Paul Doherty - A Murder in Thebes

“That’s my lads,” Perdiccas declared. “Every one a guardsman in full armor.” He resheathed his sword. “I also sent some of our Cretans into the grove. I’ve told them to go nowhere near the shrine.”

“The temple?” Olympias gasped.

“This gentleman,” Alexander patted the beggar gently on the shoulder, “has brought us a strange and horrid story. He stumbled across the corpse of a priestess in the grove. I think it’s Jocasta, her head smashed in. He ran for help to the guards at the shrine.”

The beggar man was now nodding. Miriam pushed her way forward.

“What’s your name?”

“Paemon.” He liked this woman. She had a severe face but the eyes were kindly.

“What happened at the shrine, Paemon?”

“I saw Oedipus.”

“Oedipus is dead,” Miriam said gently.

“Then the gods have sent him back. Terrible he was, a bloody rag around his eyes, his face covered by a mask. In one hand he carried a blood-encrusted club, in the other a crown.”

“A crown?” Olympias’s clawlike hands would have grasped Paemon’s shoulder but Miriam gently intervened.

“I ran to the temple,” he gabbled. “They are all dead!”

Alexander was marching away followed by Perdiccas. Miriam grasped Paemon by the arm and hurried after. They went through the camp, now silent except for the cries of the sentries or the occasional soldier wandering about, still recovering from the drinking and feasting of the night before. Fires had burned low. At the edge of the camp, ostlers and grooms were up, heavy-eyed, making their way down to the horse lines. They passed sentries and pickets. Word seemed to have spread: A small crowd of soldiers was now following the guardsmen who had formed a protective ring around the royal party. Perdiccas shouted at them to go away. They crossed the deserted quarter of the city. The tower and walls of the Cadmea could be seen faintly through the mist.

At last they reached the olive grove and then the white path. Paemon pointed to the ground, and Miriam saw the patches of blood. The scene on the temple steps was terrible. The beggar man had described it correctly. All four soldiers sprawled there, great wounds in their heads. Two were armed; others still grasped their wine cups. The young officer was wearing his war belt. He lay there, eyes closed, as if asleep, face white as chalk and streaked with lines of blood. Perdiccas hammered on the doors with the pommel of his sword. Miriam took the key off the belt of one of the officers and opened the doors.

Inside, the vestibule was cold and deserted. Miriam, going ahead, pushed at the bronze doors. They swung open. Inside, the lamps and torches still glowed. An eerie place full of dancing shadows. She glimpsed the bed of charcoal glowing fiery red; then she saw the two guards, dark shapes huddled on the floor. The blood from their split heads snaked out across the gleaming marble. All were armed, but they looked as if they had died without a struggle.

Miriam looked toward the far end of the shrine. The iron clasps were down. The Crown was gone! Alexander swore. Olympias just stood there, her face pale, glaring at that empty pillar as if she had been cheated of something. Perdiccas and Miriam examined the corpses.

“They didn’t even draw sword or dagger,” Perdiccas murmured. “Look, Miriam, there are no wounds, no cuts, nothing.”

Miriam felt the throat of each soldier, the skin was cold and clammy.

“They have been dead for some time,” she said.

She went across to the corner. Here the soldiers’ shields and lances were piled, wine cups and wineskins, linen cloths that contained stale bread, cheese, and bruised grapes. Alexander was still staring speechlessly at the empty pillar. Miriam took a wineskin and poured some into an empty cup. She sniffed and tasted it.

“Why that?” Perdiccas asked. Ever practical, the captain of Alexander’s bodyguards was more concerned about dead soldiers than a missing crown.

Miriam offered him the cup. “I wondered if it was drugged, but?. .”

Perdiccas took it and sipped it. “Cheap and watery!” he replied, handing it back. He smiled thinly. “Niarchos could drink three of those wineskins and still do a dance.”

Helped by Miriam, Perdiccas searched the shrine but they could find nothing amiss. No secret entrances or passageways. She went and crouched before the great rim of the charcoal pit. The fire was still glowing red hot. She stared carefully. She couldn’t see any disturbance.

“What are you doing?” Olympias asked imperiously.

“The Crown is gone,” Miriam replied. “I just wondered if someone had crossed the pits.”

“It would have to be a long plank,” Olympias scoffed.

“I know,” Miriam replied, “and the shrine would reek of burned timber. . Perdiccas!”

“What are you going to do?” Alexander came up beside her.

“I want Perdiccas to clear a path through the charcoal. I want to look into the snake pit.

“Why?” Olympias asked.

But Alexander was already shouting out orders. Perdiccas brought in some of his guards; using their shields and pieces of wood, they sifted the charcoal, throwing the red hot pieces on top of the marble floor. Miriam calculated that the charcoal pit was at least one and a half feet deep. Beneath it lay a thick layer of white dust from previous fires. The shrine began to fill with smoke, which made them cough and made their eyes water. Now and again the soldiers had to break off and go out for fresh air. Meanwhile Perdiccas removed the corpses to the recess, covering them with their cloaks.

At last a small path began to form through the pit, the soldiers banking up the charcoal on either side. Miriam ordered a shield placed on each side of the banked charcoal, another one in between. She walked tentatively across the makeshift bridge and felt the blast of heat. At last she reached the edge where the iron spikes jutted up from the marble floor. She quickly looked over. One glance was enough: a host of snakes writhed there! She hurriedly went back, climbing over the black guard pole.

“Full of snakes,” she declared.

“Then how was it done?” Alexander exclaimed. “What, it must be over two yards across the charcoal; the spikes and snake pit cover another four.

“How was it done?” he repeated.

Miriam was mystified. No one could have crossed those pits, not unless they had wings. Alexander crouched beside her, Olympias behind him, eager to catch every word. Simeon went out to help Perdiccas with the corpses on the temple steps.

“Here we have a shrine,” Alexander began. “Its walls and floor are of marble. The Crown could not be reached by any secret tunnel or passageway. There’s certainly no way to cross, what, about six yards of dangerous pit? And no one could stretch over it with a pole or a lance.”

“I thought of that myself,” Miriam murmured.

“No one could fashion a bridge,” Alexander continued. “But that’s only the beginning of the mystery. I have four of my best guards outside, their brains smashed in. They didn’t even have a chance to draw their swords or offer any resistance. Think of that, Miriam.”

Miriam closed her eyes. She thought of the soldiers squatting out on the steps. How could anyone approach and kill them in such a barbaric fashion without the alarm being raised?

“The officer carried a horn.”

Alexander nodded. “If any war party, anything strange occurred, he was under strict orders to sound the alarm, but he didn’t.”

“So they are killed,” Miriam continued. “We don’t know whether their attacker took the keys, but he opens the doors and enters the shrine. Inside, two more soldiers are waiting. They are veteran guardsmen. Yet they, too, die in the same barbaric way. The intruder, or intruders,” she added, “then manage to cross the charcoal and the serpent pit, release the clasps, take the Crown, and walk back through locked doors. . The beggar man claimed he saw Oedipus.”