A Murder in Thebes

CHAPTER 1

THEBES AUTUMN 332 B.C.

“Ye shall behold a sight even your enemy must pity.”

“A quote from the Iliad, my lord?”

Alexander King of Macedon didn’t bother to turn but stared out across the dusty plain toward the soaring gray wall of Thebes. He was studying the Electra Gate, one of the seven great entrances to Thebes. Beyond this rose the Cadmea, the fortified citadel of the city where his men-leaderless, trapped, and besieged-could only look on helplessly at the drama unfurling below. Alexander clawed at his hair. Usually it was styled, cut by his barber so as to imitate the busts and statues of the gods, curled and oiled to cluster round his forehead and fall in layers to the nape of his neck. Now it was dirty, dusty, and far too long. Alexander lowered his hand.

“If mother sees me, she’ll moan,” he murmured. He shielded his eyes against the light. The Theban army had now deployed in front of the walls: phalanx after phalanx of heavily armed hoplites. In the wings stood the cavalry, their conspicuous blue cloaks ruffling in the strong winds.

“Look.” He pointed. “In the center is the Sacred Band, the cream of the Theban infantry if we break them?” He paused. “What will it matter? The Thebans will simply retreat behind their gates and the siege will continue.” He stared back over his shoulder to where his own Macedonians were now deploying for battle. The foot companions in the center, his own cavalry, were held back. Alexander would wait to decide how to deploy those.

“We’ll have battle within the hour,” Alexander declared. He looked at the man who had spoken, Timeon, leader of the Athenian delegation to the Macedonian camp outside Thebes. “I thought you’d recognize the quotation.” Alexander’s weather-beaten face creased into a smile, his different-colored eyes crinkling in amusement. “That’s not the Iliad! It’s a quotation from Sophocles’ Oedipus!”

Alexander strode down the hill, his captains and generals gathering behind him. He paused and stared up at the sky. There was really nothing to see. The clouds had broken, the previous night’s storm had ended. Alexander was copying his father. Philip had known all the tricks for keeping people guessing as he acted the role of a preoccupied commander. In fact Alexander didn’t have a clue as to how the coming battle should be fought. The Thebans would stay in their positions; his infantry would attack. He would try the usual feint-go for the center, then suddenly switch, sending his crack troops into the enemy’s right or left flank, thereby trying to roll up the enemy like a piece of string. He’d force them back, but then what? The Electra Gates would open, the Thebans would retreat, and the bloody siege would continue.

“I’m hungry,” Alexander declared. He rested his hands on the shoulders of two of his commanders, tall Hephaestion and Perdiccas. Hephaestion’s eyes glowed with pleasure at being touched by a man who was both his lover and his king. Perdiccas, short, wiry, dark-faced, and black-haired as a Cretan, wondered what trickery Alexander was up to.

“We’ll break our fast,” Alexander declared. He pulled his purple cloak around him and flicked the long hair from his face, a girlish flirtatious movement. “We have the best of stages, gentlemen; the play we are going to present will be witnessed by all of Greece.”

Alexander pursed his lips in satisfaction. He liked such lines; his scribes and clerks were taking them down. They would be passed from mouth to mouth: dramatic words before a fateful battle!

I should have been a playwright, Alexander thought. He walked back through the ranks, nodding and smiling at the men standing at ease, their weapons piled before them.

“Will we fight today, my lord?” one of them shouted.

“We fight every day,” Alexander replied. “We are Macedonians.” He stopped. “That’s old Clearchus, isn’t it?”

The guard who had spoken shuffled his feet in pleasure. Alexander shook his finger at him.

“That’s your problem Clearchus-too much fighting, too little loving. It’s time I got you a wife and you settled down.”

Alexander moved on, smiling at the ripples of laughter his retort had caused. The men on either side formed a wall of armored flesh. Alexander continued smiling even though he noticed how thin his soldiers were, how dusty and tired. They had marched hundreds of miles in a few weeks, pouring down from the mountains of Thessaly to confront this great danger to his new rule. If we fight, Alexander wondered, are we going to win? Are the men too tired? He passed the horse lines. The ribcages of many of the cavalry mounts were visible, their coats mangy and dull. The baggage carts lay about, the wood was splintered, the wheels cracked. The tents were rain-soaked, weather-beaten, and a hand-picked group of archers guarded their precious stores of food. Alexander snapped his fingers, indicating for his companions to disperse.

“If the Thebans begin to move,” he declared, “tell me.”

Once inside his tent Alexander let the flap fall and sighed, his shoulders sagging. He took off the leather corselet, threw it on the ground, and slumped down onto a camp stool.

“What’s the matter?”

Alexander looked up startled. Two figures sat on cushions at the far end of the tent. Alexander peered through the gloom; one of the figures moved: a woman, rather tall and wiry with a clever pointed face, her oiled hair bound with a fillet. She picked up a cushion, came and knelt beside Alexander.

“What’s the matter?” She put a hand on his knee, her fingers pressing the leather kilt. “Alexander, are you ill?”

The king raised his head and grinned at Miriam.

“I had forgotten I had invited you here. . I am sorry, Simeon.” He gestured at the man still squatting on the cushions. “Come closer.”

The man joined his sister. Alexander stared at them. The two Israelites, Miriam and Simeon Bartimaeus, childhood companions who had joined him in the groves of Midas where his father, Philip, had sent him to be educated by the foppish, brilliant Aristotle. Simeon was slightly shorter than his sister, more closed-faced. Miriam, if she hadn’t look so sharp, would have been pretty, with her large, lustrous eyes and slender nose, but that determined mouth would put many a man off. She showed a steely determination; this reminded Alexander of his mother, Olympias, now busy ruling in Pella and slaughtering any opposition. He sighed and ruffled his hair.

“I thought I was alone. My men are tired, exhausted, and now we face a crack infantry that, at a moment’s notice, can scuttle behind thickset walls.” He grasped Miriam’s hand and squeezed it. “Tell me again, Miriam, how this happened! Read the draft of that proclamation I am going to issue.”

Miriam leaned back on her heels, head slightly to one side. Alexander was gray with exhaustion. Like all of them, he had hardly bathed or changed. They had been campaigning in the mountains of Thessaly, mandating that the savage tribes accept Alexander’s rule. News had come, seeping through like a breeze in the forest, rumors from Greece, that a revolt in the Macedonian capital of Pella against Alexander’s mother had been successful. That Alexander himself had been killed, his Macedonian army annihilated. That the League of Corinth, that confederation of Greek cities forced by Alexander to accept his lordship, were plotting revolt, taking gold from the Persian King Darius. Alexander raised his head.

“What are you waiting for, Miriam?”

“If you win the battle,” she answered tartly, “there’ll be no need for a proclamation. All of Greece will know that you are still alive, that you are king and that you are ever victorious.”

Alexander stared at this sharp-spoken young woman. “And if we lose the battle?”

Miriam smiled slightly, “Proclamations will be the last thing on our minds.”

Alexander threw his head back and laughed.

“Some wine,” he murmured. “Three cups, two-thirds water.” Simeon got up, filled the goblets, and brought them back on a tray. The king took one and handed it to Miriam. He waited until Simeon sat down and took his and then toasted them quietly.

“Father has been dead twelve months,” he murmured. “I have troops in Persia and I have taught the Thessalians a lesson they’ll never forget. Now I return to find trouble in my own garden.”

“It’s only Thebes,” Simeon murmured.

“It’s only Thebes,” Alexander mimicked. He jabbed a finger at the entrance to the tent. “Out there, my dear Simeon, throng the delegates from every city in Greece. In their wallets jingle the golden darics of Persia; Thebes’ revolt is serious. It’s thrown off my rule, killed my officers.” Alexander’s face grew hard. “That’s what I wanted to see you about. It’s blockaded my garrison in the fortress of the Cadmea. Now they shout defiance from the walls. If I don’t teach the Thebans a lesson, then by this time next week Athens, Corinth, Argos, will all be in revolt, the fires of rebellion breaking out all over Greece.”

“Thebes will be defeated,” Miriam declared.

Alexander shook his fist and stared above their heads as if talking to someone else.

“I’ll not leave one stone upon another,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes half closed. “I’ll teach Greece a lesson it will never forget.” He blinked and lowered his fist. “Simeon, you’ve sent my orders out to the commanders?”

“If the city is taken,” Simeon repeated Alexander’s stark commands, “every house is to be leveled and plunder taken; fighting men will be killed, women, children, and the aged taken to the slave pens. Only the house of Pindar the poet will be spared.”

“And the temples?” Alexander asked. “You told them about the temples?”

“You know I did,” Simeon replied crossly. “No temple is to be entered, no priest or priestess violated!”

“Especially?”

“Especially,” Simeon continued, “the small shrine of Oedipus in the Archon quarter.”

“Why is that?” Miriam asked.

“It is a very small and ancient temple,” Alexander explained. “It stands in its own olive groves. Father took me there once on a visit to Thebes; it is built out of white marble in a sea of quiet greenness.” Alexander closed his eyes. “The path up to it is a dusty chalk. I remember holding father’s hand. You turn a corner and the shrine’s there: white columns, crumbling steps leading up to a porticoed entrance. The doors are of Lebanese wood reinforced with brass studs. Inside there is a small vestibule; the walls are white and there is a black marble floor. Yes, yes.” Alexander’s face was like a boy’s flushed with excitement. “On the right is a small shrine to the god Apollo. Yes.” Alexander opened his eyes. “And on the left. . ” His eyes were bright. Miriam felt a pang: Alexander was going back to his childhood, when the father he’d adored deigned to show him some love and affection. Cunning, one-eyed Philip with his lame leg and his gruff manner that was interspersed by moments of brilliant charm. Philip could treat an individual as if he or she were the only person in the world. Great Philip, Warrior King, cruelly slain by one of his own bodyguards.

“To the left,” Alexander continued, “is a statue of Oedipus. He was King of Thebes.” He explained, “Oedipus can mean lame foot. As a child Oedipus was abandoned by his parents, King Laius and Queen Jocasta. He was raised by shepherds.” He waved his hands. “You know the story from Sophocles’ three brilliant plays. Oedipus grew to manhood. He later killed his own father, married his own mother, and the gods turned against him.” Alexander paused as he picked at the leather kilt, studying one of the brass embossments that had worked loose.

Miriam held her breath. She knew the story, the legend of Oedipus. In many ways it might also be the story of Alexander. People accused Alexander of having had a hand in his father’s murder, and they maintained that the relationship between Alexander and his mother, Olympias, bordered on the unnatural. Both were blasphemous lies. Alexander had been innocent of Philip’s death. Miriam knew the full truth behind it. And as for Olympias, no one was more wary of his mother than Alexander. Privately he called her Medea, deeply concerned as he was by her lust for blood, her practice of secret rites, and her constant demands that her authority and status be enhanced.

“You were talking about the shrine?” Simeon broke in.

“Yes yes, so I was.” Alexander picked up his wine goblet and swirled it round. Despite the water, it looked like blood. He sipped at it. It was coarse and bitter. He had finished his own wine stores weeks ago and now he was drinking the same coarse Posca as his soldiers.

“The shrine itself,” he said, “lies behind heavy bronze doors. The walls are black and gold, oil lamps burn in niches. The floor is of pure porphyry marble. The windows are mere slits. It’s very warm; the heat comes from a horseshoe-shaped ditch that runs from one wall around to the other. The ditch is over two yards across and always full of glowing charcoal. On the far side stands a row of spikes and beyond that another ditch full of poisonous snakes.” He looked up and smiled. “Mother would like that. Father said there were enough snakes there to even keep her happy.”

“A ditch full of glowing coals, a row of spikes, and a snake pit?” Miriam asked. “What do they protect?”

“The Iron Crown of Oedipus,” Alexander replied. “It lies on top of a stone plinth. Very ancient,” he whispered. “There is a legend in Thebes that only the pure in heart can wear it; a god-man guilty of no crimes against his parents. It’s guarded by a group of priestesses who take their names from Sophocles’ plays. No one can remove the Crown with anything brought into the shrine. Only the high priestess knows the secret.”

Miriam studied the king’s tired, dusty face. Alexander’s looks were a mirror of his ever-shifting moods. Sometimes he could look so young, even girlish, his hair coiffed and his face painted like some Athenian scholar. At other times he looked older, the skin more drawn, the lips a thin bloodless line, the eyes ringed with shadows. When he laughed Alexander reminded her of Philip. And when he brooded Miriam shivered, for it reminded her of her childhood and of watching Olympias bent over a spinning wheel, crooning softly to herself while she planned the bloody assassination of some rival.

Alexander was clicking his finger against the wine cup. He lifted his head. “You know why I want that shrine saved?”

“You will take the Crown of Oedipus?”

“I want the Crown of Oedipus; I want to put it on my head.” Alexander was almost speaking to himself. “I want the mark of the gods, the acclamation of the people and their affirmation that I am not a patricide.”

“You don’t need that,” Miriam insisted. “Philip’s blood is not on your hands.” She glanced sideways at her brother.

They knew the truth and had shared most of it with Alexander. Philip had been murdered by a crazed guardsman, a former lover, just before Philip himself was going to launch a bloody purge on his family and court. Alexander cocked his head to one side as he heard the sound of trumpets from outside.

“I want to wear that Crown,” he insisted. “I know I’m no patricide, but I want the gods to sanction me.” He grinned. “Just like Achilles.”

“Achilles, Achilles, Achilles!” Miriam exclaimed, “Achilles was your ancestor, but that doesn’t mean you have to be like him in every way!”

“We’ll take Thebes!” Alexander announced, abruptly changing the subject. “I want that shrine saved.”

“It would be a brave man who took on a hundred snakes,” Simeon retorted.

“I also want that business at the Cadmea investigated.” Alexander put the wine cup down, mood changing as he became more businesslike.

“You remember Hecaetus?”

Miriam pulled a face. Everyone in the Macedonian court knew that Hecaetus was Alexander’s spy-assassin-a mincing, lisping fop, more dangerous and venomous than any snake. He and his effete companions were responsible for collecting and sifting information, detecting plots, nipping the poisoned bud of treason before it bloomed full flower.

“How can I forget him!” Miriam retorted. “Once met always remembered.”

Alexander nodded. He picked up his cloak and drew it across his lap.

“Before I marched into Thessaly,” he declared, “I left a force, a garrison in the Cadmea, the citadel of Thebes, under Memnon, one of my most trusted captains. You remember him, with his grizzled beard, always swearing?”

“And always drunk,” Miriam added.

“He was still a good soldier. When I was a boy he used to dangle me on his knee. He made a wooden sword and put a velvet handle on it. I thought it was a gift from the gods. Anyway, Memnon had a lieutenant, another good, ambitious guardsman, Lysander, from Crete. Now, from what I can gather, it seems that the rumors that I had been killed in Thessaly-my army severely mauled-and that mother was facing a serious revolt at Pella were accepted in Thebes as fact not gossip. There was a web of lies. Hecaetus believes that Thebans spread these stories throughout all of Greece.” Alexander made a cutting movement with his hand. “You have seen the effect of such rumors. Thebes is in revolt and the other Greek states have adopted a policy of wait-and-see.”

“You are sure of this?” Miriam asked.

“As sure as I am that Olympias likes spinning,” Alexander caustically replied. “Memnon believed the rumors. He sent Lysander to deal with the Theban leaders and you know what happened to him? He had his throat cut and his corpse was crucified. They erected the cross so that everyone in the citadel could see it. Memnon became frightened. Not of death, but of what was happening. He managed to get a short message out; he claimed that there was a spy in the garrison who was feeding the Thebans all they wanted to know.”

“And this is where Hecaetus comes in?”

“Yes, Hecaetus and his darling boys. They sleep together, you know. Do you realize, Miriam, that Hecaetus claims that you are the only woman he’ll have near him?”

“That’s because I’m flat-chested and my voice is deep,” Miriam joked.

Alexander was studying her, his strange, varicolored eyes scrutinizing her face.

“It’s curious,” he remarked, “isn’t it, Miriam, how he has taken a liking to you. Do you know something about him that I should know?”

Miriam moved restlessly on the cushion.

“Keep to the story, my lord,” she warned. “I’m not your enemy.” Alexander laughed, and leaning forward, he grasped her face between his hands and kissed her lightly on the brow.

“Mother likes you as well, you and Simeon.”

“That’s because we put on plays for her,” Simeon replied. “Like you, she investigated the stories of our people.”

“Ah yes, the warring queens,” Alexander declared. “Anyway, Hecaetus studied Memnon’s message. He was like a boy with a new toy. You see, Hecaetus believes there is a spy in the Cadmea paid by that loud-mouthed demagogue in Athens, Demosthenes, who simply passes on the gold he has received from his Persian paymaster. Hecaetus calls this spy the Oracle, and he would give a bucket of gold to have his head. He believes that the Oracle was a member of the garrison we left in Cadmea. Once I and my army disappeared into the wilderness of Thessaly, the Oracle spun his rumors and lies. Now I know it is not Lysander, as the poor bugger’s dead. Hecaetus even thought it might be Memnon, but then”. . Alexander shrugged, tapping his thumbnail against his teeth.

“Memnon himself was killed,” Miriam added.

“We don’t know what happened,” Alexander declared. “All we’ve learned is that Memnon was either pushed or that he jumped from the tower of the citadel. His body was found in the courtyard below.” Alexander got to his feet and stood in the opening of the tent. His companions and leading generals, Ptolemy, Niarchos, and Hephaestion, caught his gaze and moved to come across. Alexander waved them back and dropped the tent flap.

“I’m going to take Thebes,” he declared. “I’m going to take the Crown of Oedipus and put it on my head. I also want vengeance for Memnon and Lysander. I intend to capture the Oracle and to crucify him for all other traitors to see!”

“My lord.”

Alexander whirled round. Sly-eyed Ptolemy stood in the entrance to the tent. He winked at Miriam.

“The Thebans have sent you a message: a herald and two trumpeters.”

“They wish to surrender?”

“No, no.” Ptolemy swaggered across and gave a mocking bow.

He was taller than Alexander and had close-set eyes that, Miriam thought, were always laughing at everything and everybody. A superb horseman, a brilliant general, Miriam suspected that Ptolemy thought he was Alexander’s equal. There were even rumors that they shared the same blood, Ptolemy being one of Philip of Macedon’s many bastards.

“I’m waiting,” Alexander said. “Ptolemy, you should have been an actor.”

“The Thebans have sent you defiance. They say they’ll not bend the knee to a Macedonian barbarian, especially one who killed his own father.”

Ptolemy paused and licked his lips, enjoying the fury in Alexander’s face. “They bid you to pack your tents and retreat.”

“Anything else?” Alexander stepped back. “Anything else, Ptolemy?”

“The men are getting restless.”

“Are they now?”

Alexander seized his cloak and threw it over his shoulder. “Miriam you should watch this battle. Pray to your invisible God. Go out and look at the walls of Thebes. I swear, by all that’s holy, that you will not see them again.” He almost pushed Ptolemy aside as he strode out of the tent. Miriam heard his shouts, followed by the increased bustle in the camp, the braying of war horns and trumpets.

“We should be careful,” Simeon murmured. “If the Thebans break through. .”

Miriam punched him playfully on the shoulder.

“Alexander has never, and will never, lose a battle.” She gazed around the tent and sniffed the sour air. Getting to her feet, she picked up her sword belt. The leather was worn, the scabbard scuffed but the short, broad Macedonian sword was sharp and bright. She pushed it back into the sheath and slung the belt over her shoulder.

“I’ll defend you Simeon,” she teased, “but I’m not staying here.”

They went out into the camp. Soldiers were strapping on armor. A troop of Thessalian cavalrymen thundered by. Cretan archers clustered together, jabbering in their strange tongue; their stout quivers were stocked with arrows, and long horn bows were slung across their backs. Officers swaggered about, canes in hand, pushing and shoving men into position. Of Alexander and his commanders, there was no sign. The Macedonian camp was on the brow of a hill. Down below, the plain was now hidden by a great cloud of white dust as the main divisions marched down to their arranged positions. Now and again Miriam caught a flash of armor, a colored banner, a swirling cloak. The camp became quiet. Only pages, servants, clerks, and scribes were left, as unit after unit hurried after the main divisions. Simeon seized Miriam’s arm and pointed farther up the hill, where it rose sharply toward an overhanging promontory.

“We’ll get a better view there.”

Miriam hurried after him. She felt rather ridiculous-her dress was cumbersome, the scabbard she had so dramatically slung over her shoulder was bruising her. The soldiers called out crudely.

“Do you want me to carry that for you?”

“I’ve got a better sword than that,” another bawled, “long and sharp with a firm point!”

Miriam made an obscene gesture with her fingers and hurried after Simeon. They climbed the hill, the pebble shale shifting under their feet. They grasped onto bushes and the long coarse grass; at last they reached the top where they found others-clerks, camp followers, servants, grooms, and ostlers-also thronging about, staring down at the plain below. Miriam pushed her way to the front and gasped in astonishment.

The dust cloud had lifted. In the distance soared the great walls of seven-gated Thebes; its turrets, towers, and battlements were fearsome. From the walls rose great plumes of smoke where the townspeople had prepared braziers and bronze pots of fire against an attempt to scale the walls: however, the main activity was the two armies now facing each other on the plain below. The Thebans were arranged in a curving line before the main Electra Gate. On their flanks was the cavalry and, between these, great bronze-clad phalanxes ten or twelve lines deep. The Theban gibe had prompted Alexander into action for rolling across the plain to meet them was the Macedonian Army. In the center were the footmen with their long lances, shields locked together, helmets glittering in the sun, horse plumes nodding in the strong breeze.

From where they stood, they could hear the faint cries of officers. Miriam watched spellbound. She couldn’t make out individuals but she knew Alexander would be in the center, marching with his companions like any common foot soldier. The tactics employed by both sides were the same as those used at any battle between Greek states: phalanxes of footman against phalanxes of footmen. The two sides were supposed to clash, savage hand-to-hand fighting would ensue. One side would waver and flee the field, yet Miriam knew that this would be different. Alexander had taken the military manuals and torn them up. She had seen that in Thessaly: where foot soldiers were not supposed to go, Alexander would take them. Tactics that would horrify any other commander were used at a moment’s notice. Surprise and cunning were no strangers to Alexander but here in the open, in this great dusty plain before Thebes? Miriam watched, grasping her brother so tightly that he winced as her nails dug into his wrist.

“You are hurting me, Miriam!”

“Wait,” she said. “Something is about to happen.”

The Theban line had also begun to move-marching toward the Macedonians to break their impetus before they charged. Abruptly the Macedonian line changed. Trumpets rang out, banners rose and dipped. The Macedonian army began to turn on its axis. Instead of meeting the Thebans head-on, they were now moving toward the Thebans’ right flank. At the same time the Macedonian line began to lengthen.

“They are going to outflank them,” Simeon explained. “They are going to push the Thebans back on each other. Roll the line up.”

Confusion had broken out among the Thebans. They were unused to this. In warfare, line was supposed to meet line, not shift and turn. The Theban ranks became staggered. Miriam spied gaps, then the armies clashed. Great clouds of dust rose. The sound of trumpets and war horns was broken by faint screams and shouts.

“Can you see what’s happening?” she shouted.

A sharp-eyed ostler was peering through the dust.

“Some of the Thebans are breaking!” he shouted. “They are fleeing back to the postern gate. It’s been left open and undefended.”