A Murder in Thebes

CHAPTER 14

“Imagine. .” Miriam felt as if she were telling a story to Simeon. “Imagine the soldiers on guard outside the shrine of Oedipus. Suddenly a young priestess, your good self, comes out of the olive grove. You carry a basket of food and drink, those honey cakes and that delicious wine you serve your guests. You claim it’s a present from the chief priestess. The soldiers eat and drink and, as they do so, consume the sleeping potion with which you’ve laced both the drink and the food. I can’t imagine a soldier on earth who’d refuse such a gift, and what threat could a young priestess pose? They are soon unconscious. Your accomplice then appears from the trees. The key is taken, you open the main doors of the temple and go into the vestibule.” Miriam paused. “Now, I don’t know if you used the password, pretending to be Jocasta, or just persuaded the soldiers inside to lift the bar. After all, if the officer in charge had let you through, why shouldn’t they?” Miriam glanced over her shoulder at the window. She wondered if Simeon had the sense to leave his post and come into the house.

“Your accomplice hid in the shadows of the vestibule. The front doors of the temple were locked, the soldiers inside would think their commanding officer had locked you in. They would certainly suspect no danger. Again the gifts were offered. The potion you gave them would work quickly. In a short while they were asleep, and then you took the Crown.”

“But I didn’t know how to! That was a secret.”

“No. There are two possibilities. First, like me, you could have discovered that the iron bar was the means to remove the Crown. Second, by that time Jocasta was dead. Her pectoral had been removed, the clasp undone, and what was inside? A piece of papyrus that revealed the secret? Jocasta’s dream suited your purposes: there would be no question about you slipping out of your bedchamber. And if anyone had noticed it, in the chaos and turmoil following Jocasta’s death, they would have thought you’d simply gone looking for her. Anyway, you removed the Crown, and your accomplice, with his club, smashed in the brains of the soldiers sleeping inside the shrine. You then relocked the door and did the same to the guards outside. You took the remains of the food and drink you’d brought and fled back to the priestesses’ house. Your accomplice returned to the olive grove where he burned Jocasta’s corpse before returning to the citadel. No one would have noticed you had left, and until the theft and Jocasta’s death, Macedonian soldiers were at liberty to wander where they wished.”

“And if what you say is true,” Antigone demanded, “why should I have done all this?”

“Because you’ve got a soul as dead as night! Because you are bored, but above all because you are a Persian spy!”

“That’s nonsense!”

“No, it isn’t. Persian spies are as many as sparrows in a tree. They work throughout Greece, particularly in the principal cities, places like Thebes and Athens where resistance to Macedonian leadership is the most intense. Persia didn’t care whether Thebes stood or fell. In fact, Darius would have been delighted that Alexander was provoked into devastating a principal Greek city. He will be even more pleased when the Crown of Oedipus arrives in Persopolis. How he’ll crow with triumph! How lavish his rewards will be for this spy who achieved so much, who soured Alexander’s great victory! He could fabricate some story.” Miriam waved her hand. “How the gods of Greece gave this Crown, which so mysteriously disappeared, to the king of kings in Persia.”

“Why would the Persians use someone like me?”

“Oh, they probably met you through Pelliades. Priestesses hear all the gossip. They can influence events, especially one like you who, perhaps, had grown bored with tending a small shrine and living in a house with priestesses you didn’t give a fig for. The Persians must have been delighted with your work, particularly when you ensnared an officer in the garrison at the Cadmea.”

“But you have no proof.” Antigone stretched out her hand. “Where is the proof? Who is this accomplice? Where is the gold the Persians are supposed to have given me?”

“Oh, you’d collect it as you travel,” Miriam replied. “And it would be nothing to what you’d receive in Persia. Alexander will question you-well, not in person; Hecaetus the Master of the King’s secrets will do that. And then, of course, your accomplice.”

“What, Alcibiades?”

“Oh, no,” Miriam retorted. “He was your protection. I am sure your uncle asked who the spy was. You gave the enigmatic reply, ‘a disciple of Socrates,’ a reference to Alcibiades. A good choice, a man well known for his liking of women’s clothing. Poor Alcibiades would protect your lover and, at the appropriate time, divert suspicion-”

“From me? I had nothing-”

“From you,” Miriam continued softly. “Your lover did that by slaying the two Cretan archers; he came back to the grove and caught them unawares. His attack on the house was cunning; he might kill me and end my snooping as well as divert any suspicions that there was any collusion between himself and a priestess.”

“Give me his name,” Antigone gibed.

“No, why don’t-” Miriam stopped: Antigone had taken a knife from underneath the pillow and was balancing it in one hand.

“What are you going to do?”

“We were talking here,” Antigone replied, “and this secret assassin, this shadow known as Oedipus, came through the open window.”

Miriam got to her feet, rolling her cloak around one arm. In the grove of Midas both girls and boys had been taught to fight, but she always felt so clumsy. Antigone was now balancing on the balls of her feet, and she held the knife expertly. Miriam backed to the window.

“Simeon!” she screamed, “up here!”

She picked up a stool and threw it. Antigone sidestepped. It crashed into the wall as Antigone struck, lithe and swift as a cat. Miriam sidestepped but stumbled. Antigone turned. Miriam caught the hand holding the dagger and desperately struggled to grasp the other, which was pummeling her stomach and chest. All she had to do was stop the dagger from coming down. Antigone was strong and agile. Miriam found it hard to press the dagger back. She heard a pounding on the door, the latch rattling but Antigone must have locked it behind her. The dagger came down. She was aware of Antigone’s glaring eyes but she watched the blade, feeling the muscle ripple in the wrist. Miriam freed her other arm, smacking the heel of her hand into Antigone’s chin. Antigone staggered back. Miriam was now aware of the crashing against the door. Simeon must have arrived with the soldiers. Antigone stood upright, even as the lock began to splinter. One minute she had the dagger out and the next she turned it, driving the blade deep into her own heart. All the time her eyes watched Miriam, a faint smile on her lips, even as the blood bubbles appeared. Miriam stood tense; she found she couldn’t move. Antigone came toward her, one hand out, the other still grasping the dagger hilt; her eyes rolled up and she crashed to the floor. Miriam crouched down beside her, watching the blood pump out of her mouth.

The door snapped back on its leather hinges. Simeon was beside her, soldiers milled about. She heard the other priestesses wailing on the stairs. Simeon put a cloak around her.

“Is she the Oracle?” he asked.

“No, but she was his lover,” Miriam replied. “And tonight’s business isn’t finished. I was foolish to come up here alone. Very, very foolish.”

Simeon led her downstairs. He wanted to take her into the kitchen but Miriam glimpsed the white faces and staring eyes of the other priestesses.

“Not here!” she urged.

They went out of the house and across the yard into the olive grove. An officer caught up with them. Miriam was aware of sitting down beside a camp fire. She laughed softly when honey cakes were passed to her followed by a deep bowl of watered wine. She couldn’t eat the cakes, but she sipped at the wine. Simeon kept questioning her but it was hard to concentrate. At last the wine and the heat of the fire made her relax. Secretly she was glad that Antigone had taken that way out. It made things easier, both for her and for what was to happen in the citadel. She looked up through the branches. The night sky was showing the first pinpricks of light. The rain clouds had broken, though rain still dripped through the trees and the ground was damp.

“Simeon, send a message to the citadel! Tell Demetrius and the officers to assemble in the mess hall. This time I want a corps of guardsmen, in the tower and outside.”

“Will you be all right?”

“Please!” Miriam grasped his hand. “Just do as I ask.”

Two hours later, as the sky lightened, Miriam entered the Cadmea and made her way across to the mess hall. Patroclus, Demetrius, Melitus, and Cleon were present, sharing a jug of beer and a platter of oat cakes. Miriam sensed that they knew this was important; the one she suspected looked pale-faced and heavy-eyed, nervous and fidgety. Men from the guards regiment stood around the hall: grim, stark figures in their bronze armor, the great plumes on their helmets making them bigger, casting long shadows. Outside, in the courtyard and passageways, other guards stood in silent vigil as Cretan archers patrolled the ramparts. Miriam took her seat at the head of the table, Simeon sitting on her right; she joined her hands before her and stared at Demetrius.

“First, I’ve come to apologize. I understand that later today Alcibiades’ body will be burned?”

“As befitting a Macedonian hero.”

“Quite so,” Miriam replied. “And I myself will sprinkle incense on the pyre. Alcibiades was a good soldier, a loyal officer. He was foully murdered by the man we know as the Oracle. But,” she added quickly, “there is not one spy but two. The first,” she didn’t falter in her story, “is Antigone, a priestess at the shrine of Oedipus. She has been closely questioned by Hecaetus, and we know who her accomplice is.”

The one she suspected pushed back his stool slightly.

“No one can leave.” Miriam stared at a point on the far wall. “Anyone who attempts to do so will be arrested.”

“In which case,” Demetrius added dryly, “we had best wait and listen to your story, Israelite.”

“There are certain things I cannot tell you, though I’ll be as succinct and as clear as possible. Alcibiades was loyal and so was Lysander.” She waved her hand. “Forget this nonsense about the woman. The Oracle never met Thebans. Disguised as a woman, he met the priestess Antigone. So, if they were seen together in the olive grove, people would simply dismiss them as two priestesses taking a walk. Of course they would meet deep in the grove where no one was supposed to go.”

“Except Lysander,” Demetrius intervened.

“Lysander did go there, and he saw something untoward.” Miriam replied. “But he could make no sense of it. The man he glimpsed disguised as a woman did not have a reputation for such practices. Perhaps Lysander, as a good officer, discussed the matter with Memnon?”

“Yes, he would,” Melitus broke in.

“Memnon, however, had an answer,” Miriam declared. “You see, Antigone was a spy for the Persians. She had recruited an officer here in the citadel. They met secretly. Lysander had noticed this. He may, as I have said, discussed it with Memnon.” Miriam paused. “And this shows the cunning of our spy. Memnon probably told Lysander that the man he’d glimpsed was meeting a spy working for the Macedonians, possibly a priestess who could tell them what was happening in the city. Lysander would have accepted that. However, the Oracle could afford no mistakes. He was probably relieved and pleased that Lysander was later killed by the Thebans.”

“But you told us earlier that one of the Thebans may have betrayed something.”

“No, no.” Miriam shook her head. “I told you to ignore that. The Thebans wanted to kill both Lysander and Memnon so that the garrison here would surrender.” Miriam shrugged. “We all know what happened. Now the Oracle, once Lysander had been removed, tried to unsettle Memnon. First, there was the nonsense about the ghost of Oedipus. That would certainly cause a shiver, a sense of haunting, particularly on a commander who had just lost his loyal lieutenant, a commander who had received rumors that Alexander and the Macedonian army had been destroyed, a commander who was now besieged by Thebans.”

“But Memnon was as tough as a donkey,” Demetrius spoke up.

“Yes, yes he was, but he was also suspicious. He knew there was a spy in the citadel, and his confidant played on these fears, perhaps raising the specter that one of his officers, or all of them, could be involved in such treason.”

“Yes, that was true,” Demetrius said. “Memnon hardly met us.”

“Now the spy was very astute,” Miriam continued. “He offered to be Memnon’s man, to spy on his colleagues. Memnon accepted this. After all, the same man had braved his life in recruiting a so-called spy among the Thebans. Before the siege began, Memnon had allowed this man to disguise himself as a woman in the small garret above his chamber, well away from anyone else’s view.”

Miriam heard a sound outside and stopped. She hoped that Hecaetus had not arrived and, by his blundering, do more harm than good.

“This spy,” she continued, “persuaded Memnon that his officers were going to kill him on a particular night. They would assassinate him in his chamber and hand the citadel over to the Thebans.”

“What proof do you have of this?” Patroclus asked angrily.

“Oh, I have none,” Miriam countered. “But think of Memnon! Frightened about Alexander, grieving over Lysander, realizing he was in charge of a small Macedonian cohort besieged by a powerful city.”

“That was true,” Melitus intervened. “Especially the day before he died.”

“This spy mustn’t have thought much of us,” Patroclus declared languidly.

“Oh, I think he did; that’s why he was so clever; isn’t that right, Cleon?”

All heads turned to where the young officer sat pale-faced, hands clutching the table.

“You are the spy,” Miriam continued quietly.

“But Cleon always claimed he was hated by the Thebans,” Demetrius spluttered. “His family had been killed by them.”

“I couldn’t think of a better reason,” Miriam declared. “Would he worry if Thebes rose in a futile revolt and was destroyed? What did he care about Macedon? He was infatuated with the priestess Antigone, the prospects of limitless wealth, and a life of luxury in Persia. He persuaded Memnon,” Miriam held Cleon’s eyes, “that he could go out and spy among the Thebans disguised as a woman. He was actually given a cloak by his lover, perfume and paints. He used to dress in that garret above Memnon’s chamber where no one else could go. He was seen by Lysander and must have been relieved when the Thebans killed him. He, through Antigone, confirmed the rumors that Alexander of Macedon was dead. He was the candle flame that lit the oil and made it flare further. He didn’t care if Macedon was defeated or Thebes destroyed: either way he would be victorious.”

Cleon just stared rigidly ahead.

“Before the siege,” Miriam continued, pointing at him, “he had Memnon’s permission to slip out of the citadel in disguise. Once the siege began, he’d certainly support Memnon’s decision to send Lysander to deal with the Thebans. After Lysander’s death, whenever this tower was deserted, Cleon would pretend to be the ghost of Oedipus while his lover played a similar role beyond the palisade.”

“And he would communicate with her by arrow?” Melitus asked.

“Yes, Cleon would fire the occasional arrow, marking the spot for his lover to collect the message, though, I suspect,” Miriam smiled thinly, “that they didn’t need to tell each other very much. Perhaps the fire arrows were simply a diversion, another means to unsettle Memnon and the garrison. Now, Cleon,” she continued, “serpentlike, began to talk to Memnon, reassure him of his loyalty, warn him of plots among you officers. In this he was successful. Memnon would trust Cleon, a man who had good reason to hate Thebes. On the night Memnon was killed, Cleon told him some fable, that you were about to storm his room, kill him, and surrender the Cadmea to the Thebans.”

“But we were guarding his room!” Demetrius exclaimed.

“Cleon would only use that to heighten Memnon’s suspicions. He persuaded his commander to leave his chamber and climb a rope to the top of the tower so that when the mutineers broke down the door there would be no one there. Cleon would use such a story to unmask the traitors as well as to protect his captain.”

“You mean,” Patroclus intervened, “Cleon had persuaded Memnon that on that particular night we were going to kill him?”

“Of course. You can only feed uncertainty for so long. If nothing happened, Memnon’s suspicions might shift. Moreover, if Memnon was killed, there was always a chance that the rest of you might lose your nerve and surrender the Cadmea. Cleon lowered a rope from the top of the tower. Memnon, in full armor, left his chamber by the window. However, when he reached the top, Cleon struck him, sending him spinning down to the yard below. The rope was removed and Cleon hid until the following morning when everyone clustered outside Memnon’s room, wondering what had happened.”

“But we were on guard,” Demetrius declared. “We would have noticed Cleon going up and coming down.”

Miriam shook her head. “You told me Memnon could not abide anyone using the garret above him. But that night, as on those days before the siege when Cleon used to disguise himself as a woman, Cleon had Memnon’s permission to be there.”

“True,” Melitus declared. He wagged a finger at Cleon. “Your quarters were not in the tower. No one paid much attention to your comings and goings. You answered to Memnon for what you did.”

“Is she safe?” Cleon abruptly asked. He leaned forward. “Is she hurt?”

“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.”

“You asked me for a favor?”

“This will all be over soon. I don’t want Cleon’s and Antigone’s bodies thrown to the dogs. Put their corpses together in the olive grove. Take some of the guards and pay them well. Let the corpses be burned together! Please!”

Simeon nodded and stepped back as the soldiers returned. Miriam glimpsed one of them wiping his sword on some straw before sliding it back into his scabbard.

“It’s done,” the officer declared. “He fell on a sword.”

“Did he say anything before he died?”

“Antigone.”

Miriam nodded and got to her feet.

“It is what I expected.”

A few hours later Alexander-beside himself with glee, ready to accept what Miriam had done, and loudly telling Hecaetus not to sulk-stood on a great dais in front of the Macedonian army, Olympias beside him. In the presence of his armed host and of the representatives from all over Greece, Alexander lifted the Crown of Oedipus and placed it gently on his own head. He stood, hands extended, as thousands of swords rattled on shields. The Macedonian king was hailed as victor, captain-general, and soon-to-be conqueror of Persia!