As I left the house, the muttering man leapt to his feet but I passed by him with an angry face and left him trailing. He dogged my footsteps, but I kept going. I stared ahead, and although for a while I fancied he had stayed behind me, by the time I reached the Museion I saw no more of him.
Pastous was in the Library, but not Aulus.
'Have you finished up?'
'Yes, Falco. There was nothing more of interest among the documents. In among the last batch we sorted, we found this.' He held up an object. 'It is the key to the Librarian's room.'
The lock had now been replaced but the diligent Pastous had rooted out the broken one. The key was portable, though heavy - made of brass, with a sphinx decoration. I tried it. Despite the damage to the lock, it turned in both directions. According to the assistant, Theon had found the key too cumbersome to carry about with him except when he left the building. When he was in attendance at the Library, he hung it outside the room on a discreet hook.
'So if he was working in his room, anyone could have come along and locked him in?'
'Why would they do that?' asked Pastous, who was something of a literalist. He had a point. 'But it was the Librarian's key - Nibytas should never have had it.' He looked troubled. 'Falco, does this mean that the old man may have killed Theon?'
I pursed my lips. 'As you just said - why would he do that? Tell me, when you overheard them arguing that time, did it sound as though Nibytas was very angry - so angry he might come back late at night and attack Theon?'
'Not at all. He went off grumbling to himself, but that was normal. We often had complaints from other readers that Nibytas made a noise, talking to himself. That was why he had been given a table at the far end of the room.'
'Old men do mumble.'
'Unfortunately, Nibytas gave the impression he was annoying on purpose.'
'Ah, old men do that too.'
I asked where Aulus had gone. Pastous' face clouded. As usual, he seemed ill-inclined to gossip, but concern drew the story out of him. 'A man came. Camillus was with me at the time. It was Hermias, the father of Heras, the young man who died in the zoo. Hermias has come to Alexandria to learn what happened to his son. He was extremely upset.'
'No doubt!'' I hoped the Director had had the sense to have the remains rapidly cremated, Roman-style. Philetus had told me he would write to the family in Naukratis, which was just under fifty miles to the south. The messenger must have travelled at speed; the father had dropped everything and rushed here just as fast, no doubt spurred by grief, anger and raging questions.
'Plenty of young men are grabbed by crocodiles along the Nile,' sighed Pastous, 'but the distraught father realises this should have been preventable.'
'Aulus and Heras had been friends, briefly. So did Aulus talk to the father?'
'Yes, I suggested they went into the Librarian's empty room. They were there a long time. I could hear Camillus Aelianus speaking quietly and kindly. The father was highly agitated when he arrived; Aulus must have calmed him. He is so impressive -' Aulus? I would like to tell Helena that strong verdict on her brother. 'When they came out, the father looked at least more resigned.'
'I hope Camillus did not reveal why Heras was there that night.'
'You mean Roxana? No, but after the father left, Aulus told me.' Pastous wore his anxious expression again. 'I hope you are not angry, Falco - Camillus Aelianus is a grown man. He makes his own decisions -'
Now I was nervous. 'He is an idiot sometimes... Cough up -what has Aulus Camillus done?'
'He has gone to see the woman,' said Pastous.
'Oh no! He has taken Hermias to her?'
'He is not that much of an idiot, Falco.'
This was far worse. 'He has gone on his own?'
Pastous looked demure. 'I do not visit such a person. Besides, I am on duty now. I cannot leave the Library'
XLIV
Finding Roxana's house again took a long while. The anonymity of her street and her building had me running around in circles. I kept asking directions from bemused locals, who were either deliberately awkward or failed to understand either my imperial Latin or my polite Greek. Everyone here spoke Alexandrian Greek, a bastard version that was heavily accented with Egyptian vowels and peppered with dialect vocabulary; they pretended not to understand the standard pronunciation that is beloved of Roman teachers. I was wary of using Latin; people could be hostile.
Everywhere looked the same: narrow streets with occasional little shops or artisan premises, street stalls, blank-walled houses. There seemed to be no distinguishing street furniture, no fountains, no statues. I rushed into two wrong apartments, frightening several groups of women, before I found the right place. It took so long, that by the time I was standing outside Roxana's place, wondering just what to say, Aulus walked out.
When he saw me he reddened. Bad news. I tried to pretend I had not noticed. I felt a deep need to discuss this situation with my best friend Petronius Longus, back home, safe in Rome. I would once have said, discuss it over a large drink, but the behaviour of my supposedly mature associates last night put me off that.
'Greetings, Aulus Camillus!' Delaying tactics.
'Greetings, Marcus Didius.' He seemed calm.
'If you have been to see Roxana, we shall need a heart-to-heart.'
'Why not?- A bar?'
'No thanks.' I might never drink again. 'I am suffering from a monumental hangover, in triplicate - not mine. I'll tell you later about that.'
Aulus raised his eyebrows gently. We chose a tiny caupona and ordered bread and goat's cheese. He asked for a beaker of fruit juice. I said I would manage with water. Even the waiter seemed surprised. He wiped the desert dust off a bench for us and brought us a complimentary dish of gherkins.
'So - tell me about Roxana, Aulus.'
'Don't look like that. There is nothing you need report to my mother.'
'It's your sister I'm scared of.' I bit in half one of the gherkins. They were so wizened I knew why the waiter was giving them away. I wondered how much Aulus knew about the time I was held responsible for their younger brother, Justinus falling in love ill-advisedly when we were out in Germany.
'Nothing to tell my sister either.'
The bread came.
'That's good. So the amorous Roxana did not try to seduce you -'
A slow grin crept across Aulus' face. It was rather unlike him. 'She tried.'
My heart sank. 'Titan's turds! - as my horrible father -would say. I do hope you rebuffed her boldly?'
'Would I not?' The cheese came.
'Wonderful! You are a good boy!'
Then Aulus Camillus Aelianus gave me a look that I found distinctly unreliable.
If we had any more conversation on this subject after the juice and water came, obviously it was in absolute confidence. So you will not hear it from me.
XLV
No, sorry, legate; I meant that. Absolutely sub rosa.
XLVI
Of course, although Aulus swore me to-secrecy, other people were not in on our bargain.
He and I ate our lunch. The anguish of Heras' father had deeply upset him; after he unburdened himself about that, I took him home with me to my uncle's house. There, matters had progressed - far enough for Cassius to have innocently owned up to Fulvius that he had admitted that Fulvius and Pa knew Diogenes. Helena informed me that immediate ructions blew up. Flouncing had occurred, together with angry words, horrible insults and loud door-slamming. Fulvius quarrelled with Cassius, then Pa woke up and quarrelled with Fulvius. All three had now gone to sulk in separate rooms.
'That should keep them under control temporarily. And what did you do, sweetheart?'
'I told you this morning; I am a Roman matron. I had purchased cabbages to cure their hangovers. So I made broth.'
'Did they have it?'
'No. They are all being stand-offish.'
Well, that suited Aulus and me. We took a couple of trays up on the roof together and tucked into the excellent
cabbage broth. Albia joined us. Still upset, Aulus described to Albia how he had had to face Hermias, the father of Heras. Amazingly, he then let slip how he upped and visited Roxana. If visiting her had been stupid, it was nothing to the folly of mentioning it to Albia.
More flouncing and door-slamming occurred.
In the midst of this hurricane, we had a visitor. Nicanor, the lawyer, had come for a legal confrontation with Aulus. This was when we discovered that details of our lad's interview with Roxana were no longer as secret as he wished.
When he went to her apartment, Aulus took it upon himself to inform Roxana just how distressed the father of the late Heras was. He had dwelt upon Hermias' grief, his desperate yearning for answers and his wish for compensation - all fully understandable, Aulus had maintained. Money could never replace Heras, a good, clever, hardworking son who had been loved by all - but recognition in a court of law that Heras died unlawfully would help assuage the parents' misery. Screwing the bolts as tight as he could, Aulus had announced that the bereaved father intended suing Roxana for luring Heras to his doom. The only possible deterrent, Aulus claimed, might be if she speedily co-operated with my enquiry and admitted everything about the night in question.
When Aulus and I had discussed it over our goat's cheese, we agreed this was first-class informing. The bluff was justified. (It was a bluff; Aulus had in fact persuaded Heras' father to go back sadly to Naukratis.) When dealing with unhelpful witnesses, small untruths that help to break them are acceptable, if not compulsory. Roxana had it coming. Putting the frighteners on her had results too: she did admit to Aulus that she had seen someone in the zoo that night, someone who must have been the murderer. Sadly, in the dark, she failed to recognise him - or so she maintained. According to her, her eyesight was poor.
Aulus and I had discussed whether we believed her. We put a marker to perhaps interrogate her again later. I reckoned she was holding out; for the right inducement, Roxana would suddenly find herself able to name the culprit after all. As a witness, her safety gave me some qualms. Still, Aulus had had the sense to warn her to tell no one that she saw the man. If the killer thought he had been identified, it could be dangerous.
I had congratulated Aulus on his diligent pursuance of our fine profession. What neither of us had expected was that once Aulus left (after whatever further formalities) (according to him, he never touched her), while brooding alone on her plump silken cushions, Roxana reconsidered her legal position. The ridiculous woman then bustled out and consulted Nicanor about the presumed compensation claim.
'She is not as intelligent as she thinks herself,' scoffed Helena. 'And she is far dimmer than all her lovers believe.'
Helena burst out with this denunciation in front of Nicanor.
As he turned puce, I said to him pleasantly, 'Don't be insulted. Technically, according to your own witness statement, you are not Roxana's lover - though I concede you may count as such, since so many other people have sworn that you wanted to be.'
The once-suave scholar threatened to burst a blood vessel. Emotions ran so high, he must have forgotten that I was supposed to have influence with the Prefect over the appointment he also coveted. 'You bastard, Falco! What are you implying?'
'Well, you are hardly suitable to give Roxana impartial advice.'
'I can tell her she is the victim of a trumped-up charge! I can warn her it was certainly made for duplicitous reasons - thus rendering invalid any evidence she was induced to provide to your asinine assistant.'
'Fear not,' said Aulus, with his ugliest senatorial sneer. 'The woman will never be made a witness. Any judge would denounce her as morally unreliable and - by her own admission - she is short-sighted.'
'She says you threatened her with Minas of Karystos!'
'I merely mentioned that the eminent Minas is my teacher.'
'Eminent? The man is a fraud. What's he teaching you?' jeered Nicanor. 'Fish-gutting?'
Apparently Minas had taught Aulus how to remain calm under brutal cross-examination. He smiled patiently and said nothing.
'She wants compensation,' Nicanor snarled. This just proved how muddle-headed it can be to set out on a legal course, even with the aim of squeezing a witness. One thing always leads to another. We had no time to mess about in lawcourts, and certainly no spare cash to cover it. 'For nervous stress, slander and wrongful accusation.'
'Of course,' mocked Aulus. 'And I shall make my counter-claim -for shock and bruises inflicted on a free Roman citizen's body, when the lecherous madam jumped me.'
'She what?' shrieked Helena, in big sister mode.
'She is shameless, but I fought her off-'
We then learned just how passionately the predatory Nicanor lusted for Roxana. He let out a roar, leapt from his seat, fell on the noble young Camillus, grabbed him around the throat and tried to throttle him.
XLVII
The commotion was so rowdy it drew Fulvius, Cassius and Pa from their hiding-places. They all recovered from their sulks enough to launch into the action, fists whirling. Aulus was outraged, so once I pulled Nicanor off I pinned down Aulus and tried to reason with him. No senator's son needs a reputation for fisticuffs, even if the fracas was not his fault. Being thought a bruiser might win votes in Rome, where the mulish electorate always goes for thugs, but we were in Alexandria where we would merely be despised as fractious foreigners. Aulus broke free of me at one point, but Helena backed him up against a wall with her well-used instruction: 'Remember, darling, we are guests!' He had socked me in the liver, but he was polite with her.
Nicanor also refused to be subdued, but was pushed around and abused verbally by the pensioner gang. They hustled him down the stairs in fits and starts, then bullied him until he did reluctantly capitulate. I said sternly that nobody was taking any legal action. 'Please remember, Nicanor, you have just proved yourself capable of violence to a young man who rejected Roxana's advances - so any jury will know what you might have done if you had caught Heras actually in her arms.' Pa sniggered. I think Nicanor was composed enough to hear me. To put us in the clear as non-aggressors, I sent the man away in my uncle's palanquin.
That was a mistake, as it meant the palanquin was missing when I needed it.
Fulvius, Cassius and Pa then realised how much their heads hurt. They all went to lie down, while Helena and Albia ministered to them with cabbage broth. I was in charge, so when a shy messenger came for Fulvius, it was to me that the lad reported, 'Diogenes is making your collection tonight as agreed.' Fortunately, he was as timid as a wood mouse and whispered in a nice quiet voice. Only I knew he was there.
I was unable to reconnoitre even with Aulus, or Fulvius and company would have known. Instead, I slipped out of the house discreetly, telling no one.
Of course the muttering man with the evil eye, Katutis, saw me leave.
The rendezvous was at the Museion. The shy boy had given me directions. Diogenes would be by the Library, not at the main building but a separate place alongside. Without transport, I had to walk there. I went fast. That was none too easy. It was evening; the streets were thronged with people, going home, going out, meeting friends or colleagues, just enjoying the atmosphere of this fabulous city. At this hour, the crowds were thicker than in daytime.
As usual, when I first set off I thought I was tailed by Katutis, though by the time I reached the Museion grounds, I had lost sight of him. There, strollers had gathered in considerable numbers, admiring the gardens and loitering in the colonnades. I saw members of the public, including a few young families, as well as men who were obviously scholars, none of whom I recognised. The heat of the day lingered just enough to keep things pleasant. The sky was still blue, though the richest depth of colour was about to be sucked out of it as the sun hovered, then sank out of sight below the buildings. Nothing in the world beats the atmosphere of a seafront Mediterranean city on a long fine evening; I could see that Alexandria was among the best.
I went to the Great Library. It was of course l
ocked up. Any faint hope of coming across Pastous faded. He would be long gone, home to wherever he lived and whatever life he had. I was on my own with this.
Behind the Library were various ancillary buildings; eventually I worked out which annexe had been described to me. It was of an age with the main reading rooms, though built on a considerably smaller scale and much less ornate. This must be either a scroll store or a workroom, perhaps where damage was repaired or cataloguing happened. I stood outside for a moment, watching and listening.
Here, at the back of the monumental complex and the elegant, formal grounds, hardly anybody was about. There were gravel paths and service rooms, delivery points and rubbish skips. If vagrants lurked in the Museion grounds at night, this would be where they bedded down. Not yet; it was still too early. Nor did the public come here. It was remote enough for loners or lovers, yet an unattractive venue. The quietness was unwelcoming, the isolation scary. I myself felt out of place, a trespasser.
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