Alexandria Page 22

  Pastous did not want to tell us.

  'Don't worry,' I told Aulus conversationally. 'I can go out and buy a large hammer and drive nine-inch nails into the Director's head until Philetus sings.'

  'We could simply hammer nails into Pastous,' replied Aulus, who could be not-so-nice very easily. He was looking at the library assistant in a thoughtful way.

  'At one time,' Pastous confessed quickly, 'we thought Nibytas might be abusing his privileges and taking out scrolls.'

  'Taking them out?'

  'Concealing them. And not returning them.'

  'Theft? So you called in the soldiers!' I snapped. The assistant looked flustered, but nodded. 'What happened?'

  'The matter was dropped.'

  'Why?'

  'Only Theon knew.'

  'Useful!' I cracked out. I stared at the table where the old scholar had worked. The litter of written material was almost a foot high, all over the surface. 'Why would he need to steal books, when he was allowed to have so many here to work with - and obviously to keep them for a long time?'

  Pastous lifted his shoulders in a shrug, raising both hands helplessly. 'Some people cannot help themselves,' he whispered. He addressed the issue sympathetically, however much he deplored it. Then he suggested to us, also in a low voice, 'You might perhaps look at the room where Nibytas lived.'

  Aulus and I had both relaxed. 'Know where it is? Can you show us - discreetly?' Pastous willingly agreed to take us.

  On the way out we gave instructions that the end of the great hall should be roped off. Anyone who wanted and who was made of stern stuff was free to work in the other area. After listing them, Pastous would return all the borrowed library scrolls to their proper places; I asked him to gather up all the notes Nibytas had made and save this material. Undertakers should be called in to collect the body; if they were asked to bring the necessary equipment, they would clean up. They would know how to do it properly and how to sanitise the area.

  I knew ways to get rid of inconvenient corpses, but my ways were crude.

  We walked to the dormitory hall in subdued mood. Nobody spoke until we got there. A porter let us in. He did not seem surprised that officialdom had come with heavy steps to Nibytas' quarters.

  The main building had splendid communal spaces in the marble-clad pharaonic style. Beyond were pleasant living quarters. Each scholar was assigned an individual cell where he could retreat to read, sleep, write or pass the time thinking of lovers, brooding on enemies or munching raisins. If he chose to munch pistachios instead, a cleaner would remove the shells the next day for him. These rooms were small, but furnished with what looked like comfortable beds, X-form stools, rugs on the floor to step on in the morning when barefoot, simple cupboards and whatever jugs, oil lamps, pictures, cloaks, slippers or sunhats each man chose to import for his personal comfort and identity. In a military camp it would be all weapons and hunting trophies; here, when the porter proudly showed us several of the bedrooms, we were more likely to see a miniature sundial or bust of a bearded poet. Homer was popular. That's because scholars at the Museion were sent their poets' busts as presents from loving little nieces or nephews; statuette-makers always make lots of Homers. Nobody knows what Homer looked like, as Aulus pointed out; he was inclined to be pedantic on Greek matters. I explained that the statuette-makers liked us not knowing, since nobody could criticise their work.

  There were scroll boxes and loose scrolls in most scholars' rooms. One or two fancy boxes, or a small mound of assorted documents. As you would expect. They were personal possessions, their prized works.

  The room used by Nibytas was different. It had a sour smell and a dusty air; we were told he refused ever to admit the cleaner. He had been there so long, his cantankerous ways were tolerated just because they always had been. The housekeeper could not face an argument, especially since the authorities were bound to cave in. Nibytas had got away with it for too long, and was too old to be taken in hand.

  We knew in advance he had been an eccentric. Just how eccentric only became obvious when the porter found the door key. He had to go away and hunt for it, because Nibytas had been so adamant he would never have people in his room to spy on him.

  The room was absolutely full of stolen scrolls. It was so full, it was difficult to see the bed; there were more scrolls under that bed. Nibytas had amassed scrolls in papyrus stalagmites. He had lined the walls with shoulder-high ramparts. Scrolls were piled in the window recess. We had to carry those out to the corridor, to let in some light. When I opened the shutters, so fresh air would clear the turgid atmosphere, I put my hand through enough spiders' webs to staunch a deep spear wound.

  We must have been the first people into that room, apart from Nibytas, for decades. When Pastous saw the hoard of stolen property, he let out a small, piteous cry. He went on his knees to examine the nearest mound of scrolls, blowing off dust tenderly and lifting them to show me that they all bore end-tags from the Great Library. He clambered upright and darted about, discovering others from the Serapeion, even a small number he thought might have been lifted from scroll shops. The regime under Timosthenes must be stricter than that at the Great Library, while commercial premises are strictly geared to preventing loss of stock.

  'Why would he have all these scrolls, Pastous? He cannot have been selling them.'

  'He just wanted to possess them. He wanted them close to him. They cover all subjects, Falco - he cannot have been reading them. It seems Nibytas just crazily removed scrolls, as and when he could.'

  'Theon suspected he might be doing this?'

  'We all feared so, but were never sure. We never caught him at it. We never thought it could be on such a scale...'

  'Nibytas had reached the agenda of the Academic Board, though.'

  'Is that so?'

  'This very week.' For a long time, probably, but Philetus ducked out of discussing the sensitive issue.

  'There was always uncertainty about how we could tackle the old man. We never managed to witness him taking a scroll. He must have been very clever.'

  'It seems he had years of practice!' chortled Aulus.

  'Was he ever confronted at all?' I asked.

  'Theon had a word once. He got nowhere. Nibytas denied it and got very upset at being challenged.'

  'So who brought it to the attention of the Academic Board?' Pastous thought. 'I think that must have been Theon.' The Academic Board were shrinking from it, under Philetus' strong leadership, but Nibytas would not have known that. If he believed the game was up, he must have been in turmoil. He would have been facing not just the penalty for theft, but public and academic disgrace. I guessed the biggest threat to him would be that of being debarred from the Great Library. Where would he go? How would he survive without the financial support of the Museion and the stimulus he found in his fanatical work? His life's study would have been terminated, doomed to remain unfinished. His future existence would have held little meaning.

  One thing was clear. That threat would have provided Nibytas with a motive for killing Theon.

  XXXVI

  Aulus and I went home. The old man's sad life and death depressed Aulus, especially as he was still brooding about his friend so much. First I took him to a congenial bath house I had discovered near my uncle's house. We were early, so it was fairly quiet. A noisy group of stall-holders arrived almost the same time as us; you learn to hang back and let such a crowd go ahead. They did not linger; they were cleaning up after a day's work and were eager for home - or, for the ones who had to moonlight for financial survival, their next job.

  We sat for a long time in the steam room. Aulus was working through his unhappiness. I was content to be left alone to think.

  I was not surprised when eventually Aulus took up an almost oratorical posture: 'Marcus Didius, I am trying to decide whether to say something.'

  'My normal rule in such circumstances is: don't speak out.' I allowed a slow beat. 'Though unless you say what you are on about, now you
'll drive me mad.'

  'Heras.'

  'I thought it might be.'

  Being Aulus, once he decided to broach it, he went ahead doggedly. 'I knew that he was going to the zoo.' He screwed up his face. 'Actually, I knew he had an assignation. Heras was not there by coincidence. He had told me in advance, he was meeting Roxana.'

  ''They cannot have known I would be there with that boy'' . . .That had slipped out under stress. Roxana would deny any prior association with Heras if we tackled her.

  Thoughtfully, I drew a breath. Aulus scooped up cold water and let it trickle down his chest. I rubbed my eyes, massaging my forehead with my fingers. 'So Heras fancied her. What did he tell you?'

  'He had a heavy crush.'

  'You warned him off?'

  'I had never seen the woman. I didn't even know Heras himself all that well.'

  'But you could see the potential for trouble? A student trying to take up with a senior academic's floozy? At the very least, Roxana was going to dump him hard, and sooner rather than later.'

  Aulus smiled drily. He understood. He stood on the brink of greater maturity than Heras had possessed, though close enough to appreciate his friend's innocent hopes. 'I thought he was in for a let-down. I never imagined she would even show up...' I had taught Aulus something then. 'Heras said Roxana had always ignored him, but that day he had met her earlier and she had seemed restless; Heras tried his luck; she led him on. He begged to see her. She promised to meet him at the zoo.'

  'Seems amazing. I've seen her, Aulus. This is a pert, rich widow, in her middle thirties, courted by all sorts of eminent professors.'

  'I agree. Heras, poor fool, believed she had suddenly found him attractive. I thought,' said Aulus glumly, 'she must have had a row with Philadelphion.'

  'Then you are my kind of cynic ... So choosing the zoo for a secret liaison could have been a sweet act of revenge?'

  I hated this kind of affair. Roxana saw Heras as a boy - and the selfish madam was about to make him a boy with a broken heart. Deliberate cruelty. Why did she need to do that?

  'Heras was aware she wanted to make Philadelphion jealous. She made no secret of that.'

  'What? Did she intend Philadelphion to come across them in each other's arms, while he was doing his nightly rounds?'

  'Heras just thought his luck was in, so he didn't ask. He was so happy he didn't care.'

  I remembered how solicitous Philadelphion had been to Roxana when he came upon the scene. I bet he took charge of her so firmly that night so he could get her away from other people and ensure she told the story he wanted. Until now, I had been imagining he was afraid of awkward questions about the lapse of security at Sobek's compound. But his solicitations could have been more personal. Why was Roxana so annoyed with him in the first place?

  'There's a lesson, my boy,' I told the downcast Camillus Aelianus. 'Stay away from fancy women.'

  'Like you do, Falco?'

  'Absolutely.'

  All the same, when we went to Uncle Fulvius' house, I left him to talk to Albia while I bounded up the stairs to the roof, all too eager to see my fancy woman.

  Late afternoon was verging on early evening. Across the bay, the Pharos was still hidden in the mist. The day's heat was just beginning to alleviate up here; it would be a wonderful night to eat out of doors with my family. Helena was relaxing in the shade. Favonia, our solemn, private one, was asleep alongside, pushing against her mother like a small dog, while Julia, our imaginative spirit, was playing quietly by herself, some long absorbing game that involved flowers, pebbles and intense conversations in her secret language. I ruffled her hair; Julia scowled at the interruption, half unaware she had done so but also half conscious that this was the father she tolerated. Father, the source of treats, tickles, stories and excursions; Father, who would kiss bruises better and mend broken dolls. Father, who in a few years could be blamed, cursed, despised for fuddy-duddyness, hated for meanness, criticised and quarrelled with, then nonetheless called upon to get her out of scrapes, pickles and the inevitable love disaster with the lying wine waiter...

  Helena Justina raised a hand vaguely. Helena was doing what she liked most, apart from private times with me. She was reading a scroll. It might be from her luggage; she could have been out and bought it. Or, since she got through so many, it was just as likely she had borrowed this one from a library in Alexandria. She looked up, saw me dreaming sentimentally, then escaped back hurriedly into the scroll.

  I sat nearby, content to be among my own, not disturbing them.

  XXXVII

  Mammius and Cotius came to see me next morning. Being soldiers, they had been up and about since dawn. They made sure they arrived while we were eating. They had already been fed at their barracks, but I knew the rules. I let them sit down for a second breakfast. Uncle Fulvius was never at ease with the military, so he escaped with Cassius. Pa stuck it out annoyingly. He had a way of listening in on private conversations that made my bile rise.

  In return for our food and a sit-down, the lads would have told me anything. I suggested they stick to facts, however.

  The centurion Tenax had sent them, following his conversation with me, because they were the pair who had responded to a request from the Great Library six months ago. Theon had called them in. 'About lost scrolls?'

  Yes, but to my surprise, it was nothing to do with the eccentric old scholar Nibytas.

  'Never heard of him. This was a strange upset. A heap of stuff from the Library had been discovered by a member of the public on a neighbourhood rubbish dump. The Librarian had gone incandescent. If you like volcanic explosions, it was pretty to watch. Then we all trogged along to pull the dump apart -'

  Helena pulled a face. 'That cannot have been pleasant!'

  Mammius and Cotius, two born sensationalists, enjoyed themselves describing the joys of Egyptian rubbish dumps. Both passed over the ordinary mass of combs, hairpins, pot shards, pens and inkwells, oil lamps - with and without oil spillage - the occasional perfect winecup, many an amphora, even more jars of fish-pickle, old clothes, broken brooches, single ear-rings, solo shoes, dice and shellfish detritus. They listed more eagerly the half-rotten vegetables and fish-ends, they spoke of bones, grease, gravy, mouldy cheese, dogshit and donkey-do, dead mice, dead babies and live babies' loincloths. They claimed to have unearthed a complete set of currency-counterfeiting implements, perhaps discarded by a coiner who had had a fit of conscience. They had barked their shins and grazed their knuckles on spars, bricks and bits of roof tile. Then there were layers of love letters, written curses, shopping lists, laundry lists, fish-wrappers and discarded pages from lesser-known Greek plays. Amongst these documents, which were clearly chucked out from private houses, had been a great jumble of tagged scrolls from the Library.

  'So how had those ended up in a dump?'

  'We never found out. Theon dug them back out himself, brushing off the dirt as if they were his personal treasures. He bundled them on handcarts from the Library and wheeled them back safely. To begin with everyone made a great fuss. There was supposed to be a full enquiry, but next day a message came for Tenax that the Librarian had uncovered what it was all about, so our intervention was not needed.'

  The thought of these two lumpish red tunics poking around the sacred cupboards of the Great Library, fingering the Pinakes with their stubby, filthy digits, then noisily shouting dumb questions at bemused scholars and fraught staff, told me just why Theon had dropped it officially. But had he then pursued this incident himself?

  'If venerable works have been walking off the shelves in murky circumstances, I can see, darling,' Helena suggested to me, 'why people at the Museion might have thought Vespasian was sending you to Alexandria to be an auditor.'

  'But Theon would have been well aware he had not bumped up the issue to imperial level. He hadn't requested an official recount.'

  'Is that what you do, Falco?' Mammius asked, all sceptical innocence. 'Go into places and count things?'

&
nbsp; 'Is it, Marcus?' Helena ate a roll stuffed with goat's cheese in an extremely mischievous manner. I would get her for that later. She was still thinking about Theon. 'He was the one who choked with horror when I asked him how many scrolls there were.'

  'Maybe he was very sensitive to criticism. Perhaps he was scared he would be blamed if other books had been lost ... So what did you think had been going on?' I asked the soldiers.

  They were just square-bashers. They had no idea.

  'Sounds like somebody weeded the cupboards and storage stacks without asking the Librarian first,' scoffed Aulus.

  'And the Librarian did not like their choice,' agreed Albia.

  I grunted. 'It sounds to me as if the Librarian asked some half-baked assistant to reshelve some outstanding returns that had been littering up the place for months. Instead of sorting out the mess, the assistant just filed the scroll mountain in the ''Not needed'' skip, to avoid doing any work.'