Lindsey Davis - Alexandria

'Not my type.' Aeacidas was not interested enough in other people to care what I thought. He only wanted to stress that in his judgement the Director lacked skills. That was old news. I cut him off. 'So, wasn't the death of Theon fortunate for you? Without it, you wouldn't stand much chance of wriggling in among Philetus' tight little clique. By putting yourself forward for librarianship, you may join the Board as of right.'

Aeacidas immediately caught my drift. 'I would not have wished Theon dead.' Well, tragedy was his medium. I guessed he understood motive; no doubt fate, sin and retribution too.

I wondered how good he was at spotting the essential human flaw that tragic heroes are supposed to have. 'What's your assessment of Theon?'

'Well-intentioned and doing a decent job according to his abilities.' Always, this man managed to suggest the rest of the world failed to meet his own grand standards. Under his rule, everything would be different – assuming he ever won the post. If sympathetic man-management was a requirement, he stood no chance.

I asked where he was when Theon died. Aeacidas was astounded, even when I said I was asking everyone. I had to point out that failing to answer would look suspicious. So he grudgingly admitted he was reading in his room; nobody could verify his whereabouts.

'What were you reading?'

'Well… Homer's Odyssey! The tragedian admitted this lapse of good taste as if I had caught him out with a racy adventure yarn. Forget that; the Odyssey is one. Say, caught with a pornographic myth, involving animals – sold under the counter in a plain wrapper by a seedy scroll shop that pretends to be offering literary odes. 'Sorry to disappoint you, Falco – that's all I can do to clear myself!'

I assured him only villains took elaborate precautions to establish their movements; to have no alibi could indicate innocence. 'Note my gentle inflection on could. I adore the subjunctive mood. Of course in my trade the possible does not necessarily embrace the feasible or believable.' Helena would tell me to shut up and stop being clever now; her rule was you have to know somebody extremely well before you engage in wordplay. To her, word games were a kind of flirting.

Aeacidas gave me a filthy look. He thought sophisticated verb deployment should be barred to the lower classes – and informing for the Emperor was definitely menial. I sneered like a thug who didn't mind getting his hands dirty – preferably by wringing suspects' necks – then I asked where he thought I might find Apollophanes so I could try out my grammar on him.

The philosopher, the Director's sneak, was reading, on a stone bench in an arcade. He told me it was forbidden to remove scrolls from the complex, but the walks, arcades and gardens that linked the Museion's elegant buildings were all within bounds; they had always been intended as outdoor reading rooms for the Great Library. Works had to be returned to staff at the end of opening hours.

'And scholars can be trusted to hand them in?'

'It's not inconvenient. The staff will keep scrolls until the next day, if you still require them.'' Apollophanes had a weak, slightly hoarse voice. At the Academic Board he had had to wait for a pause to open up and then jump in, in order to be heard.

'I bet quite a few go missing!' He looked nervous. 'Steady! I'm not accusing you of book-stealing.' He was so jumpy he was quivering.

Perhaps Apollophanes had a good brain, but he hid it well. Away from the Director's protection, he looked hunched and so unassuming I could not imagine him writing a treatise or teaching pupils effectively. He was like those idiots with absolutely no bonhomie who insist on running a bar.

I asked the usual questions: did he see himself as a shortlist candidate and where was he two evenings ago? He fluttered that oh, he was hardly worthy of high office – but if considered good enough, of course he would take the job… and he had been at the refectory, then talking to a group of his pupils. He gave me names, apprehensively. 'Does this mean you will question them about whether I have told the truth, Falco?'

'What is truth?' I demanded airily. I like to annoy experts by wading into their disciplines. 'Routine procedure. Think nothing of it.'

'They will believe I am in some sort of trouble!'

'Apollophanes, I am sure your pupils all know you as a man of impeccable ethics. How could you lecture on virtue, without knowing right from wrong?'

'They are paying me to explain the difference!' he quipped, still flustered but yet taking heart as he sank back into his discipline's traditional jokes.

'I have been talking to some of the young scholars. I liked their style. As one would expect at such a renowned centre of learning, they seemed exceptionally bright.'

'What have they been saying?'Apollophanes anxiously pleaded, trying to gauge what I had found out. Anything I said would go straight back to his master. He was a good toady. Philetus must find him invaluable.

'Nothing your Director needs to worry about!' I assured him with a fake smile as I took my leave.

I could not find the lawyer. I asked a couple of people, suggesting that Nicanor might be in court. Both times this notion was greeted with bursts of hearty laughter.

Zenon the astronomer was easier. By now dusk was falling, so he was on the roof.

The purpose-built observatory was at the top of a very long flight of winding stone steps. Zenon was fussily adjusting a long, low seat which must be what he used when he gazed at the heavens. Like most practitioners who use equipment, astronomers have to be practical. I suspected he himself designed the star-watching lounger. He may have constructed it too.

After a swift glance at me, he lay down holding a notebook, tipped his head back and looked skywards like an augur out bird-spotting.

I tried being topical: '''Give me a place to stand and I will move the world!''' Zenon received my quotation with a thin, tired smile. 'Sorry. Archimedes is probably too earthbound for you… I'm Falco. I'm not a complete idiot. At least I didn't ask what your star sign is.' He still gave me the silent stare. Men of few words are the bane of my job. 'So! What is your stance, Zenon? Do you believe the sun orbits the earth or vice versa?'

'I am a heliocentrist.'

A sun man. He was also balding early, his gingery curls now providing a ragged halo around the top of an oval head. Above the obligatory beard, the skin on his cheeks was stretched and freckled. Light eyes surveyed me unhelpfully. At the Board meeting, he had been so quiet that compared with the others he had appeared to lack confidence. It was misleading.

'Your arm seems to have mended rather quickly, Falco.' I had ditched the napkin sling as soon as Helena and I left that morning's meeting.

'An observant witness. You are the first to notice!'

On his own ground, or his own roof, he had the autocratic attitude so many academics adopted. Most were unconvincing. I wouldn't ask a professor the time; not even this man who probably fine-tuned the Museion's sundial groma and knew what hour it was more exactly than anyone else in Alexandria. Zenon certainly did not view time as an element to be wasted: 'You are going to ask me where I was when Theon died.'

'That's the game.'

'I was here, Falco.'

'Anyone confirm it?'

'My students.' Briskly, he gave me names. I wrote them down, checking in my notes that they were different names from those Apollophanes provided. Without prompting, Zenon then told me, 'I may have been the last person to see Theon alive.' He jumped up and steered me to the edge of the roof. There was a low balustrade, but not what I call a safety barrier. It was a long way down. We looked over at the rectangular pool and the gardens that lay adjacent to the main entrance of the Great Library. 'I tend to be here until late. I heard footsteps. I looked and saw the Librarian arrive.'