‘Well, you are hardly suitable to give Roxana impartial advice.’
‘I can tell her she is the victim of a trumped-up charge! I can warn her it was certainly made for duplicitous reasons - thus rendering invalid any evidence she was induced to provide to your asinine assistant.’
‘Fear not,’ said Aulus, with his ugliest senatorial sneer. ‘The woman will never be made a witness. Any judge would denounce her as morally unreliable and - by her own admission - she is short-sighted.’
‘She says you threatened her with Minas of Karystos!’
‘I merely mentioned that the eminent Minas is my teacher.’
‘Eminent? The man is a fraud. What’s he teaching you?’ jeered Nicanor. ‘Fish-gutting?’
Apparently Minas had taught Aulus how to remain calm under brutal cross-examination. He smiled patiently and said nothing.
‘She wants compensation,’ Nicanor snarled. This just proved how muddle-headed it can be to set out on a legal course, even with the aim of squeezing a witness. One thing always leads to another. We had no time to mess about in lawcourts, and certainly no spare cash to cover it. ‘For nervous stress, slander and wrongful accusation.’
‘Of course,’ mocked Aulus. ‘And I shall make my counter-claim -for shock and bruises inflicted on a free Roman citizen’s body, when the lecherous madam jumped me.’
‘She what?’ shrieked Helena, in big sister mode.
‘She is shameless, but I fought her off-’
We then learned just how passionately the predatory Nicanor lusted for Roxana. He let out a roar, leapt from his seat, fell on the noble young Camillus, grabbed him around the throat and tried to throttle him.
XLVII
The commotion was so rowdy it drew Fulvius, Cassius and Pa from their hiding-places. They all recovered from their sulks enough to launch into the action, fists whirling. Aulus was outraged, so once I pulled Nicanor off I pinned down Aulus and tried to reason with him. No senator’s son needs a reputation for fisticuffs, even if the fracas was not his fault. Being thought a bruiser might win votes in Rome, where the mulish electorate always goes for thugs, but we were in Alexandria where we would merely be despised as fractious foreigners. Aulus broke free of me at one point, but Helena backed him up against a wall with her well-used instruction: ‘Remember, darling, we are guests!’ He had socked me in the liver, but he was polite with her.
Nicanor also refused to be subdued, but was pushed around and abused verbally by the pensioner gang. They hustled him down the stairs in fits and starts, then bullied him until he did reluctantly capitulate. I said sternly that nobody was taking any legal action. ‘Please remember, Nicanor, you have just proved yourself capable of violence to a young man who rejected Roxana’s advances - so any jury will know what you might have done if you had caught Heras actually in her arms.’ Pa sniggered. I think Nicanor was composed enough to hear me. To put us in the clear as non-aggressors, I sent the man away in my uncle’s palanquin.
That was a mistake, as it meant the palanquin was missing when I needed it.
Fulvius, Cassius and Pa then realised how much their heads hurt. They all went to lie down, while Helena and Albia ministered to them with cabbage broth. I was in charge, so when a shy messenger came for Fulvius, it was to me that the lad reported, ‘Diogenes is making your collection tonight as agreed.’ Fortunately, he was as timid as a wood mouse and whispered in a nice quiet voice. Only I knew he was there.
I was unable to reconnoitre even with Aulus, or Fulvius and company would have known. Instead, I slipped out of the house discreetly, telling no one.
Of course the muttering man with the evil eye, Katutis, saw me leave.
The rendezvous was at the Museion. The shy boy had given me directions. Diogenes would be by the Library, not at the main building but a separate place alongside. Without transport, I had to walk there. I went fast. That was none too easy. It was evening; the streets were thronged with people, going home, going out, meeting friends or colleagues, just enjoying the atmosphere of this fabulous city. At this hour, the crowds were thicker than in daytime.
As usual, when I first set off I thought I was tailed by Katutis, though by the time I reached the Museion grounds, I had lost sight of him. There, strollers had gathered in considerable numbers, admiring the gardens and loitering in the colonnades. I saw members of the public, including a few young families, as well as men who were obviously scholars, none of whom I recognised. The heat of the day lingered just enough to keep things pleasant. The sky was still blue, though the richest depth of colour was about to be sucked out of it as the sun hovered, then sank out of sight below the buildings. Nothing in the world beats the atmosphere of a seafront Mediterranean city on a long fine evening; I could see that Alexandria was among the best.
I went to the Great Library. It was of course locked up. Any faint hope of coming across Pastous faded. He would be long gone, home to wherever he lived and whatever life he had. I was on my own with this.
Behind the Library were various ancillary buildings; eventually I worked out which annexe had been described to me. It was of an age with the main reading rooms, though built on a considerably smaller scale and much less ornate. This must be either a scroll store or a workroom, perhaps where damage was repaired or cataloguing happened. I stood outside for a moment, watching and listening.
Here, at the back of the monumental complex and the elegant, formal grounds, hardly anybody was about. There were gravel paths and service rooms, delivery points and rubbish skips. If vagrants lurked in the Museion grounds at night, this would be where they bedded down. Not yet; it was still too early. Nor did the public come here. It was remote enough for loners or lovers, yet an unattractive venue. The quietness was unwelcoming, the isolation scary. I myself felt out of place, a trespasser.
Sometimes a moment makes you catch your breath. Doubt settles on you. Dear gods, why did I do this job?
There was an answer. If, like me, you were born to a poor family on the Roman Aventine, there were very few options. A boy with a father in trade could be introduced to a guild and might be allowed a lifetime of hard effort in some unrewarding industry; you needed an introduction - and I had had an absent father. No grandfathers. Uncles all too old or with no decent contacts. (As a bitter example, one had been Fulvius - at that time far away, cavorting on Mount Ida, hoping to castrate himself as an act of religious devotion . . .) The only alternative had seemed good to a teenager: the army. I had joined, but found that in legionary life neither the bloody tragedy of war nor counting boots and cooking pots in the comedy of peace had suited me.
So here I was. Independent, self-employed, favoured with a job full of challenge yet leading a life of madness. Informing was only decent if you liked standing in a doorway for hours by yourself, while everyone with any sense was cosily at home, enjoying dinner and conversation, prior to sleep or love or both.
That could have been me. I could have learned to use an abacus or taught myself to be a seal-cutter; I could haul logs or run an apple stall. I could be a bakery owner’s bread-oven-paddle-poker or a butcher’s offal-bucket-toter. Right now, I could be sitting in a wicker chair, with a drink on a side table and a jolly good scroll to read.
Nothing appeared to be going on, but I was patient.
As far as I knew I was observing a fraud, nothing dangerous. I had on decent boots, a knife tucked in one of them and a belt I was fond of. The weather was fine. The night was young. I was clean and fed; I had trimmed fingernails, an empty bladder and money in my arm-purse. Nobody close to me knew where I was, but otherwise my situation was comparatively good.