Paul Doherty - A Murder in Thebes

The camp was noisy, fires glowing in every direction. Soldiers staggered about, but officers dressed in full armor and horsehair-plumed helmets, kept good order with stout ash canes. Soldiers lurched up from the campfires and staggered toward her. When they recognized who she was, they mumbled apologies and slipped quietly away. The camp followers were doing a roaring trade in different tents and bothies and she could hear the hasty, noisy sound of lovemaking. Somewhere soldiers were singing a raucous song. From another place she heard the piping tunes of flutes. Horse neighed. Servants hurried through with bundles on their backs. Miriam looked up. The sky was clear, the stars more distant than in the hills of Macedon. She recalled Alexander’s words. He would never go back there. She wondered about his boast to march to the ends of the earth. Sometimes Alexander, in his cups, would talk of leading his troops to the rim of the world, of creating an empire dominated by Greece that would make the world gasp in surprise. He wants to be greater than Philip, she thought; he wants to outshine him in every way.

She pulled back the flap of her tent and went in. Someone had lit the oil lamp on the table; it still glowed weakly. She picked up the scrap of parchment lying beside it. She made out the letters in the poor light.

“Doomed, oh lost and damned! This is my last and only word to you for ever!”

Miriam’s heart quickened. She fought hard to control her trembling. She recognized the quotation from Sophocles and recalled the mysterious intruder outside that lonely chamber in the Cadmea. She was being warned, and if Simeon hadn’t come? She sat down on the thin mattress that served as a bed.

“Miriam.” She started. Hecaetus poked his head through the tent flap, smiling sweetly at her like a suitor come to pay court.

“You shouldn’t crawl around at night, Hecaetus. It doesn’t suit you!” she snapped.

“May I come in? I have a visitor.”

“I can’t very well stop you.”

Hecaetus entered. He pulled his great cloak more tightly.

“It’s so cold,” he moaned. “Why doesn’t Alexander march somewhere warm, where the sun always shines. By the gods, where is he?” He went back and pulled up the tent flap. “Come on man,” he said pettishly, “the lady’s tired and I’m for my bed.”

The man who lumbered in was small and thickset; a scrawny mustache and beard hid the lower part of his face. His hair was unkempt and oil-streaked. He moved awkwardly, nervously staring around the tent.

“This is Simothaeus.” Hecaetus made the man sit. “He’s a soldier, served under Memnon. Come on. Do you want some wine?” Hecaetus spoke to the man like some disapproving aunt. The man shook his head, eyes fixed on Miriam. She smiled and he grimaced in a show of broken teeth. Hecaetus sat between them and patted the man’s bony knee.

“Simothaeus likes drinking, and he’s been rejoicing at his king’s victory. Do you want some wine, Miriam?”

“I drank enough in the king’s tent.”

“Yes, I’m sure you did.” Hecaetus’s womanish face became petulant. “Always the servant, never the guest.” He waved his hand foppishly. “Alexander needs me but never invites me to drink with him.”

“He knows you are a skilled hand at poisons.”

Hecaetus, eyes crinkled in amusement, wagged a finger. “You are very naughty, Miriam; I only remove the king’s enemies.”

“Or those who get in your way. Do I get in your way, Hecaetus?”

“I am the king’s searcher-out of secrets,” Hecaetus replied defensively. “But no, my dear, I like you. I’ve watched those eyes of yours, sharp and shrewd. You mean me no ill. You don’t mock me like the others do.”

“And your friend Simothaeus?” Miriam asked.

“Well I’ve spent the day. .” Hecaetus began. He waved his hands; the fingernails were gaudily painted. “Some of these soldiers are such bitches,” he lisped. “You share a cup of wine with them and they want their hand in your crotch. And no, I don’t enjoy it. They are far too rough; not like my boys.” Hecaetus turned and looked over his shoulder.

Miriam knew all about Hecaetus’s “boys”: effete but courageous; where their master went, they always followed. It would be a foolish soldier, indeed, who tried to take liberties with Hecaetus.

“Do you want to bring your boys in here?” Miriam asked. “Though it could get rather crowded.”

“Don’t be such a minx!” Hecaetus mewed like a cat. He patted her hand. “You are far too hard, Miriam; I am your friend, I always will be. We should share what we know, shouldn’t we?”

Miriam stared at the light-blue eyes so innocent, so child-like. How many men, she wondered, had he trapped with that pleading slightly hurt look?

“I’m waiting Hecaetus.”

“Oh, go on!” Hecaetus tapped Simothaeus on the shoulder. “I spent the whole day, Miriam, drinking with him and his companions, and they couldn’t tell me a thing. But then Simothaeus, in that dark dim area he calls his brain, remembered something very important.” He fished beneath his cloak, brought out his purse, and shook two coins into the palm of his hand.

“Go on, Simothaeus.”

“I was on guard duty.” The man spoke like an actor who had repeated his lines time and again but really didn’t understand the importance of them. “Yes, I was on guard duty.”

Hecaetus sighed noisily.

“Old Memnon came out of the courtyard. He was slightly tipsy. He was dressed in full armor, hand on the hilt of his sword.”

“When was this?” Hecaetus interrupted. “Tell the lady.”

“Why, the day before he fell from the tower. It was late in the afternoon. We had heard rumors that the king and the Macedonian army were marching on Thebes. Most of the men were celebrating. Memnon came over to me. He gripped me by the shoulder and asked my name. ‘Simothaeus,’ I replied, ‘my father tilled the land north of Pella.’”

“And?” Hecaetus asked testily.

“The captain was a hard bugger, but he was blunt. ‘Simothaeus,’ he said, ‘whatever Hades and the Thebans throw at us, we will stand fast, we will welcome our king into the citadel.’ Then he leaned closer. ‘You are going to see all of Thebes burn!’”

“Did he say anything else?” Miriam asked.

Simothaeus shook his head.

“Right,” Hecaetus said testily. “Here is a coin, Simothaeus. Go and get as drunk as the other pigs.”

The soldier lumbered out of the tent.

“Do you see the importance of Simothaeus’s evidence?” Hecaetus asked, raising his eye brows. “Here we have old Memnon supposedly drunk and brooding in his chamber, his mind has turned and he attempts to fly like Icarus from his tower.”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Miriam interrupted. “In the last days of the siege, a Macedonian army was marching on Thebes though, even then,” she added, “didn’t the Thebans think Alexander had been killed and that the troops were being led by one of his generals?” She held her hand up. “But true, true Hecaetus, I follow your drift. Memnon expected to be relieved, so why commit suicide?”

“See, Miriam, I am willing to share what I discover.”

“But how did Memnon know that?” Miriam asked. “How did he know that a Macedonian army was marching to his relief? After all, the Thebans had him tightly controlled.”

Hecaetus grinned. “They may have spies in the citadel but I had spies in Thebes. Arrows can go both ways. So, Miriam”. . He played with the bracelet on his wrist, “. . tell me what you have discovered. One of my pretty boys saw you return to camp. You looked agitated.”

Miriam told Hecaetus everything. Her visit to the citadel, Memnon’s manuscripts, and the attack on her. Hecaetus, eyes half closed, heard her out.