Paul Doherty - A Murder in Thebes

“We know how to remove the Crown of Oedipus, but it will take time.” Miriam blurted the words out before she could stop. “Yes, I swear by the holy name of the God of Israel, that it will not be by force but by human cunning and divine favor. Alexander of Macedon shall wear the Iron Crown of Thebes!”

A murmur of approval broke out from the king’s companions. Timeon look puzzled. Niarchos came forward. Alexander grasped him by the shoulder and kissed him on each cheek.

“Do that again,” he whispered, “and I’ll have your bloody head.” And with one arm around Niarchos and the other around Miriam, Alexander staggered back to his cushions. He wiped his flushed, sweat-soaked face with a wet rag and clapped his hands.

“The night is still young.”

Servants came in bringing more bowls of food and fresh jugs of wine. Alexander deliberately turned his back on Miriam and began to tease Hephaestion. Only when he was sure his guests were diverted did he turn back.

“You know what you’ve done, Miriam?”

“I know what you would have done,” she hissed. “You showed all Greece that a Macedonian could not solve a problem. And, in the presence of the envoys, you almost killed one of your generals. Alexander, when you drink, keep your hands away from your weapons.”

“I thought Niarchos was going to pee himself,” Alexander grinned.

“So would anyone,” Miriam countered.

“Do you know how to remove the Crown?” Alexander taunted.

“No!” Miriam hissed. “But if my lord. .”

“My lord king.”

Miriam looked around. A captain of the guard had entered the tent-one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other covered in blood.

“My lord king you’d best come now.”

“What is it?” Alexander slurred.

“Three guards have been killed.”

All drunkenness seemed to disappear. The king sprang to his feet, snapping his fingers for the others to join him. A cart stood outside the royal tent. Three corpses, foot soldiers, sprawled there splattered with blood. Alexander took a pitch torch from one of the escorts and moved closer. The side of each man’s head looked as if it had been smashed in by some war ax or club.

“The men were out on picket duty,” the captain explained. “To the south on country roads. I went to check that all was well but couldn’t find them. I thought they had gone drinking or even slipped back into the camp; I found one of the shields, then the corpses, as well as this!”

Alexander took the small scroll and handed it to Miriam.

“Doomed,” she read out aloud. “Oh, lost and damned! This is my last and only word to you. For ever!”

“I received the same.” She handed it back. “Earlier this evening; it’s a quotation. .”

“I know,” Alexander broke in, “from Sophocles.” Alexander strode away from his companions, now gathering round the cart; he gestured at Miriam and the captain to follow.

“There’s something else isn’t there, man?”

The captain nodded, his face pale and sweaty under the great Corinthian helmet.

“When I crouched down to examine one of the corpses, I heard a whistling. I looked up. In the moonlight I glimpsed a figure on top of small hill. In one hand he carried a club.”

“And when he walked,” Miriam intervened, “he had a limp?”

The captain nodded. “I hurried toward him, but by the time I reached the top, he’d disappeared into the night. The men are now saying that we have been visited and punished by the shade of Oedipus.”

Alexander sobered up. It was as if he hadn’t touched a drop of wine; there was a thin, mean twist to his lips, his eyes were hard and unblinking.

“I conquered Thebes,” he declared. “And now they are going to argue that Oedipus has conquered me. Perdiccas,” he shouted, “I want officers to check all the pickets and sentries. Send out cavalry patrols at first light! Scour the countryside for any Thebans. Miriam come with me.”

They walked out of earshot of the rest.

“I’m begging you, Miriam.” Alexander held her wrists tightly.

“What my lord?”

“To get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow morning do two things: hunt down the Oracle and find a way for me to secure that bloody Crown!”

Miriam returned to the citadel just after dawn, ruefully realizing she had broken Alexander’s first request because her sleep had been plagued by dreams and nightmares. It was a cold gray morning, and a mist had seeped in over the charred remains of Thebes, reminding Miriam of some image of Hades with the black and twisted timbers, the ankle-deep ash, the occasional smoldering fire. She found some of the soldiers had drifted back to the citadel, and drew some comfort from their presence. She had to kick her heels while a servant went looking for Memnon’s five principal officers. Cleon was the first to arrive, bright-eyed and clean-shaven. He insisted that Miriam join him for breakfast. He took her to the mess hall and brought out two dishes of fragrantly smelling meat and some rather stale bread, for which he wryly apologized, and a jug of beer.

“It’s Theban,” he declared, “but it tastes fresh and tangy. Best thing to clean the mouth in the morning.” He sat on a bench opposite and offered Miriam a napkin. The meat was hot to the touch. Miriam had to blow on it as well take hasty sips of beer.

“You are a good cook,” she teased. “You’ll make someone a wonderful husband.”

“Captain Memnon was a stickler,” Cleon replied between mouthfuls. “He said he had starved enough during sieges and had eaten his fill of army rations. So, in a place like this, he would demand all the luxuries.”

“Was he a good officer?” Miriam asked.

“Excellent. Loyal, brave. A kindly man, I never saw him hit anyone. Oh, he could curse and he’d rant, but unlike his dog,” Cleon grinned, “his bark was infinitely worse than his bite!”

“Did he know that Alexander was marching on Thebes?”

“Yes, we all did,” Cleon replied. “Shortly before Memnon was found at the foot of the tower.”

“And Memnon was happy with this news?”

“He said he had it on good report, though he was still worried that Alexander had been killed. He was also terrified that the Thebans might suddenly launch a surprise attack and take the citadel before the Macedonian army arrived.”

“And that was possible?” Miriam asked.

“Yes certainly! If the spy among us had opened the gates, we would have been massacred.”

“And why didn’t that happen?”

Cleon narrowed his eyes and wiped his fingers on the napkin.

“To have achieved that the Thebans would have had to mass behind the palisade. Our guards would have seen them.”

“Was there a guard at the top of the tower when Memnon died?”

“No.” Cleon shook his head. “It’s far too high; it only serves as a lookout post during the day. Our sentries were on the ramparts along the curtain wall.”

“I am sorry for my interruptions,” Miriam apologized. “You were talking about a sudden attack.”

“The Thebans would have had to mass,” Cleon declared. “And that would have become apparent. The spy or traitor, whoever it was, would have had to open a gate. Now, the citadel has two gates, the main one you came through this morning and a small postern door.”

“And both were closely guarded?”

“Oh, yes. Footmen in full armor, archers; the garrison was on full alert. If the Thebans had broken in they would have shown no mercy.” He cleaned the bowl with a piece of bread and popped the bread into his mouth. “And don’t forget that the spy or traitor would have been worried. If the Thebans had broken in they wouldn’t have known friend from foe; he might have been killed along with the rest.”