A Murder in Thebes (Alexander the Great 2) (12 page)

“You will tell us nothing now.” Miriam tried to close his eyes with her hand. She heard shouts and cries. A torch was picked
up; Hecaetus crouched beside her.

“Whoever it was,” he grasped, “has gone. Very clever, very quick, eh Miriam?”

He got up and kicked the corpse. “Now his mouth is sealed for ever.” He shouted into the darkness, calling his men back. They
had suffered two casualties: one of Hecaetus’s men was dead, the other had a slight arrow wound to the shoulder. Hecaetus
thrust an arrow into Miriam’s hand.

“It’s one of ours,” he declared.

“It was taken from a Cretan this morning,” Miriam explained. “You know; I told you.”

Hecaetus had the horses collected, the corpses slung across, and muttering that the king would not be pleased, led them back
into the camp.

Miriam found that the attack on the shrine and the deaths of the guards had already made itself felt. Alexander had moved
the camp to military preparedness, as if they were in a hostile country expecting to do battle. No longer solitary sentries,
but groups of men, gathered around camp fires within sight and earshot of each other. Deeper in the camp, groups of cavalry
mounts were ready to take up any pursuit. The haphazard nature of the encampment had also been changed, avenues and paths
laid out. Around the royal quarters in the center, a three feet moat had been dug, spanned by makeshift bridges.

Hecaetus would have liked to talk. Miriam explained that she was too tired and would be reporting all to the king. It was
not so much Alexander’s questions she feared but Olympias’s. If the queen was in one of her moods, she would talk and talk
until Miriam’s legs buckled under her. Simeon was waiting for her in their tent, seating cross-legged on his cot bed, carefully
rewriting drafts of Alexander’s orders.
Miriam threw herself down on her own bed, ignoring his questions. She realized how tired and grubby she felt.

“Don’t ask me any questions, Simeon.” She hardly bothered to raise her head. “My legs ache. My belly has had nothing but paltry
food and all I have seen today is murder.”

Simeon came over with a goblet and told her to sit up. She sipped from the wine, wrapping her blanket round her. She felt
warm and sleepy.

“Don’t disturb me,” she begged.

Simeon grinned. “Olympias has sent for you. She wishes to begin her play tomorrow.”

“Then she’ll have to do it without me!” Miriam snapped. “Simeon, do me a favor. Let me sleep. But go to the chief scribe in
the king’s writing house and ask him if he has any records, manuscripts from the garrison at the Cadmea. Will you do that?”

Simeon promised he would, but Miriam was past caring. She put her cup down on the ground, pulled the army blanket over herself,
and fell into a deep sleep.

She woke early the next morning clearheaded and refreshed but ravenously hungry. Simeon was snoring on the bed opposite. On
the camp table she saw a mound of greasy yellow papyrus parchment; Simeon had kept his word. Shivering, moving around to keep
warm, Miriam quickly stripped and washed herself with the water, a rag, and some oils that Simeon had laid out. She put on
the thick-gauffered linen dress Alexander had given her as a present from an Egyptian merchant, picked up a military cloak—the
heaviest she could find—and wrapped this around herself. She put on some leggings and a pair of stout military boots and went
out into the camp. A heavy mist had rolled in. She could scarcely see in front of her, but she followed her nose and found
a group of cavalry men cooking oatmeal and boiling a chicken. They declared, in round-eyed innocence, that
they had been given it as a present. Miriam guessed they had filched it either from some deserted, outlying farm or from the
quartermaster’s stores. They allowed her to join them, indulging in gentle teasing and banter. They gave her a bowl, first
slopping in thick oatmeal mixed with honey and, when she had eaten that, pieces of chicken white and tender, chopped up and
mixed with dry rye bread and olive oil. She ate quickly, listening to the men’s chatter.

“There were no incidents last night?” she asked.

The officer in charge shook his head.

“We don’t know what’s going on,” he moaned, “but the orders come down.” He peered across the fire at her. “You are a member
of the royal circle. You should know more than us.”

“I’m just like a soldier,” Miriam replied. “I follow orders as well.”

Someone muttered a joke about Alexander’s bed. The officer, his mouth full of food, shouted that he would have no offensive
remarks when a lady was present.

“How do you think this will go on?” he asked. “I mean, who has been killing these sentries? And the business down at the shrine.
They say the guards were killed and the Crown stolen.”

“Have you never been on guard duty?” Miriam asked abruptly.

The officer smiled, licking his fingers.

“More times, mistress, than I like to think.”

“Well let’s say you were guarding a house and someone came toward you; what would you do?”

“If she had big breasts,” one of soldiers declared irrepressibly, “I’d run down to meet her!”

His words were greeted by guffaws and laughter.

“So if a woman approached you,” Miriam declared, “you would not find it threatening?”

“Well, of course not,” the fellow replied. “I mean, I’d only draw my sword if a stranger approached.”

“How would you know it was a stranger?” Miriam asked, “if it was dark or, like this, misty?”

“Well, you’d call out, wouldn’t you!” the officer declared. “And if there was no answer, you’d strike first and ask afterward!”

“So,” Miriam continued, putting her bowl down, “if you were on this so-called duty and a Macedonian approached you?. . .”

“I wouldn’t give it a second thought.”

“But how would you know it’s a Macedonian?” Miriam insisted.

“Well, by his armor, his speech.”

“But there are Thebans who could take Macedonian armor, and Alexander’s armies include men from all over Greece, not to mention
Asia.”

Miriam got to her feet.

“What’s the matter, mistress? Something we’ve said?”

“No, no,” she replied absentmindedly. “It’s more something I’ve said. I’m looking at this the wrong way, aren’t I? I mean,
you accepted me into your circle because you know who I am.”

“We were pleased to see you,” one of the soldiers declared. “You’re not that ugly, and all soldiers like to hear a bit of
gossip.”

“Thank you,” Miriam declared. “I’m glad I’m not that ugly.”

“No offence, mistress.”

“None taken.”

Miriam thanked them and walked back to her tent. She sat on the edge of the bed and recalled Aristotle’s lecture, “A True
Philosopher.” Her teacher had declared, “Always look at things differently. The sophists put the question, ‘Is there
a God?’ I would answer: ‘Why shouldn’t there be a God?’ My question is as valid as theirs!”

“And the same applies here,” Miriam whispered to herself.

She thought of those soldiers outside the shrine of Oedipus. They had been lounging about, chatting to each other. If that
terrible figure had appeared, they would have sprung to arms, as they would have with any stranger. Accordingly, their assailant
must have been a Macedonian, seen as friendly and no threat. It was the same with the guards on the outskirts of the camp.
They could call out, and the person would reply. Now a solitary guard would be easily dispatched once his suspicions were
lulled, but a guards officer and a group of men? How could they be attacked and killed so expertly? Miriam recalled Telemachus’s
death the previous night. I think we’ve seen the last of Oedipus, she thought. The Macedonian army is now on the alert. Nobody
will go wandering about, garbed like the figure she had glimpsed; in a way it was becoming more dangerous. The assassin, the
spy, the Oracle had now turned silent. He would hide and lurk, strike without warning. Hecaetus had wanted to discuss the
prisoner’s death but Miriam knew the truth. The assassin must be a member of the garrison. One of those five officers, frightened
that Telemachus under torture might break and reveal more. Yesterday evening all the soldiers would have left the citadel,
drifting back toward the camp. It would have been easy for one of them to run ahead, to lie in wait with a bow and arrow.
Throwing the pitch torch had been a clever idea; it startled their horses and allowed the assassin a good glimpse of the prisoner.
Of course, it would be easy to flee under the cover of night. She wondered if Hecaetus should question Demetrius, Cleon, and
the rest about their whereabouts. But what would that
prove? Telemachus was dead, and his secrets had gone with him. But there was something he had said. Something about Memnon
flying from his tower.

Miriam rubbed her arms and looked at the pile of documents Simeon must have collected from the chief scribe. She lit an oil
lamp and, sitting on a camp stool, began going through them. Most were lists of stores, similar to the documents she had studied
in Memnon’s chamber. At last she found the duty roster. It was divided into night and day. Memnon never took a watch; that
was understandable, but each of the officers was listed. She jogged her memory and found the day Demetrius had mentioned,
when Lysander had come back from visiting one of the pleasure houses in the city. She grimaced in annoyance. All four had
been absent; the only one left was Cleon. Miriam tossed the documents aside.

“They are of little use,” she murmured.

Miriam lay back on the bed, pulling the blanket over her, half listening to the sounds of the waking camp. She tried to impose
some order on what she had seen and heard. She rolled over onto her side. The breakfast she had eaten had made her sleepy
again. Images flitted through her mind: Antigone telling her about Jocasta, the visits of Pelliades and Telemachus. “That’s
where it all began!” she murmured. She heard the sound of the tent flap being opened.

“Oh no, Hecaetus!” Miriam groaned. She felt a flicker of cold and jumped up. She was sure that the tent flap had been opened.
Surely someone had entered the tent?

“Simeon!” she shouted. Then she saw it resting against the leg of a stool, a leather ball. Miriam scrabbled under her pillow
for the dagger, then relaxed as she heard a voice.

“Mistress, it’s only us. We wondered if you were awake?”

She recognized the two pages from the Cadmea.

“Come in, my lovely lads,” she called. She glanced across. Simeon hadn’t even stirred. The tent flap was raised and the two
page boys scrambled into the tent.

“Why are you here?”

“Two reasons,” Castor declared rubbing his stomach. “We are very, very hungry, and we would like to talk to you about old
Memnon.”

M
IRIAM WENT OUT
and brought back bowls of hot food for the pages. By the time she’d returned, Simeon was awake, sitting heavy-eyed on the
edge of his bed, staring at the two imps.

“They haven’t moved,” he said, as Miriam came into the tent.

“I wager they’ve got sticky fingers.”

The pages ignored him as they grabbed the bowls and began eating, dipping their spoons into the hot porridge, blowing to cool
it, then pushing it into their mouths. The porridge and bread Miriam had brought disappeared in a twinkling of an eye. Both
pages burped and sat, eyes wandering round the tent.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Simeon moaned. He wrapped an old blanket around him and left.

“What do you want to tell me about Memnon?” Miriam asked. “Or was that just an excuse to get some free food?”

“We are very hungry,” Pollux replied. “It’s now scraps of food from the kitchen.”

“Well, in future you can stay in the camp,” Miriam replied. “My brother will have a word with the quartermaster.”

“Oh, he’s your brother?” Castor asked. “We thought he was . . .”

“Don’t be crude!” Miriam snapped.

“Old Memnon,” Castor hastily added. “We said he liked taking wenches into his bed.”

“He did,” Pollux declared, “but we also think he had a boyfriend.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Late one evening,” Pollux replied, “I was climbing the tower; I was looking for food. Now old Memnon didn’t like us wandering
about. I heard footsteps and hid. A figure passed me; the head and face were shrouded, but I smelled perfume, really rich
and strong.”

“So it was a woman?” Miriam asked.

“No, no, as the person passed, I glanced down; it was a man! He was wearing military sandals and had hairy legs, not like
any woman I’ve ever seen.”

“And where was this person coming from,” Miriam asked, “Memnon’s chamber?”

“It could have been. But then again, all the officers have their chambers in the tower.”

“Not all of them,” Pollux intervened. “Cleon had his over the stables.”

“That’s right,” Caster agreed.

“You’ve been listening at keyholes.”

Castor and Pollux nodded solemnly.

“We listened to you when you were talking to the officers yesterday and when you were talking with that man with the cruel
eyes.”

“Hecaetus?”

“Yes, that’s right, Hecaetus, who brought the prisoner in. We heard what was said about the spy being a woman.”

“That’s impossible,” Pollux continued. “Only serving wenches were in the Cadmea, and they knew nothing. When the garrison
was besieged by the Thebans, the serving wenches were dismissed.”

“And when did you see this man pretending to be a woman?” Miriam asked. “Was it before the Thebans locked you into the citadel
or afterward?”

“Oh, before,” Castor replied. “I got the impression he or she was going out into the city.”

“But you mentioned Memnon?” Miriam asked.

“Well, we talked about it last night,” Castor declared. “We think this person was going out disguised as a woman to move among
the Thebans would not be recognized as one of the garrison.”

“Ah,” Miriam smiled, “I see what you mean. Is there anything else, lads?”

Both pages shook their heads. Miriam went over to the makeshift writing desk. She scrawled a short message on a piece of papyrus.

“If you do remember anything else, come back. Take this to the quartermaster. He’s a big fellow with a balding head. His name
is Solomonides. Tell him you have spoken to me. He’ll give you food, but you’ll have to work for it.”

“I hope he doesn’t like boys,” Pollux declared, scrambling to his feet.

“Just to eat.” Miriam smiled.

The two pages left. Miriam lay back on the bed. She heard the tent flap pulled back, and Alexander walked in quietly, followed
by Hecaetus. Both nodded and sat down on the opposite bed. The king looked clear-faced and bright-eyed.

“I retired early,” he joked. “There’s nothing like Mother
to spoil a good feast. Hecaetus has told me what happened. Pity, I would like to have met Telemachus,” he added wistfully.
“I am sure he could have told us a great deal.” He played with his wrist guard. “Hecaetus has also told me what you learned
yesterday. The waters are becoming more muddied; I can make little sense of it all.”

“The spy, the Oracle, is in the Cadmea,” Hecaetus intervened. “My lord, if I were you, I’d arrest all five officers.”

Alexander snorted. “I’ve thought of that. Tell me, Miriam, why I shouldn’t arrest all five, confine them to quarters?”

“First, you’ve no real evidence,” Miriam replied. “Second, I wager some of those officers have powerful friends and ties with
leading Macedonian families; their confinement will be seen as an insult, particularly if no charges are leveled.”

“Go on,” Alexander insisted.

“Third, the soldiers regard them as heroes. Whatever happened to Memnon or Lysander, those officers did not lose their nerve.
Despite the most frightening rumors about your death and the destruction of your army, they held the citadel until you arrived.
It seems a poor reward to place them under house arrest. Last, the army is preparing to march on the Hellespont.” Miriam continued,
“You don’t want any divisions and you don’t want to give comfort to your enemies by lashing out, striking out against those
around you.”

Alexander clapped his hands.

“Well done, Miriam!” He sighed and looked at Hecaetus. “And, if I put them under house arrest, what will happen?”

“Well, at least this Oedipus won’t go around killing people,” Hecaetus retorted.

“Oh, I think he’ll stop that,” Miriam declared. “It’s becoming too dangerous for him. He’s made his mark. He killed Telemachus
because he had to. He’ll only strike again if he can get away with the crime. After all, he’s got the
Crown, he’s caused confusion and chaos. I think he’ll sit, wait, and watch.”

“Is that all you can say?” Hecaetus sneered.

“Oh, we could put them under arrest,” Miriam continued. “One of them could be guilty, two could be guilty, or it might be
all of them. Let’s review what we do know or what I suspect. We have a spy, a high-ranking traitor, a very skillful and subtle
man. He knows the Cadmea, the city, and the shrine of Oedipus. He is a master of disguise. He can dress up as Oedipus. I suspect
he can also disguise himself as a woman. Now, he may have used the latter ploy to attack our sentries or to go around the
camp and approach the shrine. He certainly used that disguise to slip into the city of Thebes before the Cadmea was ringed
off. Disguised as a woman, he could meet people like Pelliades and the other Theban leaders and give them all the information
they needed before slipping back to join his companions. Now in the main, he was successful, except on two occasions. First
he was glimpsed by Lysander, who probably uncertain about what he saw and a good officer, kept his mouth shut. Second, he
was seen by one of the pages coming down from the tower and going out into the city. Now, before the Thebans cut the citadel
off, people were allowed to go in and out of the citadel at will. Memnon wouldn’t have objected, would he have, my lord?”
She paused.

“I know what you are going to say, Miriam,” Alexander replied. “He was to do nothing to antagonize the Thebans.”

“The Thebans also,” Miriam continued, “seemed to prefer such haphazard arrangements.” She paused. “I’ve said something.” She
put her finger to her mouth. “I’ve said something. . . .” She scratched the back of her head. “I don’t realize the significance
of it. Anyway,” she continued, “matters changed when the siege began. There were no further strolls in the city. Instead the
spy communicated with his
Theban friends by fire arrow: the tip soaked in oil, the message tied to the other end. It would be shot to a specified location
and the Thebans would then collect it. The spy, the Oracle, as you call him, also tried to unnerve Memnon: this business of
Oedipus being seen around the citadel.”

“You said he was also seen beyond?”

“Oh, that was a Theban trick,” Miriam replied. “While the Oracle played the Oedipus in the Cadmea, some Theban played the
role outside. It was to disconcert Memnon.”

“Why should they do that?” Alexander asked.

“You attacked Thebes,” Miriam replied, “because they rose in rebellion. They really thought you were dead and that the bones
of you and your army were whitening in some mountain valley in Thessaly. It was a lie, a trick. The Thebans really believed
the rumors and the spy did everything to encourage it. Whether he believed it himself, or whether he just wished to stir the
Thebans up, we don’t know. In fact, the war was being fought in the mind and soul, especially of poor Memnon. The Oracle hoped
our commander’s nerve would break, his spirit fail. Fearful of the Thebans, deeply anxious about Alexander and the army, Memnon
might have been stupid enough to capitulate and ask for terms. Indeed, he was almost there, sending out Lysander to negotiate.
Now I don’t think the Thebans wanted to kill Lysander. However, one of them foolishly said something that may have revealed
the identity of the spy, so Lysander was killed and his corpse gibbeted to show how confident the Thebans were.”

“And, of course, Memnon’s state of mind would grow worse?” Alexander asked.

“Oh yes, but he was a tough old dog,” Miriam continued, “so the Oracle somehow killed him!”

“You don’t think he committed suicide?” Alexander queried.

“No, I don’t,” Miriam answered. “But how he died is a
mystery. Only the gods know what would have happened if the Macedonian army hadn’t appeared. However, it did, and Thebes fell.
Now, the spy could have fled but he has impudence and cheek second to none.” She paused. “He’s taken the Crown. He’s killed
Macedonian guards.” Miriam went cold.

“What it is, Miriam?” Alexander asked.

“Whoever it is,” she replied slowly, “is devious and cunning. He certainly hates you Alexander. I just wonder . . .”

“Whether he will strike at the king himself?” Hecaetus asked.

Miriam nodded. “He’ll either do that,” she concluded, “or disappear.”

“And the Crown?” Alexander asked, ignoring the threat. “How did he kill the soldiers? How did he take the Crown?”

“I don’t know.” Miriam closed her eyes. “My lord, I really don’t know.” She opened her eyes and stared at the king. “Antigone
will not suffer, will she?”

Alexander shook his head.

‘Good! Because I think I am going to need her help. I have your permission, my lord, to return to the shrine? I would like
to take her with me.”

Alexander nodded. “Tell Simeon to draft a letter to the captain of the guard, a pass to let you in. You’ll find the shrine
changed. I’ve had the two pits cleaned.”

“Why?” Miriam asked.

“The snakes were a danger and I can’t stand them,” Alexander declared, getting to his feet. “I also wanted to check myself,
or Hecaetus did, that there were no secret entrances, passageways, or tunnels.”

“And there were none?”

“None whatsoever.” Hecaetus said with a grin.

Alexander moved to the tent flap, beckoning Hecaetus to him.

“I understand your concern, Miriam.” Alexander smiled. “But I don’t think this assassin wants my life.”

“Why not?” Miriam asked.

“If he wished to strike at me he would have done so,” Alexander said. “But that would be very dangerous for him. Instead he’s
created chaos and stolen the Crown. He’s done that for a purpose. He intends to sell the Crown to someone.” Alexander walked
back toward her.

“Demosthenes? The Athenians?” Miriam queried.

“We thought that at first,” Hecaetus smirked, “so I’ve had Timeon and his delegation carefully watched; they’re not involved.
Timeon is acting like a good little boy; he never leaves his tent. And the news from Athens is that Demosthenes has fled without
a coin to his name.”

“It’s true,” Alexander confirmed.

“So that leaves one person,” Miriam replied. “His Excellency, Darius III King of Persia.”

Hecaetus smirked. “Then the rumors about Alexander’s death and the destruction of his army must have been started by Persian
agents in Greece. The actions of the Oracle confirmed this. He may have deceived the Macedonians but he also deceived the
Thebans and brought about their destruction.”

“That’s why he killed Telemachus, isn’t it?” Miriam asked.

Hecaetus nodded.

“If Telemachus had been kept alive long enough, if he’d been forced to reflect, he may have realized that the Thebans had
been most cruelly tricked.”

“But surely the Thebans realized that when the Macedonian army appeared?” Miriam asked.

“They still had doubts,” Alexander replied, “that I was with them. Again, the work of the Oracle. Can’t you see, Miriam, if
Telemachus had survived, he would have had to
concede to a dreadful nightmare—that he and his entire city had been duped into revolt.”

Alexander left, followed by Hecaetus. Simeon came back; he sat on the edge of the bed and looked mournfully at his sister.

“A busy morning?”

Miriam picked up her belt and threw it at him but he ducked and grinned mischievously.