‘Thank you. Aulus. Who gave the order to tidy up?’
‘Nicanor.’
‘The lawyer. He should have known better!’
‘Nicanor had come over from the Academic Board meeting. He told the cleaner to straighten the room and said the body would be taken away later. The slave could not bear to touch the corpse. So he did everything else just as he would have done normally - swept the floor, sponged the furniture, threw out the rubbish - which included a dried-up dinner wreath. There were a few scrolls on the table; he replaced them in cupboards.’
‘I don’t suppose he can say which they were?’
‘My first question - and no; needless to say, he cannot remember.’
In fairness to the slave, all the Pinakes scrolls looked similar. The situation was tantalising; if the scrolls were relevant, I would have given a lot to know which Theon had been reading. ‘Did he find any other writing? Was Theon making or using notes?’
Aulus shook his head. ‘None on the table.’
‘So that’s all?’
‘That’s all he said, Marcus.’
‘You asked this slave, I presume, whether it was he who locked the door?’
‘Yes. He’s a slave. He doesn’t have a key’
‘So when Nicanor broke the door down, was he up to anything?’
‘I can’t see what. Thank Zeus you’re the brains of our outfit, Falco, so I don’t have to worry. The lock isn’t broken now’
‘It was, after the death - didn’t you notice? They have a handyman. The Librarian’s room ‘will take priority for repairs.’ I posed my next question as cautiously as possible: ‘Do I need to interview this slave myself?’
‘I can talk to a cleaning slave and be trusted to get it right!’ he answered, with resentment.
‘I know you can, Aulus,’ I answered back gently.
XXIV
I left Aelianus and went to meet his sister. The Serapeion stood on the highest point of the city. This rocky outcrop in the old district of Rhakotis could be seen from all over Alexandria. It was a landmark for sailors. It would have made a fine Greek acropolis - so instead we Romans had installed a Forum, at the back of the Caesarium. Now there was a civic focal point of our choosing, while a huge shrine to the invented god Serapis occupied the heights. Uncle Fulvius had told Helena that the Egyptians paid little attention to Serapis and his consort, Isis; as a religious cult, the couple were held in more regard at Rome than here. That may have been because in Rome this was an exotic foreign cult, whereas here it passed unnoticed amongst the multitude of old pharaonic oddities.
The precincts of the Serapeion did stand out. This site of pilgrimage and study was a large, gorgeous complex, with a huge and beautiful temple in the centre. Foundation tablets from the reign of Ptolemy III celebrated the establishment of the original sanctuary. Two series, set up in gold, silver, bronze, faience and glass, recorded the foundation in Greek letters and Egyptian hieroglyphics. ‘Even now,’ commented Helena thoughtfully, ‘nobody has added Latin.’
Within the temple, we found a monumental statue of the synthetic god - a seated male figure sporting heavy drapes. His barber must be bursting with pride. Of hefty build, Serapis was lavishly equipped with hair and a flowing primped beard, with five fancy screw-curls lined up across his broad forehead. As a head-dress he wore the characteristic inverted quarter-bushel measure that was his trademark - symbolic of prosperity, a memento of Egypt’s abundant corn fertility.
We paid a guide a bunch of coins to tell us how a window was arranged high up, through which sunlight streamed at break of day, falling so the sunbeam seemed to kiss the god on the lips. It was a device created by the inventor, Heron.
‘We know of him,’ I said. Aulus and I once did a job where I had him in disguise as a seller of automaton statues, all deriving from the crazy imagination of Heron of Alexandria. ‘Is the maestro still practising?’
‘He is full of ideas. He will continue until death stops him.’ I muttered under my breath to Helena, ‘I wonder if Heron does magic with door locks? Might be worth exploring.’
‘You boy, Falco! You just want to play with toys.’
We were told that beneath the temple ran deep underground corridors, used in rites connected with the god’s afterlife aspect. We did not investigate. I keep out of ritual tunnels. Down there in the dark, you never know when some angry priest is going to run at you wielding an extremely sharp ritual knife. No good Roman believes in human sacrifice - especially when the sacrifice is him.
Outside, glorious sunlight filled the elegant enclosure over which the god presided. The precinct was surrounded internally by a Greek stoa - a wide colonnade, double height, its columns topped with fancy capitals in the Egyptian style that characterised Ptolemaic building. In a standard Greek market, there would be shops and offices around the stoa, but this was a religious foundation. Nevertheless, the sanctuary was still used by some citizens in the traditional manner as a place of assembly, and being Alexandria it was lively: we were told that this was where the Christian called Mark came ten years ago to set up his new religion and denounce the local gods. Unsurprisingly, it was also where the mob then gathered to put a stop to that. They set on Mark and had him torn to pieces - rather more persuasive than intellectual chastisement, though well in the spirit of hot-headed Greeks whose gods had been insulted by upstarts.
Generally, the stoa had a loftier, more peaceful purpose; there was ample space for the book-loving public to stroll with a scroll from the Library. They could already read a first-rate translation of the Hebrew books treasured in the Jewish religion, which was called the Septuagint because seventy-two Hebrew scholars had been closeted in seventy-two huts on Pharos Island and instructed by one of the Ptolemies to produce a Greek version. Maybe one day browsers would read something by the Christian Mark. In the meantime, people were happily devouring philosophy, trigonometry, hymns, how to build your own siege warfare battering ram, and Homer. Sadly, in the Serapeion Library they could not borrow The Spook Who Spoke, by Phalko of Rome.
Don’t think I was so immodest. Helena asked for me. That way we learned our first hard fact about the Daughter Library: it contained over four hundred thousand works, but they were all classics or bestsellers.
When we met Timosthenes, we congratulated him on the flourishing academy he ran here. He was younger than some of the other professors, slim and olive-skinned; he wore a shorter beard than the old fellows, had a square jaw and neat ears. He told us he had reached his high position after working on the Great Library’s staff. From the look of him, despite his Greek name, he might actually be Egyptian in origin. There was no suggestion that this would make him more sympathetic to our task or likelier to betray confidences, however.
I let Helena talk to him first. Settling your interviewee is a good trick. Lulling him into a sense of false security would only work if he did not realise what was going on, but either way, it allowed me to watch him silently. I knew Helena thought I was subdued because we had not found my play. The truth was, I always enjoyed watching her in action.
‘I know you must be asked the same questions all the time, but tell me about the Daughter Library,’ Helena urged. She looked bright-eyed and curious, yet her cultured senatorial voice made her more than a mere tourist.
Timosthenes willingly explained that his Library at the Serapeion acted as an overflow, carrying duplicate scrolls and offering a service to the general public. They were barred from the Great Library, originally because using it was a royal prerogative then because it was the select preserve of the Museion scholars.