Autumn 2025 Collection

• Hart of the Barossa 2021 Old Vine Shiraz (Super Premium) 
• Brockenchack Wines 2020 Jack Harrison Shiraz (Premium)
  
• John Duval Wines 2022 Plexus Shiraz Grenache Mourvèdre (Premium)
• Hayes Family Wines 2022 GSM (Superb Value)
  
• Rollick Wines 2022 Boot Full Grenache (Superb Value)
  
• Brockenchack Wines 2021 Megan Jane Grenache (Superb Value) 

Late February 175 CE battered the Danube frontier, a fierce gale sweeping the hills where Marcus Aurelius’ legions faced the Marcomannic tribes. A half mile from camp, a hidden ravine held a secret—a cave with a time portal, a shimmering rift discovered three months prior. Known only to Marcus and his advisors, General Lucius Vorenus and Senator Gaius Marcellus, it led to the Barossa Valley of 2025. Quarterly, they slipped through under night’s cover, returning with wines that stunned Rome’s elite at Marcus’ banquets, outshining the empire’s finest.

In the Emperor’s tent, Marcus savoured Falernian wine—golden, honeyed, born of Campania’s volcanic soil—scribbling his Meditations. “It steadies me,” he said, his voice calm amid war’s din. Lucius grunted approval, the wine’s fire warming his grizzled frame. Gaius smirked, preferring Mulsum’s sweetness. “Tonight, we ride to the cave,” Marcus declared. “Six Barossa reds will astonish Rome again.” Lucius nodded, recalling past triumphs, while Gaius mused on senators turned poets. Under dusk, they saddled Caesar, Titan, and Luna, entering the rift. Emerging in March 2025, the Barossa’s vine-clad hills promised a harvest to redefine Roman feasts.

Hart of the Barossa 2021 Old Vine Shiraz (Super Premium)
Their horses trotted into Hart of the Barossa, hooves striking red earth amid 119-year-old vines, gnarled and wise, rooted in sandy loam. Marcus, Lucius, and Gaius tethered Caesar, Titan, and Luna to a gum tree, its leaves whispering in the breeze. Michael Hart and Alisa greeted them, pouring the 2021 Old Vine Shiraz—deep garnet, luminous as a Roman dusk. Marcus inhaled its bouquet—black cherries, white pepper, a mineral whisper—his Stoic gaze parsing its essence. “Noble, fresh—Falernian’s honeyed weight can’t match this vibrancy,” he said. “These vines, shaped by 119 years and a mild season, sing of resilience.”

Lucius sipped, his grizzled face softening. “Brisk, lively—no posca’s sting,” he rumbled. “This valley’s sun and breezes lift it beyond our reds.” Gaius swirled, savouring violets and silky tannins. “Elegant, seamless—Setinum fades beside it,” he murmured, imagining it with garum-laced fish. Michael explained, “Dry-grown, hand-picked, sixteen months in French oak—warm days, cool nights honed its glossy depth.” Marcus nodded, the finish a symphony of fruit and oak. “Twelve bottles for Rome,” he declared, Lucius and Gaius stacking gold aurii. A secret harvest to stun the emperor’s banquet began.

Hayes Family Wines 2022 GSM (Superb Value)
Their horses cantered to Hayes Family Wines, dust swirling as they tethered Caesar, Titan, and Luna near a tin-roofed shed. Brett Hayes poured the 2022 GSM—ruby-red, vivid as a legionary’s cloak—from old vines in clay-rich soil. Marcus inhaled its bouquet—raspberries, thyme, a savory spice—his Stoic mind tracing nature’s weave. “Bright and harmonious—Grenache’s fruit, Shiraz’s richness, Mataro’s depth,” he said. “Our Caecuban strives for power; this finds grace in balance, shaped by 2022’s cool rains.”

Lucius sipped, his stern face warming. “Bold yet smooth—a campfire glow after a march,” he rumbled, lifting the glass. “This clay and vintage lift it beyond Mamertinum’s rusticity.” Gaius swirled, savouring juicy fruit and earthy herbs. “A spiced symphony—moreish where Praetutianum’s heat overwhelms,” he mused, picturing it with garum-roasted lamb. Brett nodded. “Old-vine blend—Ebenezer Grenache, Koonunga Shiraz, Williamstown Mataro—matured in seasoned oak, bottled 2023. Cool rains balanced its vigour.” Marcus traced the goblet’s rim, the finish lingering. “A divine union—twelve bottles for Rome,” he declared, Lucius and Gaius stacking gold aurii. “A general’s cheer,” Lucius grunted. “A senator’s song,” Gaius smirked, securing their second banquet wine.
  
Rollick Wines 2022 Boot Full Grenache (Superb Value)
Their horses trotted to Gibson Wines, but Jack Rollick intercepted them, diverting them to a veranda with his 2022 Boot Full Grenache—bright ruby, like a Sabine dawn. He poured the single-site Barossa Grenache matured in stainless steel. Marcus inhaled—raspberries, lavender, a spicy whole-bunch thread—his Stoic mind savouring its clarity. “Delicate, alluring—unlike Setinum’s fleeting florals,” he said. “This sandy loam and warm 2022 season craft a youthful soul.” Lucius sipped, grinning as its lightness refreshed him. “Spirited, easy—like a swift patrol,” he rumbled. “Cherries and a fine bite-no Raeticum’s crisp edge here, just sun-sweet joy.” Gaius swirled, parsing floral cherries and gentle tannins. “A tender bloom—Mulsum’s sweetness pales beside this lift,” he mused, imagining it with thyme bread. Jack beamed. “Whole-bunch fermented, stainless steel keeps it bright—warm days ripened it lean and juicy.” Marcus traced the goblet, the finish whispering spice. “A present gift—twelve bottles for Rome,” he declared, contrasting its grace with Falernian’s depth. Lucius stacked gold aurii. “A legion’s respite,” he grunted. Gaius added his coins, smirking. “A charming ode—Rome will swoon,” he said, securing their third banquet wine.

Brockenchack Wines: 2021 Megan Jane Grenache (Superb Value) and 2020 Jack Harrison Shiraz (Premium)
Their horses ascended Eden Valley’s rocky heights to Brockenchack Wines, the air crisp, vines clawing granite slopes. Tethering Caesar, Titan, and Luna near a sleek cellar door, they met Trev Harch, a vintner with a builder’s grit, pouring the 2021 Megan Jane Grenache—ruby-bright, 14.5% alcohol, a tribute to a family stalwart. Marcus inhaled its bouquet—raspberries, rosemary, a sweet-spicy-tart edge—like a Baiae dawn unfurling. “Nature endures,” he mused, Stoic calm threading his voice. “This rocky soil and mild 2021 weave a delicate dance—unlike Praetutianum’s brashness, it glides with balanced grace.” Lucius sipped, his grizzled jaw softening. “Lively as a scout’s return—no Raeticum’s sharp bite,” he rumbled, toasting lightly. “Cool nights lift it—a soldier’s reprieve.” Gaius swirled, smirking at its herbal silkiness. “A fragrant whisper—Falernian’s heft fades beside this,” he purred, eyeing BBQ quail. Trev grinned. “Keyneton Grenache—hand-picked, old oak softens its bright soul.”Then came the 2020 Jack Harrison Shiraz—inky, 15.0%, honouring Trev’s grandson from 60-year-old vines. Marcus savoured its depth—black currants, plums, oak’s whisper—like a river’s fierce flow. “Time forges this,” he said. “Ironstone and 2020’s scorch craft a regal force—Caecuban’s weight lacks this roundness.” Lucius grunted, warmth spreading. “Chewy, bold—stronger than Mamertinum’s rust,” he toasted, a general’s nod. Gaius beamed, tracing its spiced richness. “Majestic—Setinum’s bloom wilts here,” he murmured, pairing it with boar. Trev explained, “Hot 2020, French oak for eighteen months—Joanne’s craft, a premium legacy.”
Marcus set his glass down, conviction firm. “Megan Jane’s elegance, Jack Harrison’s might—Eden Valley’s dual gifts,” he declared. “Twelve of each for Rome’s banquet, a harvest to hush the elite.” Lucius and Gaius stacked twenty-four gold aurii, sealing the fourth and fifth wines. “A legion’s cheer,” Lucius growled.

John Duval Wines 2022 Plexus Shiraz Grenache Mourvèdre
Their horses descended to John Duval Wines, the sun dipping low as they tethered Caesar, Titan, and Luna near a sleek cellar door. John Duval, a Penfolds legend, poured the 2022 Plexus—crimson, 43% Shiraz, 41% Grenache, 16% Mourvèdre—vibrant from clay loam. Marcus inhaled—plums, berries, cinnamon, oak spice—like a valley’s woven heart. “A sacred bond,” he said, Stoic awe steady. “Unlike Mamertinum’s blunt force, this unites richness and lift, shaped by 2022’s cool rains.”
Lucius sipped, nodding as warmth spread. “Firm, generous—a battlefield’s end,” he rumbled, toasting lightly. “No Mulsum’s cloying ease—this rewards bold.” Gaius swirled, savouring peppery fruit and tannins. “Layered triumph—Caecuban’s depth can’t match this spice,” he purred, pairing it with garum-venison. John explained, “Krondorf Shiraz, Tanunda Grenache, Light Pass Mourvèdre—mild La Niña vintage, fifteen months in French oak, 14.5% alcohol—broad and bright.” Marcus set his glass down, the finish echoing. “A united gift—twelve bottles for Rome,” he declared, contrasting Mamertinum’s heft. Lucius stacked gold aurii. “A soldier’s salute—Rome will cheer,” he growled. Gaius added coins, smirking. “A spiced ode—guests will kneel,” he quipped, securing their sixth banquet wine.

With seventy-two bottles—twelve of each—they rode back to the portal, gold spent, and returned to 175 CE, their secret wines poised to astonish Rome’s mightiest once more, a harvest across time to echo through the ages.