"That's right. His name is Maron."
"And did he, by any chance, give you some of the fabled wine of that grove?"
"That he did. It was a signal honor. In gratitude for the robe, he gave me a cup no larger than a thimble, and it was no more than a drop of the wine, the rest was water, but it was like the nectar of the immortals. Spoiled me for wine ever since." He got a faraway, wistful look, like a man who once got a peek into heaven.
"Oh, look!" Chalmers said, pointing at something over the merchant's shoulder. The man turned to see what it was, and when he did Chalmers switched wine-cups with him. It was not done with quite the expertise of a sleight-of-hand artist, but it got the job done. Shea was mystified, but made no comment.
The merchant turned back. "What was it?"
"Oh, I thought I saw a falling star. An omen, you know. I guess it was just a firefly."
"Firefly? What's a firefly?"
"Oh, ah, um ... well, it's something we have back home in the Orient. A sort of bug that carries a lamp."
The purple merchant looked as if he doubted Chalmers' sanity. He took a sudden interest in the carpenter who sat next to him and proceeded to ignore the two Americans.
"What the hell was that all about?" Shea asked.
"Had enough to eat, Harold?"
"I guess so." The rack of ribs was now a little pile of gleaming bones.
"Then let's go take a walk."
The two got up, Chalmers cradling his expropriated wine cup carefully. Perhaps a couple of tablespoons of vinegary dregs swirled in its bottom. They drew back to a tiny poplar grove situated near the beach and sat on flat stones.
"We've just been granted a golden opportunity!" Chalmers said.
"How?"
"Ismaros! Maron, the priest of Apollo on Ismaros, had ... that is to say, has, in his house a store of the greatest wine in the world; a wine so powerful that it can be mixed with twenty parts of water without losing its strength. It's the wine that Odysseus ... or rather Ulysses, since this is the Aeneid, will use to get the cyclops Polyphemus drunk ... that is, if he hasn't already." Parallel poems caused Chalmers to tangle his tenses.
"Sounds like good stuff," Shea observed. "But as I understand it, Thrace is a ways north of here. What good does the wine do us up there?"
Chalmers held up the bowl. "You remember the magic principle of contagion, don't you? Things that have come into contact will always retain an affinity. The Catholic church of the Middle Ages built the whole trade in holy relics on the principle. Well, that man recently drank Maron's wine, and his lips touched this cup. I think my little demonstration this evening is going to be far more spectacular than we expected."
"Reed, if I didn't know what a dignified and self-possessed scholar you are, Id swear you were chuckling with glee."
"One doesn't get an opportunity for a coup like this very often."
"Always assuming it works," Shea added.
"Well, yes, that is always a consideration. If it doesn't, they'll probably kill us for wasting their time."
By the time the moon was high, the overfed feasters were growing bored with the entertainment. All fell silent when the two strangers came forward to stand in front of Aeneas and Anchises. They bowed, low, and Shea launched into his prepared spiel.
"Noble Anchises, heroic Aeneas, with great generosity you have permitted us to join your band, to share in your adventures as you fare forth to found a new city, nay, a new kingdom! This night, you have feasted us royally and we wish, in our humble way, to repay your liberality."
This seemed to amuse Aeneas. "The Orientals, is it? To men of honor, generosity looks for no reward. But, if it is your desire to bring us some gift, my father and I accept with thanks."
"What might this gift be?" Anchises asked.
"We wish to bring you something a little different in the way of entertainment. My companion, the estimable Reed Chalmers, is a magician of some note. This evening, he will essay a feat of magic which shall strike you with wonderment, gladden your hearts, and provide a noble addition to this feast, so bounteously provided by our princely host and his semi-divine son." Shea had learned that the nobles loved flattery as much as the gods, and he laid it on thick.
"Not a rabbit out of a hat," Anchises said, peevishly. "I've seen that one."
"No, my lords," Chalmers said. "I intend something a bit more subtle. For this feat. I shall need an amphora of sour wine, one that has turned undrinkable."
"That seems reasonable enough," Aeneas said. "Half our store is vinegar by now, fit only for cooking and for cleaning jars. Fetch one."
A pair of slaves brought a forty-gallon jar by its thick handles. They jammed its pointed bottom into the sand and left it standing there.
"Now, a ladle, please," Chalmers said. One of the serving girls handed him one. He removed the stopper from the jar and dipped up a ladle full of the sour fluid. This he carried to Aeneas and Anchises. He passed it beneath their noses, which wrinkled in aristocratic disdain.
"Are you satisfied, my lords, that this wine has gone sour beyond hope of redemption?"
"Decidedly," Aeneas said.
"I shall improve it," Chalmers said. He raised his arms heavenward and cried out in a melodramatic voice: "I call upon you, Dionysus of the grape and Phoebus Apollo of the laurel! Behold, for the benefit of your favorite, I wreak a metamorphosis. Venus, aid me to provide a vinous crown for your son's festivities!" He looked down and waved his hands over the amphora, saying as an aside to Shea: "Here goes. Modern chemistry meets Aristotelean logic meets primitive shamanism. Keep the bowl handy."
All fell silent as he began to intone his spell.
"Let this be the proposition, that wine is wine, that is to say; A is A. Let it further be postulated that vinegar is wine that has undergone a change, that is to say; AB. Let it be postulated yet further that this change is a consequence of alteration among molecules, which are made of atoms, which indivisible particles are asserted by Empedocles, Democritus and Leucippus.
"No logical reason exists forbidding the reversal of this process. Let us therefore rearrange these molecules, restoring them to their former chains." He turned to Shea. "The bowl," he whispered. Shea handed it to him. Chalmers swirled the dregs in the bottom and chanted in a high, quavering voice:
"Phoebus Apollo of the grove of Ismaros, let the example of your matchless vintage guide these errant molecules into the divine paths of your own creation!" Solemnly, he tipped the bowl and allowed the few drops of sour wine to drop within the great jar. Then he dipped the bowl into the jar, allowed it to fill, and released it to sink to the bottom. He replaced the stopper and stood with head bowed. He whispered to Shea. "Be ready to run if this doesn't work."
"All set," Shea said. He had already picked a direction.
Chalmers took a deep breath and ceremoniously raised the stopper. The pin-drop silence continued as something emerged from the jar. It was a fragrance, intensely sweet and so powerful that it seemed to have color. The crowd of feasters looked puzzled, then rapturous. There was a collective "Aaaaahhhhhhh!"
Hesitantly, Chalmers filled a ladle, raised it and let the contents cascade back within. The formerly reddish-yellow liquid had turned to something not merely red, but a maroon so deep that it was almost black.
With an expression of wonderment, Aeneas rose and came forward!. He held a cup of hammered gold, with tiny doves perched on its handles. He held it over the amphora and Chalmers filled it. The fragrance was almost overpowering by now. Reverently, Aeneas took the cup to Anchises and offered it to him. The old man raised it to his nose and sniffed, going almost cross-eyed when the full bouquet hit his olfactories.