Alexandria

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 assumes 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 assumed 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, Cassius had sent Theon home last night in the litter he and Fulvius used for getting about. Cassius 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 passengers 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 assistant 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 associates. Presumably a well-behaved wife would be found for him, some girl with a half-decent pedigree and an only slightly scathing attitude 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.'

'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 Aelianus 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 nobody 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?'