Mention of the scholars led to a distraction, though I put it down as accidental. ‘Someone told me,’ Helena said, ‘there are a hundred accredited scholars. Is that right?’
‘No, no. Closer to thirty - at the most fifty’
‘So my young brother, Camillus Aelianus, was fortunate indeed to be allowed to join them!’
‘Your brother is an influential Roman, connected with the Emperor’s agent. I heard, too, he came with a very good reference from Minas of Karystos. The Board is happy to grant temporary accreditation for someone with such pulling power.’ Timosthenes was wry; not quite rude - yet close.
Helena’s heavy eyebrows had shot up. ‘So was Aelianus approved by the Academic Board?’
Timosthenes smiled at her acuteness. ‘He was admitted by Philetus. Someone put it on the agenda afterwards.’
Helena tossed in, ‘Raised a complaint, I imagine!’
‘You have seen how things work here.’
‘Who called Philetus into question?’ I asked.
Timosthenes clearly regretted mentioning this. ‘I believe it was Nicanor.’ Aulus did study law. So their legal head objected? ‘Nicanor was being difficult on principle.’
Helena said stiffly, ‘My father, the senator Camillus Verus, is set against corruption. He would not want my brother to use unfair influence. My brother himself is unaware that special pressure was applied.’
Timosthenes soothed her. ‘Be calm. The admittance of Camillus Aelianus was discussed and retrospectively agreed by all.’
‘Tell me the truth,’ ordered Helena: ‘Why?’
Helena could be forceful. Timosthenes looked taken aback and fought it with frankness. ‘Because Philetus, our Director, is terrified of whatever the Emperor sent your husband here to do.’
‘He is shit scared of me?’ I interrupted.
‘Philetus is accustomed to run in circles after his own tail.’
That was something. We had induced the man to reveal an opinion.
Timosthenes was a good educator. He was eloquent, content to discuss things with women, revealed no burning grudges. At the same time, he did not tolerate fools gladly - and he obviously put Philetus in that category.
Helena dropped her voice: ‘What makes Philetus so frightened?’
‘That,’ replied Timosthenes in a mild tone, ‘he has not shared with me.’
‘So you do not work in harmony?’
‘We co-operate.’
‘He sees your worth?’
I chuckled. ‘He fears it!’
‘I exercise toleration towards my Director’s defects,’ Timosthenes informed us, po-faced. A short lift of the hand instructed us not to trespass further. Continuing would have been impolite. Saying ‘my’ Director emphasised that this man was bound by professional loyalty.
I decided to be formal. I asked about his hopes for Theon’s post. Timosthenes admitted at once that he would like it. He said he had got on well with Theon, admired his work. But he saw his own chances of being referred for the post by Philetus as so slim that this could not have been a motive to harm Theon. He expected nothing from the man’s death.
‘As Librarian at the Serapeion would this not be a natural career progression? Why does Philetus despise your qualities so much?’
‘It is,’ said Timosthenes heavily, ’because I achieved my post through the administration route, as a member of the Library staff, rather than as an eminent scholar. Although Philetus is himself a priest by background - or perhaps because of that - he is imbued with snobbery about “professors”. He feels it adds to his own glory if the chief of the Great Library is famous for his academic work. Theon was a historian, of some note. I am self-taught and have never published any writings, though my interests are in epic poetry. I am primarily an administrative librarian, and Philetus may feel my approach is at odds with his.’
‘In what way?’ asked Helena.
‘We might place different values on books.’ He shrugged off the problem, however. ‘It has never arisen.’
Clearly he was reluctant to continue. I then asked where Timosthenes was when Theon died.
‘Here in my own Library. My staff can confirm it. We were conducting a scroll count.’
‘Any particular reason for this inventory, or is it routine?’
‘Checks are carried out from time to time.’
‘Do you lose books?’ Helena asked him.
‘Sometimes.’
‘Many?’
‘No.’
‘Enough for concern?’
‘Not in my Library. Since works are available for public consultation, we have to be rigorous. Members of the public have been known to “forget” to return things, though of course we always know who has borrowed what, so we can remind them tactfully. We find scrolls mis-shelved occasionally, though I have a proficient staff.’ Timosthenes paused. He had been conversing with Helena, yet he looked at me: ‘You are interested in scroll numbers?’
I played bored. ‘Tallying and ticking off lists? Sounds dry as desert dust.’
Helena pursed her lips at this interruption. ‘And how did the count go, Timosthenes?’
‘Good. Very few were missing.’
‘Was that what you expected?’
‘Yes. Yes,’ replied Timosthenes. ’That was as I expected.’
XXV
Sometimes during an investigation, Helena and I just stopped. When the flow of information became overwhelming, we turned away. We fled the scene. We bunked off to the country for a few hours, without telling anybody. Students of rational science might find the fact odd but forgetting all about the case for a time could, by a mysterious process, clarify the facts. Besides, she was my wife. I loved her enough to spend time alone with her. This was not the traditional way to view a wife, but as the noble Helena Justina often said, I was a surly beggar who just loved to break the rules.
Of course I was never surly to her. That’s how traditional husbands let themselves down. We two had a union of lustrous tranquillity. If Helena Justina saw a moment of uncharacteristic surliness coming on, she would stalk from the room with a riffle of skirts and a sneer. She always knew how to get in first.
We both pursed our lips over Timosthenes. We agreed he was high quality and almost certainly ethical, but we thought he was keeping things back. ‘Men who take refuge in scrupulous good manners can be hard to break, Helena. I can’t put the Serapeion Librarian up against a wall and mutter threats in his ear.’
‘I hope you don’t generally work like that, Marcus.’
‘I do when it gets results.’
The Serapeion lay close to Lake Mareotis. We had picked up transport - a horse and cart, with its driver whom I had bargained with when I saw them sitting glumly in Canopus Street. Uncle Fulvius was using his conveyance today. You can’t blame a man for wanting to use his own palanquin. (I would blame him if I found out he had lent it to my father - an unpalatable thought, which was unfortunately probable.)
When we left the sanctuary, found our cart and faced that moment of having to decide where to go next, it took no time for us to choose a little afternoon trip. The driver was happy. Even his horse perked up. ‘Outside city’ had a higher rate.
He took us to the lake first. There, close to the city which it bordered, we marvelled at the size of the inland harbour. The driver claimed the lake itself stretched for a hundred miles east to west, cut off from the sea by a long, narrow spit of land that ran for miles, away towards Cyrenaica. Canals provided links with other parts of the delta, including a large canal at Alexandria. Here on the north lake shore we found a vast mooring pool that seemed even busier than the great Western and Eastern harbours on the sea side. The surrounding countryside was obviously fertile, swept annually by the Nile inundation with its burden of rich silt, and as a result everywhere close to the lake was well cultivated. They had grain, olives, fruit and vines so although at first this seemed an enormous, lonely area, we saw large numbers of oil presses, fermentation vats and breweries. Lake Mareotis was famously the home of endless papyrus beds, so it had all the necessities of the scroll-making industry. Boys paddled up to their knees in water as they cut the reeds, calling out to each other and stopping to stare at us. From the lake itself huge quantities of fish were caught. Then they had commercial quarrying and glass-blowing, plus numerous pottery kilns for the lamp industry and amphora-making for the wine trade.