Lindsey Davis - Alexandria

'You want Psaesis? Has gone. Here again tomorrow.'

Typical.

I half hoped the driver who took us to Lake Mareotis would be out in the street, even if he was still muttering with the dogged hanger-on Katutis. They were both missing. It must have been the first time since we arrived that I managed to leave home without being accosted.

I walked to the Museion. It took me back to my early years as an informer, when I had walked everywhere. That was all I could afford then. My legs were older now, but held up.

The wind was still whipping dust everywhere. There were plenty of people on the broad streets. Life in the Mediterranean is lived out of doors, on the pavement or at least on the thresholds of businesses. As I passed leather shops, furniture-makers, coppersmiths, I could see into lit interiors where families hung around. Wafts of grilled and roasted foods were borne on the restive gusts of the Khamseen. Dogs of all sizes enjoyed being part of the street life. So did cats, long lean creatures with pointed ears who were viewed as sacred creatures; I avoided them, lest I be like that Roman who killed a cat on the streets of Alexandria and not unexpectedly was torn to pieces by a mob.

I missed my dog. She was left behind with my mother, but she would have loved sniffing around here. Mind you, taking Nux anywhere near the zoo would have been a nightmare. As for the revered Alexandrian cats, Nux would have added a few to the total of sacred pussies who needed to be mummified.

Thinking about Nux kept me occupied until I reached the Museion complex. Here it was much quieter. The grandiose buildings had a spectral presence after dark. Their long white porticoes were poorly lit by trails of oil lamps at floor level, many of which had gone out. A few men strolled through the gardens, in small groups or alone. There was a sense of activity still carrying on, although real toil had been ended for most of those who lived here.

This must have been the peaceful atmosphere when Theon returned that night after dinner. His subdued steps may have been the only ones. The sound had been unusual enough to make the astronomer glance over from the observatory, though not so rare as to cause Zenon to continue watching once he saw it was just the Librarian. I wondered whether Theon had known or guessed that somebody had noticed him. I wondered if it gave him a sense of fellowship, or increased feelings of isolation. I wondered if he was going to meet someone.

I retraced what must have been Theon's route. As I walked, I checked for oleander, but none of the bushes that adorned the walkways were of that type. It was our fault, then. Whether suicide or murder, he died because of his dinner garland. Finding out what happened was, therefore, my responsibility.

When I came to the main door of the Great Library, the two enormous portals were securely locked. I turned away. That answered that question. There was bound to be a side door but admission would be monitored, or by special key.

I walked slowly back down the porticoes towards the refectory. I was intending to try to find Aulus. If I was not allowed in, I would ask someone to go and look for him.

There were people about. Sometimes I heard low voices talking, sometimes just a footfall. Once someone passed me and politely said good evening. Once or twice I heard others cross paths and greet each other in the same way. I was alone, however, when the commotion started.

It was coming from the zoo. I heard voices shrieking for help in obvious hysteria. An elephant began trumpeting alarm. Other animals joined in. The human voices had seemed to be both male and female. As I started to run towards them, things changed, so for a few moments there was only a woman, screaming.

And then silence.

I had no weapons. Who goes into a seat of learning armed to the teeth? All you expect to need are knowledge, clarity and the gift of irony.

I managed to pick up a couple of oil lamps; their glimmer hardly lit the shadows and probably drew attention to me. I stood listening. The animals had ceased to trumpet, though I heard restless movements in their various enclosures and cages. Something had definitely disturbed them. They were listening too. They may have had a better idea of what had happened – or what could still happen, but with me doing the shouting – than I did. Like me, the agitated creatures all sounded certain they did not like the situation.

I thought I heard a long rustle, close to me amongst nearby shrubs. I turned, but could see nothing. A purist might say I should have gone in among the foliage to investigate, but believe me, nobody with any imagination would.

I started to explore the deserted paths. Everywhere lay in darkness. My lamps created a tiny circle of gloom. Beyond it, the blackness seemed all the more threatening. Part of the zoo's benign regime for the animals was to let the precious creatures have their natural amount of sleep. Not tonight, though. As time passed I could still hear them, awake and all apparently watching my progress. Or watching out for something else.

The largest zoo in the world was indeed spectacularly big. Searching took ages. I forced myself to examine each area as best I could, in a hurry, in the dark. Whatever I was looking for, I knew would be obvious once I came across it. Those terrible shrieks had not been tipsy students larking about. Somebody had suffered terribly. Horror was still rippling along these deserted pathways with the wind that hoarded dust into patches like puddles against the raised kerbs. I thought I could smell blood.

And still I fancied I could hear something behind me, stalking. Every time I whipped around, the noise stopped. If this was Rome, I would walk casually around a corner and lie in wait, holding my knife ready. No; if I had been on a street, let's be honest, I would have nipped into the nearest bar and hoped the fear would go away while I downed a beaker.

I had no knife this evening. There was no handy street corner and no bar. What I did find, quite suddenly, was half a dead goat.

It was lying on the path. It had been butchered – skinned and beheaded. The bisection was neat. There was a long rope tied around the half-carcass, stretched out along the path as though someone had towed the meat from a very safe distance. The bloody lure lay close beside a gate. That was damaged and stood wide open. The gate was supposed to close off the fencing where my two little girls had clambered, when they were trying to see down into the deep pit where Sobek, the crocodile, lived. Just inside the broken gate a long earthen ramp started, which gave the keepers access to him. At the bottom there was probably another gate. I felt sure now that if I went right down the ramp I would find that open too.

I did not bother. I knew the crocodile was not at home. He had left his compound. Sobek was now out here with me.

I could not see him, but I reckoned he had me under very close observation.

I did wonder briefly why Sobek had not snapped up his half a goat. Perhaps something tastier was on offer. Now it could be me.

I gathered up the rope in loops and towed the meat with me. I have had better luggage. I kept remembering stories Philadelphion had told to thrill my daughters: Nile crocodiles' persistence when trailing a victim; their great speed on land when they rose up on their legs and started running; their wiliness; their colossal strength; their vicious killing power.

Soon I found what Sobek really liked for dinner. The next horror lying in my path was a man's body – though only part of it. Chunks of the corpse had been torn off. There was a lot of blood, so he had been alive during some of the agony. Sobek must have ripped off and gulped down the missing pieces. I wondered why he had left the feast. I guessed he would return for his prey as soon as his reptilian stomach rumbled. He had just gone to catch more.