'We have botany and herbal sections,' confirmed the Zoo Keeper, favouring my wife with one of his very handsome smiles. Unlike Theon, I decided, he was a ladies' man. Leaving the wife back home in the village must have advantages.
I stretched my legs and asked about that morning's meeting. 'You are not the only expert with surgical implements, Philadelphion! Your colleagues had the knives out a few times at the academic board.'
'They were on good form,' he agreed, settling down as if he enjoyed gossip. 'Philetus has a good grasp of essentials - essential being defined by him as that which enhances his own grandeur. Apollophanes devotedly seconds whatever Philetus thinks, regardless of how low it makes him look. Nicanor, the Head of Legal Studies, hates their ineptitude, but is always too wily to say so. Our astronomer has his head in the stars in more ways than one. I try to maintain balance, but it is a lost cause.'
In view of how scathing he had just been, that last comment should have been ironical. Philadelphion failed to see his own bias, and was not one for self-mockery.
'What was Theon's usual role?'
'He argued with Philetus, particularly recently'
'Why?'
Philadelphion shrugged, though gave the impression he could have made a good guess. 'Theon started to seize upon pretty well every subject that came up, as if he wanted to disagree with Philetus on principle. I would imagine he had told Philetus what his grievance was. But unlike most of us, who tend to seek support in numbers at the board, he would approach Philetus privately.'
Helena said, ''He spoke to us of his regret that the Director was viewed as his superior even though he, Theon, held such a famous post.'
'Call it more than regret!' Now Philadelphion was more frank. 'We are all senior men and loathe bending the knee to Philetus, but for the Librarian it is bitterly galling. A previous Director of the Museion - Balbillus, who was in post about ten years ago - took it upon himself to have his title expanded to include oversight of the united Alexandrian libraries.'
'He sounds Roman?' I suggested, narrowly.
'An imperial freedman. Times have changed since the Ptolemies,' Philadelphion acknowledged. 'Once, the post of Librarian was a royal appointment, and not just that - the Librarian would be the royal tutor. So originally the Librarian had prestige and independence; he was called 'The President of the King's Library'. Through schooling his royal charges, he could become a person of great political influence, too - effectively chief minister.'
I could see why the Roman Prefecture would want to change that. 'Knowing how things had worked in the past, Theon felt he had been deprived of status.'
'Exactly, Falco. He suspected he was not taken seriously enough, either by his colleagues here - chiefly by Philetus - or even by your Roman authorities. Forgive me; I cannot put that more delicately'
It was my turn to shrug. 'As far as Rome goes, Theon did himself down. The Great Library of Alexandria carries enormous prestige in Rome. Its Librarian is automatically held in reverence - which I can assure you the Prefect of Egypt upholds.'
The Zoo Keeper appeared not to believe me. 'Well, his reduced position was a long-standing grievance. It wore him down. And I believe there was administrative friction too.'
Since he had nothing to add, we moved on. 'I gained a good impression of Timosthenes at the meeting - he is in charge of the Serapeion, isn't he?' Helena asked. I won't say she thought I was flagging, but she lifted her stole over her shoulder and smoothed down her shimmering summer skirts like a girl who has decided it is her turn.
'Up on the hill, over towards the lake. It is a complex devoted to Serapis, our local ''synthetic'' deity.'
'Synthetic? Someone deliberately invented a god?' Privately, I thought it must have made a change from counting the legs on millipedes and producing geometry theorems. 'Tell us!' Helena prompted, apparently as full of glee as our girls had been at the crocodile pit.
I doubted he approved of formal female education, but Philadelphion liked lecturing women. Folding her hands in her lap, Helena tipped her head on one side so a gold ear-ring tinkled faintly against her perfumed neck as she encouraged him shamelessly. 'Noble lady, this was a deliberate attempt by the Ptolemy kings to conjoin the ancient Egyptian religion with their own Greek gods.'
'Far-sighted!' Helena's clear smile included me. She knew I was exuding bile.
Philadelphion apparently missed the moment between us. 'They took the Apis bull from Memphis, who represents Osiris after death, and created a composition with various Hellenistic deities: a supreme god of majesty and the sun - Zeus and Helios. Fertility - Dionysos. The Underworld and afterlife - Hades. And healing-Asklepios. There is a sanctuary, with a superb temple - and also what we call the Daughter Library. Timosthenes can tell you the exact arrangements, but it takes scrolls for which there is no room at the Great Library; duplicates, I imagine. The rules are different. The Great Library is only open to accredited scholars, but the Serapeion can be used by members of the public.'
'I imagine some scholars look down on public access,'' I suggested. 'Timosthenes' ideas for open lectures were quickly shouted down at the board meeting.' Philadelphion produced one of his airy shrugs. I did not have him down as a snob and I thought he was just avoiding controversy.
Time was pressing. Helena gave me one of those meaningful looks that husbands are taught by their wives to act upon. We could not abandon our two infants for much longer; it was unfair both on Albia and the zoo staff. But Philadelphion was in a good mood to talk. As the race for Theon's post hotted up, such a moment might not happen again, so I slipped in a last question: 'Tell me who is in the running for this shortlist for the librarianship. I presume you yourself must be a favourite?'
'Only if I can keep myself from wringing the Director's neck,' Philadelphion admitted, his tone still pleasant. 'Apollophanes thinks he will walk away with the prize, but he has no seniority and his work lacks prestige. Aeacidas - whom you may have noticed yesterday, Falco - is pushing to be considered, on the grounds that literature is the most relevant subject.'
'He is not a member of the Academic Board, though?'
'No, Philetus has a low opinion of literature. When the rest of us want to be mischievous we point out to the Director that Calliope, the Muse of epic poetry, was by tradition the senior Muse... Nicanor could get it. He's pushy enough - and rich enough. He can afford to smooth his own path.'
'Is his wealth the proceeds of his legal profession, or a private income?' Helena enquired.
'He says he earned it. He likes to make out he is sublime, in court or on the teaching rostrum.'
'How about Zenon?' I asked.
'We haven't had an astronomer in charge since Eratosthenes, as far as I recall. He believed the earth was round and calculated its diameter.'
'You have had some great minds here!'
'Euclid, Archimedes, Callimachos... None of them would have counted for much with Philetus!'
'And what about Timosthenes, my wife's favourite? Will he stand a chance?'
'None! Why is he her favourite?' Philadelphion was probably thinking that Timosthenes was nowhere near as handsome as him.
'I like a man who is intelligent, organised and speaks well,' Helena answered for herself. From loyalty or absent-mindedness, at that moment she took my hand.
Her attitude may have been too much for the Zoo Keeper. He acquiesced when I said we should recapture our children. I thanked him for his time. He nodded, like a man who thinks he has had a lucky escape from something he had expected to hurt a lot more.
I had not quite got his measure. Either this fellow was unusually open by nature, and keen to assist the authorities, or we had just witnessed a clever bout of wordplay.
Helena and I agreed one thing had come out clearly: Philadelphion believed the Librarian post should be his, on merit. Would he have had enough ambition to kill Theon to make the post available? We doubted it. In any case, he seemed to expect the appointment would go elsewhere, either through his colleagu
es' manoeuvring or the Director's favouritism. Besides, he seemed too liberal to commit murder. But that could just be the impression the wily Zoo Keeper intended us to have.
XVII
I had a late lunch with my family, outside the Museion complex, then they went off back home. Lunch had been happy, but noisy with so much excited chatter about the exotic animals.
Even Albia wanted to show off: 'There has been a public zoo in Alexandria for thousands of years. It was first founded by a ruler called Queen Hatshepsut -'
'Chaeteas and Chaereas been giving you history lectures? I hope that was all they taught you!'
'They seemed very nice boys from the country,' sniffed Albia. 'Good family people - not gigolos, Marcus Didius. Don't be silly.'
I was a true Roman father, manically suspicious. Soon I was hunched over my flatbread and chickpea dip, full of paternal gloom.
'You are a good father,' Helena reassured me in an undertone. 'You simply have too much imagination.' That could be because I had once been a flirtatious and predatory bachelor.
Outside the Museion complex stood rows of enterprising pedlars who sold wooden and ivory models of animals, especially snakes and monkeys, which sharp-eyed children could plead with their parents to buy. Fortunately Julia, who already knew the going rate for articulated bone dolls at home, thought these were too expensive. Favonia went along with Julia. On toy-purchase, they co-operated like crocodiles herding shoals of fish.
I returned by myself to the Library. After the hubbub of my family, the internal hush seemed magical. I entered the great hall, alone this time, so I was able to enjoy its stunning architecture at leisure. Rome's marble was predominantly white - crystalline Carrara or creamy Travertine - but in Egypt they had more black and red, so to me the effect was darker, richer and more sophisticated than I was used to. It produced a sombre, reverential atmosphere - though the readers seemed unawed by it.
Once again I had the impression that each man here moved in his private space, engaged in his unique studies. For some, this great place must provide a home, a retreat, even a reason for existence they might otherwise not have. It could be lonely. Its subdued sounds and respectful mood could seep into the soul. But the isolation was dangerous. It could, I had no doubt, drive a vulnerable personality quite mad. If that happened, would anybody else ever notice?
In search of general information, I strolled back outside and fell in with one of the groups of young scholars who clustered in the porch. When they heard I was investigating Theon's death they were fascinated.
'Will you tell me about the routines here?'
'Is that so you can spot inconsistencies in witness statements, Falco?'
'Hey, don't rush me!' Like Heras last night, these lively sparks were snatching at answers far too soon. 'What inconsistencies do you know about?'
Now they failed me: they were young; they had not paid enough attention to know.
However, they gladly filled in details of how the Library was supposed to operate. I learned that official opening hours were from the first to the sixth hour, which was the same as at Athens. This covered about half the day, on the Roman time system where day and night are each always divided into twelve hours, which vary in length depending on the season. A good citizen will rise before dawn to catch the light; even an effete poet will be spruced up and parading in the Forum by the third or fourth hour. In the evening men bathe at the eight or ninth hour and dine after that. Brothels are forbidden to open before the ninth hour. Manual workers down tools at the sixth or seventh hour. So scholars can be stuck at their work for a similar period to stokers or pavement-layers. 'Also ending up with stiff backs, cramp in the calves and serious headaches!' giggled the students.
I grinned back. 'So you think it healthier to work reduced hours?' At the sixth hour, in Alexandria during most of the year, it would still be light. No wonder they had to organise music and poetry recitals, and rude plays by Aristophanes. 'Listen. When the Library is closed to readers, are the doors locked?' They thought so, but I would have to ask the staff. None of these youthful characters trying out their first beards had ever stayed late enough to find out.
They were bright, excitable, open-minded - and willing to test theories. They decided to come along tonight and see whether the place was locked or not.
'Well, promise not to go tiptoeing through the great hall in the dark. Somebody may have committed murder in this building, and if so, he is still at large.' They were thrilled by my statement. 'I suspect it will be locked. The Librarian would be able to come and go with keys, so too perhaps some senior academics or select members of the staff, but not all and sundry'
'So who do you think did it, Falco?'
'Too early to say.'
They quietened, nudged one another surreptitiously, then one bold - or cheeky - soul piped up, 'We were talking among ourselves, Falco, and we think it was you!'
'Oh thanks! Why would I top him?'
'Aren't you the Emperor's hit-man?'
I snorted. 'I think he sees me more as his boot-boy.'
'Everyone knows Vespasian sent you to Egypt for a reason. You cannot have come to Alexandria to investigate Theon's death, because you must have set out from Rome several weeks ago...' Under my hard stare my informant had lost his nerve.
'You've studied logic, I see! Yes, I work for Vespasian, but I came here for something quite innocent.'
'Something to do with the Library?' the scholars demanded.
'My wife wants to see the Pyramids. My uncle lives here. That's all. So I am fascinated that you knew I was coming.'
The students had no idea how the word had spread, but everyone at the Museion had heard about me. I supposed that the Prefect's office leaked like the proverbial sieve.
This could be either vindictiveness or simple jealousy. The Prefect, and/or his administrative staff may have felt they were perfectly equipped themselves to answer any questions from Vespasian without him needing to commission me. They may even have imagined my story about the Pyramids was a cover; perhaps I had a secret brief to check how the Prefect and/or his staff were running Egypt...
Dear gods. This is how bureaucracy causes needless muddle and anxiety. The result was worse than a nuisance: putting out false stories locally could get agents into trouble. Sometimes the kind of trouble where a poor mutt doing his duty landed up losing his life in a back alley. So you have to take it seriously. You never think, 'Oh I am the Emperor's agent, so important the Prefect will look after me!' All prefects loathe agents on special missions. 'Looking after' can take two forms, one of them filthily unpleasant. And of all the Roman provinces, Egypt probably had the worst reputation for treachery.
While I was musing, the scholars leaned against column bases quietly. These young men showed respect for thought.
It was unsettling - quite different from my normal work at home. If I was trying to identify which of three grasping nephews stabbed some loose-tongued tycoon who had foolishly admitted he had written a new will in favour of his mistress, I had no time to think; the nephews would scarper in all directions if I paused, and if I appeared vague, even the indignant mistress would start screeching at me to hurry with her legacy. Tracking stolen art was worse; to play 'find the lady' with chipped statues at some dodgy auction in a portico required keen eyes and close attention. Stop to let the mind wander, and not only would the goods be whipped away on a handcart down the Via Longa, but I could have my purse lifted by a thieving ex-slave from Bruttium, together with the belt it was hanging on.
I pulled myself back to the present. 'Sorry, lads. Off in a world of my own... Alexandrian luxury is getting to me - all this freedom for daydreaming! Tell me about the library scrolls, will you?'
'Is that relevant to Theon's death?'
'Maybe. Besides, I am interested. Anybody know how many scrolls are in the Great Library?'
'Seven hundred thousand!' they all chorused immediately. I was impressed. 'Standard lecture they give all new readers, Falco.'
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'It's very precise.' I grinned. 'Where is the spirit of mischief? Don't renegade staff ever put about conflicting versions?'
Now the scholars looked intrigued. 'Well... Alternatively there are four hundred thousand - possibly.'
One pedantic soul who collected boring facts to give himself more character then informed me gravely, 'It all depends whether you believe the rumour about when Julius Caesar set fire to the docks, in his attempt to destroy the Egyptian fleet. He had sided with the beautiful Cleopatra against her brother and by burning his opponents' ships as they were at anchor, Caesar gained control of the harbour and communication with his own forces at sea. It is said that the fire swept away buildings on the docks, so quantities of grain and books were lost. Some people believe this was most or all of the Library itself, although others say it was only a selection of scrolls that were in store ready for export - maybe just forty thousand.'
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