‘Did Cassius tell you all this?’
Helena blushed. ‘No, I have been reading up myself ... It was a time of excellence. Didymus had contemporaries who were superb literary commentators and grammarians.’
‘All this is not so very long ago.’
‘Exactly, Marcus. In our parents’ lifetime. Scholars here even made the first contact with Pergamum, which in Ptolemaic times had always been shunned by Alexandria because its library was a rival.’
I changed position. ‘You’re saying that only a generation ago, Alexandria was leading the world. So what went wrong? Piss-poor commentaries are being produced by hack reviewers, with ludicrous emendations?’
‘That seems to have happened.’
‘Is it our fault, Helena? We Romans? Did Augustus cause it after Actium? Did that start the rot? Don’t we take enough interest, because Rome is too far distant?’
‘Well, Didymus was later than Augustus, under Tiberius. But maybe with the Emperor as patron and so far away, Museion supervision has failed somewhat.’ Helena had a careful way of trying to keep things right. She spoke slowly now, concentrating. ‘Cassius blames other factors too. Ptolemy Soter had had a glorious ideal. He set out to own every book in the world, so that all the worlds knowledge would be gathered in his Library, available for consultation. We would call that a good motive. But collecting can be obsessive. Totality becomes an end in itself. Possession of all an author’s works, all the works in a set, becomes more important than what the texts actually say. Ideas become irrelevant.’
I puffed out my cheeks. ‘The books are simply objects. It’s all sterile ... I haven’t seen any direct controversy about that. But the librarians here do have a fixation with scroll numbers. Theon had a choking fit when I asked how many scrolls he had, and Timosthenes has been stock-taking.’
Helena pouted. I asked Theon how many scrolls he had.’
‘Right! It doesn’t matter which of us asked -’
Oh yes it did matter. ‘Now you are being dismissive. I hit upon a lucky question - I admit it was lucky’
‘Purely characteristic. You always count the beans.’
‘So you say I am unpleasantly pedantic, while you have intuition and flair . . .’ Helena was not really in the mood for a quarrel; she had something too vital to say. She brushed this niggle aside briskly: ‘Well, Cassius told me that from what he and Fulvius already knew about Theon, before he came to dinner with us, there is an ethical controversy and Theon was part of it. He was fighting the Director, Philetus.’
‘They quarrelled?’
‘Philetus sees scrolls as a commodity. They take up space and gather dust; they need expensive staff to look after them. He asks, what intellectual value do ancient scrolls have, if nobody has consulted them for decades or even centuries?’
‘Can this be relevant to the budget Zenon so carefully kept from me? Is there a financial crisis? And is it the difference of approach that Timosthenes was talking about? I can’t imagine him ever seeing scrolls as dusty wastes of space . . . How does our Cassius know about this?’
‘That was unclear. But he said Philetus was always haranguing Theon about whether they need to keep scrolls nobody sees, or more than one copy. Theon - who already feared his role was being undermined by the Director, remember - fought for the Library to be fully comprehensive. He wanted all known versions; he wanted comparative study of duplicates to be carried out as valid literary criticism.’
I was not entirely sympathetic to that. I dismissed scholars who spent years narrowly comparing works on a line by line basis. Minutely searching for the perfect version seemed to me to add nothing to human knowledge or to the betterment of the human condition. Perhaps it kept the scholars out of the taverns and off the streets -though if it had led directly to Theon being given an oleander nightcap, he might have done better to be away from the Library, just having a dispute about the government with five fishmongers in a downtown bar. Or even staying longer at our house, eating pastries with Uncle Fulvius, come to that.
‘There are others feuding,’ Helena said. ‘The Zoo Keeper, Philadelphion, resents the international kudos that is given to the Great Library at the expense of his scientific institute; he wrangles, or wrangled, with both Philetus and Theon about uplifting the importance of pure science within the Museion. Zenon, the astronomer, thinks studying earth and the heavens is more use than studying animals, so he tussles with Philadelphion. For him, understanding the Nile flood is infinitely more useful than averaging how many eggs are laid by the crocodiles which inhabit the Nile’s banks.’
I nodded. ‘Zenon also knows where the purse pinches - and he must resent having to examine the stars from a chair he made himself while, if what Thalia says is right, Philadelphion can lavish gold on every last breed of fancy ibis. From what you say, love, the Museion is seething with animosity. Our Cassius seems to keep up with gossip. Any other nuggets?’
‘One. The lawyer, Nicanor, lusts after the Zoo Keeper’s mistress.’
‘The fabulous Roxana?’
‘You are salivating, Falco!’
‘I have not even met the woman.’
‘I see you would like to!’
‘Only to evaluate whether her charms might be a motive.’
At this point, perhaps luckily, the hot, restless breeze that had got up while we were conversing began to agitate the undergrowth more wildly, to the extent that it woke our driver. He told us this was the Khamseen, the fifty-day wind that Zenon had speculated might have upset Theon’s mental stability. It certainly was becoming gritty and unpleasant. Helena wrapped her stole around her face. I tried to look brave. The driver hurried us back to the cart and set off for the city, regaling us on the way with tales of how this wicked wind killed babies. There was no need to lure us back with sensational stories. We were ready to go home and check on our daughters.
XXVI
We arrived back in the city in early evening. The wind had blown across us all the way and was now terrorising the streets, grabbing at awnings and bowling rubbish ahead of its strong gusts. People were holding scarves and stoles across their faces, while women’s long clothes twisted against their bodies, men cursed and children wailed. My throat grew scratchy. My hands, fingers and lips felt dry; the dust had worked into my ears and scalp. I could taste the stuff. As we drove along the harbour road, as long as the light lasted we could see choppy waves tearing over the water.
At my uncle’s house, I paid off the driver outside the courtyard gate. Immediately we got down and the porter opened up for us, our driver was nobbled by that fellow Katutis who sat outside on the kerb trying to badger us every day. Out of the corner of my eye I saw them with their heads together, engaged in a deep conversation. I could not deduce whether Katutis was complaining or just curious. I had only a glimpse, but I reckoned he would soon know from today’s driver everything about where we had been. Was he spying on us? Or just jealous that some other fellow had been successful in winning our custom? Today’s driver had been a completely chance pick-up for Helena and me. There was no reason for these two similarly clad, similarly whiskery men to know one another. I could see no reason for them to discuss us so intently. In some places I might shrug and say it was a small town - but Alexandria had half a million inhabitants.