Paul Doherty - A Murder in Thebes

“The ghost story?” Cleon asked.

“Oedipus,” Miriam explained. “Didn’t Memnon say he had heard or seen the shade of Oedipus in the citadel?”

“Yes, and in the week before he died,” Demetrius declared, “he complained that sometimes he’d hear a man with a lame foot climbing the stairs, the sound of a club being struck against the brickwork.”

“And?”

“None of us saw anything.” Demetrius turned to his companions. “Did we?”

They all shook their heads.

“You must remember,” Cleon declared, “that sometimes Memnon was the only one in the tower; during the day we had our own duties to carry out, while before the siege began, we could go where we wished.”

“Didn’t Memnon go out into Thebes?”

“Never! It was too dangerous.”

“So this ghost could have been a figment of Memnon’s imagination?”

“No,” Demetrius snapped, “we didn’t say that. We have heard, mistress, what happened last night in the camp. In fact, I saw. .” He blew his cheeks out. “Well, both Melitus and I saw something.” He looked shamedfacedly at his companion.

“One night we were on guard duty.” Melitus took up the story. “I was on the parapet walk. Now beyond the stockade the Thebans had set up, we always glimpsed torchlight, camp fires. One night Demetrius called me over; a figure was standing in the glow from a fire. He was tall, long-haired; you could make out the outline; in his hand he carried a club. The rest of his body was shrouded in a cloak but when he moved it was with a limp. We watched him for some time.”

“You didn’t loose an arrow?” Miriam asked.

“Why should we? He posed no threat. And we didn’t wish to antagonize the Thebans any more than we had to.”

“So,” Miriam mused, “we have Memnon believing he hears the shade of Oedipus in the citadel. You also see him in the wasteland between the citadel and the city; meanwhile, the same creature, specter, ghost, whatever, may have been responsible for the death of the camp guards last night.”

“Rumors are sweeping the army,” Patroclus declared. “The men don’t like the city; it reeks of death. They want Alexander to march away.”

“But not before he’s taken that bloody Crown!” Alcibiades groaned.

“Are you all right, Miriam?” Simeon stood in the doorway, pale-faced and heavy-eyed.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

“Are there any more questions, mistress?” Demetrius got to his feet. “We still have duties to perform.”

“What will the king do with this citadel?” Miriam asked.

“When we march, he will burn it. Gut it with fire.”

Miriam thanked them and, picking up her writing satchel, joined Simeon in the passageway outside.

“Did you discover anything new?”

“Hush.” Miriam pressed a finger against his lips. “Not here, Simeon.”

She led him up the stairs and into Memnon’s chamber. The shutters were still open; the room was freezing so she hurriedly closed them. Simeon went out, got a torch, and tried to light the charcoal brazier. Miriam sat on the edge of the bed and watched him. At last Simeon was successful. The charcoal glowed red. He pulled the brazier over and sat beside it.

“Two more guards have been found,” he declared, “their heads staved in. What do you think it portends?”

“I’d like to say its Oedipus,” Miriam retorted. “That the old king has come back to curse the destroyers of his city. But, I don’t believe in ghosts, Simeon. It’s human trickery.”

“Why?”

“Alexander is the Conqueror of Thebes.” Miriam paused. “Yes, he has shown how he will deal with rebels but our noble king always likes a challenge. Never since the Spartan war has a Greek city been leveled with such cruel barbarity. Oh, all of Greece will hail him, as victor and captain-general. They’ve got little choice; Alexander’s boot is firmly on their necks! We all know what’s going to happen next. Alexander is going to march to the Hellespont. He’ll demand that some Greek states send troops and that Athens send its navy. Those war triremes will be essential for any attack on Persia.”

“You should have been a general, Miriam.”

“Brother, I sit and listen to Niarchos and Perdiccas argue with Alexander about tactics and strategy. Which ships should go first? What formation should be adopted? Alexander is like a dog with a bone; he knows that, once he crosses the Hellespont, he must leave a united and quiet Greece behind him. Now there are many who will whisper behind their hands that the destruction of Thebes was a mistake. How Alexander is guilty of hubris and will rightly incur the wrath of the gods. They will look for some sign.”

“The Crown of Oedipus?”

“Precisely. If Alexander takes it by force then Greece will say he has lost divine favor; meanwhile these stories about a lame-footed specter killing Macedonian soldiers will make the story more juicy, the scandal more alluring.”

“So it’s the work of the Oracle? This master spy here in the citadel who passed secrets to the Thebans?”

Miriam scratched the side of her head. “I think so. But there’s the rub. There’s no secret entrance or passageway here. The citadel is built on a rock. It would be a hard nut to crack. I suspect Alexander will have some trouble destroying it.” She held out her hands. “On the one hand, we have Memnon babbling about the shade of Oedipus within the citadel. On the other, we have two of his officers claiming they saw the same specter beyond the walls. The obvious conclusion, the force of logic, as Aristotle would put it, indicates this must be a ghost. How else can he move through thick brick walls and heavily guarded gates? Or wander around the camp at the dead of night and kill Macedonian veterans?”

“But you don’t believe in ghosts?” Simeon grinned.

“No, I don’t. I would like to know why the same specter trapped me in this chamber last night? Above all, I would like to know why dear old Memnon, who had about as much imagination as his dog and twice as much courage, should dress in full battle gear, clasp his sword around him, and throw himself out of this tower at the dead of night. Just think, Simeon.” She pointed to the door. “No one could come through there.” She banged her foot on the hard ground. “Or through the floor, or the roof, the walls while the window, well, we’ve reflected on that.” She glanced at Simeon. “Old Memnon would have drawn his sword. Hercules would have launched an attack. They would have heard the outcry in Thebes. I wish Aristotle were here,” she added. She got to her feet and raised her hand languidly.

“My dear,” she mimicked the foppish but brilliant philosopher, “it’s all a matter of logic.” She minced up and down, one hand on her hip. Simeon laughed.

“Don’t laugh, Simeon. You only show your stupidity! This is the problem. You can’t find a solution,” her voice became even more languid, “because you are looking at it, my dear boy, the wrong way.” Miriam relaxed and clapped her hands together.

“And then there’s the Crown,” Simeon said impishly. “All the camp knows about Alexander’s outburst last night. How he nearly pinned Niarchos with a spear, how you intervened and said there was a way.” He rubbed his stomach. “Is there one, dear sister? Alexander was bleary-eyed this morning, but he was all full of it: ‘Miriam will have an answer,’ he declared.”

“And I can imagine what his companions said.”

“Oh yes, they all began to chant: ‘Miriam will have an answer! Miriam will have an answer!’ Niarchos has already laid a wager with Perdiccas that you have got nothing of the sort; Perdiccas has accepted it.”

Miriam went and looked out the window. Two soldiers were emptying the stores and placing them on a cart. She could hear their laughter on the breeze. She recalled the shrine of Oedipus, the Iron Crown resting in the clasps on the stone pillar, the bed of fiery charcoal, the spikes, and the dark shadowy pit where serpents writhed.