Philadelphion nodded. He showed no reaction to the lewd remark, perhaps because he and his little dissecting knife were no strangers to testicles, of all types. The soldiers marched off smartly. We went indoors.
Philetus bumbled up soon afterwards. He looked astonished to see Philadelphion still at large. Of course he could say nothing, without admitting it was he who had grassed.
He found something else to be indignant about: ‘Do I spy a woman?’
‘She’s with me. Director, meet my wife. As a senator’s daughter, Helena Justina represents the glorious best of Roman womanhood. She has the rectitude and acumen of a Vestal Virgin. She is a confidante of Vespasian and holds the long-term admiration of Titus Caesar.’ Vespasian might be called a salt-fish salesman here, but his son and heir, Titus, was a golden boy in Alexandria. Good-looking young generals, hot from triumphs in the East, reminded them of their founder. Implying that Helena was the hero’s moll could only gild her prestige. I waved my sling. ‘She has my admiration and will take my notes.’
Furious, Helena was about to speak, but our unborn baby gave a fearsome lurch. I knew it from her expression so put an arm around her kindly. (It had to be a boy; he was on my side.)
‘Bear up, dear girl . . . Do not fret, Philetus. She will be invisible and silent.’ She would slam me with plenty of vocals once we were home, but Helena took the hint temporarily.
Philetus enthroned himself like a particularly uninspiring magistrate. The others slunk into a circle of armchairs that were like the marble seats assigned to senators in amphitheatres. I managed to get one for Helena. A folding stool was fetched for me. Needless to say, it had unequal legs and kept trying to refold itself. As an informer I was used to this trick. It was better than being made to stay standing like a slave.
‘Didius Falco will observe proceedings.’ Philetus pecked at the announcement spitefully. Any good nature he had ever possessed had wizened like a diseased plant. ’We must keep the Emperor’s man happy!’
While I was busy stabilising my stool, Helena Justina took notes. I still have her documents, headed by who was present. Nobody had introduced us - manners were not on the curriculum at this institution - but she concocted her own cast list:
Philetus: Director of the Museion
Philadelphion: Zoo Keeper
Zenon: Astronomer
Apollophanes: Head of Philosophy
Nicanor: Law
Timosthenes: Curator of Serapeion Library
Normally there would have been two more: the Head of the Great Library and the Head of Medicine. Theon was detained at the undertaker’s. Heras had said the medical post lay vacant for some reason. Helena scribbled queries as to why literature and mathematics were unrepresented; subsequently she arrowed all branches of literature, along with history and rhetoric, to the Head of Philosophy while the Astronomer had a remit for mathematics; I saw her scowl. For a start, she loathed the demotion of literature.
One thing struck me immediately. None of the names were Roman, or even Egyptian. They were all Greek.
As the morning wound on, Helena added opinions and pen-portraits. An ‘L’ meant Helena considered that man a candidate for the job at the Great Library. Those were the ones I watched most carefully. I had every faith in Helena’s judgement on them. If Theon had been murdered, the shortlist would be my suspects.
Philetus: MDF’s bugbear. And mine! Priest and poltroon.
Philadelphion: cheekboned charmer; ladies’ man? No, just thinks he is. L
Zenon: Never speaks. Dumb or deep?
Apollophanes: Lofty. Director’s toady. ?L
Nicanor: Pompous. Thinks himself a cert for L - no chance.
Timosthenes: Too reasonable to survive here. Should be L
The agenda for the most part followed the pattern it must have had most days, which at least allowed those who hated meetings to nod:
Director’s report: potential VIP visits
Faculty matters
Budget
Acquisitions: Librarians’ reports (deferred from yesterday)
Discipline: Nibytas (deferred)
Progress on new Head of Medicine
New item: appointment of Chief Librarian
AOB: drama performance
It was typical of the Director’s unfitness for office that he thought it more important to panic about the possible appearance in two months’ time of a deputation of town councillors, on a spree from some Greek island, than to tackle Theon’s demise yesterday. His only expressed interest in that incident was wittering about a replacement. The Library could have been full of bloodthirsty assassins and all Philetus wanted to do was put the next victim in a position to be attacked. He was a psychopath’s dream. I did consider the possibility he might himself be a psychopath. (Was he uninterested in Theon’s fate because he already knew what had happened?) Philetus certainly failed to understand or relate to other people. But I decided he lacked precision, compressed energy and the cold desire to kill.
Faculty matters were as boring as you think and went on twice as long as you imagine is possible. The Museion had no set teaching programme, which at least saved us endless wrangling between hidebound devotees of an Old Syllabus and thrusting exponents of some New; nor did they nitpick about removing the works of one old minor philosopher nobody had ever heard of in favour of another nonentity whose name would make the scholars groan. Philadelphion indulged in a ramble about how they ought to try to deter scholars’ parents from approaching them full of unwise hopes. ‘Better if they just send gifts!’ commented Nicanor, the lawyer, cynically. The Director bemoaned the low standard of students’ handwriting; he beefed that too many were so wealthy they were submitting theses that had been copied out for them by scribes - which increasingly meant that the scribes had really done the work. Philetus cared less that the students were cheating than that the scribes - mere slaves - were being permitted to acquire knowledge. Apollophanes boasted snidely that his scholars could not cheat because they had to declaim philosophy in front of him. ’If what they have to say is interesting enough to keep you awake!’ scoffed Nicanor, implying with legal subtlety that it was not just the students in the philosophy faculty who were tedious.
Timosthenes wanted to talk about hosting public lectures, but they all pooh-poohed that.
The budget was dispatched briskly. The astronomer, Zenon, with his watching brief over mathematics, presented the accounts to the meeting, without any explanations. He just handed them round, then gathered them straight back in. Nobody else understood the figures. I tried to snaffle a set, but Zenon whipped all the copies away fast. I wondered if there was a reason. Helena wrote Money??? on her notes. After a moment she drew a circle around it for added emphasis.
Acquisitions had to be deferred because Theon was dead. However, Timosthenes reported on book matters at the Serapeion, which we deduced was an overspill library; it sounded well run. He offered to cover Theon’s responsibilities at the Great Library on an ad hoc basis, but Philetus was too suspicious to let him. It was clear from Timosthenes’ understated way of speaking, and his grasp of his own report, that he would have been a good stand-in. Philetus therefore feared him as a threat to his own position; nor would he appoint anybody else. He preferred to leave everything in limbo. Apollophanes made some flattering comment that it was ‘wise not to over-react, wise not to be precipitous’ (these carefully balanced lumps of sycophancy helped Helena and me to identify Apollophanes as the Director’s toady). Everyone else at the meeting slumped despondently. It looked habitual.