"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.
I heard men's voices downstairs, and saw faint lights flickering on the walls of the stairwell. Then the voices were in the room. From my point of limited vantage I counted three pairs of feet, one in slippers, one in Greek sandals, one in military boots.
"It is in that cabinet," said a heavily accented voice. "I could have fetched it myself."
"There are many things we could all do individually, if we trusted one another, which we do not." This was a cultivated Greek voice with a faint accent. The mystery man.
"We don't have all night," said a third voice, brusque and military. "Let's go over it."
This had to be Achillas, I thought, although his words were somewhat tightly spoken, as if suppressing some resentment. Well, conspirators hardly ever get along very well. There came a shuffling of feet and a scraping of furniture. A loud rustling announced the unrolling of a heavy scroll.
"Most interesting work," said the Greek voice. "Only the first part is Biton's treatise on war engines, you know, written in his own hand. It also contains the work of Aeneas Tacticus and a unique work by one Athenaeus concerning the mechanical school established by the tyrant Dionysus I of Syracuse to improve military engineering, all of it profusely illustrated."
"I read it all years ago," said Military Boots. "Valuable stuff, but that's not what's important."
"So it isn't," said Greek Sandals. "But:" There was a sound of more rustling. ": here are the original plans by Iphicrates for his new machines, including the propulsion system for the great tower, the reflectors for firing enemy ships: note that it only works on a sunny day: and so forth. Why is King Phraates so anxious to have these?"
"The Parthians are horse-archers," Military Boots said. "That gives them the edge against the Romans on an open battlefield. Romans are heavy infantry and little else, on the field. But they are masters at both besieging and defending fortified positions, and you can't take those with horses and arrows. A war between Rome and Parthia would be fought to a bloody draw, with Parthia victorious in the field and Rome taking and holding the forts, the cities and the harbors. With these machines, and the trained engineers we'll send them, Parthia has nothing to fear from Rome."
"I see. Ah, here are the earlier drafts of the treaty, since we no longer have the services of the late Hypatia:"
"Was it really necessary to kill her?" hissed Asiatic Slippers.
"Oh, absolutely," said Greek Sandals. "She was about to sell us all out to the Roman."
"We don't allow treachery," said Military Boots. "Not from an Athenian whore, and not from a Chian philosopher."