'Not in front of the children, please… Thalia was the Muse of Comedy and rustic poetry,' I spelled out. 'The ''blooming'' one! How appropriate. Thalia, blossom, I can't believe they let you pitch a circus tent in the Museion complex. The Director's a pontificating bastard; he'll go nuts.'
Thalia let out a feral laugh. 'So you know Philetus!' She did not elucidate. 'So – Flavia Albia, was it? – how do you come to be with these dear old friends of mine, my poppet?' Albia was not yet aware she was being eyed up skilfully as a potential acrobat, actress or musician.
'Compared with your exotic charms,' I told Thalia, 'for Albia merely to have been orphaned as a baby during the Boudiccan Rebellion in Britain – as we think she was – seems a tame start. Don't get ideas. Even in those hot-headed moments when she hates us for not understanding her, my foster-daughter is never going to run away to the circus. Albia has already had enough adventure. She wants to learn secretarial Greek and book-keeping.'
'I could use a bent accountant,' Thalia joked back. She must be doing well. 'You'd have to be versatile and tickle up the python when he's bored.'
Albia looked interested but I cut in firmly. 'Is Jason still a handful?'
'Worse than a man, Falco. Talking of being a menace, your father is a right case.'
I breathed carefully. 'So how did you hook up with Pa?'
Thalia grinned – a wide, rascally grin that she shared with Helena. 'He heard I was coming out here and fixed a berth on my ship. Of course, your name swung it.'
'I suppose he paid no fare? Well, you'll know next time.'
'Oh Geminus is all right…'
Had I not been sure that Thalia had a full-time old flame called Davos, I might have worried. Pa had a past. Even the bits I knew about were lurid. He had always been up for barmaids, but now Flora, his girlfriend of thirty years was dead, he seemed to think he had extra freedom. Yes, my mother was alive. No, they had never divorced. Since she and Pa had not spoken or been in one room together since I was about seven, she did not inhibit him. In fact Ma reckoned she had not counted for much when they lived together either. According to Pa, that was vindictive and unjust. So probably true, then.
'How is the trusty Davos?' I asked. He was a traditional actor-manager, with some talent. I had found him congenial.
Thalia shrugged. 'Touring tragedy in Tarentum. I opted out. I like that play with the bloody axe murders, but you can have too much gloom thrown at you by a chorus of black-robed women. Besides, there are never good parts for my animals.'
'I thought Davos was a good thing.'
'Love of my life,' Thalia assured me. 'I can't get enough of his thundering virility or the way he picks his teeth. I've known him for years, which is cosy and familiar… But good things are best kept in a fancy box for festivals. You don't want them to go stale, do you?'
'What brings you to Alexandria?' Helena then asked Thalia, smiling.
'The future lies in lions. That monstrous new amphitheatre creeping up in Rome. It's almost up to roof level and they are planning a grand opening.'
'Plenty of wild beast importers will make fortunes,' I said, picking up her lion reference. It was a trade I had investigated once. I was working on the Census at the time, so I knew all about the fabulous sums involved. 'But I never saw you as selling meat for slaughter, Thalia.'
'A girl has to earn a living. It's a damn good living or I would opt out. I don't really agree with going to all the trouble of capturing and keeping complicated wild animals if you just want them to die. It's hard enough to keep them alive in captivity in any case. But I'm no sentimentalist. The money's too good to ignore.''
'So now you're in Egypt, are you travelling south where the beasts live?' Helena asked.
'Not me. I like the easy life. Why struggle, when there are men daft enough to hunt them for you? I have special contacts, some of them at the zoo.'
I wondered if 'special contacts' were as exotic as 'special dancing'.
'Not Philadelphion?' queried Helena.
'Him? He's a dry stick.' From what I knew of Thalia that meant the handsome Zoo Keeper had rejected her advances. 'No; mostly I come to see Chaereas and Chaeteas. When the dealers are bringing them specimens, they organise extras for me.'
Did Thalia's specimens appear in the Museion ledgers? 'I'm looking for fiddles at the Museion.' I decided Thalia and I were good enough friends to be frank. 'I won't land you in it, you know that – but who pays for these extras, if I may ask?'
'I pay – the going rate!' snapped Thalia. 'And it's damned expensive. The lads just put dealers in contact. And if the dealers come up with some beast I'm not familiar with, Chaereas and Chaeteas advise me how to handle it. There's no fiddle, Falco.'
'Sorry; I'm just working on a problem. You know me. A case makes me suspicious of everybody.'
Helena waded in. 'You can help Marcus, Thalia. What do you know-about finances at the Museion? Do they have any money troubles?'
Mollified immediately, Thalia sniffed. She had saved Helena's life once after a scorpion bite, so they shared a special fondness. 'The zoo always seems flush. They don't get privileges, mind you – it may have been different in the pharaohs' day, when everything belonged to the man on the throne, but now the man on the throne is a tight-arsed tax collector's son back in Rome. When they buy a new animal, they have to pay the going rate! They moan – but they still get whatever they need.'
I grinned. 'The same going rate as you pay?'
'No fear. I have to beat the dealers down, so I can afford to pay Chaereas and Chaeteas for their kind assistance.'
'So would you say -' Helena posed the critical question – 'the way the zoo is run is straight?'
'Ooh, I should think so, darling! After all, this is the one city in the world that's stuffed with geometrists who know how to draw a straight line… Mind you,' said Thalia darkly, 'it a group of us went out for a fish supper, I wouldn't trust a geometrist to work out the bill.'
At this point Uncle Fulvius appeared with Cassius and Pa. Pa had introduced the others to Thalia last night. She was just the kind of colourful element that Fulvius and Cassius liked. Pa took all the credit for bringing her into their orbit; Helena and I, who had known her for years, were sidelined.
In this gathering of entrepreneurs, I felt an outsider. I picked up my notebooks and after arranging to meet Helena later for a visit to the Serapeion, I went out.
At the Museion I tidied up unfinished business.
I was still looking for Nicanor, the lawyer. He still would not let himself be found. If he had been the errant husband of a client in Rome, I would have thought he was avoiding me.
I found out where the dead Librarian had lived and went to search his quarters. I should have done this before, but there had been no opportunity. I discovered nothing that might explain his death, though the apartment was sufficiently spacious and well furnished to show just why there was keen competition to inherit Theon's post. Subdued staff showed me around meekly. They told me when the funeral was to be – over a month away because of mummification. It was clear they were upset at losing him. I thought it was genuine and saw no need to make them suspects. A personal secretary, who seemed a decent fellow, had written to the family and packed up Theon's private possessions, but he had had the sense to keep them here in case I needed to see them. I looked through all the packages and again found nothing of interest.
'Did he say what he would be working on at the Library, the evening he died?'
'No, sir.'
'Were any Library documents kept here?'
'No, sir. If the Librarian ever brought work home, he always took it back next day. But that was rare.'
'Who cleared his office at the Library?'
'One of the staff there, I suppose.'
I asked if he knew of any anxieties Theon had, but a good secretary never tells.
XXIII
I had some time before I had arranged to meet Helena. I went to the Library and managed to find my way back to the Libr
arian's room.
The damaged lock had been repaired and polished. The doors were closed. Even with the lock-bar off, they were hard to budge. I used my shoulder to barge my way inside, nearly damaging myself and landing in a heap. 'Bull's balls! I wonder if Theon kept the doors so tight to discomfit visitors?'
I had asked the question of Aulus, whom I found in the room by himself, sitting in Theon's chair, with an enormous scroll half unrolled. He had made himself at home, with his sandals kicked off and his bare feet on a footstool. The scroll lay across his lap as if he was genuinely reading it. He looked like a classic sculpture of an intellectual.
'If you stay here long enough, Aulus, you may see which of the notable scholars slips into the room to measure himself for Theon's fancy chair.'
'I thought we knew who wanted the job.'
'No harm in a double-check. What are you reading?'
'A scroll.'
I had played that game when I was young and silly. Camillus Aelianus knew I was asking the title – just as I knew he was being awkward on purpose.
'Cut out the daft answers; I'm not your mother.'
I could not read the title tab the way he was holding it. Instead I walked over to an open cupboard from which he had presumably lifted the scroll. The rest of the set were equally heavy and ancient. Three deep on their shelves, just one series took up all the cupboards. I started a rough count. There must be a hundred and twenty. I whistled. These were the legendary Pinakes, the catalogue begun by Callimachos of Cyrene. Without doubt they were the originals, though I had heard that men who could afford it had copies made for their personal libraries. Vespasian wanted me to find out about that. With the going rate for top-quality scribes at twenty denarii per hundred lines, somehow I could not see the old man opting for a new set.
I lugged a few down. There was a broad division into poetry and prose. Then there were subdivisions, into which Callimachos had placed each writer; I guessed that these must correspond with the shelf system in the great rooms where the scrolls were stored. In full the catalogue was called, Tables of Persons Eminent in Every Branch of Learning, with a List of their Writings. The authors were bunched together according to the first letter of their name.
'I've written stuff myself. Do you think they'll have me in, one day? ''Investigator and genius. He studied at the Museion of Real Life''…'
Aulus was staring across the room at me as I mused happily. 'You are listed now. I looked you up – since, Marcus Didius, an author of your standing will not want to be so immodest as to search for himself
'You looked me up!' I was astounded. 'Camillus Aelianus, I am touched.'
'The Pinakes are claimed to be comprehensive. It seemed a good test. Your play was publicly performed, wasn't it? ''Phalko of Rome, father Phaounios; prosecutor and dramatist.'' They only credit your Greek play, not any Latin legal speeches or recital poetry: ''His writings are; 'The Spook Who Spoke'''. There isn't a section for Ridiculous Nonsense, so you are categorised as a Comedian. So appropriate!'
'Don't be snide.'
Aulus seemed depressed, and not just because the celebrated Library at Alexandria was prepared to acknowledge any old tosh just so long as it was written in Greek. 'We don't have time to read the Pinakes,' he said, rolling up his scroll.' I've been in here for hours, just absorbing the style. I've barely tasted one volume. Creating the Pinakes was a flabbergasting feat, but it says nothing about how Theon could have been killed, or why. I'm giving up.'
I was back poking about in the cupboard. 'The collection of Miscellanea even has cookbooks. I'd like to be listed here too, with my ''Recipe for Turbot in Caraway Sauce''. That's worth immortality.'
'It may be,' growled Aulus. 'But it's my sister's recipe.'
'Helena will never know. Women are not allowed in the Great Library.'
'Some bastard will tell her, knowing your luck. ''Oh Helena Justina, didn't I see your husband's name on a fish recipe, when I was browsing through the Pinakes?'' Or a copy will be made for Vespasian's fancy new library and she'll see it there herself. You know her; she will go straight to the incriminating evidence on opening day.' As he grumbled on cantankerously, I wondered if he had a hangover. 'Still, plagiarism has a grand old history here.'
'How do you know that?'
'While you think I have been sitting on a bench doing nothing for three days, I have been diligently applying myself to research.'
'Really? I imagined you munching in the refectory and wasting your time at lewd plays. Did you like Lysistrata?' He snorted. I sat on a stool, folded my arms and looked bright. 'So what's your thesis?'
'I had no instructions for a thesis.'Tossing back his hair, Aulus knew how to sound like an unsatisfactory student.
'Aulus, be inspired by your own area of interest. You need to find some previously untouched subject and pursue it independently. You may have been rubbish as an informer at street level, but now you are embellished with an expensive education so we expect better things… Just ask me before you run off and waste a lot of effort, in case I think your research is pointless – or I want to pinch it for my own. You mentioned plagiarism, I believe.'
'Oh there's a story that everyone here seems to be told. One Aristophanes of Byzantium, once a Director of the Museion -'
'Not the Athenian playwright called Aristophanes?'
'I said Byzantium; do try to keep alert, Falco. Aristophanes the Director systematically read every scroll in the library. Because of his well-known reading habits, he was asked to judge a poetry competition in front of the King. After he had heard all the entries, he accused the students of plagiarism. Challenged to prove it, he ran around the Library, going straight to the shelves where the right scrolls were. He gathered them up, completely by memory, and showed that every entry in the competition had been copied. I think this story is reiterated to new scholars as a dire warning.'
'They would cheat? Appalling!'
'Indubitably, it still goes on. Philetus can't know. Unless you have the right calibre of man in charge, who will be capable of telling whether work is original or a blatant steal?'
I was thoughtful. 'People speak well of Theon. Any indication that he had accused some scholar, or scholars, of plagiarism?'
'That would be a neat solution,' Aulus conceded. 'Unfortunately, no one knows of him doing it.'
'You asked?'
'I am thorough, Falco. I can see logical connections.'
'Keep your ringlets on… I wish I knew whether Theon was looking at the Pinakes that night.'
'He was.' Aulus had an annoying habit of withholding information, then dropping it into the conversation as if I already ought to know.
'How can you tell?'
He stretched his sturdy legs. 'Because.'
'Come on; you're not three years old! Because what, you flitterbug?'
'I got to the Library before opening time this morning, talked my way in and found the little knock-kneed slave who always cleans the room.'
I kept my temper. I had dealt with Aulus for some years. When he gave me a report he always had to make himself look good. Simply relating the facts was too simple – yet it would generally be a good report. I gave my body some exercise, pulling my joints systematically and adding in a head-rub just to show I could be patient.
'One!'Aulus liked order. 'When he first turned up with his sponges that day, he says the room was locked. Two! He came back, after people had broken in and found the body. He was told to tidy up.'
'How long have you known this?' I thundered.
'Just today'
'How long have I been in this room and you didn't tell me?'
'Philosopher, does a fact take on substance only when Marcus Didius Falco knows it, or does information exist independently?' He had posed, gazing at the ceiling, and was speaking in a comic voice like a particularly tedious orator. Aulus enjoyed the student life. He stayed up late and went unshaved. In fairness, he enjoyed thought too. He had always been more solitary than his younger brother, Justinus
. He had friends, whom his family thought unsuitable, but none were especially close. My Albia knew more about him than anyone and even that was a long-distance friendship. We let her correspond so that she could practise her writing. Presumably he answered her out of kind-heartedness. 'Anyway, I'm telling you now, Falco.'
'Thank you. Aulus. Who gave the order to tidy up?'
'Nicanor.'
'The lawyer. He should have known better!'
'Nicanor had come over from the Academic Board meeting. He told the cleaner to straighten the room and said the body would be taken away later. The slave could not bear to touch the corpse. So he did everything else just as he would have done normally – swept the floor, sponged the furniture, threw out the rubbish – which included a dried-up dinner wreath. There were a few scrolls on the table; he replaced them in cupboards.'
'I don't suppose he can say which they were?'
'My first question – and no; needless to say, he cannot remember.'
In fairness to the slave, all the Pinakes scrolls looked similar. The situation was tantalising; if the scrolls were relevant, I would have given a lot to know which Theon had been reading. 'Did he find any other writing? Was Theon making or using notes?'
Aulus shook his head. 'None on the table.'
'So that's all?'
'That's all he said, Marcus.'
'You asked this slave, I presume, whether it was he who locked the door?'
'Yes. He's a slave. He doesn't have a key'
'So when Nicanor broke the door down, was he up to anything?'
'I can't see what. Thank Zeus you're the brains of our outfit, Falco, so I don't have to worry. The lock isn't broken now'
'It was, after the death – didn't you notice? They have a handyman. The Librarian's room 'will take priority for repairs.' I posed my next question as cautiously as possible: 'Do I need to interview this slave myself?'
'I can talk to a cleaning slave and be trusted to get it right!' he answered, with resentment.
'I know you can, Aulus,' I answered back gently.
XXIV
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