Paul Doherty: A Murder in Thebes

“You whoreson bastard!” Demetrius would have lunged across the table but Melitus held him back.

“Once the Macedonians had arrived,” Miriam continued, “the game shifted. This time fear was spread among the Macedonian army: the guards were killed by this precious pair, the shrine raided, and as Cleon knows, the Crown stolen.”

“How was all this done?” Demetrius asked.

“Oh, quite easily,” Miriam answered. “I will tell you later. However, Cleon was very busy with his lover; they had the run of that olive grove. Cleon could wander at will, be it frightening me here in the tower or leaving messages in my tent.”

“And Telemachus?”

“The Theban had to die: he knew about Memnon’s death and other matters, but not the identity of the Oracle. Nevertheless, these scraps of knowledge could be dangerous: what if Telemachus knew about Antigone? Pelliades, who was her uncle, may have said something. Telemachus was killed by Cleon only because of what he may have known.”

“And Alcibiades?” Patroclus asked.

“That was a very astute ploy. All the business, about Telemachus and the Thebans thinking one of you was dressed like a woman, was arranged to point the finger at Alcibiades, whose private pleasures were public knowledge.”

“You murdered Alcibiades,” Demetrius declared.

“Yes, he did.” Miriam added, “Alcibiades was to be the cat’s-paw, the diversion to our thinking that the matter was ended.” Miriam held Cleon’s gaze. “Of all your stratagems, that was the most cunning. Alcibiades, right from the beginning, was chosen as a victim, a sure means of protection should things go wrong, as well as a scapegoat to dull suspicion and provide the means for a leisurely escape.”

“How did you do it, Cleon? Lure him to some meeting?” Demetrius asked.

“He was always partial to a young boy,” Patroclus declared.

“You lured him out,” Miriam continued, “killed him, and buried his corpse. You and Antigone thought that would give you time, and when the army marched, both of you could slip away to meet your Persian masters. It may have taken months, even years for Alexander to find out.” Miriam gestured at the accused. “Arrest him and hold him fast!”

Cleon didn’t struggle when the soldiers dragged him to his feet. The officer had taken a piece of rope and was going to bind his hands; Miriam ordered him not to. She walked around the table. Cleon’s face was so surprised, he could muster no defence; he was more concerned about Antigone than anything else.

“Can I see her?” he asked.

“I have spoken the truth, have I not?” Miriam asked.

“Can I see her?” he whispered.

“The truth?” Miriam asked.

“The truth, Israelite,” Cleon regained his wits. He smiled slyly. “You are right. What do I owe to Thebes? What do I owe to Macedon? I love her! I loved her the first time we met. I went out to the shrine and she was sitting on the steps. She talked to me.” He shrugged. “It made sense. She asked if Alexander was dead. I told her we had heard rumors. But she held my hand as we talked; from that touch everything flowed. How did you know?” He paused.

“Perfume,” Miriam replied. “Antigone gave me a gift of blue silk. I smelled the same perfume on the table upstairs in the garret. Then I recalled the gossip of the two pages. All your colleagues here, the other officers, are lovers of men, but they never once mentioned you. Who I asked, who could be seduced by the beauty of a woman? The logical answer was you; each time I put that piece into the puzzle, everything fit.”

“He should be crucified!” Demetrius spat out. “He should be nailed to a cross and allowed to die.”

Cleon was studying Miriam closely.

“She didn’t confess, did she?”

Miriam shook her head. “She killed herself.”

The change in Cleon’s face was dreadful. His composure disappeared. He closed his eyes and gave the most heartrending groan.

“All that is left,” Miriam declared, “is the Crown. Where is the Crown of Oedipus?”

Cleon was still shaking his head, muttering to himself.

“Is the Crown gone?” Miriam insisted. She took Cleon’s face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “It’s over,” she murmured. “It’s all finished.”

“Why should I give it back?” Cleon brought his head up. “Why should I give it to you, clever Israelite?”

“A quick death,” Miriam replied, ignoring the exclamations of the others. “The Crown,” she insisted.

“Do I have your word on that?” he demanded.

“You have my oath,” she declared.

“The garden,” Cleon smiled, “at the back of the priestesses’ house. Dig deep beneath a stunted rosebush in the far corner.”

Miriam looked at the officer, who rattled out an order.

“Simeon,” Miriam declared, “go with them! Have the prisoner taken away.”

Chaos broke out as the guards pushed Cleon to the door. Demetrius and the others jumped up. Patroclus tried to lash out with his fist but the guards officer knew his business. He pushed them away and, with Cleon shouting insults, bundled him out of the room.

“Is this acceptable?” the officer asked, coming back. “Shouldn’t my lord the king?. .”

“All the king wants is justice for the murders and the return of the Crown,” Miriam replied. “Nothing else. We could nail Cleon to the walls of the citadel and the Crown could lie undiscovered for ever. If he speaks the truth, then I’ll keep my word.”

Miriam sat down and put her face in her hands. Patroclus brought some wine but her stomach curdled, so she refused it. On the one hand she felt relieved, on the other a sense of exhaustion. It had been so close, Cleon and Antigone so clever. If the priestess hadn’t given her that gift, that piece of blue silk, or had the Fates ordained that? Had Antigone made a mistake because she liked her? She looked around the mess hall. Miriam wondered if the officers would intervene-seize the prisoner and carry out their own dreadful punishment? She got up and went out to the courtyard. She was sitting on the steps when Simeon came hurrying back. He thrust a soiled leather bag into her hands.

“It’s there, undamaged!”

She undid the cord and took out the Iron Crown. Although it looked heavy, it was surprisingly light. Its blazing red ruby sparkled and flashed. Miriam resisted the urge to put it on her head and moved it around in her hands. Was it iron, she wondered, or some alloy? She recalled a lecture given by Aristotle on how the Dorians had first used iron.

“You know, Simeon,” she murmured, “it’s all a charade! We call this the Iron Crown but I think it’s made of some alloy. If there was a real Oedipus, I doubt very much that he ever wore this. But as Plato said, things are not what they are but what people make of them. Tell the officer to come out. Ask him to lock the hall door behind him.”

Simeon hastened off and the officer came down. He towered above Miriam, his harsh young face staring through the slits of the armored helmet. He stood, one foot on the step beside her, one hand grasping the hilt of his sword.

“I have the Crown,” Miriam declared. “You heard me. I gave my oath. Let it be done quickly! Before the others know.”

The officer shouted to two of his men. Miriam heard them go down the steps to the cellars below, heard the sound of doors opening. She sat holding the Crown, staring up at the sky. She would be glad to be gone from Thebes, away from destruction and death. She still marveled at Antigone’s cunning.

“Simeon, will you do me a great favor?”

“That’s what I’m here for sister, to do your bidding.”

Miriam smiled at the gentle sarcasm. “If Antigone had governed Thebes,” Miriam declared, “the city would never have been ruined. She was shrewd and calculating, a woman of great strength. I’ll always wonder if she loved Cleon as much as he loved her.”