A Murder in Thebes

CHAPTER 12

Demetrius was about to argue, but one look at Miriam’s face and he answered her question.

“Alcibiades shares a chamber with me,” he declared, “and I haven’t seen him since, well, since yesterday evening.”

Immediately a search was organized. The tower and the rest of the citadel were scoured. When they all returned to the mess hall, Demetrius wore a woebegone expression.

“He’s gone!” he declared, “and some of his possessions with him: his war belt and saddle panniers. I have,” he drew a breath, “I have talked to a groom. Late last night Alcibiades took a horse from the stables. He said he was on business for the king.”

“Quick!” Miriam snapped her fingers at one of the pages. “Castor, run to the camp as fast as you can. Search out Perdiccas and Hecaetus. Tell them Alcibiades has fled!”

The page ran off. Miriam tried to hide her disappointment. She sat on a bench and glanced across at Simeon.

“We failed,” she declared. “Alcibiades could have ridden inland and hidden or he could have hastened down the coast to some prearranged spot where a Persian galley, or one of the ships in their pay, could take him off.”

“What are you saying?” Demetrius came and sat on the bench opposite. The rest gathered round him.

“What does it sound like?” Simeon taunted. “Alcibiades is the spy known as the Oracle.”

“But that’s impossible!” Cleon declared. “Alcibiades is one of us, a Macedonian soldier, an officer! Why should he betray his compatriots?”

“Persian gold,” Miriam declared, “probably sacks of it, as well as the offer of asylum, a pleasant house and gardens, and treatment as a noble in Persopolis. He’ll hand Oedipus’s Crown to Darius and the Persian king will taunt Alexander for all he’s worth. Tell me all you know about him. No, no.” Miriam shook her head, “I will tell you about him; if I’m wrong, you will correct me. Alcibiades was a transvestite, wasn’t he? One of those Macedonian soldiers, brave as a panther in battle, but in private, his ways were foppish.”

Demetrius was about to object, but Miriam stamped her foot on the floor.

“Don’t lie!” she yelled. “If you had all told me the truth earlier. .”

“Alcibiades had his strange ways.”

“Yes, Demetrius and you knew about them. You were his lover, weren’t you?”

Demetrius blinked.

“And when Alcibiades was assigned to the citadel,” Miriam continued, “he became bored, didn’t he? He liked to dress up as a woman, go out into the city. What you didn’t know was that he used this as a disguise to meet Thebans.”

Demetrius shook his head.

“Alcibiades had his eccentricities,” he murmured. “And yes, sometimes he would dress like a woman, but it wasn’t as you said.”

“Well, how was it?” Miriam asked.

“Some men,” Demetrius explained, “and I have met them, believe they have been born the wrong sex. Yes, Alcibiades was my lover. Sometimes he did dress as a woman. But this was ribaldry.” He glanced away. “Alcibiades hated women.”

“Why didn’t you mention this?” Miriam insisted, “when I met you earlier, when I mentioned that the spy had probably disguised himself as a woman?”

“I couldn’t believe it was Alcibiades.”

“The same is true of all of us,” Cleon interrupted. “We all knew,” he smiled, “about what Demetrius calls Alcibiades’ eccentricities.”

“Whatever,” Patroclus declared, “it still doesn’t explain how Commander Memnon died.”

Miriam gazed around the hall. Everything that had happened made sense. Alcibiades must be the spy, yet the more she sat listening to the men, the more her doubts festered. It’s too precise, she thought, too easy. Alcibiades could act the traitor. He could have betrayed his king, his compatriots, for Persian gold, but Patroclus was right. How was this connected to Memnon’s death, the other killings, and the theft of the Crown?

“Since the fall of Thebes,” she asked, “had Alcibiades acted strangely, gone out by himself?”

“We all did that,” Demetrius replied, “having been cooped up here for weeks. We joined the rejoicing in the camp. Now the matter’s over. Isn’t it?” Demetrius got to his feet. “If Alcibiades is the killer and he has fled, there’s no longer need for any questions, is there?” And not waiting for a reply, he spun on his heel and walked out the door.

Miriam glanced at Simeon and raised her eyes heavenward.

“We’d best be going. Is Memnon’s chamber and the little garret above it unlocked?” she asked.

“Of course,” Melitus replied. “We received orders from headquarters to clear the citadel within a week and rejoin the rest of the camp. Alexander intends to burn the Cadmea to the ground.”

Miriam left the hall and went up the steps. On each stairwell the chamber doors were open. Memnon’s room had already been stripped; only a tattered leather belt lay in a corner.

“What’s wrong, sister?” Simeon came up, closing the door behind him.

“What’s wrong, brother, is that I thought Alcibiades was the spy, but now I’m not too sure.”

She heard a rap on the door. Simeon opened it, and Pollux came in looking sheepish.

“I heard what you said, mistress, about old Alcibiades. He could be a bit of a lady.” He grinned, “but. .”

“But what?” Miriam asked.

“Demetrius isn’t a liar; it’s true what he said. Alcibiades dressed up more to make fun, to cause a laugh, and he didn’t do it very well. I mean, paint on the face, a veil over his head. .” Pollux did a mincing walk that made Miriam laugh.

“He could swing his hips and look at you coyly.”

“But you don’t think he was a spy?” Miriam asked.

“No, I don’t,” the page replied. “I have heard what goes on, mistress. I listen to the chatter.”

“And at keyholes?” Miriam asked.

“Yes, mistress, and at keyholes. Alcibiades was dull, more interested in his belly. A good spldier. More important, I don’t think it was him I saw going down the steps of the tower.”

Miriam looked at him.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because of the way the figure looked and walked.”

“But you said it was dark?”

“No, there’s something else. You see, mistress, that night the tower was deserted. The person who crept down the steps came from the very top.”

“He what?” Miriam asked.

“I’ve got good hearing, mistress. At night, when the tower is deserted, it’s like a tunnel; it echoes. The chamber Alcibiades shared with Demetrius is much lower down; that night, I am sure, the person who passed me came down from the very top.”

“From Memnon’s chamber?”

“Perhaps, or even higher.”

“You mean the garret?” Simeon asked.

“I think so. I went up the steps. I was going to see General Memnon. When I knocked on the door, his dog barked and I opened it. Memnon was lying on the bed. Oh aye, I thought perhaps the General had had a visitor, but he looked as if he had been asleep for some time. There was no, well, I couldn’t smell any perfume in the room or see that anyone else had been there.”

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.

“Alexander said his most beloved of mothers was insistent on that.”

“Of course. She would,” Miriam responded. “There’s nothing that Olympias likes better than an audience.”

The boy’s eyes strayed to where Antigone and Simeon were standing behind her. He narrowed his eyes and gnawed at his lips.

“Is that all?” Miriam asked.

“Ah, no.” Castor’s eyes become pleading. “I have one favor, mistress. When the army marches, will you take us with you? We can cook, clean, sew. .”

“Aye, and lie and steal!” Simeon intervened.

Castor lifted his hand, middle finger extended to make an obscene gesture, but then thought differently about it.

“I’ll think about it,” Miriam declared. “Now go back to the camp. Tell my lord king that I will be there.”

Castor sped off. He ran the gauntlet of jeers and shouts from the guards. Just before he disappeared into the trees, Castor stopped, bent down, pulled up his tunic, and showed his bare arse to the soldiers. That was followed by another obscene gesture, then Castor disappeared into the olive grove.

“A lad of spirit,” Antigone observed.

She followed Miriam out the gate and into the trees. “I’ve heard you mention Alcibiades. Wasn’t he one of the officers in the Cadmea?”

“He’s disappeared,” Miriam explained. “Some people think he’s the spy responsible for the theft of the Crown. Why, did you know him?”

Antigone shook her head.

They reached the path and walked up to the shrine. Antigone pulled the cowl of her cloak over her head and kept her face down. She seemed nervous around the guards lounging on the steps. Their officer brusquely examined the pass.

“Do you want us to accompany you?” he asked.

The officer was in full armor. His great Corinthian helmet with its blood-red plume made him look like a giant, eyes glittering behind the metal rims.

“No.” Miriam thanked him. “Just open the doors. Lock us inside.”

The officer agreed. The outer and inner doors were opened then closed behind them. The shrine was dark, cold, and empty. Antigone crouched in the corner while Miriam examined the pits. The charcoal had been raked out and, beyond the spikes, lay nothing more than a stinking trench.

“What happened to the snakes?” Antigone called out.

“Alexander hates them,” Simeon replied. “I suspect they were raked out and put in sacks.”

“They were sacred,” Antigone countered.

“Not to Alexander,” Miriam snapped. She walked up to the pillar and looked at the metal clasps. They had been intricately made by some blacksmith many years earlier. They were hinged. One part was riveted to the pillar; the other could swing backward and forward. There were three clasps in all; at the back of the pillar protruded a wooden peg on which the Crown had rested. Miriam scrutinized this carefully. She walked back, taking care when she crossed the row of spikes dividing the two pits.

“It’s nothing more than a dirty chamber, is it?” Antigone declared, getting to her feet. “The glory and the power are gone.”

Miriam knelt and stared at the pillar.

“Antigone,” she pleaded, “can’t you help us? Didn’t Jocasta ever tell you how the Crown could be removed?”

“It was a secret,” the priestess replied, “handed down from one high priestess to another.”

Miriam sat, the iron bar with its protruding plate at the end nestling against her waist.

“Tell me,” she said, “the Crown was removed on certain occasions?”

“Aye, on great feasts no more than two, three times a year.” Antigone replied absentmindedly.

“So.” Miriam made herself comfortable. She grasped the iron bar; it was cool in her sweaty grasp. “The high priestess came in here by herself?”

“Yes,” Antigone replied. “Everyone else would wait outside. Once she was ready, Jocasta would unlock the bronze doors and release the bar. The doors would swing open. Everyone would file in, and Jocasta would hold up the Crown. Whatever the occasion was, the taking of oaths or pledges, the leaders of the council would touch the Crown held by Jocasta with the tips of their fingers. When the ceremony was over they would retire.”

“Was the Crown heavy?” Simeon asked.

“Oh, no,” Antigone replied, “it looked much heavier than it was. In fact, it seemed very light.”

“But where was the secret kept,” Simeon persisted, “I mean, if the high priestess died suddenly?”

“I don’t know,” Antigone confessed. “You saw the pectoral that Jocasta wore; that was her symbol of office.”

Miriam stared down at the floor. She recalled that awful, half-burned cadaver. “The pectoral wasn’t there!” she murmured. “When Jocasta was killed, I am sure the pectoral was gone!”

“Perhaps her killer took it,” Antigone replied, “or the soldier who found the corpse?”

“No, no he wouldn’t have taken it,” Miriam countered. “Such looting would mean crucifixion.” Miriam moved and, as she did, felt a tug, as if the dagger in the sash around her waist had been pulled. She moved away from the iron bar.

“What on earth?” She took the dagger out and crouched down. She pushed the blade close to the iron plate on the end of the bar; the dagger stuck to it.

“Simeon, here, look!”

Her brother hastened across. She did it again, the dagger stuck hard against the side of the plate.

“It’s a magnet,” Miriam declared, springing to her feet. She crouched down on hands and knees, moving along the iron bar. The clasps that held it to iron stands riveted into the ground were not soldered fast and could be pulled back. Miriam, assisted by Simeon, now pulled these loose and lifted the bar up. It was as long as one of the great pikes carried by the guards regiment in battle and, like them, surprisingly light.

“It’s hollow,” Simeon exclaimed.

Miriam lowered the pole; it swayed precariously in her hand. She recalled how soldiers managed their pikes in battle. She turned slightly sideways and, coming to the edge of the charcoal pit, lowered the pole. At first she was clumsy but eventually, helped by Simeon and watched by round-eyed Antigone, they lowered the pole so that the magnet at the end caught the iron clasps. These were easily pulled back. She tried each one.

“The clasps are well oiled,” she murmured. “They come away, and because of the wooden peg at the back, the Crown would remain firm.” She thrust the pole into Simeon’s hand, went across, placed her dagger on top of the pillar, and going back, lowered the pole again. The magnet caught the dagger. She lifted this up, pulling the pole back as if it were a piece of rope, and with a cry of triumph, she snatched the dagger from the end. She turned, face bright.

“That’s how it was done! That’s the secret! Using the plate on the end of the pole you can release the clasps and then, with the magnet, simply lift the Crown off!”

“It’s even easier than that.” Simeon examined the iron plate, pointing to how it tapered to a sharp end. “If you are unsure of the magnet, you can use this to prize the clasp loose and then hook up the Crown.”

“That’s how it was done,” Miriam exclaimed. “The high priestess kept to the ritual; she did not bring anything into the shrine.”

Antigone stared, mouth half open in surprise.

“Jocasta knew that,” Simeon confirmed, “but the one who stole the Crown. How would he know?”

“The pectoral,” Miriam declared. “That’s why the assassin burned Jocasta’s corpse. He wasn’t trying to hide any sign of torture but to disguise the fact that he had taken the pectoral. Don’t you remember?” Miriam continued excitedly, “the pectoral had a pendant in the center.”

“Of course,” Antigone added, “it must have been some form of locket that contained instructions on how to remove the Crown.”

“In the end the secret wasn’t so hard to figure out,” Miriam declared. “It’s just that we never realized that the iron guardrail was really a rod, with a hook and magnet on the end.” She laughed. “It was more a puzzle than a mystery.”

“Yet you are no further to reclaiming the Crown!”

“No, I’m not,” Miriam replied. “And, for all I know, it may now be many miles from Thebes.” She heard a rapping on the door. “Lift the bar,” she urged.

Antigone did so. “Come in!” she called.

The officer entered, helmet cradled under his arm.

“Mistress Miriam, Demetrius is outside. He has something to show you.”

Miriam followed him out. Demetrius was holding the bridle of a horse; across its back, covered with a bloody, dirty sheet, was the corpse of a man. Miriam glimpsed a blood-stained head on one side and the military boots dangling down over the other.

“You were right.” Demetrius cheeks were tear-stained. “It didn’t take us very long.”

Miriam went down and lifted the corpse’s head. A deep gash gouged one side where the skull had been staved in; the rest of the face was covered in dust.

“We found the horse about eight miles from Thebes,” Demetrius exclaimed, coming around. “It was off the main highway, cropping some grass. There was no sign of Alcibiades.”

“Wouldn’t the assassin have driven the horse away?” Simeon asked.

“He would have tried,” Demetrius explained, “but it’s a cavalry mount. It would always return to where its rider had left it.”

“So how did you find Alcibiades?”

“We searched through a rocky outcrop. We found bloodstains, signs of a newly dug grave.” Demetrius gently touched the corpse. “I’m taking you back to the Cadmea,” he murmured, his face tight. His eyes had a wild angry look.

“He was no traitor, Israelite. He was a soldier, a good companion. He would get drunk, and, yes, he had his weaknesses, but he was a brave Macedonian. I won’t hear differently. I’ll build a funeral pyre; he deserves a hero’s end.”

“Do that,” Miriam replied. She clasped Demetrius’s hand. “He was no traitor. He was probably lured out to some meeting and then killed.” She looked up at the lowering sky and felt the rain on her face. “But don’t build the pyre tonight,” she murmured, “we are going to be drenched. Tomorrow perhaps.” Miriam thanked Antigone and, followed by Simeon, took the path through the olive grove back toward the camp.

“You now believe Alcibiades was innocent?” Simeon asked.

“I do.” Miriam paused. “I am sorry for Demetrius. He has lost a lover and the rain will prevent a funeral pyre.” She smiled at Simeon. “But look on the bright side: at least Olympias will not be able to stage her play!”