A Murder in Thebes

CHAPTER 10

Hecaetus snapped his fingers and the prisoner was hustled up into the tower. He was youngish, mousy-haired, with a wispy beard and mustache. He was wounded and scarred from head to toe. Miriam didn’t know if this was the work of Hecaetus’s “lovely boys” or because the man had likely spent days in hiding.

“A patrol picked him up,” Hecaetus smirked, “on the road north. He was mixing with some refugees.”

Telemachus opened his mouth; Miriam recoiled at his bloody gums.

“We’ve tried to make him talk,” Hecaetus declared. “So far, he’s said nothing, but there are dungeons here. We could spend weeks skinning him alive.” He grabbed the man’s hair and yanked back his head. “Or we could start breaking his limbs one by one; then he’ll talk.”

Telemachus looked hunted, wearied, yet Miriam saw a defiance in his eyes. Here was a man at the heart of the Theban councils; he knew the Macedonians would have little compassion for him.

“I doubt if you’ll break him easily.” Miriam hid her sympathy. “How do you know it’s Telemachus?”

Hecaetus shouted at one of his men, who brought across a leather bag.

“A few trinkets, some money, and a letter sealed by Pelliades just before the city fell. Apparently our good Telemachus was to slip out of the city and carry the good fight to another part of Greece.” He grabbed the man’s beard and viciously tugged at it. “Demosthenes eh? Go trotting to that bald-pated demagogue!” Hecaetus was beside himself with pleasure. “The king will be so pleased. I am sure he’ll want to meet you personally, either here or pinned to a cross.”

Telemachus brought his head back and spat, the spittle hitting Hecaetus on the cheek. Alexander’s master of secrets smacked Telemachus in the face, then kicked him viciously in the stomach. The Theban sagged, groaning and retching.

“I don’t think Alexander will wish to see him like this,” Miriam declared.

Hecaetus’s brows drew together.

“He’s a prisoner,” Miriam continued. “Thebes has fallen, the blood has cooled. Hecaetus, I don’t think Telemachus. .” She pushed back the prisoner’s head and caught the young Theban’s stare. “I don’t think this man will break because you punch and kick him.” She patted him gently and stepped away. “Of course, you could take him to the dungeons, but if he dies, he’s no use.”

Hecaetus was wiping his cheeks on one of his lovely boys’ cloaks.

“Bring him to the hall,” Miriam ordered.

Hecaetus was about to object.

“Please!” Miriam added. “And I will tell you all I have learned.”

“I know about the shrine,” Hecaetus said peevishly. “And the deaths.”

“Yes, but I know more,” Miriam teased, “and I thought we were going to share Hecaetus, share and share alike, eh?”

Hecaetus agreed. Telemachus was brought into the mess hall as the officers were preparing to leave. When Hecaetus proudly declared that this was Telemachus, Demetrius lunged at him but was held back by Hecaetus’s men.

“You’d best leave,” Miriam declared quietly. “And Demetrius, I’d like a guard around the hall.”

“My boys will also be there,” Hecaetus declared.

He dragged Telemachus to a stool and sat him down. Miriam went into the kitchen. Her stomach curdled at the shabby, rather fetid place; she mixed some water and wine, took it back to the hall, and cleaned Telemachus’s face and hands. The Theban thanked Miriam with his eyes. She then brought him a cup of beer and held it to his lips. The man winced as he leaned forward, the cords binding his arms to his body cutting into his skin. Miriam picked up a knife and, despite Hecaetus’s protests, cut the ropes. The Theban relaxed. Miriam handed the knife to Hecaetus, sat on a corner of the bench, and stared at the Theban.

“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.

Grooms led these around, harnessed and ready. Telemachus was bundled up onto one of them. Hecaetus helped Miriam onto a gentle palfrey beside the prisoner, and with Hecaetus’s men around her, they left the citadel. Darkness was falling. Miriam noticed how many of the fires had now gone out. Thebes was nothing but a wide sweep of ruins, broken walls, blackening stonework, and over all hung the dreadful stench of death. She glanced sideways at Telemachus. He was fighting back tears.

“Nothing,” he whispered. “There’s nothing left! A terrible price, Israelite? A warning to all Greece, eh?”

Miriam didn’t reply but grasped her reins more tightly. She wanted to be back in the camp. She wanted to be away from Thebes. Above all, she couldn’t bear the horror-stricken look in this man who was certainly doomed to a hideous death. Darkness enveloped them. Ahead the fires of the camp rivaled the stars now breaking clear in the velvet blackness above them. Miriam became aware of how silent this devastated city had become. Time and time again the Macedonian soldiers had combed it, looking for items of plunder that their predecessors had overlooked. Now it was a place of ghosts, of shades wandering from the shadows of Hades looking for their homes, signs of their former lives. Telemachus had his head down and was quietly sobbing at the full horror and degradation of what had happened.

Miriam recalled her father’s lamentations over Jerusalem. She had never seen the holy city, but her father used to tell her about the temple, the incense-filled courtyards, the streets, olive gardens, and cypress groves. About how the invader had brought it all low by fire and sword, reducing her people and culture to nothing but a sea of ash. The exiles had now returned. Miriam had vowed that one day she would join them, go to the holy place, and pray for her parents. She and Simeon had often discussed it though not in detail. She glanced sideways and wondered what Alexander would do to Telemachus. Suddenly a bright light caught her eye and she whirled round. They were passing what had once been a narrow alleyway in the poor quarter of Thebes; from the ruins a torch was tossed. It landed in their midst, creating chaos and consternation. Hecaetus shouted orders, horses whinnied and reared. Thankfully, Miriam was on the other side and she was able to steady her docile mount. She heard a sound like the whirr of a hunting hawk swooping from its perch. One of Hecaetus’s men threw his arms up and screamed. Something whipped by her face; there was a loud cry followed by a moan. She turned her horse around. Some of the riders had dismounted. One of Hecaetus’s men was lying on the road, his face visible in the pool of light thrown by the pitch torch. He was dead, eyes open, blood pouring out of his mouth. Miriam quickly dismounted, using her horse as a shield. An assassin was on the loose! Hecaetus’s men were already drawing swords, running toward the ruins. Her horse moved and she saw Telemachus; the arrow had caught him deep in the chest. He lay, his head half buried in a mound of ash. She scrambled over to the corpse. In a way she was relieved. Telemachus must have died instantly, the stout, feathered Cretan arrow having pierced him directly in the heart.

“You will tell us nothing now.” Miriam tried to close his eyes with her hand. She heard shouts and cries. A torch was picked up; Hecaetus crouched beside her.

“Whoever it was,” he grasped, “has gone. Very clever, very quick, eh Miriam?”

He got up and kicked the corpse. “Now his mouth is sealed for ever.” He shouted into the darkness, calling his men back. They had suffered two casualties: one of Hecaetus’s men was dead, the other had a slight arrow wound to the shoulder. Hecaetus thrust an arrow into Miriam’s hand.

“It’s one of ours,” he declared.

“It was taken from a Cretan this morning,” Miriam explained. “You know; I told you.”

Hecaetus had the horses collected, the corpses slung across, and muttering that the king would not be pleased, led them back into the camp.

Miriam found that the attack on the shrine and the deaths of the guards had already made itself felt. Alexander had moved the camp to military preparedness, as if they were in a hostile country expecting to do battle. No longer solitary sentries, but groups of men, gathered around camp fires within sight and earshot of each other. Deeper in the camp, groups of cavalry mounts were ready to take up any pursuit. The haphazard nature of the encampment had also been changed, avenues and paths laid out. Around the royal quarters in the center, a three feet moat had been dug, spanned by makeshift bridges.

Hecaetus would have liked to talk. Miriam explained that she was too tired and would be reporting all to the king. It was not so much Alexander’s questions she feared but Olympias’s. If the queen was in one of her moods, she would talk and talk until Miriam’s legs buckled under her. Simeon was waiting for her in their tent, seating cross-legged on his cot bed, carefully rewriting drafts of Alexander’s orders. Miriam threw herself down on her own bed, ignoring his questions. She realized how tired and grubby she felt.

“Don’t ask me any questions, Simeon.” She hardly bothered to raise her head. “My legs ache. My belly has had nothing but paltry food and all I have seen today is murder.”

Simeon came over with a goblet and told her to sit up. She sipped from the wine, wrapping her blanket round her. She felt warm and sleepy.

“Don’t disturb me,” she begged.

Simeon grinned. “Olympias has sent for you. She wishes to begin her play tomorrow.”

“Then she’ll have to do it without me!” Miriam snapped. “Simeon, do me a favor. Let me sleep. But go to the chief scribe in the king’s writing house and ask him if he has any records, manuscripts from the garrison at the Cadmea. Will you do that?”

Simeon promised he would, but Miriam was past caring. She put her cup down on the ground, pulled the army blanket over herself, and fell into a deep sleep.

She woke early the next morning clearheaded and refreshed but ravenously hungry. Simeon was snoring on the bed opposite. On the camp table she saw a mound of greasy yellow papyrus parchment; Simeon had kept his word. Shivering, moving around to keep warm, Miriam quickly stripped and washed herself with the water, a rag, and some oils that Simeon had laid out. She put on the thick-gauffered linen dress Alexander had given her as a present from an Egyptian merchant, picked up a military cloak-the heaviest she could find-and wrapped this around herself. She put on some leggings and a pair of stout military boots and went out into the camp. A heavy mist had rolled in. She could scarcely see in front of her, but she followed her nose and found a group of cavalry men cooking oatmeal and boiling a chicken. They declared, in round-eyed innocence, that they had been given it as a present. Miriam guessed they had filched it either from some deserted, outlying farm or from the quartermaster’s stores. They allowed her to join them, indulging in gentle teasing and banter. They gave her a bowl, first slopping in thick oatmeal mixed with honey and, when she had eaten that, pieces of chicken white and tender, chopped up and mixed with dry rye bread and olive oil. She ate quickly, listening to the men’s chatter.

“There were no incidents last night?” she asked.

The officer in charge shook his head.

“We don’t know what’s going on,” he moaned, “but the orders come down.” He peered across the fire at her. “You are a member of the royal circle. You should know more than us.”

“I’m just like a soldier,” Miriam replied. “I follow orders as well.”

Someone muttered a joke about Alexander’s bed. The officer, his mouth full of food, shouted that he would have no offensive remarks when a lady was present.

“How do you think this will go on?” he asked. “I mean, who has been killing these sentries? And the business down at the shrine. They say the guards were killed and the Crown stolen.”

“Have you never been on guard duty?” Miriam asked abruptly.

The officer smiled, licking his fingers.

“More times, mistress, than I like to think.”

“Well let’s say you were guarding a house and someone came toward you; what would you do?”

“If she had big breasts,” one of soldiers declared irrepressibly, “I’d run down to meet her!”

His words were greeted by guffaws and laughter.

“So if a woman approached you,” Miriam declared, “you would not find it threatening?”

“Well, of course not,” the fellow replied. “I mean, I’d only draw my sword if a stranger approached.”

“How would you know it was a stranger?” Miriam asked, “if it was dark or, like this, misty?”

“Well, you’d call out, wouldn’t you!” the officer declared. “And if there was no answer, you’d strike first and ask afterward!”

“So,” Miriam continued, putting her bowl down, “if you were on this so-called duty and a Macedonian approached you?. .”

“I wouldn’t give it a second thought.”

“But how would you know it’s a Macedonian?” Miriam insisted.

“Well, by his armor, his speech.”

“But there are Thebans who could take Macedonian armor, and Alexander’s armies include men from all over Greece, not to mention Asia.”

Miriam got to her feet.

“What’s the matter, mistress? Something we’ve said?”

“No, no,” she replied absentmindedly. “It’s more something I’ve said. I’m looking at this the wrong way, aren’t I? I mean, you accepted me into your circle because you know who I am.”

“We were pleased to see you,” one of the soldiers declared. “You’re not that ugly, and all soldiers like to hear a bit of gossip.”

“Thank you,” Miriam declared. “I’m glad I’m not that ugly.”

“No offence, mistress.”

“None taken.”

Miriam thanked them and walked back to her tent. She sat on the edge of the bed and recalled Aristotle’s lecture, “A True Philosopher.” Her teacher had declared, “Always look at things differently. The sophists put the question, ‘Is there a God?’ I would answer: ‘Why shouldn’t there be a God?’ My question is as valid as theirs!”

“And the same applies here,” Miriam whispered to herself.

She thought of those soldiers outside the shrine of Oedipus. They had been lounging about, chatting to each other. If that terrible figure had appeared, they would have sprung to arms, as they would have with any stranger. Accordingly, their assailant must have been a Macedonian, seen as friendly and no threat. It was the same with the guards on the outskirts of the camp. They could call out, and the person would reply. Now a solitary guard would be easily dispatched once his suspicions were lulled, but a guards officer and a group of men? How could they be attacked and killed so expertly? Miriam recalled Telemachus’s death the previous night. I think we’ve seen the last of Oedipus, she thought. The Macedonian army is now on the alert. Nobody will go wandering about, garbed like the figure she had glimpsed; in a way it was becoming more dangerous. The assassin, the spy, the Oracle had now turned silent. He would hide and lurk, strike without warning. Hecaetus had wanted to discuss the prisoner’s death but Miriam knew the truth. The assassin must be a member of the garrison. One of those five officers, frightened that Telemachus under torture might break and reveal more. Yesterday evening all the soldiers would have left the citadel, drifting back toward the camp. It would have been easy for one of them to run ahead, to lie in wait with a bow and arrow. Throwing the pitch torch had been a clever idea; it startled their horses and allowed the assassin a good glimpse of the prisoner. Of course, it would be easy to flee under the cover of night. She wondered if Hecaetus should question Demetrius, Cleon, and the rest about their whereabouts. But what would that prove? Telemachus was dead, and his secrets had gone with him. But there was something he had said. Something about Memnon flying from his tower.

Miriam rubbed her arms and looked at the pile of documents Simeon must have collected from the chief scribe. She lit an oil lamp and, sitting on a camp stool, began going through them. Most were lists of stores, similar to the documents she had studied in Memnon’s chamber. At last she found the duty roster. It was divided into night and day. Memnon never took a watch; that was understandable, but each of the officers was listed. She jogged her memory and found the day Demetrius had mentioned, when Lysander had come back from visiting one of the pleasure houses in the city. She grimaced in annoyance. All four had been absent; the only one left was Cleon. Miriam tossed the documents aside.

“They are of little use,” she murmured.

Miriam lay back on the bed, pulling the blanket over her, half listening to the sounds of the waking camp. She tried to impose some order on what she had seen and heard. She rolled over onto her side. The breakfast she had eaten had made her sleepy again. Images flitted through her mind: Antigone telling her about Jocasta, the visits of Pelliades and Telemachus. “That’s where it all began!” she murmured. She heard the sound of the tent flap being opened.

“Oh no, Hecaetus!” Miriam groaned. She felt a flicker of cold and jumped up. She was sure that the tent flap had been opened. Surely someone had entered the tent?

“Simeon!” she shouted. Then she saw it resting against the leg of a stool, a leather ball. Miriam scrabbled under her pillow for the dagger, then relaxed as she heard a voice.

“Mistress, it’s only us. We wondered if you were awake?”

She recognized the two pages from the Cadmea.

“Come in, my lovely lads,” she called. She glanced across. Simeon hadn’t even stirred. The tent flap was raised and the two page boys scrambled into the tent.

“Why are you here?”

“Two reasons,” Castor declared rubbing his stomach. “We are very, very hungry, and we would like to talk to you about old Memnon.”