‘Would he? You had better ask him, Falco.’
I probably would do eventually. At the moment, seeing I had no evidence, Nicanor would simply deny it.
‘So give me a steer, Philetus: now you have announced your shortlist, which of your four candidates is the hot name?’
‘What do you think of them, Falco?’As always, the slippery Director dodged the ball, throwing it straight back to me. If he was being discreet I could have borne it, but he was just indecisive.
‘Philadelphion must be the front-runner - though would you relish working closely with him? Apart from the black mark for Roxana, is there anything else against him?’
‘I shall be perturbed if it comes to light there was something amiss with zoo security last night. It appears,’ mused Philetus grimly, ‘at the very least there must have been carelessness in locking up the crocodile. I now have to see whether Philadelphion is running his zoo properly . . .’ So count him out! Philetus could not leave it alone: ‘He is too quarrelsome, anyway. He was always wrangling with Theon and he continually argues with Zenon, our astronomer.’
‘So what of Zenon?’
Philetus’ eyes narrowed. ’Extremely competent.’ That was terse. I got it: Zenon knew far too much about the financial background. Zenon was dangerous to Philetus.
‘We were talking about Nicanor. Is he as good as he thinks he is?’
‘Too reluctant to make contributions to discussions. He holds back - and thinks himself very clever and manipulative.’ That was such a good assessment I thought Philetus must have filched it from someone else.
‘Apollophanes? You get on well with him, I think?’
Now I had pleased him. ‘Oh yes,’ agreed the Director, like a feral cat who had just stolen a particularly rich bowl of cream from a bunch of pampered house pets. ‘Apollophanes is a scholar I always find congenial.’
I left, thinking how very much I would have liked to see Philetus dead, embalmed and mummified on a dusty shelf. If possible, I would consign him to a rather disreputable temple where they got the rites wrong. He festered. The man was only good for a long eternity of mould and decay.
XXXIV
This was a mess. At risk of increasing the slurry, I went to the Prefect’s palace and told the staff not to allow any movement on the Library appointment until my investigation finished.
‘The Director is nagging us for an early announcement, Falco.’
I smiled serenely. ’Let him nag. You are the bureaucrats. Your prime task is to find convoluted systems that necessitate delay.’
Anything that avoided work seemed clever to the aides-de-camp.
‘When the Director sent through his list, did he tick his preferred candidate?’ I recommend you make additions.
‘Philetus? Make a decision?’ Even the senatorial wide-boys laughed.
They had passed the list in to the Prefect like a red-hot brick. Knowing how to take care of himself, he biffed it straight back out and asked them to brief him on what action to take. It was too important to remain in an in-tray. They were stuck. They asked me.
‘If in doubt, consult the Emperor. ’That could take months. ‘The list is a travesty, incidentally. I recommend you make additions.’
‘Can we add names?’
‘A Prefect can always call in extra candidates. He should do so. It demonstrates that he is exercising his judgement and experience, not just acquiescing weakly to whatever is put in front of him.’
‘He will like that! Who should he call in?’
‘Timosthenes, for one.’ They wrote it down. Beneficiaries of fine educations, they could write. I was pleased to see it. ‘When the old man asks why, say: “Timosthenes is already holder of a similar post at the Serapeion. He runs that library well. He is not so academically eminent as the others, but a solid candidate, so in view of the Emperor’s preference for appointments made on merit, you advise that Timosthenes should be considered”.’
They wrote that down too. One of them could do shorthand. ‘Sounds good.’
‘I am an informer. We earn our fees.’
‘Anybody else?’
‘If the Prefect - or his noble lady - has ever shown a particular interest in tragic drama, suggest a man called Aeacidas.’ ‘His wife enjoys lyre music. He follows gladiating.’
‘Goodbye, sad tragedian then!’
The Palace was cool. Out of doors, the Khamseen had dropped but without the wind we had a stonking hot midday which made me just as stressed. Wherever I decided to go next, even home for lunch, I would find myself sweating and debilitated. I faced this prospect with mild depression.
Fortunately, I spotted Numerius Tenax, the centurion. I told him if he could find an excuse to go for lunch so I could pick his expert brains, I would buy him the drink he had offered to buy me when we first met. He pretended to be unravelling the clauses in my offer. But he appreciated drinking on my imperial expenses (as he thought). When he took me to his local bar, we raised a toast to Vespasian.
I relayed the latest developments. Tenax grimaced. ‘I’m glad you’re in charge, not me.’
‘Thanks, Tenax! The gods know where I go next.’
We drank, and ate saucers of savouries, in silence.
Tenax had nothing to tell me about the intellectuals’ feuds. However bitter their rivalries, it would be a war of words. Only if they started throwing punches would the military be involved; that was unlikely. ‘They tend to fix things themselves. When I saw you at the Museion the other day, Falco, it was my first visit for ages. The Prefect leaves them alone. We never get involved.’
I mentioned my theory that there were financial difficulties. ’Anything cropped up on audit, do you know?’
‘What audit? The Museion is given a big fat annual budget; it’s from the imperial treasury now, of course. They can spend the money how they like. The Prefect doesn’t have the staff to oversee an institution of that size. Not in any way that would be meaningful.’
I swirled my drink. ‘Someone was afraid the Prefect - or higher - was about to start taking notice. They all seem scared stiff of my appearance on the scene.’
Tenax surveyed me. He pulled down the corners of his mouth. ‘Scared of you, Falco?’ he mused whimsically. ‘Gods in Olympus, however could that be?’
I produced a dutiful grin and ate more olives. Maybe the salt would rebalance my tired body.
Tenax went on thinking about it. ‘The way it looks from here, the current Director has a poor grip. You know from the army how that works.’ How did he know I had been in the army? ‘Once people get a hint supervision is a bit limp, everyone overspends madly. One tribune orders himself a new desk, probably because his is genuinely riddled with woodworm, then the next man along sees it and wants one, and next minute, gold-handled desks with ivory-inlaid tops are being sent halfway across the Empire in multiple quantities. Then headquarters asks a question. Immediately, there is a crackdown.’
‘At the Museion, the crackdown hasn’t happened yet?”
‘I can’t see that it will, Falco. The Museion is run by that miraculous system called self-certification.’
We both laughed hoarsely.
Tenax did remember some kind of incident involving the Great Library, maybe about six months ago. He had not bothered to involve himself. ‘I never went down there. It faded out, as I recall. I can ask my boys . . .’
I did not wait around to hear what his legionaries might have to say. I had already seen Cotius and Mammius. Not much chance of obtaining a significant lead through them.
I thanked the centurion for his time and advice. Chatting with a like-minded professional did me good. I returned to my investigation feeling much more vigorous.
I entered the Museion complex on a route that took me near the Great Library. I passed through its pleasant colonnades, enjoying the shade and the beauty of the gardens. My attention was drawn when I noticed a man I recognised. He had passed out of sight by the time I remembered who he was: the trader who had called last night to visit Uncle Fulvius. I wondered idly whether he merely used this as a route elsewhere, or if he had had business here. Although he had fitted in well with my uncle’s circle, he seemed an incongruous visitor to the Museion. Still, it could be on his way to the Forum.