A Murder in Thebes (Alexander the Great 2) (13 page)

“You are supposed to help me,” she said crossly.

“What help can I give?” he countered. “And what will you do now?”

“This Oracle, the assassin,” Miriam replied, “is both confident and cunning. Why is that Simeon, eh? Thebes is in ruins, the
Macedonian army controls Greece, and yet he acts with impunity. I mean . . .” She paused.

“What?”

“Well, Telemachus may be dead but what happens if another Theban is also picked up by Hecaetus’s net?” She paused. “Of course!”
she breathed.

“Don’t be enigmatic, sister.”

“The Thebans know as much about the Oracle as we do,” Miriam added. “The spy communicated with them when he was disguised
as a woman, or by arrows shot out of the Cadmea. I wager you a jug of wine, brother dearest, that if we had subjected Telemachus
to the most horrific tortures, he would only have confessed to being approached by a spy, but never to having known who that
spy was.”

“So the Oracle thinks he’s safe.”

“He’s certainly safe from the Thebans. Most of the council are probably dead, and if there were any survivors, they wouldn’t
be able to point the finger.”

“So why kill Telemachus?”

“I don’t know,” Miriam murmured.

“Perhaps to protect someone else?”

“Or to buy time,” Simeon added, “till he manages his escape.”

“Perhaps,” Miriam pulled a face, “the Oracle wants to keep us guessing, stumbling in the dark. If we had learned that Telemachus
knew as little about him as we do, it might have opened other paths of inquiry.”

“He’ll also need help to escape.”

“If it’s the Persians,” Miriam replied, “our spy has got nothing to fear. Thebes stands on a tongue of land surrounded by
the sea; it would be very easy to leave by merchant ship or to be picked up by some galley in the pay of Darius. I suspect
that this is what is going to happen.” She got to her feet and finished dressing; using a piece of polished bronze, she applied
some paint to her face. Simeon rose.

“Don’t go away,” she warned. “You’ve got a sword belt; wear it. I need protection. I also need a warrant to get into the shrine
of Oedipus. So, if you could draft it and have it sealed?”

Simeon reluctantly agreed. Miriam tidied the tent, her mind distracted by what she had learned. She pulled back the flap and
looked out. The mist had lifted, the camp was now fully awake, the soldiers going about their usual tasks. We’ll have to move
soon, she thought; the army can’t stay here forever and our friend the Oracle knows that. He’s waiting for chaos, for confusion
to break out; then he’ll slip away. She idly wondered if Hecaetus’s suggestion was correct? Perhaps the officers should be
confined to house arrest, but there again, how long could that last? The Oracle would simply bide his time and leave when
it suited him. She let the tent flap fall. She walked back, opened a small coffer, took out a silver chain—a present from
Alexander—and absentmindedly put it around her neck.

“Miriam Bartimaeus?”

She started and looked over her shoulder. Timeon, the Athenian envoy, was standing in the mouth of the tent. He looked nervous,
shuffling from one foot to another.

“To what do I owe this honor?” Miriam asked.

“May I come in? I wish to speak.”

He didn’t wait for an answer but scuttled in. Miriam gestured to a stool.

“The king is angry,” he began.

“He has good cause,” Miriam replied. “His guards are killed.” She was about to say that the Crown had disappeared but caught
herself just in time.

“I know what’s happened.” The envoy clawed at his straggly mustache and beard. “The Crown has disappeared from the shrine.”
He continued, “Oh, the king won’t say that but the gossips are busy.”

“And you know how dangerous it would be to spread such gossip?”

“I know,” he stammered.

Miriam watched those deep, watery eyes.

“So, why are you here, Timeon of Athens? At the banquet the other night you were more sure of yourself, issuing challenges.
Now you’ve come here all atremble, wanting to speak to me, the Israelite woman.” Miriam studied his pallid face. “You’ve had
fresh letters from Athens, haven’t you? The news of Thebes’ destruction has reached there. The pro-Macedonian faction is now
in power; they don’t want you to do anything to upset Alexander now that Demosthenes and his demagogues have fled.”

Timeon just blinked.

“And, of course, you are wondering about yourself. After all, you were appointed official envoy when Demosthenes was cock
of the walk in the Agora of Athens.”

“They say you have a bitter tongue.”

“Do they now, Timeon, so why are you here?”

“They also say you are fair and can’t be bribed.”

“You want me to act as mediator?”

Timeon nodded.

“If you could,” he paused, “if you could assure the king that what has happened in Thebes is not the work of Athens or its
envoys.”

“Well, of course I will,” Miriam retorted coolly, “I mean, if that’s the truth.”

“It is, it is!”

“Then why are you so nervous?”

Timeon spread the fingers of his right hand.

“All of Greece has changed,” he murmured. “The wolf was bad, but the cub is even worse.” He lifted his head. “When Philip
died we thought the power of Macedonia would collapse with him. There would be the usual bloodletting and Alexander would
disappear. Now it’s all changed. Demosthenes was wrong. I do not wish to be crucified. And the Athenians don’t want a lake
of ash where their city once stood.”

“Athens is safe.” Miriam hid her excitement. This treacherous envoy was going to offer her something. He wouldn’t dare go
to Alexander or his companions: their moods were unreliable, their tempers savage.

“Everything has a price Timeon,” she declared. “And, as Aristotle said, even the gods can’t change the past. What I am interested
in is what you are going to tell me. You are going to offer me something, aren’t you? I’ve read your playwright Aristophanes;
he says you cannot make a crab walk straight. Perhaps he should have written, ‘you cannot make an Athenian tell the truth.’”

“And the wisest of the wise may err,” Timeon snapped back.

“Aristophanes?” Miriam asked.

“No, Aeschylus!” Timeon made to get up.

“Sit down, man!” Miriam soothed. “You’ve come here to buy Alexander’s good will, yes? To give him reassurance that you are
not involved in what has happened, whatever that may be!”

Timeon pulled his cloak around him and nodded.

“And you’ve come to me,” Miriam continued, “because what you’ve got to say is very dangerous, isn’t it?”

Timeon breathed in rapidly.

“I have your word of honor?”

“You have my word,” Miriam declared.

“In Athens,” Timeon spoke hurriedly, “the news arrived that Alexander was dead and his army destroyed and that Olympias was
facing a revolt in Pella. Demosthenes was ecstatic. The Thebans sent envoys and our council met with them in the dead of night.
The Thebans said they had a high-ranking spy in the Cadmea, that they were going to throw off the Macedonian yoke, expel or
kill the garrison, and rise in revolt. Wiser minds in our council urged caution. The Thebans were furious. We asked for proof,
for the name of this spy. The Thebans were most reluctant. Demosthenes didn’t have it all his own way. Again the demand was
made, and the Thebans replied that the Athenians would know the name well. When questioned further, the Theban envoy simply
replied, ‘Haven’t you heard of Socrates’ pupil?’”

“Socrates’ pupil?” Miriam queried.

“That’s all they said. The envoys left and the council voted. Demosthenes wanted to send troops immediately to help Thebes
but we were not so certain.”

“So you adopted a wait-and-see policy?”

“Of course we did,” Timeon retorted, “as did all of Greece.”

“And there’s more?” Miriam asked.

“Yes, there is.” The Athenian looked anxiously about. “Could I have a cup of wine?”

Miriam poured one and thrust it into his hands.

“When Alexander lay siege to Thebes, Demosthenes sent me here with strict instructions to keep Athens closely informed. Of
course, I did. After all, I am only an envoy.”

“Of course,” Miriam echoed.

“Well, you know what happened. Thebes fell, the face of Greece changed for ever. Demosthenes lost control in Athens. Two days
ago I received a mysterious message. I left the camp accompanied by one of my squires. We had to meet the sender in the olive
grove near the shrine of Oedipus.”

“Why did you go?” Miriam interrupted.

“The note, which I’ve destroyed, simply said it was in the interest of a son of Athens, for had not both Sophocles and Oedipus
found refuge in this city? We met at dusk; it was easy to slip out without Hecaetus noticing. The figure was shadowy; I could
smell woman’s perfume on him.”

“How did his voice sound?”

“More a whisper, a hiss, as if he was holding something over his mouth. Despite the perfume, the voice was unmistakably male.
He asked two things. One, was the city of Athens still interested in the Crown of Oedipus?” Timeon shrugged, “I said I didn’t
know. And two, more important, would the city publish the truth if it was stolen? Again I replied that I didn’t know.”

“What happened then?” Miriam insisted.

“I told him that Athens was still a member of the League of Corinth and owed allegiance to Alexander of Macedon. The stranger
became very angry. I wanted to question him further, but he disappeared; that’s all I know.”

“Is it?” Miriam asked.

Timeon held his right hand up.

“I swear by Apollo, by all that is holy, that that is all I know.”

Simeon pulled back the tent flap and entered. Miriam beckoned for him to leave. She could tell by the look of concern on Timeon’s
face that he wanted no witnesses. The Athenian leaned forward.

“If Alexander learned this from any other source,” he hissed, “he would have my head, but Athens had no hand in it and does
not wish to be involved.” And pulling up his hood, Timeon left the tent.

Miriam waited for her brother to reenter.

“We have a name,” she declared. “The Thebans believe that the Oracle was a ‘true son of Athens,’ a disciple of Socrates.”

“In which case,” Simeon replied, “Alexander should arrest Aristotle or Plato or dig up all the corpses. Miriam, that means
nothing! Socrates and his circle have been dead for years!”

Miriam sat, eyes closed. She recalled the histories of Athens.

Simeon’s jaw sagged.

“Of course, Miriam! Alcibiades was one of those whom Socrates was accused of corrupting. He became a power in Athens during
the war against Sparta. He led the disastrous expedition to Sicily and later sought exile in Persia. The Oracle wasn’t referring
to the historical Alcibiades but to Memnon’s officer.”

Miriam tried to control her excitement. Alcibiades could provide the explanation for everything, she thought: He was foppish,
petulant, probably a transvestite. It would have been easy for him to go around Thebes pretending to be a woman and attending
secret, shadowy meetings with members of the Theban council.

Miriam recalled what the page had told her. How he had
glimpsed a man dressed as a woman coming down the stairs of the tower. Was he the same one Lysander had glimpsed?

“Brother,” she urged, “send a courier to the Cadmea. Tell those officers I want to meet them again, urgently. Oh and this
time let us bring some soldiers.”

Simeon tossed her the scroll sealed in the royal chancery. “This is your pass into the shrine.”

Miriam followed him out of the tent, stretched, and took a deep breath. The sun had now broken through, weak and watery. She
became aware of the din in the camp.

Alcibiades, she thought; it was so simple! She recalled the words of Aristotle: “Miriam, you don’t have to search for the
truth. You usually stumble over it.” She went back into the tent and got her cloak, took a sheath dagger from the chest and
stuck it into the cord round her waist. Simeon returned, four soldiers trailing behind him. They all set off at a brisk pace
through the camp, up the hill, and into the citadel. The officers and two pages were in the hall, lounging about on benches.
They greeted her arrival with dramatic groans and moans. Cleon offered her some wine but she refused. Miriam stared around
quickly. Alcibiades was missing!

D
EMETRIUS 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.”