Tenax wanted to know what had been served at dinner. Ca.s.sius told him and swore that we had all tried all the dishes and drinks. The rest of us were alive. Tenax listened and took minimal notes. 'Was the Librarian drunk?'

'No, no.' Ca.s.sius was rea.s.suring. 'He won't have died of overindulgence. Not from last night.'

'Any signs of violence?' I put in. I put in.

Tenax shut off. 'We are looking into that, sir.' I could not complain about his avoidance tactics. I never gave out unnecessary details to witnesses.

'So what's all this about a locked room?'

Tenax scowled, irritated that his men had talked. 'I am sure it will turn out to be immaterial.'

I smiled. 'Probably the key bounced out while they were battering down the door. It will have slithered under the floorboards -'

'Ah, if only the Library was not such a handsome building, with great slabs of marble everywhere!' Tenax muttered, with only the slightest hint of sarcasm.

'No gaps?'

'No b.l.o.o.d.y gaps that I could see, Falco.' He sounded glum.

'So apart from the locked door - which may of course have an innocent explanation - does this death look unnatural in any other way?'

'No. The man could have had a stroke or heart attack.'

'But now the scholars have raised the issue, you will have to come up with explanations? Or would the authorities like it discreetly hushed up?'

'I shall carry out a thorough investigation,' replied Tenax coldly.

'n.o.body is suggesting a cover-up!' oozed Fulvius. He then made it plain that unless there was a good reason for further questions, he was terminating the interview. 'You can rule us out. The man was alive when he left our house. Whatever happened to Theon must have happened at the Library, and if you couldn't find answers when you looked at the scene, it may be that there are none.'

The centurion sat staring at his note-tablet for a few moments, chewing his stylus. I felt sorry for him. I knew the scenario. Tenax had nothing to go on, no leads. The Prefect would never directly order him to drop the investigation, yet if he did drop it and there was an outcry, then he would get the blame, whilst if he carried on, he could not win either; his superiors would suggest he was time-wasting, over-pernickety and straining the budget. Still, some niggle kept him worrying at it.

He did eventually leave, and he took his soldiers, but there was unhappiness in the way he loped off. 'It would not surprise me if he leaves a watch on our house,' I said.

'No need!' Fulvius exclaimed. 'This is a city of suspicions - we already have official eyes on us.'

'That fellow who sits on the kerb outside, waiting to hara.s.s people?'

'Katutis? Oh no, he's harmless.' Oh no, he's harmless.'

'What is he? A poor peasant who sc.r.a.pes a living with offers of guiding visitors?'

'I think he comes from a temple,' said Fulvius offhandedly.

Well, now I knew I was in Egypt. You had not lived in this province until you were haunted by a sinister, muttering priest.

Another curse landed on me that afternoon. Fulvius must have given me a seriously ornate curriculum, which Tenax reported back to base. I was summoned to the Prefect's office. There, I was greeted as some kind of high-ranking imperial emissary; I was inspected by a senior flunkey, given hearty best wishes from the Prefect (though he did not emerge to impart these effusions himself) and asked to take over the investigation into Theon's death. It was put to me that if they brought in an imperial specialist, this would calm potential agitation among the Museion elite lest they imagine the matter was not being taken seriously.

I understood. My presence was handy. By making these arrangements, the Prefect and Roman authorities would look suitably concerned. The academics would be flattered by my presumed importance to Vespasian. If Vespasian heard I had been given the job, he he would be flattered that his agent was so well thought of (the authorities were wrong about his views on me, but I did not enlighten them). Best of all, for them, this had the makings of a tricky case. If I bungled it, an outsider would be carrying the blame. They would look as if they had tried their best. I would be the incompetent. would be flattered that his agent was so well thought of (the authorities were wrong about his views on me, but I did not enlighten them). Best of all, for them, this had the makings of a tricky case. If I bungled it, an outsider would be carrying the blame. They would look as if they had tried their best. I would be the incompetent.

On my return to the house Helena heard what had happened and smiled with huge, loving eyes. 'So, this is well up to your usual work, my darling?' She knew how to deflate my self-satisfaction with a hint of doubt. She sipped mint tea a little too thoughtfully. A silver bangle flashed on her arm; her eyes were just as bright. 'A ridiculous puzzle, with no obvious way to clear it up, and everybody else just standing by to watch you make a mess of it? Dare I ask what they are paying you?'

'The usual government rates - which means, I am just expected to be honoured that they place so much faith in me.'

She sighed. 'No fee?'

I sighed too. 'No fee. The Prefect a.s.sumes I am on a retainer already for whatever Vespasian sent me out here to do. His official did not ask what that was, incidentally'

Helena put down her tea bowl. 'So you said you were insulted by their offer?'

'No. I said I a.s.sumed they would pay my expenses, for which I claimed a large advance immediately.'

'How large?''

'Large enough to fund our private trip to the Pyramids, once I've sorted out this case.'

'Which you are confident you can?' asked Helena with her usual gentle courtesy.

I kissed her, with my normal air of bluff.

VII.

Aulus came in from the Museion, not long afterwards, eager to recite the strange fate of our dinner guest. He was annoyed that we already knew. He calmed down when I told him not to unbuckle his boots; he could come back out with me to inspect the crime scene. If it was a crime.

As a courtesy, Ca.s.sius had sent Theon home last night in the litter he and Fulvius used for getting about. Ca.s.sius now called up the bearers and we ordered them to take us to the Library, or as near as they could go, by the exactly same route. Retracing Theon s steps brought us no clues, but we convinced ourselves it was expert sleuthing. Well, it kept us out of the sun.

The head bearer, Psaesis, had a name that sounded like a spit but he was fairly pleasant for a man who was stuck with transporting rich foreigners to earn his bread and garlic. He spoke enough Greek to get by, so before we set out we asked him if the Librarian had seemed himself last night. Psaesis said Theon struck him as a little moody; in a world of his own, maybe. Aulus reckoned that sounded normal for a librarian.

My uncle's conveyance was a florid double palanquin with purple silk cushions and a heavily fringed canopy. It would have made pa.s.sengers feel like pampered potentates, had the bearers not been different heights so as they got up speed the unstable equipage rocked around wildly. Cornering was treacherous. We lost three cushions overboard as we clung on. This must be routine, because the bearers stopped to retrieve them almost before we shouted. When they dropped us off, they grinned triumphantly as if they thought filling us with terror was the point.

Aulus led the way. A thickset figure, he marched off boldly across the Museion grounds. He wore a white tunic, a stylish belt and expensive boots, all with the grace of a young man who believed himself a born leader - thereby persuading everyone else to treat him as if he was. I always marvelled how he did it. He had no sense of direction, yet he was the only man I knew who could lure road-sweepers into telling him the way without mischievously sending him straight to the local midden. As my a.s.sistant in Rome, he had been slapdash, ignorant, lazy and too well spoken, but when a case interested him, I had found he bucked up and became reliable.

Approaching thirty, Aulus had behind him all the necessary moments of hard drinking, unsuitable friends, loose women, flirtations with religion and dubious political offers; he must be ready to settle down into the same kind of pleasant life on the fringes of high society that his easygoing father led. Once he tired of study, Rome would welcome him back. He would have a few good friends and no other close a.s.sociates. Presumably a well-behaved wife would be found for him, some girl with a half-decent pedigree and an only slightly scathing att.i.tude to Aulus. She would run up bigger dress bills than the Camillus estates could cover, though Aulus was so inventive he would somehow cope.

I had no idea what kind of intellectual he was. Still, he had chosen to study, so he may have applied himself better than young men who are forcibly sent to Athens just to get them out of trouble in Rome. In Greece I had met his tutor, who seemed to think well of him, though Minas was worldly - a heavy drinker. He might say anything to keep his fees. How had Aulus become accredited to the Museion? Perhaps through sheer bluff.

'This centre,' said Aulus, disparaging the Egyptian jewel like a true Roman, 'was founded by the Ptolemies to enhance their dynasty. It is a huge learning complex that forms part of the royal district of Brucheion.' I had seen yesterday that the Palace and Museion complexes took up almost a third of the city - and it was a large city. Aulus continued briskly: 'Ptolemy Soter started it about three hundred and fifty years ago. A career soldier, Alexander's general - fancied himself as a historian. Hence his big ambition: not just to create a Temple of the Muses to glorify his culture and civilisation, but to have in it a Library which contained all the books in the known world. He wanted to be tops. He set out deliberately to rival Athens. Even the catalogue is a thing of wonder.'

Aulus had walked me through some of the gardens where Helena and I sauntered yesterday He did not stop to smell the flowers. He was athletic and moved fast. His guided tour was succinct: 'See the pleasant outside areas: cool pools, topiary, colonnades. Inside: marbled lecture halls with speakers' podia, rows of seats, elegant couches. Excellent acoustics for music and reading recitals. A communal refectory for the scholars -'

'Tried the food?'

'Lunch. Edible.' Edible.'

'Scholars don't come to pamper themselves, lad.'

'We have to feed our busy brains, though.'

'Hah! So what else have you found?'

''Theatre.Dissecting rooms. Observatory on the roof. The biggest zoo in the world.' This zoo made its presence felt. Any walk among the shady porticoes was orchestrated by disconcerting animal roars, squawks and bellows. They sounded quite close by.

'Why in Hades do scholars need a zoo?'

Camillus Aelia.n.u.s gave me a sad look. Clearly I was a barbarian. 'The Museion facilitates enquiry into how the world works. These beasts are not some rich man's trophies. They are gathered here deliberately for scientific study. The whole place, Falco, is intended to attract the best minds to Alexandria - while the Library -' we had reached that edifice - 'is designed to lure them most of all.'

It was arranged around three sides of yet another garden. At the centre of the lush green planting lay a long straight-sided rectangular pool. The limpid water drew the eye towards a grandiose main entrance. Two side wings rose up double height, with an even more stupendous main building that towered directly in front of us.

'So in there,' I mused, 'is all the knowledge in the world?'

'You bet, Falco.'

'The greatest scholars alive today gather to read there?'

''Best minds in the world.'

'Plus a dead man.'

'At least one,' answered Aulus, with a grin. 'Half the readers look embalmed. There could be other stiffs that n.o.body has noticed yet.'

'Ours had eaten an excellent meal in friendly company, with decent talk and enough good wine, yet he still wanted to bury himself in his workroom late that night, surrounded by the inert presence of hundreds of thousands of scrolls... Poor home life?'

'He was a librarian, Falco. No home life at all, most probably.'

We walked up to the imposing marble-clad entrance. Inevitably it was flanked by stupendous pillars. Both the Greeks and the Egyptians are superb at monumental pillars. Put them together and the Library had a heart-stopping, heavyweight porch and peristyle. Huge statues of Ptolemy Soter, the 'Saviour', flanked the entrance. Coins showed himas curly-haired and mature, thicker-set than Alexander - though he lived much longer; Ptolemy died at eighty-four whereas Alexander only made thirty-three. Polished in granite, Ptolemy was smooth and serene in the style of the Pharaohs, smiling, with the flaps of a traditional head-dress behind his long ears and the merest hint of eye makeup. Alexander's closest general, he was a Macedonian, a fellow-student of Aristotle, but in the big share-out after Alexander died he grabbed Egypt, which he ruled with respect for its ancient culture. Perhaps it was because Ptolemy was a Macedonian that he made it his mission to establish Alexandria as a rival to Athens, to spite the Greeks who viewed Macedonians as crude northern upstarts. curly-haired and mature, thicker-set than Alexander - though he lived much longer; Ptolemy died at eighty-four whereas Alexander only made thirty-three. Polished in granite, Ptolemy was smooth and serene in the style of the Pharaohs, smiling, with the flaps of a traditional head-dress behind his long ears and the merest hint of eye makeup. Alexander's closest general, he was a Macedonian, a fellow-student of Aristotle, but in the big share-out after Alexander died he grabbed Egypt, which he ruled with respect for its ancient culture. Perhaps it was because Ptolemy was a Macedonian that he made it his mission to establish Alexandria as a rival to Athens, to spite the Greeks who viewed Macedonians as crude northern upstarts.

So Ptolemy not only built a library to outdo those in Athens, but he stole the Athenians' books to put in it - 'borrowing' them to copy, then keeping the originals even though he had to forfeit his surety of fifteen gold talents. This tended to prove what the Athenians thought: a Macedonian was a man who did not care if he lost his deposit.

Demetrius Phalereus had built for Ptolemy one of the cultured world's great statement buildings. Oddly, its core material was brick. 'Cheapskates?'

'Helps air circulation. Protects the books.' Where did Aulus find that out? This was like him; whenever I condemned him as lackadaisical, he came out with some gem. The main library faced east; that, too, was better for the books, he said.

We craned up at enormous polished granite columns, topped by exquisitely carved capitals, florid in the Corinthian manner but earlier and with distinct Egyptian overtones. Around their mighty bases, cl.u.s.ters of off-duty readers littered the well-planned architecture in untidy groups - younger members of the academic world, all looking as if they were debating philosophical theories, but in tact discussing who had what to drink last night, and in what horrendous quant.i.ties.

Pa.s.sing through the shadow of the intimidating porch, we entered the grand hall. Our feet slowed reverently; the floor, made from enormous sheets of marble, was so highly polished it showed our blurred images. A pervert could look up your tunic; a narcissist could look up his own. I slowed down cautiously. The interior s.p.a.ce was enormous, sufficient to impart hush through size alone. Beautiful marble veneers cooled the air and calmed the spirits. A colossal statue of Athene as G.o.ddess of wisdom dominated the far wall, between two of the magnificent pillars that decorated the lofty lower area and supported the upper gallery. Behind this colonnade, which was repeated above with lighter pillars, were tall niches, each covered by panelled double doors.

These housed some of the books. Occasional open doors showed wide shelves of scrolls. The cupboards were set above a triple plinth; its steps ensured that anyone approaching the scrolls would be fully visible. Library staff could discreetly monitor who was consulting what valuable works.

The upper gallery was protected by elegant latticed banisters with gilded bosses. The lower floor had half-columns at intervals, bearing bearded busts of famous authors and intellectuals. Discreet plaques told us who they were. Many would have worked here in their day.

I laid a hand on Aulus' arm and we stood for a moment watching. This alone should have drawn attention to us, though no one seemed to notice. The scholars ignored activity around them. They worked at two rows of handsome tables running down each side of the great hall. Most were lost in concentration. Only a few talked; it caused a frisson frisson of irritation among the others. Some had mounds of scrolls on their tables, which gave the impression they were deeply involved in lengthy research - and also stopped anybody else trying to use the same table. of irritation among the others. Some had mounds of scrolls on their tables, which gave the impression they were deeply involved in lengthy research - and also stopped anybody else trying to use the same table.

Men came in and looked around for empty seats or for staff to fetch scrolls from store, but rarely did anybody gaze directly at other people. Without doubt, some of these blinkered types avoided being sociable; they crept around un.o.btrusively and were nervous if anybody spoke to them. Some, I thought, must be well-known, but I reckoned others liked anonymity. In most public buildings, everyone has a common interest: they work as a team on whatever the building exists for. Libraries are different. In libraries, each scholar toils privately on his thesis. n.o.body else need ever find out who a man is, or what his work entails.

I had used libraries. People condemn informers as low blockheads but I not only read for pleasure, I regularly consulted the records in Rome for my work. My main haunt was the Library of Asinius Pollio, Rome's oldest, where citizens' details are held - birth, marriage, citizenship status, death certificates and opened wills - but I had other favourites, such as the Library on the Porticus of Octavia, for general research or consulting maps. In just a few moments' stillness, I began to recognise familiar types. There was the man who talked long and loud, oblivious to the bad feeling he caused; the one who came and sat right next to someone else, even when there were plenty of free seats; the fidgety one who seemed to have no idea how much he rustled and clattered his stuff; the one making furious longhand notes with an extremely scratchy stylus; the one who breathed maddeningly.

Moving around quietly with requested scrolls were staff members doing a thankless task.

We had already encountered the students hanging around outside, those who never did any work but just came to meet their friends. Inside were the weirder scholars who only only came to work and consequently had no friends. Outside were the flighty souls who sat around discussing Greek adventure novels, dreaming that they could one day be authors of popular fiction, earning a fortune from a rich patron. Inside, I spotted the teachers who wished they could give it up just to be scholars. As a market gardener's grandson, I admit I hoped that somewhere lurked a brave soul who dared wonder if he would be happier and more useful if he went back to run his father's farm... Probably not. Why would anyone give up the fabled 'freedom from want and freedom from taxes' that scholars had enjoyed at Alexandria since the Ptolemies? came to work and consequently had no friends. Outside were the flighty souls who sat around discussing Greek adventure novels, dreaming that they could one day be authors of popular fiction, earning a fortune from a rich patron. Inside, I spotted the teachers who wished they could give it up just to be scholars. As a market gardener's grandson, I admit I hoped that somewhere lurked a brave soul who dared wonder if he would be happier and more useful if he went back to run his father's farm... Probably not. Why would anyone give up the fabled 'freedom from want and freedom from taxes' that scholars had enjoyed at Alexandria since the Ptolemies?

Theon had told us that although he worked in such a glorious place he was 'hara.s.sed at every turn'. I wondered if he was being chased by some number-crunching administrator who was trying to cut back funds. He had muttered against the Museion Director for undermining his kudos. From what I knew of public administration, he was also likely to have had an underling who saw it as his mission to disrupt. Inst.i.tutions always possess administrative creeps. Should there be any suggestion of foul play in the Librarian's death, I would be looking for whatever up-and-coming greaser had jealous eyes on Theon's job.

I sighed. If we had shouted 'Fire!' many of these beings would have looked up vaguely, then gone back to their reading.

I did not relish making enquiries here for witnesses.

Aulus was more impatient than me. He had collared a library a.s.sistant.

'I am Camillus Aelia.n.u.s just admitted to the Museion. This is Didius Falco, who has been asked by the Prefect to examine the death of your director, Theon.'

I noted that the a.s.sistant was unfazed. He was not disrespectful, but nor was he awed. He listened like an equal. He was about thirty, dark like a Syrian rather than an African, square face, curly hair cut short, wide eyes. He wore a plain, clean tunic and had mastered walking silently in his loose sandals.

Whatever we said here would be overheard by many, even though the readers were all keeping their heads down, apparently. I asked, 'If we are not interrupting, could you show us Theon's room?'

Unusually for public servants, library a.s.sistants believe they exist to help people find things. This one put down an armful of scrolls and led us off immediately. Once away from the audience, I got talking to him. His name was Pastous. He was one of the hyperetae, hyperetae, the staff who were responsible for registering and cla.s.sifying the books. the staff who were responsible for registering and cla.s.sifying the books.

'How do you cla.s.sify?' I asked, quietly making conversation as we crossed the mighty hall.

'By source, author and editor. Then each scroll is labelled to say it is mixed or unmixed - whether it contains several works or only one long one. Each is then listed in the Pinakes, which were begun by Callimachos.' He looked at me, uncertain how educated I might be. 'A great poet, who was once head of the Library.' Then each scroll is labelled to say it is mixed or unmixed - whether it contains several works or only one long one. Each is then listed in the Pinakes, which were begun by Callimachos.' He looked at me, uncertain how educated I might be. 'A great poet, who was once head of the Library.'

'Pinakes? This is your famous catalogue?' This is your famous catalogue?'

'Yes, the tables,' said Pastous.

'Defined by what criteria?'

'Rhetoric, law, epic, tragedy, comedy, lyric poetry, history, medicine, mathematics, natural science and miscellanea. Authors are arranged under each topic, each with a brief biography and critical account of his work. The scrolls are stored alphabetically too, according to one or two initial letters.' Authors are arranged under each topic, each with a brief biography and critical account of his work. The scrolls are stored alphabetically too, according to one or two initial letters.'

'Do you specialise in a particular section?'

'Lyric poetry'

'I won't hold that against you! So the Library has holdings of books - and books about the books?'

'One day,' Pastous agreed, showing a sense of humour, 'there will be books about the books that are about the books. An opening for a young scholar?' he suggested to Aulus.

My brother-in-law scowled. 'Too futuristic for me! I don't see myself as original. I am reading law.'

Pastous saw that Aulus' surly manner hid some wryness. 'Precedents! You could write a commentary on the commentaries on precedents.'

I broke in. 'He is earning no fees currently. Would there be money in it?'

'People write for money?' money?' Pastous smiled lightly, as if I had put forward a strange concept. 'I was taught that only the rich can be authors.' Pastous smiled lightly, as if I had put forward a strange concept. 'I was taught that only the rich can be authors.'

'And the rich do not need the work...' Then I asked the question Helena had asked Theon yesterday: 'So how many scrolls are there?'

Pastous reacted calmly: 'Between four hundred and seven hundred thousand. Call it half a million. However, some say considerably less.'