'Would I not?' The cheese came.

'Wonderful! You are a good boy!'

Then Aulus Camillus Aelia.n.u.s 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. sub rosa.

XLVI.

Of course, although Aulus swore me me to-secrecy, other people were not in on our bargain. 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 Ca.s.sius 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 Ca.s.sius, 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 a.s.suage the parents' misery. s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g 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-cla.s.s informing. The bluff was justified. (It was 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. 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 far dimmer than all her lovers believe.' 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d, 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 a.s.sistant.'

'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. shrieked Helena, in big sister mode.

'She is shameless, but I fought her off-'

We then learned just how pa.s.sionately the predatory Nicanor l.u.s.ted for Roxana. He let out a roar, leapt from his seat, fell on the n.o.ble young Camillus, grabbed him around the throat and tried to throttle him.

XLVII.

The commotion was so rowdy it drew Fulvius, Ca.s.sius 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 n.o.body n.o.body was taking any legal action. 'Please remember, Nicanor, you have just proved yourself capable of violence to a young man who was taking any legal action. 'Please remember, Nicanor, you have just proved yourself capable of violence to a young man who rejected rejected Roxana's advances - so any jury will know what you might have done if you had caught Heras actually in her arms.' Pa sn.i.g.g.e.red. 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. Roxana's advances - so any jury will know what you might have done if you had caught Heras actually in her arms.' Pa sn.i.g.g.e.red. 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, Ca.s.sius 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 locked 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 trespa.s.ser.

Sometimes a moment makes you catch your breath. Doubt settles on you. Dear G.o.ds, why did I do this job?

There was an answer. If, like me, you were born to a poor family on the Roman Aventine, there were very few options. A boy with a father in trade could be introduced to a guild and might be allowed a lifetime of hard effort in some unrewarding industry; you needed an introduction - and I had had an absent father. No grandfathers. Uncles all too old or with no decent contacts. (As a bitter example, one had been Fulvius - at that time far away, cavorting on Mount Ida, hoping to castrate himself as an act of religious devotion...) The only alternative had seemed good to a teenager: the army. I had joined, but found that in legionary life neither the b.l.o.o.d.y tragedy of war nor counting boots and cooking pots in the comedy of peace had suited me.

So here I was. Independent, self-employed, favoured with a job full of challenge yet leading a life of madness. Informing was only decent if you liked standing in a doorway for hours by yourself, while everyone with any sense was cosily at home, enjoying dinner and conversation, prior to sleep or love or both.

That could have been me. I could have learned to use an abacus or taught myself to be a seal-cutter; I could haul logs or run an apple stall. I could be a bakery owner's bread-oven-paddle-poker or a butcher's offal-bucket-toter. Right now, I could be sitting in a wicker chair, with a drink on a side table and a jolly good scroll to read.

Nothing appeared to be going on, but I was patient.

As far as I knew I was observing a fraud, nothing dangerous. I had on decent boots, a knife tucked in one of them and a belt I was fond of. The weather was fine. The night was young. I was clean and fed; I had trimmed fingernails, an empty bladder and money in my arm-purse. n.o.body close to me knew where I was, but otherwise my situation was comparatively good.

As soon as I arrived, I noticed at the side of the building a discreetly parked, typical Alexandrian horse, between the shafts of a typical Alexandrian flat cart. It seemed unattended. The knock-kneed off-white horse was waiting with his head down as they generally do, his mouth halfway down his nosebag for comfort, though he was not bothering to eat. He was thin, yet not visibly abused. Perhaps people loved him. Perhaps at the end of a long day, plus half a night when his man was moonlighting, he went home to a tolerable stable where the water in his old bucket would be not too dirty and his manger hay was part-way decent. He was a work-horse. He would not be spoiled, though it was in no one's interest to make him suffer. He led the life his master led: hard work that he had always known and that would last until he collapsed and ceased existence.

Close by, in a shadowed doorway, a door stood ajar.

Eventually a man staggered out of the doorway, pulling behind him a loaded hand-barrow. He was moving backwards at first, in order to haul the barrow over a b.u.mpy threshold. Then he turned around and pushed it to the back of the cart, where he began, slowly, to unload small bundles and lift them on to the cart. A second man soon followed him and even more slowly moved more bundles. They had to reach across the tailgate awkwardly Neither thought of climbing up and taking the items from his colleague so they could pack them more easily. Neither had bothered to let down the tailgate. They had no sacks to collect up the items they were shifting, but handled them two or three at a time. It was a tedious process.

Before they returned indoors for another load, they both went and patted the horse. He leaned his head towards them, so they could whisper in his flicking ears. You could call it endearing, though whoever was employing them would probably not say so. One of them started to eat a bread roll.

Typical. If Uncle Fulvius and Pa were involved in this, they had mixed themselves up with an outfit that lacked even basic efficiency. Trust my relatives. If Uncle Fulvius and Pa were involved in this, they had mixed themselves up with an outfit that lacked even basic efficiency. Trust my relatives.

I watched the two clowns saunter back inside, chatting together, then they came out again, having reloaded their barrows. Abruptly the scene changed. Our friend Pastous walked around a corner. He saw the open door, though perhaps did not take in the clowns with the cart. Before I could signal or call out, he rushed inside the building.

The men with the hand-barrows looked at each other apprehensively, then bolted after him.

Groaning, I wrenched myself from the security of my doorway, to follow all of them. My situation, previously so good, was now turning dirty.

Inside the building, I found one large room. It was murky but still dimly lit by the evening sun. Upon various work-tables and the floor stood piles of scrolls. These were what the two fellows had been transferring to the horse and cart. Their labours were being supervised by the unsmiling man called Diogenes. He might employ clowns, but he was better quality. Though neither tall nor agile, his thickset, pear-shaped body was strong; he looked like a man n.o.body should cross. In short sleeves today, he had an old scar from his shoulder to his elbow, and large hands. His tiny eyes seemed to notice everything. I put him at forty-five, grim-natured, and from the thick black eyebrows that met in the middle, I thought he probably came from the north side and eastern end of the Mediterranean.

When I walked in, Diogenes had knocked Pastous to the ground and was tying him up. He must have reacted extremely fast. He was using cord he must have brought to gather scrolls into manageable bundles.

He looked up.

'Evening,' I said. 'My name's Marcus - nephew to Fulvius. My word, I don't know what you were doing with the old fellows yesterday. They got your message, but they are all flaked out like a row of squashed slugs today. I've been sent instead.'

I made a show of looking at Pastous; I favoured him with a large wink, in the manner of a no-good, cheeky cabin boy. Ashamed of letting himself be captured, he said nothing.

Diogenes scrutinised me suspiciously while he tightened knots on Pastous. I stood and waited. I just hoped Fulvius and Pa had kept quiet about me. They could certainly be secretive.

Did Diogenes remember he had pa.s.sed me on the stairs that night? Had he then asked Fulvius about me?

He grunted. 'You're from Fulvius?'

'And Geminus,' I answered meekly.

I pa.s.sed his test, it seemed. Diogenes bent over Pastous, ripped off the hem of the a.s.sistant's tunic and gagged him with it. Before he was reduced to helpless gurgling, Pastous managed to come out with the old cliche. 'You won't get away with this!'

'Ah, but we will!' Diogenes told him with mock-sadness.

Silenced, Pastous glared. I reckoned this rather literal man now thought that I must have been working with the trader all along. His antagonism suited my act.

Diogenes seemed to accept that I could be trusted. He ordered me to set to and help the other men. So, in this strange fashion, I found myself unexpectedly working for relatives, as I could have done for the past twenty years if life had been different.

Before the room had been emptied, the cart was laden. Diogenes told his two men to wait there until a fresh cart came. He climbed up to drive, indicating that I was to go with him and unload the scrolls at the destination. Tracking the cargo suited me, so I obeyed. Only after we had left the Museion and were driving through many streets, heading westwards, did I ask casually, 'Where are we going?''

'The box-maker's. Weren't you told?' Diogenes glanced at me. I detected a sardonic note.

Now I was stuck with my role: the family idiot, the one to whom n.o.body ever bothered to give explanations. So I sat quiet, clinging on to the cart as if I was nervous I would fall off, while I let the trader take me wherever he was going.

If this went wrong, my adventure could have an unpleasant, very lonely outcome.

XLVIII.

We travelled for ages, or so it seemed. Now I learned just how large a city Alexandria was. Journeys through unknown streets always seem interminable.

We kept going west, into what I knew must be the district called Rhakotis. This part, peopled by the native inhabitants, was an area Uncle Fulvius had warned me never to go to. This enclave had always been a bolthole for descendants of the original Egyptian fisherfolk Alexander displaced when he decided to build his city. They were at the bottom of the pecking order, almost invisible to the rest - Romans and Greeks, Jews, Christians and the mult.i.tude of other foreign immigrants. According to my uncle, these were also the descendants of the semi-pirates the Ptolemies had encouraged to pillage ships, looking for scrolls in all languages which they commandeered for the Great Library. According to Fulvius, they had never lost their ferocity or their lawlessness.

The street grids were like all of Alexandria or any planned Greek city, yet these alleyways seemed more sinister. At least in a poor district of Rome, I knew the rules and understood the dialect. Here, lines of drab washing were hung from the same kind of crowded apartments, but the barbecued meats smelt of different spices while thin men who watched us pa.s.s had distinct local faces. The usual half-starved donkeys were impossibly laden, but the middens were scavenged by long-legged dogs with pointed noses, mongrels that looked interbred with aristocratic golden hunting hounds; instead of Suburra sewer rats, skeletal cats swarmed everywhere. Human life was normal enough. Semi-naked children squatted in gutters playing marbles; sometimes one bawled after a brief squabble. Tears of indignation trickling through the dirt on a scabby child's face are the same anywhere in the world. So is the flaunt of a couple of girls, sisters or friends, walking down the street in similar scarves and bangles, wanting to be noticed by the male population. So too the malevolence of any hooked, black-clad old lady, muttering at shameless girls or cursing when a cart pa.s.ses, just because it is occupied by foreigners.

After enough time pa.s.sed, the unfamiliar became familiar. We drove through now seemingly ordinary streets where people carried on regular occupations: bakers, laundries and dye-fullers, garland-weavers, copper-beaters, oil-lamp-sellers, oil and wine merchants. We pa.s.sed down one magical alley where, by the light of hot fires, gla.s.s-blowers produced their jewelled flasks, jugs, beakers and perfume bottles. We reached roadworks and building renovations, where trenches, implements, piles of sand and heaps of bricks or cobbles impeded progress, but as soon as we were spotted, work stopped and our horse was led through safely with impeccable courtesy.

Once I stopped feeling anxious, I saw that this district was busy but conventional. A great number of people, mainly at subsistence level, lived and worked here; suffered; made others suffer; reached the end of their span and died. Just like anywhere.

Diogenes pulled up the horse.

We were in yet another side street with washing lines threading over it. Two men were playing dice with murderous intensity - though they looked up whenever a woman hove into view. Any women excited them, even grandmothers. A noisy trio of youths were dashing about with a melon for a football. A dilapidated bath house stood on one corner, with a small temple diagonally opposite. Each had a very old man sitting on a stool outside, either attendants or just lonely octogenarians who had staked out good places to stop people for enforced conversation. They looked as if they had fought at the Battle of Actium and would tell you all about it if they could grab a chance, drawing diagrams in the dust with their wobbly walking sticks.

The box-maker came out. He worked from a traditional one-room lock-up with a large shutter. It was only half open when we arrived, giving the place a secretive air such workshops normally do not have. I could see lights inside, but no cl.u.s.tered family. The man himself had a pale, gaunt face with an unpleasant twist to his mouth. He kept his lips together all the time as if he had bad teeth. He was not introduced to me, nor I to him.

Diogenes started to act as if there was urgency. He himself marched to and fro, unloading the scrolls from the cart, while he ordered me to start putting them into the boxes. These had been made in advance, simple round capsae capsae with flat bases and lids, in the same form as the elaborate ones made from silver, ivory or rare, scented woods in which rich men guard their valuable scroll sets. Diogenes had bought very basic containers, just enough to protect the scrolls on shipboard and make them look respectable for selling on. Bothering to buy boxes meant he expected to make a lot of money. with flat bases and lids, in the same form as the elaborate ones made from silver, ivory or rare, scented woods in which rich men guard their valuable scroll sets. Diogenes had bought very basic containers, just enough to protect the scrolls on shipboard and make them look respectable for selling on. Bothering to buy boxes meant he expected to make a lot of money.

Indoors with the box-maker, I tried chatting: 'Where are all these going, then?'

'Rome.'

I unrolled one, holding it upside down as if I was illiterate. The end-tag proved it came from the Library. It seemed to be a play, Menander by the look of it. He might be a raging bestseller in all the Roman theatres, but I was never keen on Menander. 'Who for?'

'The people of Rome,' grunted box-maker. 'Get on, and don't waste time.' 'Get on, and don't waste time.'

I packed scrolls into boxes. Nowadays only one public benefactor was allowed to splurge gifts on 'the people of Rome'. Their Father, their Chief Priest, their Emperor. I was beginning to see what the plan might be.

The box-maker looked up. Diogenes had come back into the workshop with the next armful of scrolls. 'He asks a lot of questions. Where did you find him?'

'He says he's Marcus.' Diogenes finally introduced me. I did not like his tone of voice. 'He says he works with Fulvius - but Fulvius told me different.'