They came alive, making voluptuous gestures to indicate her curvaciousness and seething with lust. I had no need to go back to Philadelphion. Whether or not he had something to hide, he would make Roxana swear he was with her all night and any court would believe him.
When he had finished the necropsy, he had told me he was going to dine somewhere. I gained the impression at the time that, wherever it was, Philadelphion was well in. After cutting up dead flesh, he must have welcomed the warm delights of living.
I wondered at which hour of the day a citizen of Alexandria could decently visit his mistress.
I asked one last question. Remembering the item on the Academic Board’s agenda on discipline (-which they had deferred very eagerly), I asked: ‘Do any of you fellows know somebody called Nibytas?’
They looked at one another in a -way I found puzzling, but said nothing. I made my gaze sterner. At last, one replied shiftily, ‘He is a very old scholar, who always works in the Library.’
‘Know anything more about him?’
‘No; he never speaks to anyone.’
‘No use to me then!’ I exclaimed.
XVIII
The young man took me indoors and pointed out where Nibytas generally sat - a lone table at the very end of the great hall. I would not have found it unaided; the table had been pushed right into a dark corner and set at an angle as if creating a barrier to others.
The old man was absent from his place. Well, even the studious have to eat and pee. A mass of scrolls littered the table. I walked up to have a look. Many of the scrolls had torn strips of papyrus stuck in them as markers, while some were lying half unrolled. They looked as if they had been left like that for months. Unruly piles of private note-tablets were jumbled in among the library scrolls. The reading position reeked of intense, long-winded study that had been going on for years. You could tell at a glance the man who sat here was obsessive and at least a little crazy.
Before I could investigate his weird scribbles, I spotted the tragedy professor, Aeacidas. I wanted to interview all the likely candidates for Theon’s job, and do it as quickly as possible. He had seen me; afraid he would decamp, I walked over and asked for a few words.
Aeacidas was big, lolloping, bushy-eyebrowed, with the longest beard I had seen in Alexandria. His tunic was clean, but had worn nap and was two sizes too big. He refused to leave his work station. That didn’t mean he would not speak to me: he just stayed where lie was, no matter how much annoyance his booming baritone caused to others nearby.
I said I had heard he was on the Director’s shortlist. ’I should damn well hope so!’ roared Aeacidas unashamedly.
I tried to murmur discreetly. ‘You may be the only outsider, the only one not from the Academic Board.’
I was favoured with an explosion of disgust. Aeacidas claimed that if Philetus was given his head, the Museion would be run by archaic representatives of the original arts assigned to the Muses. In case I was the ignoramus he took me for, he listed them, both good and bad: ‘Tragedy, comedy, lyric poetry, erotic poetry, religious hymns – religious hymns! - epic, history, astronomy and - the gods help us - song and bloody dance.’
I thanked him for this courtesy. ‘Not much room at the moment for literature.’
‘Damn right!’
‘Or the sciences?’
‘Stuff bloody science!’All charm.
‘If you wanted to get added to the Board to speak for your discipline, how are people elected? Dead men’s shoes?’
Aeacidas made a restless movement. ‘Not necessarily. The Board steers Museion policy. Philetus can co-opt anyone he thinks has a contribution to make. Of course he doesn’t. The ridiculous little man just can’t see how much help he needs.’
‘Drowning in his own incompetence?’
The big, angry tragedy teacher stopped and gave me a hard look. He seemed surprised that anyone could come in as a stranger and immediately grasp the institution’s problems. ‘You’ve met the bastard, then!’
‘Not my type.’ Aeacidas was not interested enough in other people to care what I thought. He only wanted to stress that in his judgement the Director lacked skills. That was old news. I cut him off. ‘So, wasn’t the death of Theon fortunate for you? Without it, you wouldn’t stand much chance of wriggling in among Philetus’ tight little clique. By putting yourself forward for librarianship, you may join the Board as of right.’
Aeacidas immediately caught my drift. ‘I would not have wished Theon dead.’ Well, tragedy was his medium. I guessed he understood motive; no doubt fate, sin and retribution too.
I wondered how good he was at spotting the essential human flaw that tragic heroes are supposed to have. ‘What’s your assessment of Theon?’
‘Well-intentioned and doing a decent job according to his abilities.’ Always, this man managed to suggest the rest of the world failed to meet his own grand standards. Under his rule, everything would be different - assuming he ever won the post. If sympathetic man-management was a requirement, he stood no chance.
I asked where he was when Theon died. Aeacidas was astounded, even when I said I was asking everyone. I had to point out that failing to answer would look suspicious. So he grudgingly admitted he was reading in his room; nobody could verify his whereabouts.
‘What were you reading?’
‘Well . . . Homer’s Odyssey! The tragedian admitted this lapse of good taste as if I had caught him out with a racy adventure yarn. Forget that; the Odyssey is one. Say, caught with a pornographic myth, involving animals - sold under the counter in a plain wrapper by a seedy scroll shop that pretends to be offering literary odes. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Falco - that’s all I can do to clear myself!’
I assured him only villains took elaborate precautions to establish their movements; to have no alibi could indicate innocence. ‘Note my gentle inflection on could. I adore the subjunctive mood. Of course in my trade the possible does not necessarily embrace the feasible or believable.’ Helena would tell me to shut up and stop being clever now; her rule was you have to know somebody extremely well before you engage in wordplay. To her, word games were a kind of flirting.
Aeacidas gave me a filthy look. He thought sophisticated verb deployment should be barred to the lower classes - and informing for the Emperor was definitely menial. I sneered like a thug who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty - preferably by wringing suspects’ necks - then I asked where he thought I might find Apollophanes so I could try out my grammar on him.
The philosopher, the Director’s sneak, was reading, on a stone bench in an arcade. He told me it was forbidden to remove scrolls from the complex, but the walks, arcades and gardens that linked the Museion’s elegant buildings were all within bounds; they had always been intended as outdoor reading rooms for the Great Library. Works had to be returned to staff at the end of opening hours.
‘And scholars can be trusted to hand them in?’
‘It’s not inconvenient. The staff will keep scrolls until the next day, if you still require them.” Apollophanes had a weak, slightly hoarse voice. At the Academic Board he had had to wait for a pause to open up and then jump in, in order to be heard.
‘I bet quite a few go missing!’ He looked nervous. ’Steady! I’m not accusing you of book-stealing.’ He was so jumpy he was quivering.
Perhaps Apollophanes had a good brain, but he hid it well. Away from the Director’s protection, he looked hunched and so unassuming I could not imagine him writing a treatise or teaching pupils effectively. He was like those idiots with absolutely no bonhomie who insist on running a bar.
I asked the usual questions: did he see himself as a shortlist candidate and where was he two evenings ago? He fluttered that oh, he was hardly worthy of high office - but if considered good enough, of course he would take the job . . . and he had been at the refectory, then talking to a group of his pupils. He gave me names, apprehensively. ‘Does this mean you will question them about whether I have told the truth, Falco?’