‘Calm down,’ said Zenon. ‘All that was just Philetus trying to upset Theon.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Theon refused to be pushed around by a fool.’

‘He objected to short-sighted policy?’

‘He objected to the whole current regime. What can we do? Do you have the power to overturn it?’ asked Zenon, clearly without much faith in me.

‘Depends on the root cause. One man’s ineptitude can always be altered - by removing the man.’

‘Not if he is in a post for life.’

‘Don’t give up. Under Vespasian, incompetents who thought they were fireproof have nevertheless found themselves uplifted to occupy absolutely meaningless positions where they can do no harm.’

‘It will never happen here.’ Under the current Director’s stifling rule, Zenon, like Theon before him, had become a black defeatist. ‘In Alexandria we have our own ways.’

‘Oh that old excuse!  “We are special. Everything here is different!’”

‘The Museion is in decline. Fewer true intellectuals come to Alexandria than in its heyday. Little new scholarship occurs. But Philetus represents the future.’

I kept trying. ’Look - ever heard of Antonius Primus? When Vespasian was aiming to become Emperor, Primus was his right-hand man. While Vespasian himself remained safely here in Alexandria, it was Primus who brought the Eastern legions through the Balkans to Italy and defeated their rival, Vitellius. He could have argued he took all the risks and did all the work so he deserved huge recognition. But Primus had no judgement, success went wildly to his head and he was driven by misplaced ambition - any of that sound familiar? He became a liability. It was dealt with. It was - I can tell you, Zenon - dealt with extremely quietly. Who has ever heard of him since? He just disappeared from the scene.’

‘That will never happen here.’

‘Well not if you all keep caving in!’ Zenon’s defeatism was making me depressed too. ‘I suppose Theon was pretty demoralised by those attempts to get rid of unwanted scrolls?’

‘Theon was upset, certainly.’

‘You and Theon were on friendly terms, you said. So what do you know about his personal gambling debts?’

‘Nothing. Well, he sorted it all out.’

‘He paid off the men who were hounding him?’

‘I never heard it got that bad . . .’ Zenon was oblivious to gossip -or that was what he wanted me to think. ‘He had a temporary cash problem - could happen to anyone.’

‘Did you ask Theon how he solved it?’

‘No. People keep their debts to themselves.’

‘Not necessarily - not if they are friends with the man who controls the Museion’s enormous budget!’

‘I resent your insinuation, Falco.’

He would resent my next question even more, because by now I had lost my temper. ‘So is the Museion bankrupt - or merely run by a bunch of monkeys?’

‘Get off my roof, Falco.’

This time, the astronomer was so sad at heart he did not even try to manhandle me. But I knew it was time to leave.

‘How do you feel about being on the list for Theon’s job?’ I called back at him, when I was at the head of the stairs.

‘Vulnerable!’ Zenon retorted with feeling. When I cocked my head in enquiry, even this buttoned-up near-mute lost his laconic style: ‘The rumour machine in the refectory says what happened at the zoo two nights ago was a bungled attempt to reduce the number of candidates! Of course,’ he added bitterly, ‘there are people here who would maintain that murdering academics is ethically more acceptable than getting rid of scrolls! The written word must be preserved at all costs. Mere scholars, however, are untidy and expendable.’

‘So the Library appointment led to Sobek being on the loose?’ I scoffed. ‘No, I see that as a messier-than-usual end to a love triangle. Besides, I hope any expensively educated scholar intent on murder would do it in an elegant manner - some allusion to classical literature - and an apt Greek quotation pinned to the corpse.’

‘There is no scholar at the Museion,’ complained Zenon, ’who could bring off a murder. Most need a scale diagram and instructions in three languages even to lace their shoes.’

I gazed at him, both of us silently acknowledging how practical he was. He could certainly have worked out how to sneak away some goat’s meat and lure Sobek from his pit. Moreover, unlike the unworldly men he was deriding, Zenon had no qualms about violence. I skipped down the stairs before he could make another of his attempts to throw me headlong from his sanctuary.

XXXIX

I went to see Thalia. As I was setting off for her tent, I noticed the Director leaving the Library. He was in the company of a man I recognised: the same man who had come to see my uncle and whom I also had spotted yesterday, walking through one of the colonnades here.

Philetus and the businessman had definitely been together, though they immediately parted company. I nearly followed the trader, but I had yet to discover enough about him to feel ready. So I went after Philetus.

He bustled along like a worried rabbit and had reached his office when I caught up. I tapped his shoulder to hold him up, in the classic Forum manner. I went straight to the point: ‘Philetus! Don’t I know that man I just saw you with?’

He looked annoyed. ‘It’s Diogenes, a scroll collector. He makes a menace of himself, trying to sell us works we don’t want or need. Poor Theon was always trying to get rid of him.’

‘Diogenes,’ I repeated, chewing it over slowly, the way people memorise names. The Director was now trying to shake me off, determined not to let me indoors with him. We stood on the steps of his building like a couple of pigeons having a stand-off over a scatter of stale crumbs. He was just puffing up his feathers to look big. I was manoeuvring to get at the barley cake. ‘I wanted to ask you about scrolls.’ I made my voice casual. ‘Explain about the time poor Theon discovered all those Library scrolls on the midden-heap. Somebody told me you had ordered it.’

‘Just a minor housekeeping exercise,’ Philetus sniffed. ‘Theon was not there and his staff went to extremes.’ Trust Philetus to coerce juniors and then blame them. The weakest kind of management. ’When Theon found out and he outlined his reasons for keeping the documents, naturally I bowed to his expertise.’

‘What were you trying to do - save money?’

Philetus looked abstracted. He was behaving like a man who had realised he might have left a lit oil lamp in an unattended room. I smiled at him reassuringly. That really scared him.

‘So! That was Diogenes . . .’ I murmured, as if it was highly significant. Then I could not bear Philetus and his vacillations any longer so I let the bastard go.

Thalia was with Philadelphion, the Zoo Keeper, though he left as I was approaching. They had been hanging over a fence and looking at a group of three young lions, just bigger than cubs, the long-bodied male starting to show a ridge of rough fur where his mane was coming, the two females having rumbustuous play-fights.

I said I hoped I had not driven Philadelphion away.

‘No, he had to get on, Falco. Things to do and he’s short-handed. Chaereas and Chaeteas have gone to their grandfathers funeral.’

‘So people still use that tired excuse for a free day off?’

‘Well, it’s better than “got a stomach upset”, even if you can only use it twice.’

‘Informers don’t have that luxury - nor you, nor anybody self-employed.’

‘No, it’s funny how your stomach goes back to normal very quickly when you don’t have any choice.’

‘Talking of upsets, are you fit, Thalia?’ I asked affectionately. ‘You seemed a bit off-colour yesterday morning.’

‘Nothing wrong with me.’

‘Sure? Not that I would blame you after Sobek’s escapade -’

‘Leave it, Falco!’

‘Fine.’

I changed the subject and reconfirmed with Thalia her impression of the zoo’s financial health. She reckoned they had plenty of money. They could purchase any animals they wanted; there was no pressure over fodder and accommodation bills; the staff seemed happy, which meant there were enough of them and they were well treated.