Alexandria mdf-19

by Lindsey Davis

  'Minas of Karystos. That poser and I have been at odds for two decades… What's this to you, Falco?'

  'Normal aspect of patronage,' I quoted back to him. 'Camillus is my brother-in-law. I suppose he should have bought you off first?'

  'Smoothing his path would be polite – call it correct procedure. So does that increase your price in my business?'

  This man was unbelievable.

  I told him I would bear his request in mind. It must have been obvious I did not mean it. 'That's a no, then?' He seemed unable to credit it. 'You are backing Philadelphion?'

  'I think him a good candidate, but I never said that.'

  'This is stitched up?'

  'I am sure you can have every confidence in a fair hearing.' Nicanor did not believe my demure promise, and so we parted company.

  If this writ-rat won, I would not only spurn his cash; dear gods, if he was given the post, I would be joining Theon in an oleander snack. I knew the world was dirty. I just did not want to think it could be quite as depressing as that.

  XXVII

  Me being offered a bribe by a lawyer caused hilarity in my family. I warned Fulvius, Cassius, and – without much hope he would listen – my father, that this information ought to stay private. They all assured me such stories were only useful to businessmen if they could implicate someone who took a bribe. A mere offer was so commonplace it never counted.

  'Well, keep quiet anyway,' Helena instructed the three reprobates. They were lined up on a reading-couch like naughty schoolboys: Fulvius cleaning his nails prissily, Cassius neat and collected, Pa sprawled on one end with his head back against the cushions as if his neck ached. Travelling had finally affected him. His untidy grey curls seemed thinner. He actually looked tired. 'I don't want Marcus knocked down in the rush,' Helena continued, 'if all the candidates race to bring him presents.'

  'No presents! If I do it, I shall only be swayed by cash,' I said. 'I'm sick of tat. I don't want a bunch of unpleasant silver wine coolers with crass mottoes engraved on them; you can't rely on professors for taste. If gifts are to be lavished on our household, I want Helena to choose them.'

  The three magi debated my chances. Their opinion was that neither the astronomer nor the philosopher would be good for much; Cassius thought the philosopher was bound to give me a tunic in a hideous colour, like a trembly aunt of eighty-five, murmuring 'Here is a little something for yourself, dear.' (So Cassius had aunts, did he?)

  'This is philosophy at work? So ''Know yourself'' at Delphi means ''Know your best dress colour''?' Helena quipped. Fulvius, Cassius and Pa surveyed her, troubled by this advanced thinking.

  They reckoned the Zoo Keeper should have been a good bet, since he probably had income from people whose goats he cured as a sideline, but they knew Philadelphion was spending all his spare cash on his mistress.

  I quibbled at that: 'The impression I have of the supposedly luscious Roxana is that she is more giving than demanding.'

  'I've said it before,'' groaned my father. 'This boy is so innocent, I refuse to call him mine!'

  'Just because Marcus Didius has a nice nature, does not make him soft,' Albia reproved him. 'He needs to be an optimist. Many times he is the only honest man in a sea of filth.'

  That silenced even Pa.

  The banter continued through an early supper. My family are excellent at picking on some fool who has revealed a funny story that he ought to have concealed. They would never let go. The time the lawyer offered a bribe to Marcus was all set to become a classic festival favourite. That was not what made me restless. Knowing the shortlist for Theon's old post had been announced made me want to hear what everyone was saying at the Museion. Helena saw it. I never needed her permission to bunk off on work, but sometimes I held back and waited for her sanction, as a courtesy. Neither of us mentioned it out loud: she just tossed her head slightly and in return I winked at her. I slipped away discreetly. Albia saw it. The others didn't notice I was going.

  Uncle Fulvius was staying in. Business must be coming to him tonight. As I went downstairs, I passed a man going up. That was the difference in Egyptian town houses: a classic Roman home has a line of entry straight ahead from the porch, crossing the atrium if there is one. It offers a show-off vista from the street – and a certain degree of space and choice; you can go either way around the peristyle garden, for instance. Here, it was all vertical. Anyone coming or going used the stairs. That could work two ways. With a house full of guests, in the commotion you might manage to infiltrate an extra person unnoticed. But if the house guests were prone to milling about, there was no chance of receiving a secret visitor.

  So I not only saw the man, we exchanged nods. I pressed against the wall to give him room. He pulled his satchel in to avoid brushing against me, with his left arm clutched against the leather so I would not hear the money chink. He will have seen a good-looking foreigner, neutral tunic, Roman haircut, clean-shaven, pleasant manner, in command of himself. I saw a thickset trader-type, who did not meet my eye. Sometimes you know instinctively that whatever a man of commerce is selling, you do not want it.

  One of Fulvius' servants was waiting at the top of the stairs to shunt this man into a private side room, probably the same salon where they put Nicanor earlier. Lying below the family rooms, it had a couple of basic couches, a tripod table just large enough for a drinks tray, a rug you could buy anywhere and no ornaments worth stealing. I kept a room just like it in my own house in Rome. I used it for clients and witnesses, allowing them access to my home as a good patron traditionally did for trusted members of the public. I never trusted anyone. If they came out of the room and pretended they wanted to use the lavatory, a slave who always just happened to be in the corridor would 'show them the way'; he would just as helpfully show them the way back too.

  Downstairs, the courtyard porter saluted me obsequiously.

  I nodded after the visitor. 'Who was that?'

  'I know not his name. Fulvius knows?'

  'No doubt…' I had no intention of letting Fulvius see I had any interest. 'Is the palanquin here?'

  'You want Psaesis? Has gone. Here again tomorrow.'

  Typical.

  I half hoped the driver who took us to Lake Mareotis would be out in the street, even if he was still muttering with the dogged hanger-on Katutis. They were both missing. It must have been the first time since we arrived that I managed to leave home without being accosted.

  I walked to the Museion. It took me back to my early years as an informer, when I had walked everywhere. That was all I could afford then. My legs were older now, but held up.

  The wind was still whipping dust everywhere. There were plenty of people on the broad streets. Life in the Mediterranean is lived out of doors, on the pavement or at least on the thresholds of businesses. As I passed leather shops, furniture-makers, coppersmiths, I could see into lit interiors where families hung around. Wafts of grilled and roasted foods were borne on the restive gusts of the Khamseen. Dogs of all sizes enjoyed being part of the street life. So did cats, long lean creatures with pointed ears who were viewed as sacred creatures; I avoided them, lest I be like that Roman who killed a cat on the streets of Alexandria and not unexpectedly was torn to pieces by a mob.

  I missed my dog. She was left behind with my mother, but she would have loved sniffing around here. Mind you, taking Nux anywhere near the zoo would have been a nightmare. As for the revered Alexandrian cats, Nux would have added a few to the total of sacred pussies who needed to be mummified.

  Thinking about Nux kept me occupied until I reached the Museion complex. Here it was much quieter. The grandiose buildings had a spectral presence after dark. Their long white porticoes were poorly lit by trails of oil lamps at floor level, many of which had gone out. A few men strolled through the gardens, in small groups or alone. There was a sense of activity still carrying on, although real toil had been ended for most of those who lived here.

  This must have been the peaceful atmosphere when
Theon returned that night after dinner. His subdued steps may have been the only ones. The sound had been unusual enough to make the astronomer glance over from the observatory, though not so rare as to cause Zenon to continue watching once he saw it was just the Librarian. I wondered whether Theon had known or guessed that somebody had noticed him. I wondered if it gave him a sense of fellowship, or increased feelings of isolation. I wondered if he was going to meet someone.

  I retraced what must have been Theon's route. As I walked, I checked for oleander, but none of the bushes that adorned the walkways were of that type. It was our fault, then. Whether suicide or murder, he died because of his dinner garland. Finding out what happened was, therefore, my responsibility.

  When I came to the main door of the Great Library, the two enormous portals were securely locked. I turned away. That answered that question. There was bound to be a side door but admission would be monitored, or by special key.

  I walked slowly back down the porticoes towards the refectory. I was intending to try to find Aulus. If I was not allowed in, I would ask someone to go and look for him.

  There were people about. Sometimes I heard low voices talking, sometimes just a footfall. Once someone passed me and politely said good evening. Once or twice I heard others cross paths and greet each other in the same way. I was alone, however, when the commotion started.

  It was coming from the zoo. I heard voices shrieking for help in obvious hysteria. An elephant began trumpeting alarm. Other animals joined in. The human voices had seemed to be both male and female. As I started to run towards them, things changed, so for a few moments there was only a woman, screaming.

  And then silence.

  XXVIII

  I had no weapons. Who goes into a seat of learning armed to the teeth? All you expect to need are knowledge, clarity and the gift of irony.

  I managed to pick up a couple of oil lamps; their glimmer hardly lit the shadows and probably drew attention to me. I stood listening. The animals had ceased to trumpet, though I heard restless movements in their various enclosures and cages. Something had definitely disturbed them. They were listening too. They may have had a better idea of what had happened – or what could still happen, but with me doing the shouting – than I did. Like me, the agitated creatures all sounded certain they did not like the situation.

  I thought I heard a long rustle, close to me amongst nearby shrubs. I turned, but could see nothing. A purist might say I should have gone in among the foliage to investigate, but believe me, nobody with any imagination would.

  I started to explore the deserted paths. Everywhere lay in darkness. My lamps created a tiny circle of gloom. Beyond it, the blackness seemed all the more threatening. Part of the zoo's benign regime for the animals was to let the precious creatures have their natural amount of sleep. Not tonight, though. As time passed I could still hear them, awake and all apparently watching my progress. Or watching out for something else.

  The largest zoo in the world was indeed spectacularly big. Searching took ages. I forced myself to examine each area as best I could, in a hurry, in the dark. Whatever I was looking for, I knew would be obvious once I came across it. Those terrible shrieks had not been tipsy students larking about. Somebody had suffered terribly. Horror was still rippling along these deserted pathways with the wind that hoarded dust into patches like puddles against the raised kerbs. I thought I could smell blood.

  And still I fancied I could hear something behind me, stalking. Every time I whipped around, the noise stopped. If this was Rome, I would walk casually around a corner and lie in wait, holding my knife ready. No; if I had been on a street, let's be honest, I would have nipped into the nearest bar and hoped the fear would go away while I downed a beaker.

  I had no knife this evening. There was no handy street corner and no bar. What I did find, quite suddenly, was half a dead goat.

  It was lying on the path. It had been butchered – skinned and beheaded. The bisection was neat. There was a long rope tied around the half-carcass, stretched out along the path as though someone had towed the meat from a very safe distance. The bloody lure lay close beside a gate. That was damaged and stood wide open. The gate was supposed to close off the fencing where my two little girls had clambered, when they were trying to see down into the deep pit where Sobek, the crocodile, lived. Just inside the broken gate a long earthen ramp started, which gave the keepers access to him. At the bottom there was probably another gate. I felt sure now that if I went right down the ramp I would find that open too.

  I did not bother. I knew the crocodile was not at home. He had left his compound. Sobek was now out here with me.

  XXIX

  I could not see him, but I reckoned he had me under very close observation.

  I did wonder briefly why Sobek had not snapped up his half a goat. Perhaps something tastier was on offer. Now it could be me.

  I gathered up the rope in loops and towed the meat with me. I have had better luggage. I kept remembering stories Philadelphion had told to thrill my daughters: Nile crocodiles' persistence when trailing a victim; their great speed on land when they rose up on their legs and started running; their wiliness; their colossal strength; their vicious killing power.

  Soon I found what Sobek really liked for dinner. The next horror lying in my path was a man's body – though only part of it. Chunks of the corpse had been torn off. There was a lot of blood, so he had been alive during some of the agony. Sobek must have ripped off and gulped down the missing pieces. I wondered why he had left the feast. I guessed he would return for his prey as soon as his reptilian stomach rumbled. He had just gone to catch more.

  Ominous scrapes and rustles still sounded close by in the darkness. The mighty beast must be circling around me. I thought of scrambling up the fence but Philadelphion had told us they kept Sobek in a pit because he could climb short distances. He was such a size he could certainly rear up quite high.

  Then I heard a new noise – different, human, disconcerting.

  I stared around, but saw nobody. Still, I had definitely heard a subdued whimper. My voice was hoarse: 'Who's there? Where are you?'

  'Up here… Help me, please!'

  I looked up as instructed, and saw a distraught woman.

  She was halfway up a date palm tree. Sheer fright must have propelled her up the tree; she had her arms and legs clasped desperately around the trunk, in the way boys shin up to collect fruit bunches, and was clinging on for dear life.

  'All right – I'm here.' Not much comfort if she saw how scared I was. 'Can you hang on?'

  'Not any longer!'

  'Right.' I assumed she knew the crocodile was still about. No point stating the obvious. 'Can you slither down?'

  She could; in fact, at that moment her strength gave way, her grip on the trunk failed and she tumbled to ground level, landing at my feet. I helped her up, like a polite informer. She threw herself into my arms. It does happen.

  Fortunately I still had one oil lamp, which facilitated a discreet inspection. My heart was pounding, but that was nervousness about Sobek. If she felt it, she was too distracted to notice. Her heart was pounding too – I could see it was, because her ruined gown had been flimsy in the first place; thanks to the hard stubs of palm trunk, her garments now hung in rags. She was covered with blood, where the sharp edges of vicious old leaf spurs had cut her. She must have disturbed insects as she fled up, and she may have known that palm trees are a favoured haunt of scorpions. None of that would have bothered her, because she had seen the part-eaten corpse that now lay at my feet. My guess was that the poor woman also witnessed exactly how the dead man had died.

  I would have wrapped her in a cloak for comfort and modesty, but on a warm night in Alexandria only wimps wear cloaks. I had not been expecting to rescue distressed women. She had, if it's relevant, dark eyes emphasised by cosmetics, masses of slithering dark hair that had come loose from various ivory hairpins, the figure of a still young woman who had never borne childre
n and who took care of herself, pleasant features and a winsome manner. Only one piece of information was missing; she supplied it: 'My name is Roxana.' No surprises. Well, she was running around the zoo at night, looking spruce. She was not bad now, in this terrified state, and must have been exquisite when she first set out. No doubt she came to the zoo to see her lover, Philadelphion.

  I understood why everything male at the Museion hankered for this beauty. Philadelphion, that silver-haired charmer, had all the luck. She was still young enough to be an extremely appealing prospect.

  'I am Falco. Marcus Didius Falco.'

  'Oh gods in heaven!' she squealed in alarm, and immediately started to shoot back up the tree.

  Olympus. My name may be ignoble, but it normally causes only mild contempt… But at once I realised what had caused her to scramble for safety. I too looked around madly for a refuge. There was only one palm tree, and since Roxana's strength had dwindled, she was not far enough up it this time to leave any room for me – not it I wanted to be out of reach of the giant jaws of the thirty-foot-long angry crocodile that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and was rushing at me.

  I whirled the goat on its rope, once, and chucked it. Sobek stopped to take a look. Then he decided I was better.

  We had been told of his enormous length, but I wouldn't volunteer to measure him with rulers. He stretched twice the distance of a fancy dining room, three times as long as mine at home. His four short, muscular, splayed legs had covered ground at a gallop in his first rush forwards; he looked happy to carry on at that speed if he had anyone to chase. I was not sure how long I could muster the same stamina -not long enough. When he opened his mouth, about sixty teeth adorned his yawn; they were all shapes and sizes, and all sharp-looking. The stench of his breath was terrible.