They were bright, excitable, open-minded - and willing to test theories. They decided to come along tonight and see whether the place was locked or not.
‘Well, promise not to go tiptoeing through the great hall in the dark. Somebody may have committed murder in this building, and if so, he is still at large.’ They were thrilled by my statement. ‘I suspect it will be locked. The Librarian would be able to come and go with keys, so too perhaps some senior academics or select members of the staff, but not all and sundry’
‘So who do you think did it, Falco?’
‘Too early to say.’
They quietened, nudged one another surreptitiously, then one bold - or cheeky - soul piped up, ‘We were talking among ourselves, Falco, and we think it was you!’
‘Oh thanks! Why would I top him?’
‘Aren’t you the Emperor’s hit-man?’
I snorted. ‘I think he sees me more as his boot-boy.’
‘Everyone knows Vespasian sent you to Egypt for a reason. You cannot have come to Alexandria to investigate Theon’s death, because you must have set out from Rome several weeks ago . . .’ Under my hard stare my informant had lost his nerve.
‘You’ve studied logic, I see! Yes, I work for Vespasian, but I came here for something quite innocent.’
‘Something to do with the Library?’ the scholars demanded.
‘My wife wants to see the Pyramids. My uncle lives here. That’s all. So I am fascinated that you knew I was coming.’
The students had no idea how the word had spread, but everyone at the Museion had heard about me. I supposed that the Prefect’s office leaked like the proverbial sieve.
This could be either vindictiveness or simple jealousy. The Prefect, and/or his administrative staff may have felt they were perfectly equipped themselves to answer any questions from Vespasian without him needing to commission me. They may even have imagined my story about the Pyramids was a cover; perhaps I had a secret brief to check how the Prefect and/or his staff were running Egypt . . .
Dear gods. This is how bureaucracy causes needless muddle and anxiety. The result was worse than a nuisance: putting out false stories locally could get agents into trouble. Sometimes the kind of trouble where a poor mutt doing his duty landed up losing his life in a back alley. So you have to take it seriously. You never think, ‘Oh I am the Emperor’s agent, so important the Prefect will look after me!’ All prefects loathe agents on special missions. ‘Looking after’ can take two forms, one of them filthily unpleasant. And of all the Roman provinces, Egypt probably had the worst reputation for treachery.
While I was musing, the scholars leaned against column bases quietly. These young men showed respect for thought.
It was unsettling - quite different from my normal work at home. If I was trying to identify which of three grasping nephews stabbed some loose-tongued tycoon who had foolishly admitted he had written a new will in favour of his mistress, I had no time to think; the nephews would scarper in all directions if I paused, and if I appeared vague, even the indignant mistress would start screeching at me to hurry with her legacy. Tracking stolen art was worse; to play ‘find the lady’ with chipped statues at some dodgy auction in a portico required keen eyes and close attention. Stop to let the mind wander, and not only would the goods be whipped away on a handcart down the Via Longa, but I could have my purse lifted by a thieving ex-slave from Bruttium, together with the belt it was hanging on.
I pulled myself back to the present. ‘Sorry, lads. Off in a world of my own . . . Alexandrian luxury is getting to me - all this freedom for daydreaming! Tell me about the library scrolls, will you?’
‘Is that relevant to Theon’s death?’
‘Maybe. Besides, I am interested. Anybody know how many scrolls are in the Great Library?’
‘Seven hundred thousand!’ they all chorused immediately. I was impressed. ‘Standard lecture they give all new readers, Falco.’
‘It’s very precise.’ I grinned. ‘Where is the spirit of mischief? Don’t renegade staff ever put about conflicting versions?’
Now the scholars looked intrigued. ‘Well . . . Alternatively there are four hundred thousand - possibly.’
One pedantic soul who collected boring facts to give himself more character then informed me gravely, ’It all depends whether you believe the rumour about when Julius Caesar set fire to the docks, in his attempt to destroy the Egyptian fleet. He had sided with the beautiful Cleopatra against her brother and by burning his opponents’ ships as they were at anchor, Caesar gained control of the harbour and communication with his own forces at sea. It is said that the fire swept away buildings on the docks, so quantities of grain and books were lost. Some people believe this was most or all of the Library itself, although others say it was only a selection of scrolls that were in store ready for export - maybe just forty thousand.’
‘Export?’ I queried. ‘So what was that? - Caesar grabbing loot - or are scrolls from the Library regularly sold off? Duplicates? Unwanted volumes? Authors whose writing the Librarian personally hates?’
My informants looked uncertain. Eventually one took up the main story again: ‘When Mark Antony became Cleopatra’s lover, it is said he gave her two hundred thousand books - some say from the Library at Pergamum - as a gift to replace her lost scrolls. Afterwards, perhaps, Cleopatra’s library of scrolls was taken to Rome by the victorious Octavian - or not.’
I made a bemused gesture. ‘Some say and perhaps ... So what do you think? After all, you do have an operational library now.’
‘Of course.’
“I can see why the Librarian seemed a trifle put out when the conversation flagged awkwardly and my wife asked for figures.’
‘It would reflect on him badly if he was unable to say what his stocks were.’
‘Is it possible,” I suggested, ‘that at various times, when threatened, wily librarians misled conquerors about whether they had taken possession of all the scrolls?’
‘Everything is possible,’ agreed the young philosophers.
‘Could there be so many scrolls, nobody can ever count them?’
‘That too, Falco.’
I grinned. ‘Certainly no one man can read them all!’
My young friends found that idea quite horrible. Their aim was to read as few scrolls as possible, purely to tickle up their debating style with learned quotations and obscure references. Just enough to obtain flash jobs in civic administration, so their fathers would increase their allowances and find them rich wives.
I said I had better not keep them from that laudable aim any longer. ‘I just remembered I forgot to ask the Zoo Keeper where he was the night Theon died.’
‘Oh,’ the students told me helpfully, ‘he’s bound to say he was with Roxana.’
‘Mistress?’ They nodded. ‘So how can you be so sure that he had an assignation that night?’
‘Maybe not. But isn’t “with my mistress” what all guilty parties tell you, when they are fixing up an alibi?’
‘True - though colluding with the mistress requires them to admit to a racy way of life. Philadelphion may need to be circumspect; he has a family somewhere.’ I saw the young men were envious - though not of the family. They wanted to hook fabulous mistresses. ‘So what is Roxana like? Bit of an exotic specimen?’