Paul Doherty - A Murder in Thebes

Miriam opened the purse that swung from her girdle and thrust a silver daric into the page boy’s hand.

“Keep your mouth closed!” she warned. “Don’t tell anyone. Simeon, go downstairs, use your authority, bluff, anything you want. Ask Demetrius to send out a search party.”

“For whom?”

“For Alcibiades.”

“What are you saying, sister?”

“That Alcibiades hasn’t fled. I think he’s been murdered and his corpse hidden away.”

“But it could be anywhere.”

“Ah yes, brother, but Alcibiades left on a horse. Now, the killer is not going to bring the horse trotting back, is he? I suspect that if we find the horse, Alcibiades’ corpse will be nearby. Now go on, both of you!”

She heard their footsteps outside and, slipping out of the chamber, walked farther up. The small garret room was off unlocked. Miriam pushed it open and went inside. The chamber was dusty and dirty. She opened the shutters and stared abound. A table and stool stood in the corner. She went and sat down, scrutinizing the tabletop. She saw stains in the woodwork, as if someone had spilled ink over it. She leaned down, sniffed, and caught the faint fragrance of perfume. On the floor beneath was what looked like sealing wax, a dark red stain.

“It’s henna!” she murmured. “This is where our spy dressed. But wouldn’t Memnon have objected? Wouldn’t he have heard this person moving about upstairs? Is that how he died?” She glanced at the narrow window, but she was wrong. She had been tempted to think that Memnon had come up, having left his dog downstairs, and that he was killed, his corpse thrown through the window. Of course, the door to Memnon’s chamber was locked and barred with a guard outside, but the window in the garret was far too narrow. Miriam sat and put her face in her hands.

“I look at the things the wrong way,” she whispered. Of course, she thought, the Oracle is eloquent and cunning. She went to the window and stared down, a sheer drop into the courtyard below. Demetrius was already organizing a search party. She saw horses being led out from the stables and she heard shouted orders. Miriam went and closed the door. She brought the bar down and sat on the floor with her back to the wall. She recalled a childhood game in which she would chant the verses her father taught her.

“What do we have?” she whispered. “A spy, not paid by the Thebans or Athenians, but by the Persians. What’s wrong with that?” She paused. Persian gold flooded into Greece but who would pay the spy here in the Cadmea? At first it had looked as if the Oracle was in collusion with the Thebans, but that was wrong. In the end the Oracle had inflicted more destruction on Thebes than on Macedon; that was why Telemachus had had to die. “Right,” Miriam said. “We know there’s a spy paid by Persia. He disguised himself as a woman so he could move about the city?” She paused. “Persian agents and spies,” she spoke aloud to herself, “were spreading rumors easily seized upon by Alexander’s enemies that Macedon was no more. The Oracle confirmed this. How?” Miriam steepled her fingers. “Of course.” She continued speaking to herself, “He was an officer, he could claim that Memnon had received special intelligence. What now?” Miriam folded her arms across her chest. “Thebes rose in rebellion. The citadel was cut off. The only way the spy could communicate was probably by arrow. He probably painted a dire picture of the garrison. To a certain extent that was correct. Memnon was becoming more and more estranged.” Miriam stared at the sunlight streaming through the window. Thebes was destroyed, she thought, but the spy worked on to create more mayhem and chaos. A born actor, he stirred up agitation by slaying the guards and then seizing the Crown. “But how did he achieve all this?” Miriam clambered to her feet. She dusted off her gown, opened the door, and went down the steps.

Simeon was waiting for her in the courtyard, talking to their escort. Miriam waved them over and walked toward the gate.

“Where are you going, sister?” Simeon caught up with her, hugging his writing satchel to his chest.

“Out to the priestess,” she declared. “I have some questions for Antigone.”

“I’m glad I’m with you,” Simeon declared. “Olympias is busy organizing her play.”

Miriam paused and glanced back at the citadel.

“You don’t think it was Alcibiades, do you?” he asked.

“No, I don’t.” Miriam smiled. “Forgive my arrogance; at first I thought, perhaps. Yet it’s too neat and leaves too many unsolved questions.”

She walked on and reached the grove.

“There seem to be as many soldiers as there are trees.” Simeon stared round. “It’s a pity Alexander is closing the stable door after the horse has gone.”

Miriam didn’t answer. Now and again she was stopped by officers, but she produced the pass and eventually reached the white chalk path that led up to the shrine. This, too, was lined with soldiers. The officer in charge allowed them through and up to the priestesses’ house. Again, more soldiers though the priestesses were composed, relaxed. Antigone was in an upstairs chamber busy over a spinning wheel.

“I always have difficulty with the thread,” she declared. “My eyes have never been strong.” She got to her feet. “Would you like some wine and honey cakes?”

Miriam looked around the chamber and noticed the packed saddle bags.

“Are you leaving?”

Antigone turned at the door.

“Why not? My sisters and I have decided that there is nothing left for us in Thebes. We will go our separate ways. Look, I have a present for you.” She picked up a small square of blue silk and handed it to Miriam.

“It’s a shawl,” she declared. “Very costly. It comes from the east. It was a gift; I give it to you.”

Miriam shook the silk out. It was blue like summer sky and shimmered in the light.

“It’s like touching water,” Miriam murmured, “so soft and smooth.”

“You won’t refuse it?” Antigone smiled. “You have been most kind. Please.” Her eyes softened. “Accept it as a gift.”

Miriam blushed. Antigone took it out of her hands and placed it around her neck. “It’s very rare and very costly,” she whispered, “but please take it.”

Miriam, rather embarrassed, thanked her. Antigone helped fold it up.

“Where will you go?” Simeon asked.

Antigone shrugged. “Athens, one of the cities. My sisters have friends, relatives in Greece. You Macedonians will march away,” she blinked back the tears, “and in a year Thebes will be nothing but weed-choked ruins.” She smiled. “Why have you come?”

“I have a pass to enter the shrine of Oedipus,” Miriam explained. “I would like you to accompany me there.”

Antigone stepped back, hand to her throat. “Must I?” she asked. “The shrine is empty. Jocasta is dead, the Crown gone. It has nothing for me but painful memories.”

“You don’t have to,” Miriam countered. “But just for a short while? I’ll explain later.”

Antigone agreed. She told the other priestesses, took her cloak from the peg, and followed Miriam and Simeon out of the house into the courtyard. At the gate the soldiers were holding back Castor, teasing and taunting him. The young page, red-faced was holding his own, and the air was rich with his jeers. Miriam hurried ahead. The soldiers goodnaturedly let Castor through.

“What’s the matter,” asked Miriam, “has Alcibiades been found?”

Castor shook his head.

“No, mistress, not that. I bear orders from the king. Tomorrow morning Queen Olympias will stage her play, Oedipus . It is the king’s wish,” Castor winked, “that all be present.”

Miriam groaned. Castor smiled mischievously.