Alexandria

by Lindsey Davis

  Outside, glorious sunlight filled the elegant enclosure over which the god presided. The precinct was surrounded internally by a Greek stoa - a wide colonnade, double height, its columns topped with fancy capitals in the Egyptian style that characterised Ptolemaic building. In a standard Greek market, there would be shops and offices around the stoa, but this was a religious foundation. Nevertheless, the sanctuary was still used by some citizens in the traditional manner as a place of assembly, and being Alexandria it was lively: we were told that this was where the Christian called Mark came ten years ago to set up his new religion and denounce the local gods. Unsurprisingly, it was also where the mob then gathered to put a stop to that. They set on Mark and had him torn to pieces - rather more persuasive than intellectual chastisement, though well in the spirit of hot-headed Greeks whose gods had been insulted by upstarts.

  Generally, the stoa had a loftier, more peaceful purpose; there was ample space for the book-loving public to stroll with a scroll from the Library. They could already read a first-rate translation of the Hebrew books treasured in the Jewish religion, which was called the Septuagint because seventy-two Hebrew scholars had been closeted in seventy-two huts on Pharos Island and instructed by one of the Ptolemies to produce a Greek version. Maybe one day browsers would read something by the Christian Mark. In the meantime, people were happily devouring philosophy, trigonometry, hymns, how to build your own siege warfare battering ram, and Homer. Sadly, in the Serapeion Library they could not borrow The Spook Who Spoke, by Phalko of Rome.

  Don't think I was so immodest. Helena asked for me. That way we learned our first hard fact about the Daughter Library: it contained over four hundred thousand works, but they were all classics or bestsellers.

  When we met Timosthenes, we congratulated him on the flourishing academy he ran here. He was younger than some of the other professors, slim and olive-skinned; he wore a shorter beard than the old fellows, had a square jaw and neat ears. He told us he had reached his high position after working on the Great Library's staff. From the look of him, despite his Greek name, he might actually be Egyptian in origin. There was no suggestion that this would make him more sympathetic to our task or likelier to betray confidences, however.

  I let Helena talk to him first. Settling your interviewee is a good trick. Lulling him into a sense of false security would only work if he did not realise what was going on, but either way, it allowed me to watch him silently. I knew Helena thought I was subdued because we had not found my play. The truth was, I always enjoyed watching her in action.

  'I know you must be asked the same questions all the time, but tell me about the Daughter Library,' Helena urged. She looked bright-eyed and curious, yet her cultured senatorial voice made her more than a mere tourist.

  Timosthenes willingly explained that his Library at the Serapeion acted as an overflow, carrying duplicate scrolls and offering a service to the general public. They were barred from the Great Library, originally because using it was a royal prerogative then because it was the select preserve of the Museion scholars.

  Mention of the scholars led to a distraction, though I put it down as accidental. 'Someone told me,' Helena said, 'there are a hundred accredited scholars. Is that right?'

  'No, no. Closer to thirty - at the most fifty'

  'So my young brother, Camillus Aelianus, was fortunate indeed to be allowed to join them!'

  'Your brother is an influential Roman, connected with the Emperor's agent. I heard, too, he came with a very good reference from Minas of Karystos. The Board is happy to grant temporary accreditation for someone with such pulling power.' Timosthenes was wry; not quite rude - yet close.

  Helena's heavy eyebrows had shot up. 'So was Aelianus approved by the Academic Board?'

  Timosthenes smiled at her acuteness. 'He was admitted by Philetus. Someone put it on the agenda afterwards.'

  Helena tossed in, 'Raised a complaint, I imagine!'

  'You have seen how things work here.'

  'Who called Philetus into question?' I asked.

  Timosthenes clearly regretted mentioning this. 'I believe it was Nicanor.' Aulus did study law. So their legal head objected? 'Nicanor was being difficult on principle.'

  Helena said stiffly, 'My father, the senator Camillus Verus, is set against corruption. He would not want my brother to use unfair influence. My brother himself is unaware that special pressure was applied.'

  Timosthenes soothed her. 'Be calm. The admittance of Camillus Aelianus was discussed and retrospectively agreed by all.'

  'Tell me the truth,' ordered Helena: 'Why?'

  Helena could be forceful. Timosthenes looked taken aback and fought it with frankness. 'Because Philetus, our Director, is terrified of whatever the Emperor sent your husband here to do.'

  'He is shit scared of me?' I interrupted.

  'Philetus is accustomed to run in circles after his own tail.'

  That was something. We had induced the man to reveal an opinion.

  Timosthenes was a good educator. He was eloquent, content to discuss things with women, revealed no burning grudges. At the same time, he did not tolerate fools gladly - and he obviously put Philetus in that category.

  Helena dropped her voice: 'What makes Philetus so frightened?'

  'That,' replied Timosthenes in a mild tone, 'he has not shared with me.'

  'So you do not work in harmony?'

  'We co-operate.'

  'He sees your worth?'

  I chuckled. 'He fears it!'

  'I exercise toleration towards my Director's defects,' Timosthenes informed us, po-faced. A short lift of the hand instructed us not to trespass further. Continuing would have been impolite. Saying 'my' Director emphasised that this man was bound by professional loyalty.

  I decided to be formal. I asked about his hopes for Theon's post. Timosthenes admitted at once that he would like it. He said he had got on well with Theon, admired his work. But he saw his own chances of being referred for the post by Philetus as so slim that this could not have been a motive to harm Theon. He expected nothing from the man's death.

  'As Librarian at the Serapeion would this not be a natural career progression? Why does Philetus despise your qualities so much?'

  'It is,' said Timosthenes heavily, 'because I achieved my post through the administration route, as a member of the Library staff, rather than as an eminent scholar. Although Philetus is himself a priest by background - or perhaps because of that - he is imbued with snobbery about ''professors''. He feels it adds to his own glory if the chief of the Great Library is famous for his academic work. Theon was a historian, of some note. I am self-taught and have never published any writings, though my interests are in epic poetry. I am primarily an administrative librarian, and Philetus may feel my approach is at odds with his.'

  'In what way?' asked Helena.

  'We might place different values on books.' He shrugged off the problem, however. 'It has never arisen.'

  Clearly he was reluctant to continue. I then asked where Timosthenes was when Theon died.

  'Here in my own Library. My staff can confirm it. We were conducting a scroll count.'

  'Any particular reason for this inventory, or is it routine?'

  'Checks are carried out from time to time.'

  'Do you lose books?' Helena asked him.

  'Sometimes.'

  'Many?'

  'No.'

  'Enough for concern?'

  'Not in my Library. Since works are available for public consultation, we have to be rigorous. Members of the public have been known to ''forget'' to return things, though of course we always know who has borrowed what, so we can remind them tactfully. We find scrolls mis-shelved occasionally, though I have a proficient staff.' Timosthenes paused. He had been conversing with Helena, yet he looked at me: 'You are interested in scroll numbers?'

  I played bored. 'Tallying and ticking off lists? Sounds dry as desert dust.'

  Helena pursed her lips at this interruption. 'And h
ow did the count go, Timosthenes?'

  'Good. Very few were missing.'

  'Was that what you expected?'

  'Yes. Yes,' replied Timosthenes. 'That was as I expected.'

  XXV

  Sometimes during an investigation, Helena and I just stopped. When the flow of information became overwhelming, we turned away. We fled the scene. We bunked off to the country for a few hours, without telling anybody. Students of rational science might find the fact odd but forgetting all about the case for a time could, by a mysterious process, clarify the facts. Besides, she was my wife. I loved her enough to spend time alone with her. This was not the traditional way to view a wife, but as the noble Helena Justina often said, I was a surly beggar who just loved to break the rules.

  Of course I was never surly to her. That's how traditional husbands let themselves down. We two had a union of lustrous tranquillity. If Helena Justina saw a moment of uncharacteristic surliness coming on, she would stalk from the room with a riffle of skirts and a sneer. She always knew how to get in first.

  We both pursed our lips over Timosthenes. We agreed he was high quality and almost certainly ethical, but we thought he was keeping things back. 'Men who take refuge in scrupulous good manners can be hard to break, Helena. I can't put the Serapeion Librarian up against a wall and mutter threats in his ear.'

  'I hope you don't generally work like that, Marcus.'

  'I do when it gets results.'

  The Serapeion lay close to Lake Mareotis. We had picked up transport - a horse and cart, with its driver whom I had bargained with when I saw them sitting glumly in Canopus Street. Uncle Fulvius was using his conveyance today. You can't blame a man for wanting to use his own palanquin. (I would blame him if I found out he had lent it to my father - an unpalatable thought, which was unfortunately probable.)

  When we left the sanctuary, found our cart and faced that moment of having to decide where to go next, it took no time for us to choose a little afternoon trip. The driver was happy. Even his horse perked up. 'Outside city' had a higher rate.

  He took us to the lake first. There, close to the city which it bordered, we marvelled at the size of the inland harbour. The driver claimed the lake itself stretched for a hundred miles east to west, cut off from the sea by a long, narrow spit of land that ran for miles, away towards Cyrenaica. Canals provided links with other parts of the delta, including a large canal at Alexandria. Here on the north lake shore we found a vast mooring pool that seemed even busier than the great Western and Eastern harbours on the sea side. The surrounding countryside was obviously fertile, swept annually by the Nile inundation with its burden of rich silt, and as a result everywhere close to the lake was well cultivated. They had grain, olives, fruit and vines so although at first this seemed an enormous, lonely area, we saw large numbers of oil presses, fermentation vats and breweries. Lake Mareotis was famously the home of endless papyrus beds, so it had all the necessities of the scroll-making industry. Boys paddled up to their knees in water as they cut the reeds, calling out to each other and stopping to stare at us. From the lake itself huge quantities of fish were caught. Then they had commercial quarrying and glass-blowing, plus numerous pottery kilns for the lamp industry and amphora-making for the wine trade.

  It was one of the most frequented waterways I had ever seen. Outside the huge harbour, ferries plied both north-south to and from the towns on the southern edge of the lake, and also east-west. The fringes of the lake were extremely marshy, yet lined with jetties. Flat-bottomed punts were everywhere. Many people lived and worked from houseboats moored in the shallows - whole families, including infants who at crawling stage were tied on with a rope around the ankle that just gave them enough play to keep safe. 'Hmmm. I wonder if it would be frowned upon if we tried short tethers with our own dear mites?' 'Julia and Favoma could undo a rope in about five minutes.' The driver refused to stop among the marshes. He said the tall papyrus reeds were full of paths and dens used by gangs of criminals. This seemed at odds with the multitude of luxurious out-of-town villas to which rich Alexandrians migrated for leisure in the countryside. Playboys and tycoons don't put up with brigands in their neighbourhood - well, not unless they themselves are brigands who have made their pile and settled in huge villas on the proceeds. The tycoons' spreads here worked like the grand holiday homes in the coastal strip between Ostia and the Bay of Neapolis - close enough to be reached from town in the evening by weary businessmen, and close enough too for obsessive workers to feel they could nip back to the courts and to hear the news in the Forum without ever growing out of touch.

  We had left the harbour behind us and driven out on the long narrow land spit between sea and lake. After a time the driver decided the reeds in these parts were not the dangerous kind out of which brigands might rush to steal his horse. They looked the same as the others to me, but you bow to expert local knowledge. The horse itself was game to plod on, since it made progress at an undemanding pace, allowing itself time to gaze around at the views. But the man needed to get down and fall asleep under an olive tree. He made it plain we required a rest stop, so we obediently took one.

  Fortunately we had brought drinking-water and snacks to keep us occupied. Herons and ibises paraded themselves. Frogs and insects kept up low background noise. The sun was hot, though not sweltering. While the driver snored, we took advantage of the peaceful spot. He may have been acting and hoped for intimate behaviour to spy on, but I was alert to that. Besides, sometimes catching up on a case is even more alluring.

  'I had a long talk with Cassius this morning, when you abandoned me again,' said Helena, who liked to be part of everything. Her complaint was light-hearted. She was used to me disappearing on interviews or surveillance. She never minded me doing the boring routines, so long as I let her play dice when the game hotted up.

  'I was with your dear brother part of the time, looking at the Pinakes.'

  'How commendably academic. Oddly enough, Cassius and I were talking about the catalogue.'

  'I hadn't seen him as a scrollworm.'

  'Well, neither had I, Marcus, but we know very little about him. We just assume Cassius was once some beautiful, vacuous young boy Uncle Fulvius picked up in a gym or a bath house - but he is probably not that young.'

  I laughed lazily. 'So you think he's an intellectual? Fulvius chose him for his mind? When nobody is looking, they sit together and intently discuss the finer points of Plato's Republic?'

  Helena biffed me. 'No. But he is his own man. I think Cassius must have received an education - perhaps enough to have wanted more, but his family could not afford it. I'm sure he comes from a working background, he's too sensible not to. Anyway, so does Fulvius; your grandfather had the market garden. Now it's Fulvius who takes the lead in their business activities. I reckon that while Cassius is kept hanging around waiting for Fulvius to clinch some deal, he may sit in a corner and read a scroll.'

  'Perfectly possible, my darling. It is what I would do myself

  'You would buy drink,' scoffed Helena. 'And eye up women,' she added balefully. I could not deny it - though of course it would be only for comparative purposes.

  'Not Cassius.'

  'Well, I expect he can read and drink...'

  'And eye up men?'

  'I suppose that would depend how near Fulvius was ... do you think men who live with men are as promiscuous as men who live with women?'

  I dropped my voice. 'Some of us are loyal.'

  'No, all of you are men...' Despite her tone, Helena laid a hand on my arm as if exonerating me. Like many women who understand the male sex, she took a charitable view. She might say, women had to do that or live as spinsters - though she would say it kindly. 'Anyway, do you want to hear what he says?'

  I stretched out on my back in the sun, hands clasped behind my head. 'If it's relevant.' It had better be exciting, or I would nod off.

  'Listen, then. According to Cassius there are tensions in the academic community. When the Museion was first
set up, it was a magnificent centre of learning. The scholars who came to live in Alexandria all carried out new scientific research and lectured; great men published great papers. On the literary side, they conducted the first systematic study of Greek literature; grammar and philology were invented as subjects of study. At the Library, they had to decide which collected scrolls were original, or closest to the original, especially when they had duplicates. And of course there were duplicates, because the books came from various collections which must have overlapped or, as you know, darling, plays in particular have more than one copy. When you wrote The Spook Who Spoke, you were scribbling in a hurry - so errors may have crept in, even to your master copy; plus the actors made their own scripts, sometimes only bothering with their own characters and cues.'