the rug to lie the way Diomedes had done. `Diomedes, I noticed you lay down in an east-west direction. You followed the real line of the body, of course.' I paused for a second theatrically, as if honouring the corpse. `Anyone would think you knew.'
Diomedes made as if to speak, but his mother gripped him tightly by the arm.
`Now then!' I tackled the authors and Euschemon. `Chrysippus spent that morning reading new manuscripts. My first thought was that he might have been killed by a disgruntled author. Avienus and Turius both needed him alive so he could pay blackmail demands. Were there advantages or disadvantages in his death for the rest of you? What has been the result? Euschemon, have you kept' the status quo?'
Euschemon looked reluctant, though he piped up: 'We are, actually, dropping all this group from our list. I am sure they understand. They were Chrysippus' personal clients, a close circle he supported as artistic patron. Once the scriptorium fell into new hands – whether Vibia had sold it or kept it herself these authors became candidates for dismissal. They are all bright men, Falco,' he commented. `They would have known the risks.'
`So they owed their patronage and publication to Chrysippus, and they knew they might lose both if he died.' I ran my eyes along the line. `Except for you, Urbanus. You were leaving him anyway.'
`And I never came here that day,' he reminded me.
`I believe you. One extra person did visit him in your place,' I said. Then I signalled Passus to send in the slave who ran errands.
He marched in confidently, then quailed when he saw how many people were here. I was brisk with him.
Just one question. The day your master died, you saw a would-be author who was not on the visiting list coming to the house. Will you now point out that man?'
`That's him!' squeaked the slave, his voice breaking. As I expected, he pointed straight at Philomelus.
LVI
DID You come here that day, Philomelus?'
The young waiter stood up again. `Yes, Falco.' He spoke quietly. Though he looked nervous – and behind him his father looked nearly frantic – the young man met my gaze without wavering.
`You saw Chrysippus?'
`Yes.'
`Alone?'
`Yes.'
`Tell us what you talked about.'
`I have written a story,' Philomelus said, this time flushing shyly. `I wanted him to publish it. He had seen a copy ages ago, and had not returned the scrolls. I came to beg him to take it for publication – though I had made up my mind to retrieve the scrolls, if he did not want it.'
`What happened that day? Did he agree to buy your work?'
`No.'
`Did he perhaps ask you to pay him a fee to publish it?'
'No.'
`So what happened?'
`Chrysippus was very evasive. Eventually he told me it was just not good enough.'
`Did you get it back?'
Philomelus looked thoroughly downcast. He made a heartbroken gesture. `No, Falco. Chrysippus confessed that he had lost the scrolls.'
I looked around the library. `Well, there are certainly a great many documents here; he could well have mislaid one. Careless, though. He should have looked for your manuscript. It was your property – physically and creatively. To you, it represented months of work and all your hopes. How did you react?'
`I was devastated.' Clearly, Philomelus was still deeply affected.
`Angry?'
`Yes,' admitted the youth honestly.
`Did you threaten him?'
He hesitated. `Yes.'
`With what?' Philomelus did not answer. `Violence?' I asked sharply.
`No, I never thought of that,' Philomelus sighed, conceding ruefully that he lacked both aggression and physique. `I told him that I would tell my father what had happened, and our family would never do business with him again. Oh, I know it sounds feeble!' he quavered. `I was in anguish. But it was all I could think of to say.'
Pisarchus stood up and put a heavy arm around his shoulders. The threat about withdrawing their business would have been carried out – though I was not sure Chrysippus would have cared.
`Then what?' I asked.
`I went back to the popina,' Philomelus replied. `Then I was sent home early because the vigiles had complained about the hotpots; we partly closed down until they tired of checking us.' `You did not come back here?'
`No. I went straight to my lodgings, faced up to what had happened, and started to write out the whole story again.'
`Very professional!' I applauded. Now I turned nasty: `Quite coolheaded too – if you had battered Chrysippus to a pulp before you left this library!'
Philomelus wanted to protest, but I stopped him defending himself. `Don't despair,' I told him in a charitable tone. `Your manuscript may not have disappeared.'
I signalled Aelianus to send in Passus, and I myself brought forward Helena Justina. Fusculus by prior arrangement went out to take up Passus' post with the witnesses. As he walked by, I muttered in his ear a reminder about a search Petronius had ordered.
I resumed the debate.
`Manuscripts are important in this case. My associates have been cataloguing the scrolls that were found here after Chrysippus died. Passus, you first. Will you tell us about the majority – the scrolls with title pages – please?'
Passus reiterated what he had told me: that apparently Chrysippus had been making marketing decisions, mainly in the negative. Passus gave the report competently, though was more nervous in front of the large audience than I had expected. I indicated that he could sit with Petronius.
Now it was Helena's turn. Unafraid of the crowd, she waited quietly for me to give the lead. She looked neat in blue, not extravagantly dressed or bejewelled. Her hair was turned up in a simpler style than usual, while unlike Lysa and Vibia who were barearmed and brazen, she had sleeves to the elbow and kept a modest stole over one shoulder. She could have been my correspondence secretary, but for her refined voice and confidence.
`Helena Justina, I asked you to read an adventure tale.' I nodded to the seats behind us, where the scrolls were lying. Philomelus looked as though he wanted to rush over there and search for his beloved manuscript. `Can we have your comments, please?'
I had not rehearsed her in detail, but Helena knew I wanted her to talk first about the one we thought was called Zisimilla and Magarone, the awful yarn she could not bear to finish. Now I knew Philomelus had been told his story was not good enough to publish, I thought perhaps he had written this. Mind you, it presumed that in turning him down, Chrysippus had had enough critical judgement to recognise a dud. Turius had libelled the arts patron as a know-nothing. None of the others, including his scriptorium manager Euschemon, had ever suggested that Turius libelled him.
`I hope it is in order for me to speak,' demurred Helena.
`You are in the presence of some excellent businesswomen,' I joked, indicating Lysa and Vibia.
Helena would have been debarred from giving evidence in a law court, but this was in essence a private gathering. Behind us, the vigiles representatives were looking glum about her coming here, but it was my show, so they said nothing. Petronius Longus would divorce a wife who thought she could do this. (Helena would contend
