Lindsey Davis - Alexandria

At his best once again, he kept it succinct. Elements of this story sounded familiar. The two cousins' grandfather was a scholar who had been working m the Great Library; once, unobserved, he overheard the Museion Director arranging to sell library scrolls privately to Diogenes. The grandfather took the story to Theon, who had an inkling already of what was going on. Theon attempted to dissuade Philetus, with no success. Then Theon died. The grandfather was at a loss what to do, so he turned to his grandsons for advice.

'Chaereas and Chaeteas told him to report it to you, Falco.'

'He never did so.'

'But you know?'

'I found out myself. I really could have used this grandfather's testimony,' I complained. 'Who is he, or should I say, who was he?'

Philadelphion looked astonished. 'Why he was Nibytas, Falco! Nibytas was my assistants' grandfather.'

By this point, I was half expecting it. 'Nibytas? The ancient scholar, who died in the Library of old age?'

Philadelphion pursed his lips. 'Chaereas and Chaeteas convinced themselves it was not old age that killed him. They were certain he was murdered – killed at his table by Diogenes to stop him speaking out.'

'Evidence?'

'None.'

'Dodgy!'

Philadelphion agreed. 'I was sure they were wrong. They agitated for me to conduct a necropsy, but – as I believe you know, Falco – the body was too decomposed. The funeral had to be held the next day; mummification was impossible.'

'So what form did burial take?'

'Cremation.' Damn. 'Only solution,' Philadelphion told us tersely. As a man who lived with animals, he was unsentimental.

We were all silent, then, as we thought about those two bereaved men: how Chaereas and Chaeteas must have become increasingly disturbed, going over what they believed had happened to Nibytas and fretting that nobody else, not even Philadelphion, would help them to expose the truth. I wished they had consulted me. Instead, they conspired to exact revenge themselves. Hence the way they chased down Diogenes last night – and his real fear of them, because he undoubtedly knew why they had come for him.

If they were wrong, the two cousins had driven a man to his death prematurely. Diogenes may have been engaged in criminal activities, but we had laws to deal with that. Chaeteas himself had died on the tower pointlessly. Chaereas, who presumably knew about his cousin's fatal fall, was now a fugitive.

'Where may Chaereas have gone?' asked Helena. Philadelphion shrugged.

'They had connections in Rhakotis? Or would he flee to the desert?' I persisted.

'To some family farm, more likely,' Philadelphion now replied sadly. 'He will hide up until he believes you have left Egypt and the matter of the scrolls has been resolved.'

'He could give a statement,' I barked. 'Chaereas could ensure that his grandfather and cousin did not die in vain. What Nibytas overheard would be third hand, but it could weigh the balance against Philetus. He is slippery and powerful -'

'Undeservedly powerful!' That was Helena, who had no tolerance for greed. 'Will you tackle Philetus, Marcus?'

I shook my head. 'I want all my lines clear first.'

The Zoo Keeper volunteered, 'Philetus knows what has happened to Diogenes.'

I could live with that. It might panic the bastard. With Pastous in safe hiding and me keeping mum about my last night's adventures, the Director would struggle to discover details. He would not be sure just how much of his malpractice was known. Soldiers were looking for the box-maker, using what I could remember about his whereabouts. They would also search for the second cartload of scrolls, while Aulus had, with luck, now retrieved the first. I would quarantine Fulvius and Pa. The Director was about to find himself very much alone.

'I'll come to Philetus as soon as I am ready. Let him sweat.'

Next, I wanted to see Zenon. Helena was tired, feeling the weight of her pregnancy and delayed effects of her anxiety about me yesterday. She stayed sitting on a shaded bench in the gardens, gently fanning herself, while I went up to the observatory alone. I climbed the stairs very slowly as my thighs and knees protested about yet more mountaineering. It would take me days to recover. I was hoping the astronomer would be pleasant and not try anything physical.

As I concentrated on my climb, the light was blocked out. A huge man was coming down towards me. I paused politely at a landing. The last time I squeezed past a stranger on a flight of stairs, it was Diogenes; that thought now gave me goose-pimples.

'Falco! Why, it is Didius Falco! Do you remember me?'

Not a stranger. Instead, a terrifically overweight figure; I looked up and recognised him. Worldly, sophisticated and just a touch devious, he must be the largest doctor practising anywhere in the Empire – all the more ironic since his method was to recommend purges, emetics and fasting.

His name was Aedemon. After twenty years addressing the putrefying innards of credulous Romans, he had agreed to be recalled to his home town, to serve on the Board of the Museion. At the meeting we went to, we had heard he was coming. It must be a genteel retirement for a well-respected professional. He could teach occasionally, write learned papers in staccato medical prose, revisit friends and family he had not seen for years and criticise from a distance the bad habits of his former patients.

After exclaiming over this chance meeting with genuine pleasure, Aedemon's next remark was that I looked in need of a laxative.

I felt a big grin spread across my face. 'Oh it makes a change, a wonderful change, Aedemon, to meet an academic with a practical attitude!'

'The rest are whimsical slobs,' he agreed at once. Helena and I had liked him. 'They need me to line them up and dispense wild lettuce and common sense.'

I gave Aedemon six months, then the inertia and in-fighting would wear him down – but I did trust him to have a good stint first.

We were still on the stairs. Aedemon had wedged his tremendous backside against the wall for support while we chatted. I hoped that wall was well built. 'What were you doing up aloft, doc? Do you know the starry-eyed Zenon, or did he call you for a consultation?'

'Old friends. Though his yellow bile needs correcting. I want him on a strict regime to cure that choler of his.'

'Now listen,' I said. 'I trust you, Aedemon – so tell me, please, can I trust Zenon?'

'Absolutely straight, 'Aedemon responded. 'His bodily humour means he is prone to bad temper – but equally, he is of impeccable moral virtue. What did you suspect he had done?'

'On your say-so – nothing!'

'Well you can trust him with your life, Falco.'

'He tried to throw me off the roof I reported mildly.

'He won't do it again,' Aedemon assured me. 'Not now. I've put him on a regular decoction of myrrh to cleanse his rotting intestines – and I am about to prepare his personal regime of ritual chants.'

This mystic lore hardly fitted with the pure science that Zenon had always protested, but friendship can overturn many barriers.

'He will be farting too much to lose that temper, 'Aedemon confided in me – with a rather wide grin.

As we were about to part, I asked, 'Did you know the late Librarian, Theon?'

Aedemon must have heard what had happened. Maybe Zenon had just told him. The big physician looked sorrowful. 'I met Theon many years ago. Now he was a black bile man. Morose. Irritable. Prone to lack of confidence. A sink of putrid matter clogging him.'

'Suicidal?'

'Oh, easily! Especially if he had been thwarted.'

Regularly, by Philetus, for instance.

Even without a purge or emetic, I felt inspired as I went up to the roof.

The astronomer, that man of few words, turned away on principle.