A Murder in Thebes (Alexander the Great 2) (16 page)

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!