Then as I came through to the open area in front of the porch, I stopped wondering about him. I spotted Camillus Aelianus, so I set off after him. Aulus must have subconsciously recognised my footfall, for once in the Library porch, he slowed and looked back over his shoulder. I caught him up on the threshold of the great hall. Concerned, I checked him over. He looked pale but calm.
We might have stepped back away from the study area to exchange greetings and news, but we became aware of excited activity in the reading hall. A crowd of scholars and library staff were milling around to our left, at the far end. Aulus and I exchanged a glance, then at once moved towards the commotion. Some of the staff were urging the others to move back. They seemed to need little encouragement. A small stampede occurred. As we arrived, we discovered the reason: a strong, distinctive smell. My heart sank.
Even before we could see anything, I realised we were about to encounter yet another corpse.
XXXV
Flies zoomed, in the way only flies who have been laying eggs in a corpse do.
Pastous, the assistant we had met on our first visit, pushed out through the crowd, one hand covering his mouth. Previously so calm, he stumbled towards us, horrified and agitated. He stopped when he recognised us, his expression a mixture of relief and anxiety.
‘Pastous! Smells like you need an undertaker - better let me take a look.’
People were falling over themselves in their haste to retreat. Aulus told the staff to clear the hall completely. We waved away everyone except Pastous, then cautiously approached. We batted at the flies with ham-fisted motions; they were not interested in us, however.
The commotion had centred on the table where I had been told the man called Nibytas worked. It had been moved - in a hurry, scarring the floor marble. Behind it stood a stool and beside that lay the body. We leaned over, but failed to see enough. I nodded to Aulus; we took an end of the table each, heaving the furniture towards us then swinging my end sideways to leave a clear path.
‘People tried to pull the table; he must have been propped against it, so he fell.’ Gazing at the dead man, Pastous whimpered faintly.
‘That is Nibytas?’
‘Yes. He was just here as usual, apparently working . . .’
He must have been ‘apparently working’ for a long time after he was actually dead.
Pastous stepped back, leaving Aulus and me to investigate. ‘Jupiter,’ I confided. ‘I could have done without this!’
‘What do you think, Marcus? Suspicious circumstances?’
‘Died of old age, by the looks of it.’
That would be very old age. The dead man looked a hundred and four. ‘A hundred and four, plus about three days he’s been sitting here, I’d say’ Aulus was suddenly the expert.
I held one forearm over my nostrils. ‘The last time I smelt decay that bad was -’ I stopped. The dead man had been close to Helena and Aelianus, an uncle of theirs; I was not supposed to know his fate. That was nearly seven years ago. I was respectable now; other people could clear up the mess this time . . . Aulus had looked up, curious. I avoided his gaze, in case he worked out just what it had meant over the past years, being the Emperor’s man. My job had its sombre moments. ‘Best not remembered.’
Nibytas was shrunken, papery, desiccated with age and self-neglect. His shoulders were hooked in a drab tunic; his skeletal legs were mottled. He must have been a stranger at the refectory, though entitled to eat there. Like many old folk, he probably skimped on baths too. Thin feet dangled in oversized sandals. We could tell that he had barely lived, by our standards, while he was alive. No wonder nobody had noticed for days that he did not move. The corpse lay on its side now; it must have stiffened at right angles, but was flexible again. The slight fall from his low seat had simply left him as he must have been sitting when concerned helpers finally disturbed his last reading session.
When moving the table nudged him off his stool, the usual bodily substances leaked everywhere. That must have been the moment when we saw everyone recoil. Thank the gods the Great Library was cool.
His skin was discoloured but from a brief examination - not too close - I could see no evidence of wounding. A stylus was still clasped in his wizened fingers. Unlike the Librarian, he had left no garland on his table, nor could I detect any vomit. The mass of scrolls and crazy scribbled notes looked exactly the same as when I had inspected his work station only the other day. It gave an impression that this table must have looked the same for thirty years, or even fifty. Now the old man had simply gone to sleep for ever in his accustomed place.
I crooked a finger, calling Pastous. I held him lightly by both shoulders, making him look at me. Even so, his gaze could not help sliding downwards to Nibytas. I let him look. Feeling unsettled might help him open up to questions. Aulus rested his backside on the dead man’s table. Both of us managed to look as if we were unmoved by the spectacle and repulsive odours.
‘So, Pastous. In this venerable library, a respected old scholar can pass away, poked in an out-of-the-way corner. Nobody notices for several days. He must have been locked in every night. Even your cleaners passed him by uncaringly’
‘We cared, Falco. It is deeply unfortunate -’
‘It looks bad,’ I growled. Aulus put out a hand in protest, playing the kind-hearted one. I half turned and glared at him. ‘Looks like a bloody great disaster, Aelianus!’
‘Marcus Didius, Pastous is upset -’
‘He should be! They all should be.’
Aulus marshalled me aside. He spoke kindly. As a senator’s son he had no need for bombast; he had been brought up to be polite to people at all levels. Everyone was his inferior, but sometimes he overcame his snootiness. ‘Pastous, this sad ancient character appears to have died from old age. If so, we are not interested in why he remained undiscovered.’
‘Pass it off as a consequence of having no Chief Librarian!’ I muttered.
Aulus continued to be civil and unthreatemng. ‘What we must ask about is that we heard Nibytas was the subject of disciplinary enquiry. What was that about?’
Pastous did not want to tell us.
‘Don’t worry,’ I told Aulus conversationally. ‘I can go out and buy a large hammer and drive nine-inch nails into the Director’s head until Philetus sings.’
‘We could simply hammer nails into Pastous,’ replied Aulus, who could be not-so-nice very easily. He was looking at the library assistant in a thoughtful way.
‘At one time,’ Pastous confessed quickly, ‘we thought Nibytas might be abusing his privileges and taking out scrolls.’
‘Taking them out?’
‘Concealing them. And not returning them.’
‘Theft? So you called in the soldiers!’ I snapped. The assistant looked flustered, but nodded. ‘What happened?’
‘The matter was dropped.’
‘Why?’
‘Only Theon knew.’
‘Useful!’ I cracked out. I stared at the table where the old scholar had worked. The litter of written material was almost a foot high, all over the surface. ‘Why would he need to steal books, when he was allowed to have so many here to work with - and obviously to keep them for a long time?’
Pastous lifted his shoulders in a shrug, raising both hands helplessly. ‘Some people cannot help themselves,’ he whispered. He addressed the issue sympathetically, however much he deplored it. Then he suggested to us, also in a low voice, ‘You might perhaps look at the room where Nibytas lived.’