Paul Doherty - A Murder in Thebes

“He must have,” Olympias whispered. “Oedipus has come back to his city!”

“That is nonsense!” Alexander exclaimed. “Oedipus is dead!” He sighed. “But I agree, ‘I learn in sorrow upon my head the gods have rendered this terrible punishment they have struck me down and trod my gladness under foot.’”

“‘Such is the bitter affliction of mortal man.’” Olympias finished the quotation from Sophocles.

“It’s strange,” Miriam interrupted. Both the Queen and her son glanced at her.

“What is it?” Olympias snapped.

“Here we are, in a devastated Thebes,” Miriam continued. “And what is happening? Echoes of Sophocles’ play.”

“Explain,” Alexander insisted.

“Well, the city was founded by the hero Cadmus, whom misfortune had befallen even before the city was established: he was ravaged by a fierce dragon, which he killed. However, heaven was still against him and the dragon’s teeth were sown on the site of Thebes. From these sprang a tribe of giants. Now, Oedipus was one of Cadmus’s descendants.” Miriam stared at the empty pillar. “Oedipus solved the mystery posed by the Sphinx but ended up killing his father, Laius, and marrying his mother, Jocasta, bringing down the judgment of the gods.”

“And how does this apply to my son?” Olympias fumed.

“Well, Oedipus has returned. The city is devastated once more. Alexander, in a metaphorical way, has sown dragons’ teeth. The Sphinx is represented by the riddles surrounding Memnon’s death-the spy in the citadel, the dreadful murders, and the theft of the Crown.”

“And so what do you suggest?” Alexander asked quietly.

“That we act quickly,” Miriam replied. “Word of this will spread. It will be in Athens within a week. Alexander may have destroyed Thebes, but Thebes is destroying Alexander. His men are being mysteriously killed, the Crown wrenched from his grasp, the displeasure of the gods made manifest for all to see.”

Alexander now forgot the Crown as he realized the implications of such propaganda.

“So what do you suggest,” he teased, “woman of Israel?”

“All those who know about this,” Miriam declared, hoping she was saying the right thing, “should be sworn to secrecy: the guards, everyone. This temple should sealed, the dead quietly buried.”

“Continue,” Alexander demanded.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Miriam declared, but she looked at the corpses, the blood coursing along the floor, and she repressed a shiver. “That poor beggar man saw flesh and blood. If Oedipus had been sent by the gods, why should he kill the poor priestess? Or the soldiers? Why not do something more dreadful, like call fire from heaven? A true immortal,” she gibed, “could pass through marble walls and take the Crown.”

“You don’t take our legends seriously, do you?” Olympias, arms crossed, sauntered toward her. “You think they are children’s fables. My son called you a woman of Israel, you with your hidden God, whose name cannot be mentioned!”

Miriam looked over Olympias’s shoulder at Alexander, who had a warning look in his eyes. Olympias’s face was full of rage, not at Miriam but at being cheated of the Crown. And, as was her wont, Olympias vented her rage on anyone and everyone around her.

“Yes, I think your stories are legends and fables,” Miriam replied quickly, “but behind them are hidden truths; that is what we have here. Truth and lies. The truth is that Alexander conquered Thebes, which rose in rebellion.”

Olympias’s face softened. “And?”

“The lie is that someone wants to mock that victory. I don’t think it’s Oedipus’s wraith or specter but flesh and blood. He is here to weaken Alexander’s victory, to snatch a great prize from his hands. The theft and murders committed in the shrine are somehow connected to the death of Lysander and Memnon’s fall from the tower.”

“The Oracle?” Alexander asked.

“Yes, the Oracle. But I cannot see how he works. I discovered, my lord, that Memnon thought he had seen the shade of Oedipus in the citadel, yet two of his lieutenants saw him beyond the walls.”

“Treachery?” Olympias asked. “Hidden doors and passages?”

“No,” Miriam shook her head. “The citadel was well-fortified and guarded. Now this Oracle, dressed as Oedipus, terrorizes lonely sentries on the outskirts of the Macedonian camp. Tell me, my lord, imagine yourself as a sentry on the lonely heath land, a mile away from the camp. Someone approaches you.”

“I’d call out to him to stop.”

“But these don’t,” Miriam insisted.

“It could have been done by stealth.”

Perdiccas had come back into the temple, and was standing behind her.

“One sentry, perhaps,” Miriam replied. “Even two, but three or four? And the sentries here? If they’d seen someone approach they’d have issued a challenge. If the officer had thought it was threatening, he would have immediately raised the alarm, but that didn’t happen.”

“What are you implying?” Perdiccas snapped. “Some form of bribery and corruption among my men?”

“No, no, Perdiccas, don’t stand on your honor,” Alexander declared. “Miriam is trying to reach a conclusion.”

“It’s not much of one,” she confessed. “But the murderer of these soldiers came alone. They saw him as a friend; therefore, he must be a Macedonian.”

“Agreed.” Alexander kicked at a pile of cold charcoal ash. “But,” he continued, “let’s say a Macedonian did approach the temple steps. He’s welcomed by an officer and three guardsmen, the best my regiment can provide. What happens then? Does he start running about with a club? He may kill one but how can he slay three others and face no opposition?”

Miriam pulled a face. “I don’t know. That’s where my hypothesis fails.”

“And once in here,” Olympias snapped, “the soldiers welcome him with open arms?”

“That’s a real mystery,” Alexander declared. “The assassin has killed four of my soldiers; he takes the key and goes into the vestibule. Now the doors to the shrine are locked from the outside, but they are also barred from within.” He pointed to the doors and the bronze bar hanging down.

“The soldiers inside will only lift that if the password is given by either their officer or the high priestess but we know that, by then, both of them are dead. Moreover, the two soldiers have heard nothing of the violence outside.” He flailed his hands. “Yet the doors are unbarred, the assassin enters, quietly dispatches fighting men, and steals the Crown. How?” he demanded angrily.

“Again, I don’t know,” Miriam declared, her cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. “I can only describe what I think is logical.”

Alexander patted her gently on the shoulder.

“But what now?” Perdiccas asked. “If I accept your conclusion, Miriam, this Oedipus is one and the same as the Oracle spy. He now has the Crown. Why doesn’t he just flee?”

“Oh, he will, eventually,” Miriam agreed. “But not too soon; that would arouse suspicion. True, he has the Crown, but what’s he going to do with it? Now we go back to Sophocles. The playwright went to Athens; his tomb can still be seen outside the city gates.”

“Of course!” Olympias exclaimed. “And in the second play, Oedipus at Colonus , the blinded king goes to Theseus, king of Athens for succor.”

“Demosthenes!” Alexander exclaimed. He began walking up and down, rubbing his hands together as he did whenever he became excited. Now and again he would curl his fingers into a fist.

“He’ll sell the Crown to Demosthenes. Oh, how the Athenians will laugh.”

“That’s why you must act quickly,” Miriam insisted. “Issue a proclamation that we have the Crown.”