Paul Doherty - A Murder in Thebes

“Drink the beer,” she ordered.

Telemachus sipped at it.

“Why, mistress? Do you want me drunk?”

“No, Theban, I want you alive. My name is Miriam Bartimaeus. I am of Alexander’s council, as is our good friend Hecaetus,” she added hurriedly. “I want to question you.”

“I have heard of you, Israelite. You were supposed to have died with Alexander.”

“Thessaly was very cold and hard.” Miriam half smiled. “But we survived, as Thebes now knows.”

“There’s no one left to know,” Telemachus gibed. “My whole family has gone-my wife. .” His eyes filled with tears. “Our two children died in the flames. My mother was apparently killed as she fled. God knows where my sisters and brothers are.”

“And Pelliades?” Miriam asked.

“Killed in the rear guard that tried to hold the Electra Gate. Most of the council perished there.”

“He tells the truth,” Hecaetus intervened. “Their bodies were recognized.”

“And why didn’t you die with them?” Miriam asked.

“When the army broke,” Telemachus replied, “Pelliades sealed my commission. He told me to get out of Thebes and reach Demosthenes.”

“Why?”

“To continue the opposition against the Macedonian tyrant. I hid out in the woods. I thought it was safe.” He shrugged. “You know the rest.”

“Why did you besiege the Macedonian garrison?” Miriam asked.

Telemachus took another sip of beer and wetted his chapped lips. He then gargled, swilling it round his sore mouth, and spat it on the floor.

“We really believed Alexander was dead, that the vultures were picking the bones of his army.”

“And your spy in the Cadmea told you that this was the truth?”

Telemachus just stared back.

“Why did you kill Lysander?” Miriam persisted.

“He was a Macedonian.”

“More than that!” Miriam looked at Hecaetus and winked. “One of your council said something about this spy whom we now call the Oracle; he called him, ‘that woman.’” She ignored Hecaetus’s sharp hiss of breath but glimpsed the shift in Telemachus’s eyes.

“Who was the spy?” she asked quietly.

Telemachus took another sip of beer.

“Listen to me,” Miriam urged. “If you tell us, you have my word, by all that is holy, that Alexander of Macedon will have your wounds bathed, give you fresh clothing, gold and silver and a pass to travel wherever you wish. You could find your sisters, your family, begin life again elsewhere. Thebes is destroyed. It is all finished here.”

“Or you can die,” Hecaetus interrupted. “You can spend a few days with my boys.” He pushed past Miriam, his face close to the prisoner. “What’s your arse like Telemachus? Do you know what it’s like to hang from a cross?”

“If I ever get my freedom,” Telemachus replied quietly, “I’ll come back and kill you Hecaetus.”

Miriam intervened before the war of words led to blows.

“We knew all your names.” Telemachus vented the hatred seething within him. “Alexander, Perdiccas, the Israelites! You were all dead, that’s what our spy told us.” He grinned. “And can’t you find him yet?”

“Please.” Miriam studied the Theban shrewdly and her heart sank. Outside, this man’s city was a sea of devastation. Alexander had told her how the Thebans hated Macedonian rule, so would Telemachus break? Help his conquerors? The men who had slaughtered his family, his wife and children? Perhaps Hecaetus was right, and bribery and soft promises would achieve nothing. Telemachus sipped from the cup.

“We took care of your spies, Hecaetus, those sprinkled about the city. All killed!”

Hecaetus’s face stiffened.

“That’s why you’ll never find their bodies,” Telemachus gibed. “We took them out beyond the city gates. We buried them alive.”

Miriam jumped to her feet as Hecaetus grabbed a knife. Her cries, the crashing of the bench caught the attention of those outside. The door was flung open. Demetrius’s and Hecaetus’s men swarmed into the room. Miriam now had her body between Telemachus and his captor. She looked over her shoulder. Hecaetus was white-faced, lips drawn back, teeth bared.

“Demetrius, pull him away!”

“What is this?” Cleon asked.

“Hecaetus!” Miriam seized his hand carrying the knife. “Hecaetus,” she whispered, “he is trying to provoke you. He wants a quick easy death.”

“Then give it to him!” Demetrius declared. “We know who Telemachus is. Lysander was our companion. Let’s blind him like Oedipus!”

“Take him out and crucify him in the same places as Lysander!” Alcibiades shouted.

“Why don’t you?” Telemachus sneered. “I hold your lives in my own hand. Is one of you the spy? Eh? Is it you Alcibiades?”

His words created instant silence. Miriam realized how clever he was: Telemachus had quoted a name without looking at the man.

“Or Demetrius?” Telemachus looked at the ceiling. “Or Melitus? Or Patroclus? One of you was in our pay.”

The officers stopped mouthing their curses and stared at this prisoner. He had neatly turned the tables on them.

“You knew all our names,” Demetrius scoffed. “The council in Thebes did. Every one in the garrison from Memnon down to the stable boys. Don’t threaten us!”

“Ah, yes,” Telemachus smirked, “and we must not forget dear Memnon trying to fly from the top of his tower! You can take me out and crucify me,” he taunted, “but I’ll die screaming one of your names. Perhaps two. Alexander of Macedon will always wonder who the real spy was!”

“Take him away,” Miriam urged. “Hecaetus, don’t hurt him! Take him downstairs, keep him in a store room closely guarded, never by himself.”

Alexander’s master of spies was going to object.

“He should be taken from here,” she urged. “The king himself must see him.”

Hecaetus nodded at two of his men. Telemachus’s hands were grasped and bound behind him, he was shoved from the hall, Hecaetus following.

“We are in great danger,” Demetrius murmured. He picked up the knife and threw it angrily onto the table. He glanced pleadingly at Miriam.

“He’s going to confess nothing. I wager, mistress, he’ll try to cause much chaos and confusion before Alexander tires of him and nails him to a piece of wood. He threatens us all.”

“I know.” Miriam rubbed her eyes. “He could mislead us deliberately.” She stared at the door. But something had happened here. Her mind was too tired to grasp it. Was it what the officers had said? Telemachus or Hecaetus? She brushed by the men and went out into the courtyard. The day was drawing on, the weak sun was beginning to set. Hecaetus joined her.

“Share and share alike, Israelite.”

Miriam led him away to a bench propped against the yard wall; she told him everything that had happened and what she had learned. Hecaetus sat, arms crossed, head bowed, now and again whistling between his teeth.

“You’ve learned a great deal Miriam.” He patted her hand. “And I’m sorry for what happened in there. But I had some lovely boys left in Thebes.” His eyes filled with tears. “Merry lads, all of them gone. They knew the risk, but to be buried alive.” He got to his feet wiping his eyes.

“Let’s take the bastard into the camp!”

“Do you think he’ll talk?” Miriam asked.

“No, I don’t,” Hecaetus retorted. “Telemachus is a brave man who hates Macedonians. If he talks it will be a web of lies and deceit. We’ll never know the truth; he will only muddy the waters.” He chucked Miriam under the chin with his fingers. “You are not fit for camp life, Israelite. Your face is pale and the dark rings under your eyes are not paint.” Hecaetus shouted across at one of his men to bring the horses.