Alexandria

by Lindsey Davis

  Pastous watched me considering the grandeur of the furniture. 'The Librarian was called ''Director of the King's Library'' or ''Keeper of the Archives''.' He paused. 'Traditionally.' He meant, before the Romans came and finished the line of the Kings. I looked back over my shoulder at him, wondering if that rankled. It seemed impolite to ask.

  'So how well did you know Theon?'

  'He was my superior. We spoke often.'

  'He thought well of you?'

  ''I believe so.'

  'Are you prepared to tell me what you thought of him?'

  Pastous ignored my invitation to be indiscreet. He replied formally, 'He was a great scholar, as all Librarians have been.'

  'What was his discipline?' enquired Aulus.

  I knew. 'Historian.' I turned to Pastous. 'Theon had dinner with us at my uncle's house last night and I asked him. To be honest, we found him hard going, socially'

  'Well, you said he was a historian!' chortled Aulus, half under his breath.

  'He was a shy man by nature,' Pastous exonerated his leader.

  I defined him differently. I had thought Theon unfriendly, even arrogant. 'Not good for someone in his elevated position.'

  'Theon would mingle with important people and overseas visitors when it was required,'' Pastous defended him.' He carried out his formal duties well.'

  'He warmed up when the talk got on to the hippodrome! He seemed quite a racegoer.'

  The assistant made no comment. I gathered he knew nothing of Theon's private interests. Equality within the Library went no further than the reading room. Outside, there was a social gap between officials and their staff which I imagined the gruff Theon had been happy to sustain.

  'Where was the body found?'

  'In his seat at his desk.'

  Aulus took up a position there, facing the door, some ten feet away from it. He would see anyone who came in as soon as they opened the door. I looked around. The room had no other exits. It was lit by clerestory windows, high in one of the walls. Though they were unglazed, they had metal grilles, with very small spaces. Aulus then played dead, arms flung across the desk, head down on the wood.

  Pastous, still in the doorway, looked nervous as the lordly young man occupied the chair. Ever an impatient type, Aulus soon moved, although not before he had sniffed the desk like an uncontrolled bloodhound. He left it and paced to the book cupboards, which he opened and closed one after another; their keys were in the locks, though whether they were locked or unlocked seemed random. Perhaps it was thought safe enough for the Librarian to lock his room when he went out. Apparently aimless, Aulus lifted out one or two scrolls, then put them back askew, while gazing into the shelf spaces, inspecting their corners and staring up at their tops.

  I stood beside the portentous desk. It held a small selection of writing styluses and pens on a tray, an inkwell, a stylus knife, a sand sifter. To my surprise, nothing bore the written word. Apart from the implements, which were shoved to one far corner, the surface was completely clear. 'Has anything been removed from this room today?'

  Pastous shrugged; he clearly wondered why I asked.

  'No handy suicide note?' chaffed Aulus. 'No hastily scrawled declaration of ''Chi did it!'' Written in blood, perhaps?'

  'Chi?' I scoffed.

  'Chi the unknown quantity. Chi marks the spot.'

  'Ignore my assistant, Pastous. He is a wild man, reading law.'

  'Ignore my brother-in-law,' Aulus retaliated.' He is an informer. They are uncultured and prejudiced - and boast about it. It is reasonable, Falco, to hope at least for a reminder saying ''meet Nemo after dark''.'

  'Save us the Homeric references, Aulus. Theon's rather cosy office hardly equates to a Cyclops' cave with Odysseus calling himself ''Nobody'' and thinking it extremely clever. If Theon met with foul play, it was executed by Somebody.'

  'Have any sheep been seen walking out of the Library with seagoing adventurers clinging to their wool?' Aulus merrily asked Pastous.

  The library assistant winced as if he thought us a couple of clowns. I suspected he was more astute than he let on. He watched us closely enough to see that while we were fooling, both of us absorbed information from our surroundings. He was interested in our procedures. That curiosity was probably harmless, just natural to a man who worked with information. Still, you never know.

  We asked him to find out where the corpse had been taken, thanked him again for his help and assured him we could be left to carry on by ourselves.

  Once we were alone, we sobered up. I took a turn in Theon's chair. Aulus continued his search of the book cupboards. Nothing on the shelves caught his attention. He turned back to me.

  'Something is missing, Aulus.'

  He quirked up an eyebrow. We were quiet now. Thoughtful, businesslike, and serious. We assessed the room professionally, considering possibilities. 'Documents, for one thing. If Theon really came to work, where is the papyrus?'

  Aulus breathed in slowly. 'Someone cleaned up. There is nothing significant in the scroll cupboards; not now.'

  'What scrolls does he have?'

  'Just a catalogue.'

  'So, it yesterday's work involved documents, they have been snaffled. If it's relevant to how he died, we have to find them.'

  'Perhaps there was no work.' Aulus had an imagination and was applying it for once. 'Maybe he was depressed, Marcus. Sat for a long time with an empty table in front of him, thinking about his sorrows - whatever they were. Stared into space until he could bear none of it any longer - and then committed suicide.'' We both imagined that silently. Reliving the last moments of a suicide is always unsettling. Aulus shivered. 'Perhaps he died naturally... Alternatives?'

  I let a ghost of a smile hover. 'I won't tell Cassius, but his Sauce Alexandrian last night was heavy enough to give gripping indigestion. Maybe Theon sat here, unable to get his guts comfortable, until nature carried him off.'

  Aulus shook his head. 'As sauces go it had, for my taste, too much pepper. A piquant little condiment. But hardly lethal, Marcus. Any other possibility?'

  'One.'

  'What?'

  'Theon may not have come here for deskwork. Maybe he planned to meet someone. Your Nemo may have existed, Aulus. If so, we have the usual question: did anybody else see Theon's visitor?'

  Aulus nodded. He was glum. Neither of us relished such an enquiry, given that hundreds of people worked here. If any of the staff or scholars was observant enough to notice who went to the Librarian's office (not a hope I relied upon), finding the witness among the rest would be difficult. Even if we succeeded, they might not be willing to tell us anything. We could waste a lot of time, yet never get anywhere. Besides, at night, with everywhere quiet and the back rooms deserted, any mysterious associate who knew how to tiptoe could have reached the Librarian without being noticed at all.

  'Something else is missing,' I remarked.

  Aulus gazed around the room and failed to work it out. I waved an arm. 'Look again, my boy.' Still no good. He was a senator's son and took too much for granted. His brown eyes were as wide set and good looking as Helena's, but he lacked his sister's rapid intelligence. He was merely bright. She was a genius. Helena would herself have spotted the omission, or when I asked the question she would have followed my train of thought doggedly until she worked it out.

  I gave up and told him. 'No lamps, Aulus!'

  IX

  Following my lead, Aulus saw that indeed there were no oil lamps, no sconces, no freestanding candelabra. If this room really was just as it had been found, then Theon sat here at his desk, and died, in pitch darkness. More likely we were right earlier: someone had cleaned up.

  We went out to the corridor to ask the little slave. He had scarpered. Three-quarters of a day had already passed since the Librarian was discovered. We needed to act fast. I hailed a craftsman in a scroll-worker's apron and asked who Theon's deputy was. He did not have one. On his death, the running of the Library was taken over by the Director of the Museion
. He was accommodated near to the Temple of the Muses. We went to see him.

  His name was Philetus. A room was not enough for him; he occupied his own building. Statues of his most eminent predecessors were lined up in front of it, headed by Demetrius Phalereus, the founder and builder, a follower of Aristotle who had suggested to Ptolemy Soter the idea of a great institution for research.

  Uninvited visits were discouraged. But as the secretaries began their tired rebuffing routine, the Director popped out of his sanctum, almost as if he had been listening with an ear pressed to the door. Aulus shot me a glance. Staff wittered that we had come about Theon; although the Director stressed what a busy man he was, he conceded he would find time for us.

  I mentioned the statues. 'You'll be next!'

  Philetus simpered 'Oh, do you think so?' with so much false modesty I saw at once why Theon had disliked him. This was the second most important man in Alexandria; after the Prefect, he was a living god. He had no need to push himself. But pushing himself was what Philetus did. He probably believed he pushed with elegance and restraint - but in truth he was mediocre and bumptious, a little man in a big man's job.

  He made us wait while he bustled out and did something more important than talking to us. He was a priest; he was bound to be manipulating something. I wondered what he was fixing. Lunch, maybe. He took long enough.

  Some holders of great public office are modest about it. Surprised to be chosen, they carry out their duties as effectively as the wise folk who chose them anticipated. Some are arrogant. Even those can sometimes do the job, or their cowed staff do it for them. The worst - and I had seen enough to recognise one - spend their time in deep suspicion that everybody else is plotting against them: their staff, their superiors, the public, the men who sell them their street foods, maybe their own grandmothers. These are the power-crazed bastards who have been appointed far beyond their competence. They are generally a compromise candidate of some kind, occasionally some rich patron's favourite, but more often shoved into this post in order to extract them from somewhere else. Before their time is up they can ruin the office they hold, plus the lives of all with whom they come in contact. They stick in their place using loyal toadies and threats. Good men wilt during their demoralising tenure. Fake reputations glue them dangerously to their thrones of office where they are suffered to continue by government inertia. To his credit, Vespasian did not appoint such men - but sometimes he was stuck with those his predecessors had wished on him. Like all rulers, sometimes he saw it as too much effort to ditch the duds. All men die eventually. Unfortunately, dreary failures live long lives.

  'Settle down, Falco!'

  'Aulus?'

  'One of your rants.'

  'I never spoke.'

  'Your face looks as if you just ate a chicken liver that a bile duct broke over.'

  'Bile duct?' The Director of the Museion came bustling back in. Overhearing us, he looked perturbed.

  I gave him my happiest Good evening, sir; I am your chef for the evening! grin. We had waited so long, it seemed appropriate to greet him again. 'Philetus - what an honour this is for us.' That was enough. I switched off the simpering. He had smooth features of an anonymous kind. Trouble had not marked him. His skin looked very clean. That didn't mean he lived morally, only that he spent hours at the baths. 'The name's Falco. Marcus Didius Falco; I represent the Emperor.'

  'I heard you were coming.'

  'Oh?'

  'The Prefect confided that the Emperor was sending out a man.' The Prefect overstepped the mark, then.

  I played it straight. 'Good of him to clear my path... This is my assistant, Camillus Aelianus.'

  ''Have I heard that name?' Philetus was sharp. Nobody made it to Director of the Museion without at least some mental ability. We must not underestimate his self-preservation skills.

  Aulus explained. 'I have just been admitted as a legal scholar, sir.' We all liked that 'sir', for different reasons. Aulus enjoyed shameless bluffing, I looked good for my respectful staff, and Philetus took it as his due, even from a high-class Roman.

  'So... you two work together?' The Director's eyes glittered with wary fascination. As I had suspected, he had a stultifying fear of conspiracy. 'And what exactly do you do, Falco?'

  'I conduct routine enquiries.'

  'Into what?' snapped the Director.

  'Into anything,' I breezed cheerily.

  'So what did you come to Egypt for? It cannot have been Theon! Why has your assistant enrolled at my Museion?'

  'I am here on private business for Vespasian.' Since Egypt was the emperors' personal territory, that could mean business on the imperial estates far outside Alexandria. 'Aelianus is on a sabbatical, taking a private course of legal study. When the Prefect invited me to oversee this business of Theon's death, I called him in. I prefer an assistant who is used to working with me.'

  'Is there a legal problem?' Philetus would be a nightmare to work with. He picked up on any irrelevance and needed soothing every five minutes. I had been in the army; how I knew this type!

  'I hope,' I said gently, 'I shall find there is no problem... Would you like to tell me what happened at the Library?'

  'Who else have you asked?' A paranoid's answer.

  'Naturally I came to you first.' That flattered him - yet left him on his own with finding a story. To save time, I helped him start: 'Can you create a general picture for me - Was Theon well liked at the Library?''

  'Oh everyone loved him!'

  'You too?'

  'I had great admiration for the man and his scholarship.' That rang false. If Theon had loathed Philetus, as he implied to us last night at dinner, almost certainly Philetus loathed him back. Loyalty to his deceased underling was one thing; trying to blow smoke in my eyes served nobody.

  'So he had a good academic reputation and was popular socially?' I asked dryly.

  'Indeed.'

  'Normally, do Librarians retire, or go on until they die in post?'

  'It is a lifetime position. Occasionally we might have to suggest a very elderly man has become too frail to continue.'

  'Lost his marbles?'' Aulus piped up cheekily.

  'Theon was not too old.' I waved him down. 'By any standards he died prematurely'

  'Terrible shock!' fluttered Philetus.

  I stretched in the wicker chair his staff had provided. As I did so, I fetched out a note-block from a satchel, opening it upon my knee though maintaining a relaxed attitude. 'Explain to me this business of finding him in the locked room, will you? What had made people go looking for him?''

  'Theon failed to appear at an early morning meeting of my Board. No explanation. Quite unlike him.'

  'What was the meeting? Special agenda?'

  'Absolutely routine!' Philetus sounded too firm.

  'Subjects that related to the Library?'

  'Nothing like that...' He stopped meeting my eye. Was he lying? 'When he failed to arrive, I sent someone to remind him. When there was no answer -' He looked down at his knees demurely He clearly ate well; under a long tunic, with expensive widths of braid on the hems, the knees he was surveying bulged chubbily 'One of the scholars climbed up a ladder outside and looked in. He saw Theon sprawled across his table. Some people broke the doors down, I believe.'

  I smiled, still treating him with friendliness. 'I am impressed that Alexandrian scientific enquiry extends to climbing ladders!'

  'Oh we do much more than that!' rasped Philetus, misjudging my tone. Aulus and I nodded politely. Aulus, who had a vested interest in the Museion's good reputation for study, made himself look particularly obsequious. Sometimes I wondered why he did not rush home and apply for election to the Senate straight away.

  At this point, Philetus suddenly decided to take charge. 'Now listen. Falco - far too much is being made of this missing key nonsense. There is bound to be a rational explanation. Theon happened to die, before his time maybe, but we must bury him decently, while those whose duty it is must appoint a succe
ssor.'

  I foresaw problems there. I guessed Philetus was jittery about making decisions; he would put it off until the last minute, endlessly consulting other people until he was so flummoxed with contrary advice he jumped on the least good solution.

  'Indeed.' He thought I was beaten. I had hardly started. 'The Emperor will let you take the lead producing a shortlist for the Librarian's post. The Prefect will be grateful to receive it as soon as possible.'

  Philetus was visibly put out. He had not expected, and clearly did not want, official involvement. 'Oh! Will you have a hand in this, Falco?'