Alexandria Page 30

Helena and I led him in a quick march to his office. Philadelphion halted outside, as if reluctant to enter this scene of so many conversations and experiments, shared with his two assistants. 'I had known them since they were boys. I taught them all I knew...'

  'So you cannot explain why they were roving through the city in chase of Diogenes yesterday?' Helena asked gently.

  The handsome, silver-haired man looked at her sadly. 'No idea. Absolutely no idea . . . This business is incredible.'

  'It was all too real at the time!' I growled. 'Get a grip. I want to know what they had against the trader.'

  'I know very little about him, Falco -'

  'What would Chaereas and Chaeteas have to do with a scroll-seller?' Losing patience, I shoved Philadelphion on to a stool and loomed over him. 'Look, man - enough people have died in murky circumstances at the Museion! First your madcap pair were implicated in Sobek's release -'

  'Oh that was merely carelessness. They had their minds elsewhere - Roxana saw them standing by the crocodile enclosure talking together so earnestly they were not thinking properly about fastening the locks.'

  'Talking about what?' Helena asked.

  She deliberately used a mild tone and the Zoo Keeper answered, 'Their grandfather.' Immediately he looked as if he regretted it.

  'He had died? I remembered we had been told they were at a funeral, shortly after the Sobek tragedy. 'They were upset?'

  'No - no, Falco, they had not learned about their grandfather at that time -' Philadelphion was flapping his hands, apparently torturing himself.

  I gave him a slight shake. 'So what were they discussing so intently? Did the gorgeous Roxana eavesdrop?'

  'No, of course not.'

  'Still,' Helena helped me put on pressure, 'I think you know what the conversation was about. You must know what was troubling Chaereas and Chaeteas. You had a long relationship with them. When they had a problem, they would bring it to you.'

  'This is very difficult,' Philadelphion whimpered.

  'We understand.' Helena soothed him. Fortunately for him, I was too weary to wring his neck. 'I suppose they told you in confidence?'

  'They had to; it could have caused a great scandal . . .Yes, Helena Justina, you are correct. I know what was troubling my assistants - and troubling their grandfather.' Quite suddenly Philadelphion straightened up. We relaxed. He would tell us the story.

  At his best once again, he kept it succinct. Elements of this story sounded familiar. The two cousins' grandfather was a scholar who had been working m the Great Library; once, unobserved, he overheard the Museion Director arranging to sell library scrolls privately to Diogenes. The grandfather took the story to Theon, who had an inkling already of what was going on. Theon attempted to dissuade Philetus, with no success. Then Theon died. The grandfather was at a loss what to do, so he turned to his grandsons for advice.

  'Chaereas and Chaeteas told him to report it to you, Falco.'

  'He never did so.'

  'But you know?'

  'I found out myself. I really could have used this grandfather's testimony,' I complained. 'Who is he, or should I say, who was he?'

  Philadelphion looked astonished. 'Why he was Nibytas, Falco! Nibytas was my assistants' grandfather.'

  By this point, I was half expecting it. 'Nibytas? The ancient scholar, who died in the Library of old age?'

  Philadelphion pursed his lips. 'Chaereas and Chaeteas convinced themselves it was not old age that killed him. They were certain he was murdered - killed at his table by Diogenes to stop him speaking out.'

  'Evidence?'

  'None.'

  'Dodgy!'

  Philadelphion agreed. 'I was sure they were wrong. They agitated for me to conduct a necropsy, but - as I believe you know, Falco - the body was too decomposed. The funeral had to be held the next day; mummification was impossible.'

  'So what form did burial take?'

  'Cremation.' Damn. 'Only solution,' Philadelphion told us tersely. As a man who lived with animals, he was unsentimental.

  We were all silent, then, as we thought about those two bereaved men: how Chaereas and Chaeteas must have become increasingly disturbed, going over what they believed had happened to Nibytas and fretting that nobody else, not even Philadelphion, would help them to expose the truth. I wished they had consulted me. Instead, they conspired to exact revenge themselves. Hence the way they chased down Diogenes last night - and his real fear of them, because he undoubtedly knew why they had come for him.

  If they were wrong, the two cousins had driven a man to his death prematurely. Diogenes may have been engaged in criminal activities, but we had laws to deal with that. Chaeteas himself had died on the tower pointlessly. Chaereas, who presumably knew about his cousin's fatal fall, was now a fugitive.

  'Where may Chaereas have gone?' asked Helena. Philadelphion shrugged.

  'They had connections in Rhakotis? Or would he flee to the desert?' I persisted.

  'To some family farm, more likely,' Philadelphion now replied sadly. 'He will hide up until he believes you have left Egypt and the matter of the scrolls has been resolved.'

  'He could give a statement,' I barked. 'Chaereas could ensure that his grandfather and cousin did not die in vain. What Nibytas overheard would be third hand, but it could weigh the balance against Philetus. He is slippery and powerful -'

  'Undeservedly powerful!' That was Helena, who had no tolerance for greed. 'Will you tackle Philetus, Marcus?'

  I shook my head. 'I want all my lines clear first.'

  The Zoo Keeper volunteered, 'Philetus knows what has happened to Diogenes.'

  I could live with that. It might panic the bastard. With Pastous in safe hiding and me keeping mum about my last night's adventures, the Director would struggle to discover details. He would not be sure just how much of his malpractice was known. Soldiers were looking for the box-maker, using what I could remember about his whereabouts. They would also search for the second cartload of scrolls, while Aulus had, with luck, now retrieved the first. I would quarantine Fulvius and Pa. The Director was about to find himself very much alone.

  'I'll come to Philetus as soon as I am ready. Let him sweat.'

  LIII

  Next, I wanted to see Zenon. Helena was tired, feeling the weight of her pregnancy and delayed effects of her anxiety about me yesterday. She stayed sitting on a shaded bench in the gardens, gently fanning herself, while I went up to the observatory alone. I climbed the stairs very slowly as my thighs and knees protested about yet more mountaineering. It would take me days to recover. I was hoping the astronomer would be pleasant and not try anything physical.

  As I concentrated on my climb, the light was blocked out. A huge man was coming down towards me. I paused politely at a landing. The last time I squeezed past a stranger on a flight of stairs, it was Diogenes; that thought now gave me goose-pimples.

  'Falco! Why, it is Didius Falco! Do you remember me?'

  Not a stranger. Instead, a terrifically overweight figure; I looked up and recognised him. Worldly, sophisticated and just a touch devious, he must be the largest doctor practising anywhere in the Empire - all the more ironic since his method was to recommend purges, emetics and fasting.

  His name was Aedemon. After twenty years addressing the putrefying innards of credulous Romans, he had agreed to be recalled to his home town, to serve on the Board of the Museion. At the meeting we went to, we had heard he was coming. It must be a genteel retirement for a well-respected professional. He could teach occasionally, write learned papers in staccato medical prose, revisit friends and family he had not seen for years and criticise from a distance the bad habits of his former patients.

  After exclaiming over this chance meeting with genuine pleasure, Aedemon's next remark was that I looked in need of a laxative.

  I felt a big grin spread across my face. 'Oh it makes a change, a wonderful change, Aedemon, to meet an academic with a practical attitude!'

  'The rest are whimsical slobs,' he agreed a
t once. Helena and I had liked him. 'They need me to line them up and dispense wild lettuce and common sense.'

  I gave Aedemon six months, then the inertia and in-fighting would wear him down - but I did trust him to have a good stint first.

  We were still on the stairs. Aedemon had wedged his tremendous backside against the wall for support while we chatted. I hoped that wall was well built. 'What were you doing up aloft, doc? Do you know the starry-eyed Zenon, or did he call you for a consultation?'

  'Old friends.Though his yellow bile needs correcting. I want him on a strict regime to cure that choler of his.'

  'Now listen,' I said. 'I trust you, Aedemon - so tell me, please, can I trust Zenon?'

  'Absolutely straight, 'Aedemon responded. 'His bodily humour means he is prone to bad temper - but equally, he is of impeccable moral virtue. What did you suspect he had done?'

  'On your say-so - nothing!'

  'Well you can trust him with your life, Falco.'

  'He tried to throw me off the roof I reported mildly.

  'He won't do it again,' Aedemon assured me. 'Not now. I've put him on a regular decoction of myrrh to cleanse his rotting intestines - and I am about to prepare his personal regime of ritual chants.'

  This mystic lore hardly fitted with the pure science that Zenon had always protested, but friendship can overturn many barriers.

  'He will be farting too much to lose that temper, 'Aedemon confided in me - with a rather wide grin.

  As we were about to part, I asked, 'Did you know the late Librarian, Theon?'

  Aedemon must have heard what had happened. Maybe Zenon had just told him. The big physician looked sorrowful. 'I met Theon many years ago. Now he was a black bile man. Morose. Irritable. Prone to lack of confidence. A sink of putrid matter clogging him.'

  'Suicidal?'

  'Oh, easily!Especially if he had been thwarted.'

  Regularly, by Philetus, for instance.

  Even without a purge or emetic, I felt inspired as I went up to the roof.

  The astronomer, that man of few words, turned away on principle.

  'Just one question, Zenon. Please just answer one for me: has Philetus been injecting cash into the Museion's funds?'

  'No, Falco.'

  'No money has been realised from selling Library scrolls?'

  'You had your one question.'

  'Aedemon calls you a pillar of morality. Humour me. Don't be pointlessly pedantic. Confirm the supplementary, please.'

  'As I said - no. The Director has not boosted our accounts with income from his secret scroll-selling. I've been waiting to receive it - but he keeps the money himself.'

  'Thank you,' I said sweetly.

  Zenon smiled. I took it as encouragement for my enquiries. Aedemon's cure must already be working. Or had the celestial stars and planets foretold to Zenon that the downfall of Philetus might be imminent?

  The Director was about to bring doom on himself. Just at that moment we spotted from the observatory roof a column of alarming black smoke. Zenon and I were horrified. The Great Library was on fire.

  LIV

  The emergency loosened up my stiff joints and sinews. I made it down the stairs ahead of Zenon, then we raced to the Library in tandem. We pounded into the main hall, but everywhere seemed clear. Readers looked up from their scrolls and glared at us for disturbing them with indecorous behaviour. So far at least, the famous monument was in no danger. We shouted 'Fire!' to alert the assistants. If the fire spread from its seat - wherever that was - we knew the peaceful atmosphere could change in moments.

  We rushed back outside. We could smell the smoke, but not see it. Scooping up the young scholars who always loitered in the portico, we hurried around the main block to the utility area where I had been yesterday. The fire was in the very building where Diogenes' scrolls had been stored, prior to removal. The Khamseen was blowing today, which unsettled us and fanned the flames.

  A crowd had gathered, watching dopily. Zenon and I mobilised those who looked handy, instructing the rest to scram. With the helpers we had brought, we did what we could. The scholars responded well. They were young, fit and eager for practical experiments. They used their minds to devise sensible activities. Anything that could beat out flames was fetched quickly; some eager exhibitionists stripped off and used their tunics. Buckets were found - perhaps, like the fire platform at the Pharos, the Library had equipment stored in case of such an emergency. Its cleaners would have buckets too. Our lads soon organised a human chain to manhandle these after filling them at the great ornamental pool in the forecourt.

  They did well, but the Library was an enormous construction. Zenon muttered that the marble would not burn. I reckoned he was wrong. Even marble crumbles, if it becomes hot enough; the surface splits off, so flakes the size of dinner platters crash down. Even if we could save the building, this fire might be disastrous for its historic fabric.

  By the time buckets reached us, much of the water had sloshed out. The fire had taken hold, unnoticed, before we even started. Thick smoke impeded us. After yesterday, I was half unmanned by the heat, desperately trying to ensure that nobody was burned. The hideous spectre of the badly disfigured Diogenes swam in visions before me as I worked.

  We were losing the battle. Any moment now, the flames would break through the workshop roof. Once that went up, fire would leap to other nearby buildings, carried over by the wind. Anyone who had seen a city blaze must have been aware we were on the brink of tragedy.

  I wished we were in Rome where we could call on the vigiles. Other cities in the Empire had no fire brigades; they were discouraged, since emperors feared allowing remote foreign provinces to run any semi-military organisations. If word reached the Prefect's palace, whatever soldiers were in Alexandria could come and help us, but most of the legionaries would be in their camp, outside the city. Any message would be too late. All we could expect were dregs. I sent a lad who had long legs to run for help anyway. If we were about to lose the Library, the news would rush around the world. Once the recriminations started to fly, official witnesses would be a benefit.

  Panic set in. Hopelessness quickly followed. The first bursts of youthful energy had run out. Our efforts were starting to seem pointless. We were tired and dirty, running with sweat and steam. The heat was beginning to drive us back.

  Zenon rallied the young men for one last strenuous attempt. I directed them where the flames were worst. The buckets kept coming but what we achieved was pitiful. We were close to exhaustion, barely managing to hold our own. Then, trundling through the glorious porticoes, I made out the dim outline of a large, unsteady cart. Double lines of straining young men towed it on hauling-ropes. As this cumbersome edifice emerged through the smoke and teetered on a corner, I was astonished to see that my own Helena Justina led the way. Seeing me, she cried, 'Marcus! I noticed this in one of the lecture halls. The engineering students were to have a demonstration - this is based on the siphon pump invented by Ctesibius, three hundred years ago, with modern modifications by Heron of Alexandria -'

  Nobody knew how to operate the beast. They had not heard their lecture yet. But my best friend in Rome, Lucius Petronius, worked with the vigiles. So I knew.

  Fortunately the water tank was full, in preparation for planned demonstration. This would be better. This was for real.

  We put up a couple of the most powerful students, one each end, where they had to work the two great levers of the rocker arm up and down on its central post.

  'Go steadily!' I ordered as they creaked into action far too fast. They soon mastered the right pace. The hosepipe turned on a universal joint; it could be adjusted in any direction. Directing the pipe gave no trouble to inquisitive, practical lads who had come to Alexandria hoping to become mad inventors. They all wanted to be the new Archimedes, or at best follow Heron, their mentor. As the rocker arm creaked and brought the two pistons into play, advice from me was unnecessary. They were soon spraying away with the hose nozzle as if they had just
come from a vigiles' training exercise in the Fourth Cohort's station yard. So, as the jealous boys on the bucket chain redoubled their efforts to compete in glory, I dared mouth to Zenon, 'We may be winning!'

  True to form, he made no answer.

  Eventually, the water tank on the siphon engine ran bone dry. But the blaze which had threatened to overwhelm us was now reduced to glowing embers. Buckets tell from numb hands as our helpers collapsed, completely played out. The young men lay on the ground, groaning loudly after their unaccustomed effort. Even those who practised athletics had been severely tested; I could see they were astonished at how depleted they felt. Zenon and I flopped on a stone bench, coughing.

  Helena Justina, fetchingly besmirched by smuts, sat on a small patch of grass, clutching her knees. Dreamily she lectured us: 'Ctesibius, the son of a barber, was the first head of the Museion. His inventions included an adjustable shaving mirror, which moved on a counterweight, but he is best known as the father of pneumatics. To him we owe the water organ, or hydraulis, and the most efficient version of the lawyer's water clock, or clepsydra. His work on force pumps enabled him to produce a jet of water, for use in a fountain or for lifting water from wells. He discovered the principle of the siphon, which we have had demonstrated with such good effect today! However, it may be said that setting fire to the Great Library was a drastic way to illustrate pumping principles. This empirical approach may have to be rethought in future.'