Paul Doherty: A Murder in Thebes

“It must have been suicide,” Alexander declared. He went across the room and tapped the great bolt on the door. “How did you get in? I mean, this has not been forced!”

“Memnon’s corpse was found just after dawn,” Demetrius explained. “We came up here; well, you’ve seen the door-it would take a siege to batter it down. So we went up to the tower, tied a rope around one of the battlements and lowered down one of the Cretans, an archer. The shutters were open; he slipped into the room. It’s almost as you find it now: the bolts were drawn, the key turned in the lock. Hercules was lying on the floor asleep. We gave the archer some meat so the dog proved to be no trouble. He pulled back the bolts, turned the key, and we came in.”

“What about his papers?” Miriam asked. “As commander of the Cadmea, he must have kept records?”

“I seized them immediately,” Demetrius explained. He went across to the chest, opened it, and took out a roll of papyrus, coarse string binding it together; it was tightly knotted and had been carefully sealed.

“I’ve been through them myself,” said Demetrius. “There’s nothing really, just lists of provisions and arms. A family letter; I believe he has a son in the guards regiment at Pella?”

Miriam put them into her leather writing satchel. Alexander walked carefully around the room. He touched the statue of Aphrodite, sat on the bed, then went to the window and stared out.

“Miriam Bartimaeus,” he spoke absentmindedly, “you will investigate this matter.”

“My lord!” Hecaetus objected, his voice strident.

“You, my lovely boy,” Alexander turned, “will search among the Theban prisoners, see if there is anyone who can help us here.”

“I doubt it!” Hecaetus snapped. “The Thebans who were in power, those members of the army council, are either dead or have fled.”

“Do as I say,” Alexander declared quietly.

Miriam could see that the king was annoyed that Hecaetus had come to the Cadmea without his permission.

“Hephaestion, stay here and ensure that all is well with the citadel. Miriam and Simeon, come with me.”

“My lord, you need a guard,” Hephaestion objected.

Alexander clapped him on the shoulder.

“Not here, Hephaestion,” he murmured. “Not any more.”

They left the citadel. In the end Hephaestion had his way: when Alexander stopped and turned, two hoplites in full armor were trailing like shadows behind them. He squinted his eyes against the strengthening sun.

“Hephaestion worries too much.”

“Be sensible,” Miriam replied.

She gazed around at the blackened devastation: whole quarters leveled to the ground, nothing more than steaming ash. Hordes of scavengers-kites, hawks, crows, and buzzards-had flown in searching for plunder. The stench was still offensive: smoke and the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh. Occasionally the cry of a woman came from the ruins, and soldiers still sifted among the ashes. Others sat in groups sharing wineskins.

“In ten years,” Alexander breathed, “this will be nothing! People will talk of seven-gated Thebes as they do about Troy and the palaces of Midas.”

“Was it necessary?” Miriam asked.

“It was necessary!” Alexander retorted.

They walked on a bit farther, passing the occasional cluster of trees that marked some shrine or small temple. Alexander entered one of these and stopped to look at the gnarled branches of the olive trees. Miriam was pleased to be in the green coolness where the stench of burning was not so strong. Birds still fluttered and sang, it was an oasis of life in this city of the dead.

“Hecaetus may be right,” she remarked. “There must be Thebans still alive who knew what happened, and who might barter for their freedom.”

“Hecaetus didn’t say that,” Alexander retorted. “He said that the search would be a waste of time. Most of the Theban leaders are dead. Those who survived have fled.” He glanced at her brother.

“What do you think happened in the Cadmea?”

“There’s undoubtedly a traitor,” Simeon replied, hitching his writing bag over his shoulder; he stared curiously through the trees at the white path that must lead to the shrine.

“Miriam?” Alexander asked.

“I agree.” She played with the clasps on her cloak, wishing they would move on. She felt weak, slightly nauseous from the destruction, the burning, the wholesale slaughter, that grim citadel with those soldiers whose moods shifted between insolence and fear. Alexander picked up an olive shriveled brown; he squeezed it between his fingers. A barber had cut his hair, but apart from the rings on his fingers and the gold-embossed sword hilt, Alexander looked like a young officer from the army rather than the conquering victor of Thebes.

“Mother will be here soon,” he groaned. “She’ll want to see the sights. She’ll also want vengeance for Memnon.”

“Why is that?” Miriam asked.

“When father divorced her just before his. .” He blinked, “. . well, just before his death, he asked his drinking companions what they thought. Of course, they all agreed. Memnon was standing on guard duty. ‘Memnon,’ my father shouted, ‘what do you think?’ Memnon bawled back, ‘That you are a bloody fool.’” Alexander smiled and shook his head. “Well, you know father, he bellowed with laughter. He even asked Memnon if he’d like to marry Olympias; that’s when the old soldier really warmed the cockles of my mother’s heart. ‘Men like me,’ he replied, ‘mere mortals, do not marry goddesses.’ Mother sent him a ring. A pledge of eternal friendship. And, as you know, Miriam,” he hitched up his military cloak for it had turned cold, “when mother gives an oath for life or death, she keeps it. I don’t think. .” he threw the shriveled olive on the ground and squashed it under his foot, “. . Memnon committed suicide. He was an old soldier, he wouldn’t have had the imagination.”

“But you saw the room,” Simeon objected. “The walls, the ceiling, the floor were of stone. The door would need a battering ram!”

“The assassin could have entered by the window,” Alexander said weakly.

“Oh, come!” Simeon grasped his dagger hilt. “I’m a clerk, I’m a scribe, my lord, but even a mouse like me would fight. Did Memnon, one of your father’s heroes, just sit there and allow someone to pick him up and throw him through a window? ‘Oh, good morning,’ Memnon must have said, ‘what are you doing here?’ ‘I’ve come to kill you, throw you out the window.’”

“And there’s the dog,” Miriam added. “He may be friendly but I doubt he would just sit there. If it turned nasty he could be savage; Hercules has the strength and cunning of a panther.”

“Ah, well.” Alexander moved a ringlet of hair from Miriam’s brow. “Investigate this matter but, remember, they don’t like you, Miriam. Aye, and don’t tell me it’s because you’re flat-chested with a deep voice. They’ve heard of my two Israelites spies. Do you know that mother wanted to keep you at Pella. To protect her? Would you have liked that, Miriam? Sitting by Olympias while she spins that bloody wheel of hers?” He made to brush by her but Miriam stood her ground.

“If you want to send us back, my lord. .”

“Oh don’t be stupid, I’m only teasing. You, Ptolemy, Niarchos, and Simeon were all with me when I was at the academy in the groves of Midas. I wonder what Aristotle is going to write when he hears about my destruction of Thebes.”

“The Athenians and the rest demanded that it be leveled.”

“Ah yes, Athens. Strange isn’t it, that there are so many connections between Thebes and Athens? In the legend, Oedipus fled to Athens. Sophocles died in Athens, his tomb is near the city gates. But come, let’s see the shrine.”