"My reasons are sufficient to me. Why are you so curious?"
"If you are so hated by so many powerful men, there must be more to you than I thought."
"How good it is to enter your charmed circle. Yes, I, too, am the coveted target of assassins."
"I think that always makes a man more interesting and exciting. But not poor Julia. She actually worries about you." To my relief, Fausta rose. "I must go now, Decius. I think, should you live, you might turn out to be an interesting man." And so she left.
Rufus came by to tell me that Creticus was making inquiries about ships leaving for Rome. Failing Rome, for anywhere at all. I clearly had little time to settle matters in Alexandria. Fortunately, Creticus hadn't set armed guards over me. This might have been because the embassy had no armed guards. There were always the Whipper and the Binder, but now that I was no longer charged with murder, it would have been unfitting to set slaves over me.
So when it was fully dark and everyone had retired, I just put on my cloak and walked out.
Once again, I was on the streets of Alexandria at night. The theater was one of the landmarks of the city, and I made for it. The theaters of Greece were cut into hillsides, taking advantage of natural terrain features. Since Alexandria was flat, the theater of Alexandria was a freestanding building, much like the one Pompey was even then building on the Campus Martius in Rome. It was visible from a long distance, and I could see it almost as soon as I left the Palace enclosure.
The theater in Alexandria was the great resort of prostitutes, as was and is the Circus Maximus in Rome. There is something about dark archways that is conducive to their trade. There were practitioners of both of the usual sexes, and some who seemed to be a combination of both.
I made a show of strolling about, examining the wares to be had, making comparisons of appearance, price and specialty (I truly was not interested), all the while keeping an eye on the red-fronted house with the carved doorposts. In the torchlight it was actually possible to distinguish color. I had to assume that the leaves adorning the doorposts were of the acanthus. I wouldn't know acanthus from poplar. A person of enormous, liquid-brown eyes and indeterminate gender noticed my preoccupation and sidled over to me.
"You can't afford that one," she said (I use "she" for lack of an adequate pronoun).
"How do you know?" I asked.
"She is kept by some very rich men. They keep her well, and I doubt that they would like it if she were to spread herself too thin."
"Men?" I said. "She is kept by more than one?"
"Oh, yes. At least three who go there in turn; sometimes all three are in there at once. She must have some sophisticated tricks to keep all three amused at once."
"Who are they?" I asked.
"Why are you so curious about her?" she said suspiciously.
I almost told her about the murder, but she would clam up if she thought she might be hauled in for an investigation.
"I have reason to believe she's a slave who ran away from her master in Syracuse."
"Then there is reward money involved."
"I am willing to pay for information."
"I've already given you some," she said petulantly.
"That was your miscalculation." I held out two silver denarii and dropped them into the soft palm. "Describe the three regulars."
"One is an Eastern foreigner, a Syrian or Parthian, I think. He's the one who's there almost every night. There's a big, good-looking man who favors clothes with a military cut. The third is a little Greek. Not from Greece, I don't think, but from one of the Eastern colony cities."
"How can you tell that?"
"He's bought the services of a few of the boys. I've heard him talk. He tries to speak like an Athenian, but he can't quite pull it off. Fine voice, though, like a trained orator."
"Are any of those boys here tonight?" I asked.
"I don't think so. They're a pretty transient lot, runaways mostly, both slave and free. They don't last long."
I tossed her another denarius and went toward the house. I had expected Orodes and Achillas, but who was the Greek? A woman like Hypatia might keep any number of lovers on the side, but the catamite had said that all three of these had been in the house at the same time, upon occasion. No matter. My business was with a certain book in that house.
There were no lamps showing, but that meant nothing. The only windows on the street side were two small ones on the second story. The flanking buildings ap-peared to be private houses as well. I walked around the block. On the opposite side was a row of small shops. Most were shuttered for the night, but there was a small wineshop right in the middle of the block. As near as I could make out, it was directly opposite Hypatia's house. I went in and found a place much like its Roman equivalent, only better lit and ventilated. A half-wall separated it from the street, its upper half bearing top-hinged shutters that were propped open to catch the evening air.
Inside, a long counter ran the length of one wall. The other side was devoted to a number of small tables at which a dozen or so patrons sat, drinking and talking in low tones. None of them paid me any heed when I entered. I went to the bar and ordered a cup of Chian. There were platters of bar food, and I remembered that it had been a while since I had eaten, and it is always a mistake to commit burglary on an empty stomach. So I loaded a plate with bread, cheese, figs and sausage.
As I annihilated everything on the plate, I pondered my next move. I had to get into that house, and the easiest way seemed to be through the back of this one. I took my empty cup and plate to the bar.
"More, sir?" asked the barkeep, a one-eyed man in a dirty tunic.
"Not just now. Is there a public latrine out back?"
"No, there's one just down the street."
"That won't do," I said. "I need to get out back. The truth is, I'm visiting a lady's house and I'd rather not be seen going in." I'd actually told the truth.
He grinned lopsidedly and took the silver denarius I held out. "Come this way, sir."
He led me through a curtained doorway into the rear of the shop. There was a storeroom with amphorae, full on the right, empties on the left, and miscellaneous goods and supplies. A stairway led to the upper floor, undoubtedly the shopkeeper's home. He unbolted a rear door and let me through.
"Will you be coming back this way?" he asked.
"Probably not, but it's possible."
"I can't leave it unbolted, but if you pound loud enough, I'll come and open it up for you."
"There will be another denarius for your trouble should it be necessary," I assured him.
"Good evening to you, then, sir." I got the impression that he had performed this service before.
Behind the shop was a large courtyard shared by most of the houses on the block. As in Rome, few buildings actually fronted on the streets in Alexandria. The yards were separated by head-high, gated walls. I scrambled atop a wall and surveyed the scene. No one appeared to be in the yards or on the second-story balconies. All was quiet. Cats walked silently along the tops of the low walls like spirits.
The house that I judged to be Hypatia's showed no lights. I walked along the wall and jumped down into its courtyard. The space was filled with planters in which flowers bloomed. A marble table stood in its center, circled by bronze chairs. It was undoubtedly a pleasant spot in the daytime. Poor Hypatia must have taken great pleasure in it.
I made my way past the flowers and tried the ground-floor door. It opened quietly. I went in cautiously, afraid there might be slaves somewhere about, sleeping lightly. I didn't dare try to fetch a light from one of the street torches until I was sure I was alone, so I spent the next hour or more tiptoeing through the house, guiding myself by touch. I found no one on either floor. I took a lamp and began to descend the stairs, congratulating myself on my ingenuity and good fortune. Then I heard a sound at the door. Somebody was fumbling at it with a key. I tiptoed back up the stair and to the largest room on the second floor. It was a bedroom, and I scrambled beneath the bed like the wife's young lover in a farce.