Paul Doherty - A Murder in Thebes

“Even though we were at peace?” Hephaestion asked.

“The Thebans said it was for our own protection. Then the stockade was replaced by a stouter, higher one. You’ve seen the remains. Memnon and Lysander objected. After two weeks of siege, they went out to meet representatives of the Theban council.”

Alexander looked at Cleon. “Were you there?” he asked.

“Yes, Memnon, Lysander, and myself. Usually.” Cleon rubbed his stomach. “We kept well away from the palisade. Memnon even gave orders to shoot any who approached it since it was not unknown for the Thebans to try and jab a sword or spear through the slats.”

Miriam watched Simeon’s stylus racing over the smooth piece of papyrus, using a code only he could decipher.

“Anyway,” Cleon sighed, “it was a shouting match. Memnon and Lysander were in full armor. The Thebans jeered at them, asked if they were frightened. Memnon demanded to know why the palisade had been built. ‘For your own protection,’ the Thebans replied; then bricks were hurled over the palisade.”

“I’ve never seen our old commander move so fast,” Alcibiades lisped. “He and Lysander fair scurried back.”

“So would you, you wine-soaked fop!” Cleon shouted.

Alcibiades colored, his hand dropping to the dagger in his belt.

“That’s enough, boys,” Alexander murmured. “Then what happened?”

“Memnon became anxious, withdrawn,” Patroclus replied, his voice abrupt. He beat his knuckles on the table. “He met us all in here. He said that he didn’t like the mood of the Thebans. During the exchange of insults, the Thebans had. .”

“What?” Alexander asked impatiently.

“I was there,” Cleon blustered. “My lord king, the Thebans seemed to know all about us and the fortress, as if they had a spy, someone sending them secret messages.”

“What did they know?” Miriam asked before she could stop herself. The soldiers looked down the table at Alexander.

“I’d have asked the same question,” he said languidly.

“They knew everything,” Demetrius declared, “including about the two soldiers we’d recently lost; they’d slipped out under the cover of darkness but the Thebans had been waiting for them.”

“And you?” Alexander asked.

“I agreed with my commander,” Demetrius retorted. “Old Memnon was right; there’s a spy in the Cadmea.” He gazed bleakly round the table.

“And, as far as I am concerned, he’s still here!”

Demetrius’s remarks caused consternation; his fellow officers had been taken unawares.

“If you have suspicions,” Patroclus snapped, “name them!”

“He tells the truth.” Cleon spoke up. His voice was so loud that it calmed the dissension. Cleon’s eyes filled with tears. “Memnon believed this. He claimed the Thebans had a spy in the citadel.”

“Did he say who?” Alexander asked.

“No.” Cleon shook his head. “He never openly voiced his suspicions.” He smiled. “Well, my lord king, you know Memnon. If he spoke three sentences it was surprising.”

“Old Memnon was as thrifty with his words as a miser is with gold,” Alexander agreed. “But continue, Cleon.”

“Memnon spoke to me on a number of occasions. They were more grunts than speeches. The Thebans know too much,” he declared. “They know about our stores, our men!”

“If there was a spy,” Miriam broke in, “how on earth would he communicate with the enemy?”

The patronizing smile that spread across Demetrius’s face told her she had made a mistake.

“An arrow fired at night,” Cleon kindly explained. “A message wrapped around the shaft. It could be easily done. There are parts of the citadel where an archer could loose and not be seen. The arrow would clear the stockade.” He shrugged. “And the Thebans would know everything.”

“I’m confused.” Miriam smiled apologetically. She brought her hands together.

“You were besieged in the citadel?”

“Yes!”

“For how long?”

“About two months, until news of Macedon’s advance ended all rumors.”

“So,” Miriam thanked Demetrius with her eyes, “during that time, the spy must have acted secretly.”

“Of course!”

“But, by then, the damage was done surely? The rumors had begun, the Thebans were in revolt.”

“Ah, I see.” Demetrius scratched his head. “Yes, before the siege began, we had about six to eight weeks of relative freedom.”

“Ah yes, my supposed death.” Alexander asked, “The rumors about a catastrophe in Thessaly-these changed everything?”

“The Thebans became more arrogant.” Demetrius rubbed his face. “Crowds would stand by the stockade. They’d jeer, shout, throw bricks. One day a herald approached under flag of truce. Memnon went upon to the gatehouse and asked what he wanted. The herald said that news had come to Thebes. That you, my lord king, had been trapped in a gully in the mountains of Thessaly. That you, Hephaestion, Perdiccas had all been killed. That the army was routed during a revolt in Pella.”

“But surely,” Hephaestion broke in, “you must have thought he was bluffing?”

“Memnon said as much,” Cleon replied. He stared around at his companions. “You were all there. Memnon started laughing. The herald went away and Memnon held a meeting here.”

“He wasn’t laughing, then.” Melitus spoke up, his fat jowls quivering. “You see, my lord king, how did the Thebans know that Hephaestion and Perdiccas were with you? How did they know that your mother was ruler of Pella?”

“Continue.” Alexander now cupped his face in his hands, his eyes half closed.

“The following day,” Demetrius continued, “the herald returned; he brought a Thessalian with him who described, in great detail, your death and defeat. The herald was more courteous. He pointed out that if you were dead and the Macedonian army defeated, the League of Corinth was dissolved. Thebes could withdraw its loyalty and we should leave the citadel.” He paused and Stared at Cleon.

“From that moment,” the aide-de-camp continued the story, “Captain Memnon became depressed, more withdrawn than ever. He stayed in his chamber drinking, talking to Hercules.”

Simeon raised his head. “Hercules?”

“His great hunting mastiff. He adored Memnon. Where the captain went, Hercules always followed. If Hercules didn’t like someone, they wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the captain.”

“Lysander took over most of Memnon’s duties,” Demetrius explained.

“He said that we should accept the Theban’s offer to negotiate, to try and establish what was really happening. Memnon agreed; he sent Lysander out alone.”

“That’s not true,” Patroclus interrupted. He pointed at Cleon.

“You offered to go?” Miriam asked.

Cleon nodded. “But Memnon would have nothing to do with it. You see. .” He looked questioningly at her. “Miriam?”

She replied, “My name is Miriam Bartimaeus.”

Cleon bowed deferentially. “My lady, my father is Macedonian but my mother is Theban. Her family always supported my lord king; twenty years ago my parents were murdered on a visit to Thebes. Our whole family was marked for destruction because of its loyalty to King Philip.”

“So Memnon ruled against you going out?” Miriam asked.

“Yes, he did.” Demetrius picked up the wine jug and filled his goblet. “We were all concerned. However, the herald returned under a flag of truce. He was accompanied by the high priestess from the shrine of Apollo, which houses the Crown of Oedipus. What was her name?” he asked. “Ah yes, Jocasta. She came dressed in her oil-soaked wig, her face painted white, black rings of kohl under her eyes. She gave solemn and sacred promises that Lysander would be treated properly.”