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  'Compiling an encyclopaedia, all the world's known animals. A bestiary.'

  'Everything,' elaborated Pastous in some awe, 'from the aigicampoi (Etruscan fish-tailed goats) and the pardalocampoi (Etruscan fish-tailed panthers), through the sphinx, the androsphinx, the phoenix, the centaur, the Cyclops, the hippocampus, triple-headed Cerberus, the bronze-hoofed bull, the Minotaur, the winged horse, the metallic Stymphalian birds right up to Typhon the winged, snake-legged giant.'

  'Not to mention,' added Aulus gloomily, 'Scylla, the human-cum-snake-cum-wolf hybrid, who has a snake's tail, twelve wolf legs, and six long-necked wolf heads.'

  'And no doubt the legendary catoblepas?' I could show off too.

  'Whatever that is,' Pastous confirmed, sounding as depressed as Aulus.

  'Most likely a gnu.'

  'A what?' Aulus looked scathing.

  'G-n-u.'

  'G-n-obody has ever seen one?'

  'G-n-ot as far as I know'

  Pastous remained serious. 'The old man's method is not acceptably scientific. Nibytas wrote a strange mixture; he included both true technical data and far-fetched nonsense. Made available to others, such a collection would be dangerous. The quality of the best parts would convince readers that they could trust the myths as factual.'

  'He evidently managed to pass himself off well,' Aulus said. 'He corresponded with scholars all over the educated world - even some old fellow called Plinius in Rome consulted him quite seriously, some friend of the Emperor's.'

  'We had better warn him off,' Helena suggested.

  'Do not be involved,' Pastous advised her, smiling. 'These dedicated scholars can be surprisingly unpleasant if you cross them.'

  'Did Nibytas ever snap?'

  'He became very worked up sometimes.'

  'Over what?' I asked.

  'Small things he felt were being organised badly. He had high standards, perhaps the standards of a past age.'

  'So he made complaints?'

  'Constantly. Perhaps he was right, but he would be so angry and he made so many complaints, in the end no one took him seriously'

  This made me thoughtful. 'Can you remember any of these complaints, Pastous? Who did he complain to, can you tell me that?'

  'The Librarian. He had been badgering Theon a lot recently, though I cannot tell you what about. I overheard an exchange, but it was only part of the conversation; I think they realised I was nearby and both of them dropped their voices. Nibytas, the old man, snorted fiercely ''I will go over your head about it, to the Director!'' Theon did not try to stop him; he just replied in a rather sad voice, ''Believe me, there will be no point.''' Pastous paused. 'Falco, is this important?'

  I could only shrug. 'Without knowing the subject, how can I say?'

  Helena leaned forwards. 'Pastous, would you say the Librarian was depressed about this conversation?'

  'He seemed in deepest gloom,' Pastous answered gravely. 'As if utterly defeated.'

  'He did not care?' asked Aulus.

  'No, Camillus Aelianus; I felt he cared very much. It was as if he thought to himself, let Nibytas make a fuss if he wanted. Dissuading Nibytas was too hard. Speaking to the Director would achieve nothing, but there was nothing to lose by it.'

  'Did you feel the Librarian himself might already have raised the subject - whatever it was - fruitlessly with Philetus?'

  Pastous considered. 'Very likely, Falco.'

  I picked my teeth discreetly. 'I saw Philetus earlier today, leaving the Library. Is it like him to make visits?'

  'Not in normal times - though since we lost the Librarian he comes along to see us. He walks around. He inspects the scrolls. He asks if there are any problems.'

  'You could say that was good practice!' Helena murmured, being fair.

  I scoffed. 'Or think he was up to something! What does inspecting the scrolls entail?'

  'Gazing at the shelves.Making little notes on a tablet. Asking what the staff believe are trick questions, to see if they are doing their jobs.'

  'How's that?'

  'He requests peculiar books - old works, material in unusual subjects - then when we produce them, he just makes one of his notes and sends them back to be reshelved.'

  'Hmm. Pastous, what do you know of a man called Diogenes?'

  Before he answered, Pastous laid his knife in his bowl and pushed the empty bowl away from him. He spoke very formally: 'I have had no dealings with this man. So I have nothing against him.'

  Aulus picked up on that, grinning slightly. 'But you think you ought to be suspicious!'

  Pastous smiled back. 'Should I?'

  I said, 'The first time I saw this Diogenes, I immediately felt I would not like what he did. Occasionally people have that effect. Sometimes, it is just unfortunate for them that they give such a bad impression -but sometimes the gut feeling they inspire is exactly right.'

  'Who is he?' asked Helena.

  'Philetus calls him as a scroll-seller.'

  'He buys too,' stated Pastous, with an air of infinite sadness. He had both palms against the edge of the table where we were sitting, while he stared at the board about a foot from his hands, not meeting anybody's eye.

  I let out a low whistle. Then I said, matching his regret, 'Don't tell me: he tries to buy scrolls from the Library?'

  'I have heard that, Falco.'

  'Theon used to give him the bum's rush - the Director sees it differently?'

  'Whatever Philetus is doing,' answered Pastous, his voice now extremely gentle, 'I have no idea. I am below the level at which such an important man would share his confidence.'

  He was a library administrator. His life there was quiet, orderly and on the whole free from anxiety or excitement. He worked with the world's knowledge, an abstract concept; it could cause dissension, though rarely to the extent of physical violence. If library staff ever see anyone attacked - and of course it must happen, for they are dealing with the public, a mad crew - it tends to be a sudden, inexplicable outburst from someone who is mentally unstable. Libraries do attract such people; they act as a refuge for them.

  But deliberate harm is almost never levelled at librarians. They know time-wasters, book thieves and ink-spilling desecraters of great works - but they are not targets for hit-men. It was all the more chilling, therefore, when this open, clearly honest man at last raised his eyes and looked at me directly.

  'There is one other thing I overheard, Didius Falco. I heard Theon give a warning to the old man: ''Take my advice and keep quiet. Not because these matters should be concealed - indeed, they should not, and I have tried to correct things. But whoever drops the white handkerchief to start this race, Nibytas my friend, needs to be a brave man. Whoever speaks out will be placing himself in the gravest danger.'' Falco, I cannot help remembering,' Pastous ended quietly, 'that both of the men who had that conversation are now dead.'

  We had a fine meal. I said afterwards, the proprietor must have been the library assistant's cousin, giving us special treatment.

  'No Falco; I am not specially known here,' Pastous replied seriously.

  XLII

  I handed Aulus cash to settle up for lunch, and led Pastous aside. 'Be very careful. Theon was right: speaking out against your superiors is always risky. I am very unhappy about what we are dealing with here.'

  If this Diogenes was involved in murky business, aided and encouraged by the Museion Director, and if both Theon and Nibytas had found out, that would explain much. Bad feeling, at the very least. But Philetus could well claim that as Director he had full authority to sell off scrolls if, in his judgement, they were no longer required. Who had the power to overrule him? Probably only the Emperor, and he was too far away.

  What was going on might be no more than sleazy. Philetus might be turfing out work by writers he personally hated, discredited material, outdated books that would never be looked at again. He might well call this routine housekeeping. Any difference of opinion on the philosophy behind it could resolve itself when they app
ointed a new Librarian. In any case, if weeding out works was decided to be more than just unorthodox, if it was deemed to be wrong, then Vespasian could issue a directive that no scrolls held at the Great Library were ever to be sold. Only one thing deterred me from making such a recommendation at once: the famously stingy Vespasian might like the idea. He was more likely to insist scrolls were sold in large numbers, with the money raised all sent to him in Rome.

  It could be assumed that if Philetus really was selling off scrolls to Diogenes, the income was used for the overall benefit of the Museion or the Library. But if Philetus was removing books on the sly and taking the money himself, that was different. It was theft, no question.

  Nobody had suggested that. Nobody had given me any proof of it either. But perhaps it never crossed their minds that a Director could do such a thing.

  There could be worse. Trouble about the scroll-selling could have led to foul play. We had two recent deaths at the Library. I would need the strongest kind of evidence to suggest a scroll fraud had caused them. Most people would guffaw at it. To proceed on my suspicions would mean going over the head of the Director, since he appeared to be involved. That meant taking matters to the Roman Prefect.

  I was not stupid. Unless I found proof, it was out of the question.

  I made Pastous promise simply to observe. If he saw Diogenes in the Great Library, he was quickly to alert Aulus or me. If the Director appeared again, Pastous was to watch surreptitiously what Philetus was doing, keeping a record of scrolls he asked to see.

  Aulus and Pastous went off to finish reading the old man's documents. I took Helena home to my uncle's house. I wanted to discuss with her, alone, the other aspect of this story: Diogenes was connected to Uncle Fulvius.

  'If Diogenes is a trader,' Helena mused, 'he could be involved in all sorts of commerce with numerous people. It doesn't follow that what he is doing at the Library also involves your uncle.'

  'No, and the sun never sets in the west.'

  'Marcus, we could ask Fulvius about it.'

  'The trouble with Fulvius is that even if he is completely innocent, he will give us a tricky answer on principle. And what am I to do, love, if I find out there is a scam - and a member of my own family is in it? Possibly more than one member.'

  'You are thinking of Cassius?'

  'No,' I said grimly. 'I meant Pa.'

  All three were out when we arrived home. That saved me having to tackle them.

  When they rolled in, we could tell they had all been at a very extended business lunch. We could hear them coming even before they wove unsteadily into the outer courtyard. Crossing it took about half an hour from when they staggered in through the gateway telling the porter that they loved him. All of them were extravagantly good-humoured, but almost incomprehensible. I had given myself the task of interrogating three elderly degenerates who had lost all reason, plus any semblance of manners or bladder control. We would be lucky if none of them suffered a stroke or a heart attack; even more lucky if no irate neighbours came to complain.

  What do pensioners do for vandalism? Write graffiti on a Temple of Isis in very neat Greek? Untie a row of donkeys then put them all back in the wrong places? Chase a great-granny up the street, threatening to give her a little kiss if they catch her?

  Pa was in the lead. He took a run at the stairs and managed to propel himself as far as the salon. He aimed at a couch, missed, landed face down on a pile of cushions and immediately fell asleep. Helena insisted we turned him on his side lest he suffocate. I poked him hard, just to be sure his sleep was genuine. For me, he could choke.

  Fulvius stumbled and fell down as he came up the stairs. This made him even more woozy, and there was a chance he had broken his leg, which had twisted awkwardly beneath him. Cassius spent a long time trying to get Fulvius first to their bedroom and then into, or at least on to, the bed. Fulvius was cursing and being unhelpful. Cassius was cursing back and, I think, weeping mildly. Various household slaves were watching goggle-eyed from doorways, always dodging out of sight the minute anyone invited them to lend assistance. I offered. Either nobody heard me in the kerfuffle, or nobody was capable of taking in what anybody else said.

  I removed to the roof with my family. We read Aesop's Fables to the children. Eventually we ran out of fables and just enjoyed the sun's last evening rays.

  Cassius had been, perhaps, the least intoxicated. Eventually, he joined us up there. He burbled a few apologies, interspersed with momentary snores. Somehow he got himself on to a daybed, while we all watched in silence.

  I walked downstairs. Fulvius and Pa were alive, but completely out of it. I rooted out the staff and politely requested a meal for those of us who were able to eat.

  Back on the roof, I sized up Cassius and decided he at least could answer questions. 'Good lunch?'

  'Ex-cell-ent!' He was so impressed with his enunciation, he continued to say the same thing several times.

  'Yes, I think we can see that.. .Were you with that trader, Diogenes?'

  Cassius squinted at me, though he was not in the sun. 'Diogenes?' he mumbled Wearily.

  'I heard Fulvius knows him.'

  'Ooh, Marcus...' Cassius was wagging his finger at me, as if he knew even through the drink that I had asked something forbidden. The finger wavered wildly, until he poked himself in the eye. Helena gathered up the children (who were fascinated by the extraordinary adult behaviour) and moved with them to the furthermost part of the roof terrace. Though she could be a disapproving little piece, Albia stayed with me. 'Have to ask Fulvius about that!' decreed Cassius, when he finished wiping his watering eye on his arm.

  'Yes, I will ... So did Diogenes give Fulvius a good deal then?'

  'Ex-cell-ent!' answered Cassius. Too late, he realised his mistake.

  Albia looked at me and shuddered. She was right. This was dire -the sight of a man in his fifties, hunching up and hiding his face behind his fingers while he giggled at us like a guilty schoolboy.

  XLIII

  Far be it from me to be self-righteous. The fact was, every generation hates the others to have fun. Human nature makes us deplore bad behaviour in the young - but bad behaviour in the old is just as grim. It was clear I would never get much sense from any of this intoxicated trio that evening, and by tomorrow, if they survived and started to sober up, they were unlikely to remember who they had been entertaining - or who had been entertaining them - let alone what anyone had said or what agreement they shook hands on.

  If I could persuade them to back out of the deal, that might be just as well.

  The rest of us had a subdued evening, as tends to happen when half a household has had a great adventure and the other half has not. I went to bed early. We all did. The girls were so good, Uncle Fulvius would be sorry to have missed it.

  Next morning, Helena and I woke gently, entwined in love but wary about what the day might bring. My family ate breakfast together, Helena and I, our daughters and Albia. There was no sign of our elders. Even if they had begun to come round and realised that a new dawn had broken, daylight would hurt, recollection would be fleeting and troublesome. If they had all come round, they probably decided to keep out of the way until they could compare notes. I had no doubt they would be unrepentant.

  Helena said she would take the girls out sightseeing. She would come home after lunch, to check on the debauchees, see if medical attention was required and try to get sense out of them.

  'You are a martyr to goodness.'

  'I am a Roman matron.'

  'She will give them a strong dressing-down,' suggested Albia, hopefully.

  I grinned. 'You can be there to watch, so you will know how to do it yourself, one day.'

  'I shall avoid sharing my house with wicked old men, Marcus Didius.'

  'Don't say that. You never know what Fortune will dump on you.'

  'I can handle Fortune. Are you going to see Aulus?'

  'If Aulus is where I am going, I shall see him, certainly'


  'You have to make a riddle out of everything.'

  'So where exactly are you going, Marcus?' put in Helena.

  I told her I was starting at the Library. This business with the scrolls seemed the most profitable line to pursue. The episode with the crocodile seemed unconnected, probably just a domestic tiff gone hideously wrong. I said I expected to be home early, hoping to grill Fulvius and Pa about their involvement with Diogenes. But a lot was about to happen before I made good that promise.

  Helena thought events could be turning nasty; she wanted me to take a sword. I refused that, but I sharpened my knife to please her.