennius Egnatius - "is interested in peafowl."
Just then, the peacock started screaming. Herennius Egnatius' eyes widened. "What is that appalling racket?" he asked.
"Those are the noises peafowl make." Sostratos wished he hadn't had to admit it quite so soon. He also wished Menedemos hadn't chosen that precise moment to shout, "Oh, shut up, you miserable, polluted thing!"
Herennius Egnatius smiled a thin smile. As the funny man at the harbor had, he said, "I take it you do not sell them for the beauty of their song?"
"Well . . . no." Again, Sostratos admitted what he could hardly deny. He tried to rally: "Come with me to the courtyard, and you'll see why we do sell them."
He led the Italian through the entry hall and into the rather cramped courtyard at the center of the house. There stood Menedemos, hands on hips, glowering at the peacock. Maybe he'd dozed off and it had wakened him. And there stood the peacock himself, his ocellated tail fully spread as he displayed himself to a peahen that took no notice whatever of him. Maybe that's why he's screaming, Sostratos thought - in some ways, the peacock wasn't so different from a man.
"Oh," Herennius Egnatius said softly, and then something in his own language - Oscan, Sostratos supposed it was. The sounds weren't so very different from those of Greek, though of course Sostratos couldn't understand the words. After a moment, the Samnite recovered and returned to Greek: "Now I do understand. What is your price?"
"Before we speak of such things, let me introduce you to my cousin, Menedemos son of Philodemos," Sostratos said. "Menedemos, here I have Herennius Egnatius, who is interested in peafowl."
Menedemos instantly went from grouchy to charming, clasping the Italian's hand and saying, "Very pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. May I get you a cup of wine? It's just a local vintage, I'm afraid, though if you should want our Ariousian I could get you a sample."
Herennius Egnatius shook his head; as it did to Himilkon the Phoenician and to many other barbarians, that meant no to him. "The local wine will do well enough for me. I am looking for a way to make myself stand out. Many traders bring fine wine to Italy; some even bring it up to Samnium. But I have never seen such a bird as that." His eyes kept going back to the gleaming polychrome splendor of the peacock's plumage.
"We have only the one peacock." Menedemos stuck his thumb in the air to emphasize the point. "We have four peahens, and we have - how many eggs now, Sostratos?"
"Twenty-nine," Sostratos answered: he was the fellow who kept track of things. "The first of them should start hatching in less than half a month."
"Thanks." Menedemos dipped his head and went on, "Twenty-nine eggs, then. Unless you make us an extraordinary offer for the peacock, we would rather sell you a peahen or some eggs, to let you start your own flock in . . .?"
"I live in Caudium." The Samnite shook his head again, and pointed at the peacock. "This is the bird I want. I will also buy a peahen, so that I may breed peafowl for myself."
He didn't lack for arrogance. Gently, Sostratos said, "As my cousin told you, you would have to make an extraordinary offer, because we probably would not be able to get so much for the other peahens and the eggs without the peacock to show what the buyer is really getting."
"I understand," Herennius Egnatius said. "I also understood your cousin. For the pair of birds, I will pay five minai of silver in the money of Taras."
"Five minai." Sostratos did his best to sound thoughtful rather than delighted. That was a good deal more than Menedemos and he had paid for all six peafowl. Of course, the Samnite didn't know what they'd paid.
No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than Menedemos said, "I'm sorry, sir, but we do have to make a profit. Ten minai for the pair would, but five?" He tossed his head. If he had any trouble concealing his delight, he didn't show it.
"I am sure you would make a profit on ten minai," Herennius Egnatius said. The haggling began. It followed familiar lines - except that the Samnite didn't realize how high his opening offer was. Sostratos and Menedemos made sure he didn't figure it out, either: they bargained with him as hard as if that first offer were outrageously low. By fighting over every drakhma, they made him think it was.
"Is the Tarentine drakhma lighter or heavier than ours?" Menedemos asked as the dicker drew toward a close.
"A little heavier," answered Sostratos, who'd had to change money - and to pay the fee for doing it.
"Well, shall we take eight minai, fifty drakhmai, then?" Menedemos said.
But now Sostratos was the one to toss his head. "No. I think eight minai, seventy-five drakhmai is the least we can take. I hate going below nine minai at all." He folded his arms across his chest and gave Herennius Egnatius as stony a stare as he could. He didn't think the Samnite would walk away from the deal - the fellow had already talked himself into buying the birds, which meant he had to talk the men who owned them into selling.