Alexandria

IV

Cassius had thrown himself into the evening. Most of it worked. The decorations and some of the dishes were superb.

He served grilled fish in Sauce Alexandrian. Although Cassius saw it as a compliment to Egypt, I reckoned any local guest was bound to feel this recipe fell short of his mother's cherished version. Cassius was asking to be informed that stoned damsons were now a cliche and everyone who was anyone used raisins in their sauces… On the other hand, Cassius whispered that he could never have trained the cooks in time to do fine Roman cuisine. He was afraid that the pastry chef would knife him, if asked to try. Worse, he suspected that the chef had sensed the possibility of being asked to change his repertoire, and might already have poisoned the fried honey cakes. I suggested Cassius should eat one to check.

The Librarian did come, though he was late. We had to endure an hour of Fulvius getting agitated as he thought he had been snubbed. Then, while the man shed his shoes and was made comfortable, Fulvius pretended to us that arriving late was a custom here, a compliment that implied a guest was so relaxed he felt time was of no consequence

… or some such waffle. I could see Albia staring, wide-eyed; she had already been startled by my uncle's outfit, which was a loose dining-robe of the type called a synthesis, in vivid saffron gauze. At least the Librarian had brought Fulvius a gift of potted figs, which would solve the dessert problem if Cassius keeled over after my pastry test.

His name was Theon. He looked acceptable on the surface but his clothes were a fortnight overdue at the laundry. They had never been stylish. His workaday tunic hung on a thin frame as if he never ate properly and his beard was sparse and straggly. Either he was too poorly paid to live up to his honourable position, or he was a natural slob. As a natural cynic, I presumed the latter.

At dinner, Cassius hung us all with special garlands then positioned us carefully. It was intended we should have three formal courses, though service was curious and distinctions became blurred. Still, we ploughed diligently through the correct rota of conversation. The appetisers were given over to my party's voyage. Helena, acting as our spokesperson, gave a humorous oration on the weather, the mercenary ship's captain and our stop-off in Rhodes – with its highlight of looking into the gigantic pieces of the fallen Colossus and seeing the stone and metal framework that would have held it upright, but for the earthquake.

'Do you suffer many earthquakes here?' Albia asked Uncle Fulvius in extremely careful Greek. She was learning the language and had been instructed to practise. Nobody would think that this grave and neat young girl had once roamed the streets of Londinium, an urchin who could spit 'get lost, you pervert!' in more languages than Cleopatra elegantly spoke. As adoptive parents we viewed her proudly.

Helena had created a Greek phrasebook for our foster-daughter, including the question on which Albia had sweetly ventured as an icebreaker. I regaled the company with further examples. 'The next continues the volcanic theme: Please excuse my husband farting at the dinner table; he has a dispensation from the Emperor Claudius. A footnote reminds us this is true; all Roman men enjoy that privilege, courtesy of our frequently maligned ex-Emperor. There was a good reason why Claudius was deified.'

Albia dragged back decorum into the conversation: 'My favourite phrase is Please help; my slave has expired from sunstroke in the basilica!'

Helena smiled. 'Weil, I was particularly proud of: Can you direct me to an apothecary who sells inexpensive corn-plasters? which then has a follow-up: If I need anything of a more delicate nature, can I trust him to be discreet?'

Uncle Fulvius displayed unexpected good nature, informing Albia in slow phrases, 'Yes, there are earthquakes in this country, although fortunately most are mild.'

'Do they cause much damage, pray?'

'It is always a possibility. However, this city has existed safely for four hundred years…' Albia was having trouble with Greek numbers; she started panicking. The Librarian had listened inscrutably.

When the main dishes came, of course we switched topics. I applied myself politely to local questions. Hardly had I broached how hot was the weather likely to be during our stay, when Aulus interrupted, launching into how he had fared that morning at the Museion. Aulus could be crass. Now the Librarian would assume he had been invited tonight so we could beg a place for Aulus.

Theon glared at the would-be scholar. What he saw would not impress: a truculent twenty-eight-year-old, overdue for a haircut, with so few social graces anyone could see why he had not followed his father into the Senate. No one would guess Aulus had nonetheless done a routine stint as an army tribune and even spent a year in the governor's office in Baetican Spain. In Athens he had grown a beard like Greek philosophers. Helena was terrified their mother would hear about it. No honest Roman wears a beard. Access to good razors is what singles us out from the barbarians.

'Decisions about admissions are taken by the Museion – it is out of my hands,' warned Theon.

'Not to bother. I used my charm.' Aulus smiled triumphantly.' I was accepted straight away'

'Olympus!' I let slip. 'That's a surprise!'

Theon appeared to think the same. 'And what do you do, Falco? Here for education or commerce?'

'Just a trip to visit family and put in some gentle sightseeing.'

'My nephew and his wife are intrepid travellers,' beamed Uncle Fulvius. He was no slouch himself at touring, though he kept to the Mediterranean whereas I had been to more remote areas: Britain, Spain, Germany, Gaul… My uncle would shudder at those grim provinces, with their heavy legionary presence and absence of Greek influence. 'Your activities are not unconnected with imperial business, eh, Marcus? And I heard you were involved with the Census not so long ago? Falco is very highly regarded, Theon. So tell us, nephew, who is due for a penetrating audit here?'

Had Cassius not placed himself between us on the dining couches I could have kicked Fulvius. Trust relatives to open their mouths. Up until that point, the Librarian had viewed us as the usual ill-read foreigners wanting to look at pyramids. Now, of course, his gaze sharpened.

Helena helped him to pork-stuffed-two-ways and dealt with it briskly. 'My husband is an informer, Theon. He did carry out a special investigation into Census avoidance two years ago, but his work in Rome is mainly background checks on people's intended marriage partners. The public have the wrong perception of what Falco does, though in fact it is commercial and routine.'

'Informers are never popular,' Theon commented, not quite sneering.

I wiped sticky fingers on my napkin. 'Mud sticks. You will have heard about the crooked ones among my colleagues in the past, who pointed out rich men to Nero; he had them hauled into court on trumped-up charges so he could plunder their assets – with the informers taking a cut, of course. Vespasian put an end to that scam – not that I ever dabbled. Nowadays it's all small beans. Disputing wills for hopeful widows or chasing after runaway partners from debt-ridden small businesses. I help members of the public avoid pain, yet for the world at large my work still has the fragrance of a blocked drain.'

'So what do you do for the Emperor?' The Librarian would not let it go.

'The public is correct. I poke a long stick into noxious blockages.'

'That takes skill?'

'Just a strong shoulder and knowing when to hold your nose.'

'Marcus is being modest.' Helena was my best supporter. I winked at her wickedly, implying that if we had been couched alongside, I would have given her a squeeze. Against convention – but convention never bothers me. She was wearing dark red, a colour that gave her a luscious glow, with a gold necklace I had bought for her after a particularly profitable mission. 'He is a first-class investigator with exceptional skills. He works quickly, discreetly and with unfailing humanity' And he's all hands, said her dark eyes back to me across the half-circle of couches.

I sent over more private eye-messages to Helena. Theon had spotted something going on, but had not worked out that it was lechery. 'The noble Helena Justina is not just my wife, but my accountant, business manager and publicist. If Helena decides you need an enquiry agent – good references and cheap rates – then she will prise a commission out of you, Theon!'

Helena then shot us all a beaming smile. 'Oh not this month, darling! We are in Egypt on holiday!'

'All-seeing Argos never sleeps!' Now it was Aulus pompously giving the game away. I was surrounded by idiots. No one had any discretion; well, except Cassius, who was so worn out by his exertions all day he had nodded off with his chin on his forearm. Protruding from a wide-sleeved robe of some African design, the forearm was extremely hairy.

'Classical allusion? Oh really!' Helena rapped her brother playfully with the end of a shellfish spoon. 'Marcus promised he would be all mine. He has come away to spend time with me and the little ones.'

I tucked into my foodbowl, looking like an innocent domestic treasure.

Helena then swerved neatly and started polite Smalltalk about the Great Library. Theon ignored Helena. He favoured me with a professional grumble: 'You might think the Library is the most important institution here, Falco, but for administrative purposes, it counts less than the observatory, the medical laboratory – or even the zoo! I ought to be feted but am harassed at every turn, while others take precedence. The Director of the Museion is by tradition a priest, not a scholar. Yet he includes in his title, ''Head of the United Libraries of Alexandria'', whereas I – in charge of the most renowned collection of knowledge in the world – am merely its curator and secondary to him. And why should the Pharos be so famous – a mere bonfire at the top of a tower – when the Library is the true beacon, a beacon of civilisation?'

'Indeed,' Helena humoured him, ignoring in her turn his exclusion of women. 'The Great Library, Megale Bibliothcca. should be one of the Wonders of the World. I have read that Ptolemy Soter, who first set out to found a centre of universal scholarship here, decided to collect not only Hellenic literature, but ''all the books of the peoples of the world''. He spared neither expense nor effort -' Theon was clearly unimpressed by her research. Women were not permitted to study in his Library and I reckoned he rarely mingled with them. I doubted it he was married. Helena's attempts at flattery met only a downcast expression of bad temper and bad grace. The man was hard going. Probably desperate, she jangled an armful of bangles and asked the obvious question: 'So how many scrolls do you have?'

The Librarian must have bitten on a peppercorn. He went white and choked. Fulvius had to pat him on the back. The disturbance woke Cassius from his nap, so he too was treated to Theon's look of reproach and thought the food was being blamed. Catching up with the conversation as if he had never been asleep, Cassius muttered under his breath, 'From what we hear of the famous Library, the freeloading scholars have a stinking lack of morality and all the staff are so disheartened they have almost given up!' It was the first time I saw my uncle's partner show his dyspeptic side. That's dinner parties for you.

Then, just as Aulus was forcing a beaker of water down the Librarian – with a grip that showed our boy really had been in the army – two pathetic little barefoot figures appeared in the doorway: Julia and Favonia were bawling their eyes out, having woken in a strange house all alone.

Uncle Fulvius growled. Helena and Albia jumped up and rushed from the room, carrying the children back to bed. Albia must have stayed with them. By the time Helena returned to the dining room, the third course had been brought and the slaves had withdrawn. We men had redoubled the pace of our wine intake and were talking about horse-racing.

Lindsey Davis

Alexandria

V

Horseflesh, surprisingly, was the Librarian's best topic. Aulus and I could hold our own, while Fulvius and Cassius spoke of legendary contests run by noble beasts in international hippodromes, using colourful and sometimes off-colour anecdotes.

Helena commandeered the wine flagon, to forget us being sports bores. Roman men magnanimously take their women to dinner parties, but that doesn't mean we bother talking to them. But Helena would not tolerate staying in the women's quarters like a good Greek wife, letting her man go out to be entertained by a professional party girl. She had had a husband once, before me, who tried to go solo: she served him with a divorce notice.

We were a team: she refrained from nagging me, and when the party broke up, I made sure I found her buried among a pile of cushions and hauled her to bed. I can undress a woman who says she is too sleepy. Anyone can see where sleeve-buttons are. Helena was sober enough to flop around in the right directions. She just liked the attention; it was good fun for me too.

I spread her red dress neatly on a chest, placing ear-rings and so forth upon it. I threw my tunic on a stool. I crawled into bed beside Helena, thinking how good it would be to have a lie-in next day, before another of my uncle's leisurely all-morning breakfasts on his gently sunlit roof terrace. Afterwards, perhaps, now that I had met him, I might go and annoy Theon by poking around his Library and asking him to show me how the catalogue system worked…

No luck. First, our daughters found out where our room was. Still feeling neglected, they made sure we knew it. We were woken by two hard artillery rocks plummeting at our prone bodies then squirming between us. Somehow we had produced children with iron heads and fast-kicking powerful rabbits' feet.

'Why do you not have a nursemaid to look after them?' Uncle Fulvius had asked, in genuine bafflement. I had explained that the last slave I bought for that purpose found Julia and Favonia such hard work she announced she would be our cook instead. It added to his incomprehension. Fulvius should have known all about family chaos; he grew up on the same crazy farm as my mother. His brain seemed to have blanked out the misery. Perhaps mine would one day.

The next horror was a disturbed breakfast.

Barely had we slumped under the pergola, than we heard footsteps thumping loudly up the stairs. I could tell they meant trouble. Fulvius also seemed to recognise military boots. Given that his house rules were firm about not attracting this kind of attention, it was remarkable how fast he reacted. He struggled to get up, intending to take the newcomers downstairs somewhere private, but after his night of revelry was just too sluggish. Three men stomped out on to the terrace.

'Ooh – soldiers!' Helena murmured. 'What have you been up to, Fulvius?'

As far as I remembered from desultory checks before we left Rome, there were two legions in Egypt, though supposedly they exercised control with a light hand. Having the Prefect in Alexandria meant troops had to be permanently stationed here to show he meant business. Currently, those who were not up-country occupied a double fort at Nicopolis, the new Roman suburb on the eastern side that Augustus had built. Geographically, this fort was in the wrong place – right in the north of a long, narrow province while the brigands were a long way south, preying on the Red Sea ports, and any over-border incursions from Ethiopia and Nubia were even further away. Worse, during the Nile floods, Nicopolis was inaccessible except by punt. Still, the Alexandrian mob had a rowdy reputation. It was useful to have troops close by to cover that, and the Prefect could feel big, going around with armed escorts.

Apparently the militia also carried out certain law enforcement duties that in Rome would fall to the vigiles. So instead of the equivalent of my friend Petronius Longus, we had a visitation from a centurion and two sidekicks. Before they even said what they wanted, my uncle assumed the look of a naughty stable-boy. He rushed to lead away the centurion to his study – though the soldiers pretended they thought it was more discreet for them to stay behind on the roof terrace to supervise the rest of us. They had spotted the food, of course.

Good ploy, noble squaddies! I immediately questioned them on what had brought them to annoy my uncle.

They were commendably demure – for all of five minutes. Helena Justina soon softened them up. She filled fresh bread rolls with sliced sausage for them, while Albia passed around olive bowls. No soldier has been born who can resist a very polite seventeen-year-old girl with clean hair and dainty bead necklaces; she must have reminded them of their little sisters back at home.

'So what's the big mystery?' I asked them, grinning.

Their names were Mammius and Cotius, a long streak of wind with a broken belt-buckle and a short pot of pig's fat with his neck-scarf missing. They wriggled with embarrassment, but through mouthfuls of breakfast they inevitably told me.

Theon, the Librarian, had been found in his office that morning. A garland of roses, myrtle and green leaves, the garland with which Cassius had bedecked all of us last night at dinner, was lying on his work-table. This garland was a special order, about which Cassius had been meticulous, personally selecting the choice of leaves and style. It had led their centurion to the flower-seller who made it – and she fingered Cassius from the address where she delivered the foliage. Egypt was a bureaucratic province so the house was on some register as rented by Uncle Fulvius.

'What was up with Theon?'

'Dead.'

'Dead! But he never ate any of the pastry chef's poisoned cakes!' Helena laughed to Albia. The soldiers became nervous and pretended they had not heard her.

'Foul play?' I asked, making it casual.

'No comment,' announced Mammius with great formality.

'Does that mean you were not told, or you never saw the body?'

'Never saw it,' swore Cotius self-righteously.

'Well, nice lads don't want to go looking at corpses. It might make you queasy… So why was the army called in? Is that usual?'

Because, the lads informed us (lowering their voices), Theon's office was locked. People had had to break the door down. There was no key, not in his door, on his person, or anywhere inside the room. The Great Library was stuffed with mathematicians and other scholars, who were drawn to the commotion nosily; these great minds deduced that someone else had locked Theon in. In the traditions of the academic world, they loudly announced their discovery. A rumour flew around that the circumstances were suspicious.

The mathematicians had wanted to solve the puzzle of this locked room themselves, but a jealous philosophy student who believed in civic order, reported it to the Prefect's office.

'The snitching beggar must have scampered there on very fast little legs!'As soldiers, my informants were fascinated to think anyone would ever involve the authorities voluntarily.

'Perhaps the student wants to work in administration when he gets a real job. He thinks this will enhance his profile,' Helena sniggered.

'Or perhaps he is just a nasty sneak.'

''Oh that would not debar him from government administration!' I could see Mammius and Cotius thought Helena an extremely exciting woman. Sharp lads.

Anyway, the sneak had landed us in it. At this moment, the centurion was instructing Fulvius to produce yesterday evening's menu and confirm whether any of us had suffered ill effects. My uncle would be quizzed on whether Cassius or he had had any grudge against Theon.

'Of course,' the soldiers admitted to us frankly, 'as visitors to the city, you people are bound to be the first suspects. When any crime happens, it helps public confidence if we can say that we have arrested a suspicious bunch of foreigners.'