Alexandria Part 3

'For a place that is so heavily catalogued,' I sniffed, 'I find your answer oddly vague.'

Pastous bristled. 'The catalogue lists every book in the world. All of them have been here. They are not necessarily here now. For one thing -' He was not above a gentle jibe - 'Julius Caesar, your great Roman general, burned a great number on the quayside, I believe.'

He was hinting that Romans were uncivilised. I glanced at Aulus and we let it pa.s.s.

We had reached an area behind the reading hall. Dim corridors with lower ceiling heights ran here like rabbit burrows. Pastous had brought us past one or two large, narrow rooms where scrolls were stored. Against the long walls, some were in big open pigeonholes, others contained in closed boxes. Smaller rooms had clerks working and craftsmen, all slaves I guessed, engaged on maintenance: mending torn sheets, adding scroll rods, colouring edges, applying identification tags. From time to time we were a.s.sailed by scents of cedarwood and other preservatives, though the main aura was timeless and dusty. Some of the workers were the same.

'People stay here for decades?'

'The life claims them, Falco.'

'Was Theon enraptured by this life?'

'Only he could have said,' returned Pastous gravely.

Then he came to a stop and made an elegant arm gesture. He had indicated a pair of tall wooden doors that had recently suffered damage. One now stood half open. He did not have to tell us: we had reached the dead Librarian's room.

VIII.

A small black slave had been left to guard the room. n.o.body had explained to him what that entailed. He let us go in with no attempt to check credentials. So comforting.

The corridor was otherwise deserted. All the milling sightseers described by the centurion Tenax must have gone away, bored. Aulus coughed nervously; he asked Pastous if the Librarian's body was still here. The a.s.sistant looked shocked and a.s.sured us it had been taken for burial.

'Who gave the order?' For once a vague expression came upon Pastous. I asked if he knew where the remains had gone.

'I can find out for you.'

'Thanks.'

I pushed at the double doors. The one that moved was solid and heavy, none too level on its great hinges; the other was stuck fast. This was a grandiose entrance. One man's arms would not be long enough to place the doors in the full open position simultaneously; they were designed to be ceremonially moved by a matched pair of flunkeys.

Someone had gone at them like a developer's wrecker on double time for fast demolition. 'They made a good job of it!'

'I heard a natural science student was fetched.' Pastous had a pleasing dryness. 'They tend to be large healthy young men.'

'The outdoor life?'

'Few lectures, so most spend their spare time out at the Gymnasium. On field trips, they build up their legs running away from rhinoceroses.'

Aulus and I sidled through the half-open door and entered the room. Pastous remained on the threshold behind us, watching with a curiosity that managed to be polite yet sceptical.

We inspected the doors. On the outside of the room they had a formidable lock of great antiquity, a wooden beam that was held shut by pin tumblers; with much squinting I made out there were three of those. Whenever the doors were closed and the beam put in place, gravity would make the tumblers fall and act as a lock. Inserting the correct key would lift them out of the way, then the beam could be withdrawn using the key. I had seen other locks where the operator removed the beam by hand, but Pastous said this was the traditional Egyptian kind, as used on most ancient temples.

There was one disadvantage: the wooden key must be about a foot long. Aulus and I knew that Theon had not been carrying anything like that when he came to dinner with Uncle Fulvius.

I reckoned no one used the old wooden beam lock now. Perhaps because of the inconvenience, someone had much more recently installed a Roman lock. It was metal, beautifully ornate with a lion's head, and fixed on the inside of one of the doors. Its beam shot into a post that had been specially fixed to the other door to receive it. This lock would have a slotted turning key. Operated through the door, from outside in the corridor, the key would turn, moving pins inside the lock. However, a ward plate also inside the lock ensured the slots on the key had to line up; only the correct key was able to turn through this plate - and it had to be inserted right on line. I had seen keys that were made with hollow stems, so they were pushed in over a guide to keep them straight.

If Theon had been carrying this this key last night, he could have hidden it about his person, on a string around his neck maybe, and we would not have seen it. It must be bigger than a ring-key, but still manageable. 'And this key has disappeared?' key last night, he could have hidden it about his person, on a string around his neck maybe, and we would not have seen it. It must be bigger than a ring-key, but still manageable. 'And this key has disappeared?'

'Yes, Falco.'

The lock was damaged; this was probably done when people broke in to find the body. Double doors are vulnerable to pushing in. Pulling them open from the inside if you had been locked in would be more difficult. But there was no sign of that.

'Too much to hope that the key just fell somewhere!' Aulus hated puzzles. As Tenax had told us, there was nowhere for a key to have fallen. We looked up and down the corridor, just in case it had been kicked across the floor, but no. Aulus hated puzzles. As Tenax had told us, there was nowhere for a key to have fallen. We looked up and down the corridor, just in case it had been kicked across the floor, but no.

I had no patience with mystery features myself, so I turned back into the room and looked around. It had been purpose-built for a notable inc.u.mbent. Half as high again as the corridor outside, it had a coffered ceiling and ornate cla.s.sical covings. The walls were inset with yet more book cupboards, in expensive wood but plain; all the s.p.a.ces in between were richly painted and gilded in colourful Egyptian style. A dramatic desk was supported on two elegant carved leopards. Behind it was a seat more like a throne than a clerk's writing station, ornamented with enamel and ivory. My father would have made an offer to auction it on sight.

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 a.s.sistant 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 s.p.a.ces. 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 s.p.a.ces, 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!'' ''Chi did it!'' Written in blood, perhaps?' Written in blood, perhaps?'

'Chi?' I scoffed. I scoffed.

'Chi the unknown quant.i.ty. Chi marks the spot.' Chi marks the spot.'

'Ignore my a.s.sistant, 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''.' ''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 ''n.o.body'' 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 a.s.sistant 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 a.s.sured 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 a.s.sessed the room professionally, considering possibilities. 'Doc.u.ments, for one thing. If Theon really came to work, where is the papyrus?' We were quiet now. Thoughtful, businesslike, and serious. We a.s.sessed the room professionally, considering possibilities. 'Doc.u.ments, 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 doc.u.ments, 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 s.p.a.ce 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 Ca.s.sius, 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 a.s.sociate who knew how to tiptoe could have reached the Librarian without being noticed at all. mysterious a.s.sociate 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 pa.s.sed since the Librarian was discovered. We needed to act fast. I hailed a craftsman in a scroll-worker's ap.r.o.n 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 inst.i.tution 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 G.o.d. 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 b.u.mptious, 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 antic.i.p.ated. 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.ds 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. 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! 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.' 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 a.s.sistant, Camillus Aelia.n.u.s.'

''Have I heard that name?' Philetus was sharp. n.o.body 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-cla.s.s Roman.