A Murder in Thebes

CHAPTER 5

“Miriam! Miriam!” Simeon called. “What is the matter?”

She moved to the door. Was it Simeon? she thought. Or someone mimicking his voice?

“Go away,” she called.

“Miriam Bartimaeus, it’s your brother. I was concerned about you.”

She drew back the bolts. Simeon stood there on the stairwell; behind him she could make out the shadowy outlines of two soldiers.

“Miriam, what is the matter?”

She backed into the room, throwing the dagger onto the bed.

“There was someone else,” she declared, “someone with a lame foot. He came up the stairs. He was banging at the door.” She brushed by him; outside, the soldiers were smirking.

“It’s a mausoleum of ghosts,” one of them remarked. “Mistress, there’s no one here.”

“I know what I heard and saw,” Miriam retorted. She stared down the stairwell. Of course, it could have been a ghost. But, then again, if the intruder had heard her brother calling her name, he could have slipped down the stairs into another chamber and, when Simeon and the guards passed, slipped quietly out.

“How many are here?”

She went back into the room.

“Just the three of us. I was in the camp,” Simeon replied. “Alexander asked where you were? I realized the soldiers had come in from the citadel. I asked these two to follow me. We found the Cadmea deserted; we’d passed the last of the guards on the road. I saw the shutter open and glimpsed the light.”

Miriam closed the door and sat down on a stool.

“There was someone here,” she whispered, “and I don’t think they meant me well.” She then described what she had read in Memnon’s manuscript. Simeon whistled under his breath.

“The specter of Oedipus!” he joked. His face became serious; he stared owl-eyed at his twin sister. She was so different from him, tall and resolute. Simeon liked the comforts of life. He felt at home in the writing office, sifting through parchments, drafting letters, listening to the gossip, reveling in the excitement that always surrounded Alexander. Miriam, that determined look on her thin face, was always wandering off to places where she shouldn’t.

“Come on,” he urged. “You haven’t eaten. Let’s leave this benighted place. Alexander is holding a banquet.”

By the time they reentered the camp, the revelry had already begun. They were stopped by cavalry patrols and sentries in the iron ring Alexander had placed round his sprawling camp. Alexander was cautious. A small portion of the Theban army, including the cavalry, had escaped. Alexander was wary of the silent assassin, or the madman who might try his luck in delivering one blow, one knife thrust.

They found the king in a banqueting tent, a huge pavilion of costly cloths, now turned into a drinking hall. All around, shaped in a horseshoe, were small banqueting tables, cushions, and other costly chairs and stools looted from hundreds of Theban homes. Torches burned brightly on lashed poles or spears thrust into the ground. Huge pots full of burning charcoal sprinkled with incense provided warmth. The tent flaps were open allowing the cold night air to waft away the smoke.

Alexander lounged at the top of the tent on a makeshift couch, his household companions on either side. Perdiccas, Hephaestion, Niarchos, Ptolemy, and the principal commanders of the different corps. Food was being served: lamb, beef dressed in different sauces, great platters of stone-ground white bread, bowls of fruit. A makeshift banquet but the unwatered wine was copious and flowed freely. A page led them to a table on Alexander’s right. The king lifted his head. He had bathed, his hair was cut and oiled, his face closely shaven. In the torchlight Alexander’s face had a burnished look. Miriam smiled and winked. Alexander loved to imitate the appearance of a god and now he posed as a victorious one. He had deliberately donned his dress armor; a gold-wrought breastplate, where snakes writhed and turned; silver armlets on his wrists; a thick military cloak fastened around his neck by a silver clasp.

“Greetings, Miriam, health and prosperity! And you Simeon?” He drank from the cup and went back to whisper to Hephaestion.

Miriam groaned. “It’s going to be a long night,” she whispered.

Dancing girls, accompanied by a dispirited group of musicians were ushered in, but the revelers were not interested in dancing or music. Some of the guests started throwing scraps of food at them. Alexander clapped his hands and wearily dismissed the dancers. His commanders were intent on eating and drinking their fill, reveling in their victory, boasting of their own prowess. And, of course, the toasts began.

“To Alexander, lion of Macedon! To Alexander, captain-general of Greece! To Alexander, conqueror of Persia!”

Miriam leaned back on her cushions and smiled across at Eurydice, Ptolemy’s mistress, a beautiful, olive-skinned young woman with oil-drenched ringlets framing her perfectly formed face. Her gray eyes had a glazed look, and there was a petulant cast to her mouth.

“She’s like us,” Simeon whispered. “She’d prefer to be elsewhere.”

Miriam absentmindedly agreed. She was settling down, slowly drinking her cup of very watered wine. Alexander was now in full flow.

“We will wait for Mother,” he declared, “and then take counsel.”

“Not return to Macedon?” Perdiccas asked.

Alexander shook his head. “We shall not return to Macedon,” he slurred, “until we have marched in glory through Persia. By the spring we shall be across the Isthmus. I shall sacrifice to Achilles among the ruins of Troy.”

“Oh no!” Miriam whispered, “not Achilles!”

“And then,” Alexander lurched to his feet, swaying tipsily, cup in hand, “we will march to the ends of the earth.”

His triumphant shout was greeted by roars of approval. Alexander sat down.

“For those who wish to,” he smiled, “you may retire! But those who drink can stay!”

Some of the women left, followed by some of the lesser commanders who had duties to carry out. Miriam excused herself, but Simeon said he would stay. She put down the cup, slipped out of the tent, and stood allowing the night breezes to cool her. She collected her writing satchel from the groom she had left it with and made her way back to the tent she shared with Simeon.

The camp was noisy, fires glowing in every direction. Soldiers staggered about, but officers dressed in full armor and horsehair-plumed helmets, kept good order with stout ash canes. Soldiers lurched up from the campfires and staggered toward her. When they recognized who she was, they mumbled apologies and slipped quietly away. The camp followers were doing a roaring trade in different tents and bothies and she could hear the hasty, noisy sound of lovemaking. Somewhere soldiers were singing a raucous song. From another place she heard the piping tunes of flutes. Horse neighed. Servants hurried through with bundles on their backs. Miriam looked up. The sky was clear, the stars more distant than in the hills of Macedon. She recalled Alexander’s words. He would never go back there. She wondered about his boast to march to the ends of the earth. Sometimes Alexander, in his cups, would talk of leading his troops to the rim of the world, of creating an empire dominated by Greece that would make the world gasp in surprise. He wants to be greater than Philip, she thought; he wants to outshine him in every way.

She pulled back the flap of her tent and went in. Someone had lit the oil lamp on the table; it still glowed weakly. She picked up the scrap of parchment lying beside it. She made out the letters in the poor light.

“Doomed, oh lost and damned! This is my last and only word to you for ever!”

Miriam’s heart quickened. She fought hard to control her trembling. She recognized the quotation from Sophocles and recalled the mysterious intruder outside that lonely chamber in the Cadmea. She was being warned, and if Simeon hadn’t come? She sat down on the thin mattress that served as a bed.

“Miriam.” She started. Hecaetus poked his head through the tent flap, smiling sweetly at her like a suitor come to pay court.

“You shouldn’t crawl around at night, Hecaetus. It doesn’t suit you!” she snapped.

“May I come in? I have a visitor.”

“I can’t very well stop you.”

Hecaetus entered. He pulled his great cloak more tightly.

“It’s so cold,” he moaned. “Why doesn’t Alexander march somewhere warm, where the sun always shines. By the gods, where is he?” He went back and pulled up the tent flap. “Come on man,” he said pettishly, “the lady’s tired and I’m for my bed.”

The man who lumbered in was small and thickset; a scrawny mustache and beard hid the lower part of his face. His hair was unkempt and oil-streaked. He moved awkwardly, nervously staring around the tent.

“This is Simothaeus.” Hecaetus made the man sit. “He’s a soldier, served under Memnon. Come on. Do you want some wine?” Hecaetus spoke to the man like some disapproving aunt. The man shook his head, eyes fixed on Miriam. She smiled and he grimaced in a show of broken teeth. Hecaetus sat between them and patted the man’s bony knee.

“Simothaeus likes drinking, and he’s been rejoicing at his king’s victory. Do you want some wine, Miriam?”

“I drank enough in the king’s tent.”

“Yes, I’m sure you did.” Hecaetus’s womanish face became petulant. “Always the servant, never the guest.” He waved his hand foppishly. “Alexander needs me but never invites me to drink with him.”

“He knows you are a skilled hand at poisons.”

Hecaetus, eyes crinkled in amusement, wagged a finger. “You are very naughty, Miriam; I only remove the king’s enemies.”

“Or those who get in your way. Do I get in your way, Hecaetus?”

“I am the king’s searcher-out of secrets,” Hecaetus replied defensively. “But no, my dear, I like you. I’ve watched those eyes of yours, sharp and shrewd. You mean me no ill. You don’t mock me like the others do.”

“And your friend Simothaeus?” Miriam asked.

“Well I’ve spent the day. .” Hecaetus began. He waved his hands; the fingernails were gaudily painted. “Some of these soldiers are such bitches,” he lisped. “You share a cup of wine with them and they want their hand in your crotch. And no, I don’t enjoy it. They are far too rough; not like my boys.” Hecaetus turned and looked over his shoulder.

Miriam knew all about Hecaetus’s “boys”: effete but courageous; where their master went, they always followed. It would be a foolish soldier, indeed, who tried to take liberties with Hecaetus.

“Do you want to bring your boys in here?” Miriam asked. “Though it could get rather crowded.”

“Don’t be such a minx!” Hecaetus mewed like a cat. He patted her hand. “You are far too hard, Miriam; I am your friend, I always will be. We should share what we know, shouldn’t we?”

Miriam stared at the light-blue eyes so innocent, so child-like. How many men, she wondered, had he trapped with that pleading slightly hurt look?

“I’m waiting Hecaetus.”

“Oh, go on!” Hecaetus tapped Simothaeus on the shoulder. “I spent the whole day, Miriam, drinking with him and his companions, and they couldn’t tell me a thing. But then Simothaeus, in that dark dim area he calls his brain, remembered something very important.” He fished beneath his cloak, brought out his purse, and shook two coins into the palm of his hand.

“Go on, Simothaeus.”

“I was on guard duty.” The man spoke like an actor who had repeated his lines time and again but really didn’t understand the importance of them. “Yes, I was on guard duty.”

Hecaetus sighed noisily.

“Old Memnon came out of the courtyard. He was slightly tipsy. He was dressed in full armor, hand on the hilt of his sword.”

“When was this?” Hecaetus interrupted. “Tell the lady.”

“Why, the day before he fell from the tower. It was late in the afternoon. We had heard rumors that the king and the Macedonian army were marching on Thebes. Most of the men were celebrating. Memnon came over to me. He gripped me by the shoulder and asked my name. ‘Simothaeus,’ I replied, ‘my father tilled the land north of Pella.’”

“And?” Hecaetus asked testily.

“The captain was a hard bugger, but he was blunt. ‘Simothaeus,’ he said, ‘whatever Hades and the Thebans throw at us, we will stand fast, we will welcome our king into the citadel.’ Then he leaned closer. ‘You are going to see all of Thebes burn!’”

“Did he say anything else?” Miriam asked.

Simothaeus shook his head.

“Right,” Hecaetus said testily. “Here is a coin, Simothaeus. Go and get as drunk as the other pigs.”

The soldier lumbered out of the tent.

“Do you see the importance of Simothaeus’s evidence?” Hecaetus asked, raising his eye brows. “Here we have old Memnon supposedly drunk and brooding in his chamber, his mind has turned and he attempts to fly like Icarus from his tower.”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Miriam interrupted. “In the last days of the siege, a Macedonian army was marching on Thebes though, even then,” she added, “didn’t the Thebans think Alexander had been killed and that the troops were being led by one of his generals?” She held her hand up. “But true, true Hecaetus, I follow your drift. Memnon expected to be relieved, so why commit suicide?”

“See, Miriam, I am willing to share what I discover.”

“But how did Memnon know that?” Miriam asked. “How did he know that a Macedonian army was marching to his relief? After all, the Thebans had him tightly controlled.”

Hecaetus grinned. “They may have spies in the citadel but I had spies in Thebes. Arrows can go both ways. So, Miriam”. . He played with the bracelet on his wrist, “. . tell me what you have discovered. One of my pretty boys saw you return to camp. You looked agitated.”

Miriam told Hecaetus everything. Her visit to the citadel, Memnon’s manuscripts, and the attack on her. Hecaetus, eyes half closed, heard her out.

“It’s strange,” he mused. “Rumors are sweeping the camp that Oedipus’s shade has been seen. I just wish the king would take that bloody Crown and march away from here. But he’s such a showman. He should have been an actor on the stage. In fact, he is, and all of Greece is the audience. He’s taken Thebes by storm, and now he wants some god to come down from Olympus and hand the Crown to him.”

“These spies of yours. .” Miriam began. She was wary of talking to Hecaetus about Alexander. She didn’t trust the man as far as she could spit but she didn’t want him to be her enemy.

“Oh a few merchants, tinkers, travelers.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“I am looking for a lovely boy, by the name of Meleager. He was a scribe in the service of the Theban council. He was close to their leader Pelliades.”

“But he has disappeared?”

“Yes, Miriam, the boy has gone, vanished. He may have fled, he may be in hiding, or he may be one of the corpses lying beneath that sea of ash once called Thebes.” Hecaetus paused, head half-cocked, listening to the sounds of the camp. “I tell you this, Miriam, I don’t think Memnon jumped. He was murdered, but how or why, well that’s a mystery.” He got to his feet. “I’m going to continue searching for Meleager. He could well be in one of the slave pens. He can protest about how much he helped Macedon, but in the eyes of Alexander’s soldiers, one Theban’s like another.” He leaned down and kissed Miriam on the top of her head, and pointing to the piece of parchment bearing the quotation from Sophocles, he said, “If I were you, young woman, I would walk very carefully.”

And then he was gone. Miriam picked up the piece of parchment and stared at it. Was it to frighten her?

“No,” she exclaimed. She was supposed to show this to Alexander! The king was as brave as a lion in battle but, like Philip, highly superstitious, wary of omens, portents, and warnings.

“Miriam.”

She turned, startled. Simeon was crouched in the mouth of the tent.

“It’s busier here,” she quipped, “than anyplace in the camp.”

Simeon just blinked and crawled in on all fours.

“I don’t feel well,” he murmured. “They are drinking fit to burst.”

“You are an Israelite,” Miriam retorted. “Never try to imitate Macedonians in their cups.”

Simeon got to his feet. Miriam took a jug of water and quickly prepared an herbal drink.

“It will settle your stomach. You should be asleep.”

Simeon shook his head. “The king wants me back at his tent.”

“Oh no.” Miriam groaned.

“It’s the Crown of Oedipus. He also wants you.” He stumbled on his words. “Well, you’d best come.”

Alexander’s banqueting tent was not as stately as when she had left. The ground littered was with scraps of food. Tables and chairs were overturned. Two of his commanders were lying flat out, snoring like pigs. The musicians and dancing girls had fled. Alexander had changed the seating arrangements. He had moved his couch farther down the tent-one arm around Niarchos, the other round Perdiccas. At the far end he had set up a makeshift pillar, a huge wooden stake planted in the ground, with iron clasps on it. These had been bent and held a crown Alexander must have taken from his treasury. He had laid out cloaks in front of the stake to imitate the pits in the shrine; now he was challenging everyone, all comers, to remove the crown without standing on the cloaks. Miriam groaned and closed her eyes. Alexander flush-faced and bright-eyed, was shouting abuse at Hephaestion, who stood before the cloaks staring blearily at the crown. Alexander staggered over, put his arm around Hephaestion’s shoulder and kissed him on the cheek.

“You are supposed to be a bloody engineer!” he bawled in his ear. “How do you get that crown off that bloody pillar without standing on the cloaks? Remember. .” Alexander lifted one finger up as he swayed backward and forward. He blinked.

“What must I remember?”

“He must take the crown off,” Niarchos yelled, “without touching the cloaks. One’s a fire, one’s a snake pit, and in between them is a row of spikes. Nor must he use anything brought into the shrine.”

Hephaestion blinked owlishly at his king and stared at the wooden stake.

“I could go outside,” he said, “go around the tent, lift the flap, and take it.”

The rest of the company roared with laughter. Alexander caught Miriam’s eyes.

“Come on Israelites!” he gestured. He went and took Niarchos aside. “Sit down Miriam, you are the only sober man among us!”

His quip raised a few sniggers. Miriam blushed slightly. She had heard the secret jokes about her being more man than woman. Alexander must have seen the hurt in her eyes as he squatted down beside her.

“I’m sorry,” he slurred, “but it all started when I told them about our visit this morning. And do you know, not one of these drunken buggers can give me any advice.”

Miriam stared at the red cloaks that stood for the burning charcoal, the spear in between that stood for the spikes, and the long cloak of blue that represented the snake pit. She had been so frightened about what had happened in the citadel that she hadn’t given any thought to this problem. Niarchos had now sprung to his feet. He yelled at one of the bodyguards to bring him a long lance or pike, but when he did so, Niarchos realized that it was far too short to reach. Alexander sat, gnawing his fingernails.

“There must be a way,” he muttered, “to take that crown.”

“Do it by force?” Perdiccas clinked his cup against that of the king. “Burn the temple and take it by force.”

“And all of Greece will see that.”

The speaker at the far end of the semicircle stood up. Miriam recognized Timeon, the Athenian delegate.

“My lord Alexander, if you take it by force, all of Greece will know of it.”

“Thank you, Timeon.” Alexander forced a weak smile. “And before you leave, I’ll have words with you. .” he scowled, “about the traitor Demosthenes.”

“He is no longer in Athens,” Timeon declared. “He has fled; we do not know where. All of Greece now has its eyes on Thebes.”

Miriam gripped Alexander’s wrist. She could feel him beginning to tremble with anger. One of those terrible rages that swept him, particularly when he was deep in his cups. What had begun as a drunken joke was now turning ugly. She looked along the line of Alexander’s commanders for a sober face, but they were all drunk. Some were half asleep, others were now glaring at the Athenian envoy. Niarchos, stung by Timeon’s hidden taunts, walked along the cloaks. He forced back the metal clasps on either side of the crown, took it off, and tipsily put it on his head.

“That’s the way we take Crowns in Macedon!” he yelled at the Athenian. “We just move in and take them!”

“Of course,” Timeon purred, “whether it’s Macedon or anywhere else.”

His remark stilled the clamor and noise in the tent. Alexander sprang to his feet. He ran and picked up the spear that separated the different-colored cloaks. Miriam thought his anger was directed at Timeon but it was Niarchos he confronted.

“You stupid Cretan bastard!”

Niarchos stared fearfully back. Alexander brought the spear up. Miriam jumped to her feet, ran forward, and caught his arm.

“My lord king,” she cried, “you know this is only a charade. Niarchos acts the fool. Don’t reveal our secret.”

Alexander’s arm remained tense.

“Put it down,” she whispered. “Alexander, put it down!” She felt his arm relax.

“Miriam is right.” Alexander stuck the spear into the earth.

“What do you mean?” Timeon, eager to create more trouble, stepped forward.

“We know how to remove the Crown of Oedipus, but it will take time.” Miriam blurted the words out before she could stop. “Yes, I swear by the holy name of the God of Israel, that it will not be by force but by human cunning and divine favor. Alexander of Macedon shall wear the Iron Crown of Thebes!”

A murmur of approval broke out from the king’s companions. Timeon look puzzled. Niarchos came forward. Alexander grasped him by the shoulder and kissed him on each cheek.

“Do that again,” he whispered, “and I’ll have your bloody head.” And with one arm around Niarchos and the other around Miriam, Alexander staggered back to his cushions. He wiped his flushed, sweat-soaked face with a wet rag and clapped his hands.

“The night is still young.”

Servants came in bringing more bowls of food and fresh jugs of wine. Alexander deliberately turned his back on Miriam and began to tease Hephaestion. Only when he was sure his guests were diverted did he turn back.

“You know what you’ve done, Miriam?”

“I know what you would have done,” she hissed. “You showed all Greece that a Macedonian could not solve a problem. And, in the presence of the envoys, you almost killed one of your generals. Alexander, when you drink, keep your hands away from your weapons.”

“I thought Niarchos was going to pee himself,” Alexander grinned.

“So would anyone,” Miriam countered.

“Do you know how to remove the Crown?” Alexander taunted.

“No!” Miriam hissed. “But if my lord. .”

“My lord king.”

Miriam looked around. A captain of the guard had entered the tent-one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other covered in blood.

“My lord king you’d best come now.”

“What is it?” Alexander slurred.

“Three guards have been killed.”

All drunkenness seemed to disappear. The king sprang to his feet, snapping his fingers for the others to join him. A cart stood outside the royal tent. Three corpses, foot soldiers, sprawled there splattered with blood. Alexander took a pitch torch from one of the escorts and moved closer. The side of each man’s head looked as if it had been smashed in by some war ax or club.

“The men were out on picket duty,” the captain explained. “To the south on country roads. I went to check that all was well but couldn’t find them. I thought they had gone drinking or even slipped back into the camp; I found one of the shields, then the corpses, as well as this!”

Alexander took the small scroll and handed it to Miriam.

“Doomed,” she read out aloud. “Oh, lost and damned! This is my last and only word to you. For ever!”

“I received the same.” She handed it back. “Earlier this evening; it’s a quotation. .”

“I know,” Alexander broke in, “from Sophocles.” Alexander strode away from his companions, now gathering round the cart; he gestured at Miriam and the captain to follow.

“There’s something else isn’t there, man?”

The captain nodded, his face pale and sweaty under the great Corinthian helmet.

“When I crouched down to examine one of the corpses, I heard a whistling. I looked up. In the moonlight I glimpsed a figure on top of small hill. In one hand he carried a club.”

“And when he walked,” Miriam intervened, “he had a limp?”

The captain nodded. “I hurried toward him, but by the time I reached the top, he’d disappeared into the night. The men are now saying that we have been visited and punished by the shade of Oedipus.”

Alexander sobered up. It was as if he hadn’t touched a drop of wine; there was a thin, mean twist to his lips, his eyes were hard and unblinking.

“I conquered Thebes,” he declared. “And now they are going to argue that Oedipus has conquered me. Perdiccas,” he shouted, “I want officers to check all the pickets and sentries. Send out cavalry patrols at first light! Scour the countryside for any Thebans. Miriam come with me.”

They walked out of earshot of the rest.

“I’m begging you, Miriam.” Alexander held her wrists tightly.

“What my lord?”

“To get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow morning do two things: hunt down the Oracle and find a way for me to secure that bloody Crown!”