Alexandria

XLII

I handed Aulus cash to settle up for lunch, and led Pastous aside. 'Be very careful. Theon was right: speaking out against your superiors is always risky. I am very unhappy about what we are dealing with here.'

If this Diogenes was involved in murky business, aided and encouraged by the Museion Director, and if both Theon and Nibytas had found out, that would explain much. Bad feeling, at the very least. But Philetus could well claim that as Director he had full authority to sell off scrolls if, in his judgement, they were no longer required. Who had the power to overrule him? Probably only the Emperor, and he was too far away.

What was going on might be no more than sleazy. Philetus might be turfing out work by writers he personally hated, discredited material, outdated books that would never be looked at again. He might well call this routine housekeeping. Any difference of opinion on the philosophy behind it could resolve itself when they appointed a new Librarian. In any case, if weeding out works was decided to be more than just unorthodox, if it was deemed to be wrong, then Vespasian could issue a directive that no scrolls held at the Great Library were ever to be sold. Only one thing deterred me from making such a recommendation at once: the famously stingy Vespasian might like the idea. He was more likely to insist scrolls were sold in large numbers, with the money raised all sent to him in Rome.

It could be assumed that if Philetus really was selling off scrolls to Diogenes, the income was used for the overall benefit of the Museion or the Library. But if Philetus was removing books on the sly and taking the money himself, that was different. It was theft, no question.

Nobody had suggested that. Nobody had given me any proof of it either. But perhaps it never crossed their minds that a Director could do such a thing.

There could be worse. Trouble about the scroll-selling could have led to foul play. We had two recent deaths at the Library. I would need the strongest kind of evidence to suggest a scroll fraud had caused them. Most people would guffaw at it. To proceed on my suspicions would mean going over the head of the Director, since he appeared to be involved. That meant taking matters to the Roman Prefect.

I was not stupid. Unless I found proof, it was out of the question.

I made Pastous promise simply to observe. If he saw Diogenes in the Great Library, he was quickly to alert Aulus or me. If the Director appeared again, Pastous was to watch surreptitiously what Philetus was doing, keeping a record of scrolls he asked to see.

Aulus and Pastous went off to finish reading the old man's documents. I took Helena home to my uncle's house. I wanted to discuss with her, alone, the other aspect of this story: Diogenes was connected to Uncle Fulvius.

'If Diogenes is a trader,' Helena mused, 'he could be involved in all sorts of commerce with numerous people. It doesn't follow that what he is doing at the Library also involves your uncle.'

'No, and the sun never sets in the west.'

'Marcus, we could ask Fulvius about it.'

'The trouble with Fulvius is that even if he is completely innocent, he will give us a tricky answer on principle. And what am I to do, love, if I find out there is a scam – and a member of my own family is in it? Possibly more than one member.'

'You are thinking of Cassius?'

'No,' I said grimly. 'I meant Pa.'

All three were out when we arrived home. That saved me having to tackle them.

When they rolled in, we could tell they had all been at a very extended business lunch. We could hear them coming even before they wove unsteadily into the outer courtyard. Crossing it took about half an hour from when they staggered in through the gateway telling the porter that they loved him. All of them were extravagantly good-humoured, but almost incomprehensible. I had given myself the task of interrogating three elderly degenerates who had lost all reason, plus any semblance of manners or bladder control. We would be lucky if none of them suffered a stroke or a heart attack; even more lucky if no irate neighbours came to complain.

What do pensioners do for vandalism? Write graffiti on a Temple of Isis in very neat Greek? Untie a row of donkeys then put them all back in the wrong places? Chase a great-granny up the street, threatening to give her a little kiss if they catch her?

Pa was in the lead. He took a run at the stairs and managed to propel himself as far as the salon. He aimed at a couch, missed, landed face down on a pile of cushions and immediately fell asleep. Helena insisted we turned him on his side lest he suffocate. I poked him hard, just to be sure his sleep was genuine. For me, he could choke.

Fulvius stumbled and fell down as he came up the stairs. This made him even more woozy, and there was a chance he had broken his leg, which had twisted awkwardly beneath him. Cassius spent a long time trying to get Fulvius first to their bedroom and then into, or at least on to, the bed. Fulvius was cursing and being unhelpful. Cassius was cursing back and, I think, weeping mildly. Various household slaves were watching goggle-eyed from doorways, always dodging out of sight the minute anyone invited them to lend assistance. I offered. Either nobody heard me in the kerfuffle, or nobody was capable of taking in what anybody else said.

I removed to the roof with my family. We read Aesop's Fables to the children. Eventually we ran out of fables and just enjoyed the sun's last evening rays.

Cassius had been, perhaps, the least intoxicated. Eventually, he joined us up there. He burbled a few apologies, interspersed with momentary snores. Somehow he got himself on to a daybed, while we all watched in silence.

I walked downstairs. Fulvius and Pa were alive, but completely out of it. I rooted out the staff and politely requested a meal for those of us who were able to eat.

Back on the roof, I sized up Cassius and decided he at least could answer questions. 'Good lunch?'

'Ex-cell-ent!' He was so impressed with his enunciation, he continued to say the same thing several times.

'Yes, I think we can see that… Were you with that trader, Diogenes?'

Cassius squinted at me, though he was not in the sun. 'Diogenes?' he mumbled Wearily.

'I heard Fulvius knows him.'

'Ooh, Marcus…' Cassius was wagging his finger at me, as if he knew even through the drink that I had asked something forbidden. The finger wavered wildly, until he poked himself in the eye. Helena gathered up the children (who were fascinated by the extraordinary adult behaviour) and moved with them to the furthermost part of the roof terrace. Though she could be a disapproving little piece, Albia stayed with me. 'Have to ask Fulvius about that!' decreed Cassius, when he finished wiping his watering eye on his arm.

'Yes, I will… So did Diogenes give Fulvius a good deal then?'

'Ex-cell-ent!' answered Cassius. Too late, he realised his mistake.

Albia looked at me and shuddered. She was right. This was dire -the sight of a man in his fifties, hunching up and hiding his face behind his fingers while he giggled at us like a guilty schoolboy.