Lindsey Davis - Alexandria

Don't think I was so immodest. Helena asked for me. That way we learned our first hard fact about the Daughter Library: it contained over four hundred thousand works, but they were all classics or bestsellers.

When we met Timosthenes, we congratulated him on the flourishing academy he ran here. He was younger than some of the other professors, slim and olive-skinned; he wore a shorter beard than the old fellows, had a square jaw and neat ears. He told us he had reached his high position after working on the Great Library's staff. From the look of him, despite his Greek name, he might actually be Egyptian in origin. There was no suggestion that this would make him more sympathetic to our task or likelier to betray confidences, however.

I let Helena talk to him first. Settling your interviewee is a good trick. Lulling him into a sense of false security would only work if he did not realise what was going on, but either way, it allowed me to watch him silently. I knew Helena thought I was subdued because we had not found my play. The truth was, I always enjoyed watching her in action.

'I know you must be asked the same questions all the time, but tell me about the Daughter Library,' Helena urged. She looked bright-eyed and curious, yet her cultured senatorial voice made her more than a mere tourist.

Timosthenes willingly explained that his Library at the Serapeion acted as an overflow, carrying duplicate scrolls and offering a service to the general public. They were barred from the Great Library, originally because using it was a royal prerogative then because it was the select preserve of the Museion scholars.

Mention of the scholars led to a distraction, though I put it down as accidental. 'Someone told me,' Helena said, 'there are a hundred accredited scholars. Is that right?'

'No, no. Closer to thirty – at the most fifty'

'So my young brother, Camillus Aelianus, was fortunate indeed to be allowed to join them!'

'Your brother is an influential Roman, connected with the Emperor's agent. I heard, too, he came with a very good reference from Minas of Karystos. The Board is happy to grant temporary accreditation for someone with such pulling power.' Timosthenes was wry; not quite rude – yet close.

Helena's heavy eyebrows had shot up. 'So was Aelianus approved by the Academic Board?'

Timosthenes smiled at her acuteness. 'He was admitted by Philetus. Someone put it on the agenda afterwards.'

Helena tossed in, 'Raised a complaint, I imagine!'

'You have seen how things work here.'

'Who called Philetus into question?' I asked.

Timosthenes clearly regretted mentioning this. 'I believe it was Nicanor.' Aulus did study law. So their legal head objected? 'Nicanor was being difficult on principle.'

Helena said stiffly, 'My father, the senator Camillus Verus, is set against corruption. He would not want my brother to use unfair influence. My brother himself is unaware that special pressure was applied.'

Timosthenes soothed her. 'Be calm. The admittance of Camillus Aelianus was discussed and retrospectively agreed by all.'

'Tell me the truth,' ordered Helena: 'Why?'

Helena could be forceful. Timosthenes looked taken aback and fought it with frankness. 'Because Philetus, our Director, is terrified of whatever the Emperor sent your husband here to do.'

'He is shit scared of me?' I interrupted.

'Philetus is accustomed to run in circles after his own tail.'

That was something. We had induced the man to reveal an opinion.

Timosthenes was a good educator. He was eloquent, content to discuss things with women, revealed no burning grudges. At the same time, he did not tolerate fools gladly – and he obviously put Philetus in that category.

Helena dropped her voice: 'What makes Philetus so frightened?'

'That,' replied Timosthenes in a mild tone, 'he has not shared with me.'

'So you do not work in harmony?'

'We co-operate.'

'He sees your worth?'

I chuckled. 'He fears it!'

'I exercise toleration towards my Director's defects,' Timosthenes informed us, po-faced. A short lift of the hand instructed us not to trespass further. Continuing would have been impolite. Saying 'my' Director emphasised that this man was bound by professional loyalty.

I decided to be formal. I asked about his hopes for Theon's post. Timosthenes admitted at once that he would like it. He said he had got on well with Theon, admired his work. But he saw his own chances of being referred for the post by Philetus as so slim that this could not have been a motive to harm Theon. He expected nothing from the man's death.

'As Librarian at the Serapeion would this not be a natural career progression? Why does Philetus despise your qualities so much?'

'It is,' said Timosthenes heavily, 'because I achieved my post through the administration route, as a member of the Library staff, rather than as an eminent scholar. Although Philetus is himself a priest by background – or perhaps because of that – he is imbued with snobbery about ''professors''. He feels it adds to his own glory if the chief of the Great Library is famous for his academic work. Theon was a historian, of some note. I am self-taught and have never published any writings, though my interests are in epic poetry. I am primarily an administrative librarian, and Philetus may feel my approach is at odds with his.'

'In what way?' asked Helena.

'We might place different values on books.' He shrugged off the problem, however. 'It has never arisen.'

Clearly he was reluctant to continue. I then asked where Timosthenes was when Theon died.

'Here in my own Library. My staff can confirm it. We were conducting a scroll count.'

'Any particular reason for this inventory, or is it routine?'

'Checks are carried out from time to time.'

'Do you lose books?' Helena asked him.

'Sometimes.'

'Many?'

'No.'

'Enough for concern?'

'Not in my Library. Since works are available for public consultation, we have to be rigorous. Members of the public have been known to ''forget'' to return things, though of course we always know who has borrowed what, so we can remind them tactfully. We find scrolls mis-shelved occasionally, though I have a proficient staff.' Timosthenes paused. He had been conversing with Helena, yet he looked at me: 'You are interested in scroll numbers?'

I played bored. 'Tallying and ticking off lists? Sounds dry as desert dust.'

Helena pursed her lips at this interruption. 'And how did the count go, Timosthenes?'

'Good. Very few were missing.'

'Was that what you expected?'

'Yes. Yes,' replied Timosthenes. 'That was as I expected.'

Sometimes during an investigation, Helena and I just stopped. When the flow of information became overwhelming, we turned away. We fled the scene. We bunked off to the country for a few hours, without telling anybody. Students of rational science might find the fact odd but forgetting all about the case for a time could, by a mysterious process, clarify the facts. Besides, she was my wife. I loved her enough to spend time alone with her. This was not the traditional way to view a wife, but as the noble Helena Justina often said, I was a surly beggar who just loved to break the rules.

Of course I was never surly to her. That's how traditional husbands let themselves down. We two had a union of lustrous tranquillity. If Helena Justina saw a moment of uncharacteristic surliness coming on, she would stalk from the room with a riffle of skirts and a sneer. She always knew how to get in first.

We both pursed our lips over Timosthenes. We agreed he was high quality and almost certainly ethical, but we thought he was keeping things back. 'Men who take refuge in scrupulous good manners can be hard to break, Helena. I can't put the Serapeion Librarian up against a wall and mutter threats in his ear.'