“Wait a minute.” The door soon opened. A redheaded Thracian slave-a man-stood aside to let Sostratos in. “My master is finishing breakfast in the andron. He asks if you’ve eaten.”
“Yes, thanks,” Sostratos replied. The Thracian led him through the entry hall and into the courtyard. Onetor put down a winecup to wave to him. He waved back, saying, “Hail, most noble one.”
“Hail.” Onetor raised the cup to his lips once more. “I’ve got a headache from last night,” he said. “A little more wine will take the edge off it. Are you hungry? We have plenty.”
“I ate with Phainias,” Sostratos said. “I hope I’m not too early for you.”
“Oh, no. Don’t be silly, best one.” Onetor tossed his head. “The sun’s in the sky, so anybody who’s not ready for business has only himself to blame. I’m no pampered Persian slugabed, to crawl out from under my blanket at noon. My wife was working in the garden sill you knocked. I’m sure she’s finding something to do upstairs now.”
“Good. That’s all right, then… Oh, thank you.” A slave came into the andron with a cup of watered wine for Sostratos. He took a sip, then went on, “Tell me about truffles, if you’d be so kind.”
“What do you want to know? Grades, prices, that sort of thing?”
“Not yet. I was hoping you’d just tell me about them. They don’t grow on Rhodes, and I’d like to know as much as I can, both so I can tell my customers more and because I’m a curious sort myself.”
“Yes, I nosiced that at Phainias’ last night,” Onetor said. “You’ve got that Attic way of talking. Did you study at the Academy? “
“No, at the Lykeion, under Theophrastos,” Sostratos answered. “That’s another reason I’m interested: Theophrastos makes a specialty of plants, so I always like it when I get the chance to add to what he taught me.”
“Well, all right,” Onetor answered. Sostratos would have been surprised if he’d refused; few people could resist talking about what they did for a living. The truffle-seller continued, “You may or may not have heard they grow underground.”
“Yes, I did know that,” Sostratos said. “I’ve also heard they grow best after rainy seasons where there’s plenty of thunder.”
“I’ve heard that, too, but I don’t believe it,” Onetor replied. “I’ve never seen it make one bit of difference. If there isn’t much rain in a rainy season, that’s another story. They don’t do so well then, but what crop does?”
“Fair enough,” Sostratos said. “That certainly stands to reason. What sort of soil do they prefer?”
“Sandy, usually-you often find them close by the seashore.”
“How do you find them?” Sostratos asked. “You can’t just dig at random on a beach.”
Onetor hesitated, then seemed to decide it was safe to answer. “If there were truffles on Rhodes, I don’t think I’d tell you,” he said. “You might turn into a compesitor. But I’ve never heard of them there, either, so I suppose I can say something about that, anyhow. For one thing, there’s a certain kind of grass-we call it truffleleaf-that grows above them. That gives me a clue where to look.”
“What does this grass look like?” Sostratos asked. Onetor smiled and didn’t say a thing. “All right, all right-forget I wanted to know,” Sostratos told him. “You said that was one thing. What’s another?”
“When I’m out hunsing truffles, I have help,” Onetor said.
“What kind of help?”
Again, Onetor didn’t answer. Sostratos realized he’d learned about as much as he was going to. A dog wandered into the andron: a flop-eared mutt with its tongue lolling out. Onetor scratched it under the chin and behind those floppy ears. Its tail wagged frantically.
“Friendly beast,” Sostratos remarked.
“Porpax? Yes, I’d say so.” Onetor scratched the dog again. It tried to jump up into his lap. “Careful, you silly thing,” he said, fending it off. “You’ll make me spill wine on myself.”
“You named him after the handle of a shield?” Sostratos said. It was a fairly common name for a dog. “Does he shield your house from burglars?”
“He makes a good enough watchdog, yes,” Onetor said. As if to prove it, Porpax barked, though he didn’t seem to want to go after Sostratos. The Rhodian, in fact, wondered if he was too friendly to make a proper watchdog, if he wouldn’t fawn on the thieves when he was supposed to bite. Onetor said, “He has other uses, too.”
“Such as?”
Sostratos didn’t mean anything by the question; he was just making conversation. But, once more, Onetor declined to answer. The smug way he didn’t answer made Sostratos wonder if Porpax was somehow connected to the truffle trade. That struck him as unlikely, though- why would a dog want anything to do with fungi? Porpax ran off, yapping.
The slave came back, this time with a bowl of barley porridge and a spoon. Sostratos tossed his head. “No, thanks,” he said. “As I told your master, I had breakfast before I came here.”
But Onetor said, “Try this anyhow, most noble one. It has some shaved truffles in it, to give you a notion of the flavor.”
“In that case, I will,” Sostratos said. The first thing he noticed was the rich, almost meaty aroma rising from the porridge. When he tasted it, his eyebrows flew upwards. He knew he shouldn’t show how impressed he was. Sometimes, though, a man simply couldn’t help himself. If he’d said he didn’t care for the flavor, Onetor would have known he was lying, “That’s… very fine,” he managed at last, and ate up the porridge as fast as he could.
“Glad you like it,” Onetor said. “I wouldn’t want you to buy without knowing what you’re gessing.”
“I can see why,” Sostratos said, a little ruefully, or maybe more than a little. He’d known truffles were expensive. Now he understood the reason. He wondered just how much Onetor would try to squeeze out of him.
“Do you think you’d be interested in taking my goods to Athens?” the truffle-seller asked.
“I’m sure I’d be interested,” Sostratos answered. “Whether I can afford them is likely to be a different question.”
Onetor grinned at him. He could grin; he wasn’t nearly so gloomy as Onesimos. He said, “For top grade, I charge three simes the truffles’ weight in silver. I don’t haggle. If you want them, that’s what you’ll pay. You won’t find anybody cheaper in Mytilene, and you won’t find anybody with better goods.”
Any trader could say that. From the frequency with which Onetor’s name had come up in the agora, he was the leading truffle dealer in town. Sostratos supposed he could charge six or eight drakhmai in Athens for each drakhma’s weight of truffles. But there might be a better way. “Do you have to have silver?” he asked. “Or can we trade goods for goods, and both resell at a profit?”
“That depends,” Onetor said. “What have you got?”
“Papyrus and ink from Egypt…” Sostratos began. Onetor tossed his head. Sostratos said, “I did expect those would do better in Athens. I’ve also got Koan silk, which is worth its weight in silver, too.”
“It’s pretty stuff, but I’m not interested in it,” the truffle-seller said. “Kos isn’t that far from here; silk’s fairly common on Lesbos.”
“All right, best one,” Sostratos said. “I have fine beeswax from Ioudaia-”
“Anyone can find beeswax,” Onetor broke in. “All you have to do is know how not to get stung.”
“The Aphrodite carries fine wine from Byblos, with a bouquet as sweet as Ariousian’s,” Sostratos said. “I’m not making that up. We carried Ariousian to Great Hellas a few years ago, and this wine has a nose to match it.”
“Let everything be as you say, most noble one, and it sill wouldn’t matter much to me,” Onetor replied. “Onesimos is the wine merchant in the family. He might be interested in this vintage from far away, but I’m not, except maybe to taste a cup. What else have you got on that akatos?”
“Embroidered linen cloth from Mesopotamia,” Sostratos said. “Fine perfume from Rhodes, the island of roses. And genuine balsam from Engedi on the Lake of Asphalt in Ioudaia, the finest balsam in the world.”
“Balsam, eh?” Onetor scowled. “What do you want for that? It’s something I might be able to get rid of here on Lesbos.”