“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!”
CHAPTER 6
Miriam returned to the citadel just after dawn, ruefully realizing she had broken Alexander’s first request because her sleep had been plagued by dreams and nightmares. It was a cold gray morning, and a mist had seeped in over the charred remains of Thebes, reminding Miriam of some image of Hades with the black and twisted timbers, the ankle-deep ash, the occasional smoldering fire. She found some of the soldiers had drifted back to the citadel, and drew some comfort from their presence. She had to kick her heels while a servant went looking for Memnon’s five principal officers. Cleon was the first to arrive, bright-eyed and clean-shaven. He insisted that Miriam join him for breakfast. He took her to the mess hall and brought out two dishes of fragrantly smelling meat and some rather stale bread, for which he wryly apologized, and a jug of beer.
“It’s Theban,” he declared, “but it tastes fresh and tangy. Best thing to clean the mouth in the morning.” He sat on a bench opposite and offered Miriam a napkin. The meat was hot to the touch. Miriam had to blow on it as well take hasty sips of beer.
“You are a good cook,” she teased. “You’ll make someone a wonderful husband.”
“Captain Memnon was a stickler,” Cleon replied between mouthfuls. “He said he had starved enough during sieges and had eaten his fill of army rations. So, in a place like this, he would demand all the luxuries.”
“Was he a good officer?” Miriam asked.
“Excellent. Loyal, brave. A kindly man, I never saw him hit anyone. Oh, he could curse and he’d rant, but unlike his dog,” Cleon grinned, “his bark was infinitely worse than his bite!”
“Did he know that Alexander was marching on Thebes?”
“Yes, we all did,” Cleon replied. “Shortly before Memnon was found at the foot of the tower.”
“And Memnon was happy with this news?”
“He said he had it on good report, though he was still worried that Alexander had been killed. He was also terrified that the Thebans might suddenly launch a surprise attack and take the citadel before the Macedonian army arrived.”
“And that was possible?” Miriam asked.
“Yes certainly! If the spy among us had opened the gates, we would have been massacred.”
“And why didn’t that happen?”
Cleon narrowed his eyes and wiped his fingers on the napkin.
“To have achieved that the Thebans would have had to mass behind the palisade. Our guards would have seen them.”
“Was there a guard at the top of the tower when Memnon died?”
“No.” Cleon shook his head. “It’s far too high; it only serves as a lookout post during the day. Our sentries were on the ramparts along the curtain wall.”
“I am sorry for my interruptions,” Miriam apologized. “You were talking about a sudden attack.”
“The Thebans would have had to mass,” Cleon declared. “And that would have become apparent. The spy or traitor, whoever it was, would have had to open a gate. Now, the citadel has two gates, the main one you came through this morning and a small postern door.”
“And both were closely guarded?”
“Oh, yes. Footmen in full armor, archers; the garrison was on full alert. If the Thebans had broken in they would have shown no mercy.” He cleaned the bowl with a piece of bread and popped the bread into his mouth. “And don’t forget that the spy or traitor would have been worried. If the Thebans had broken in they wouldn’t have known friend from foe; he might have been killed along with the rest.”
“And Memnon’s state of mind?” she asked.
“He was very anxious, worried.” Cleon’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He really did believe the spy was one of his officers.”
“Not you?” Miriam asked.
“The Thebans have no love for me!”
“Then, who?” Miriam asked.
“I don’t know.” Cleon shook his head. “I really don’t. You see, Miriam. .” He pushed the bowl away. “All of us could be described as secretive or lonely men.”
“What do you mean?”
“We were in a siege. Tension in the Cadmea was palpable. We all tried to look for some refuge for ourselves. One person would go off here, another there.”
“But did you see anything suspicious?”
“Nothing.” Cleon made a cutting movement with his hand.
“But Memnon did?”
“He might have, though he never mentioned it to me. All he could talk about was the traitor. Someone who knew the strength of our garrison.” Cleon licked his lips. “He did become a little suspicious toward me.”
“Why?” Miriam asked.
“Memnon had two great fears. One was the spy, but the other?”
“Was a mutiny?” Miriam asked.
“Yes, a mutiny. Memnon was concerned that his officers, would believe that the Macedonian army had been destroyed and killed. And that they might murder him and open negotiations with Thebes for some sort of honorable surrender.”
“So this worry could have caused him to commit suicide?”
Cleon picked up the napkin and dabbed at his mouth. He smiled at Miriam from under his eyebrows.
“I would like to say yes. I would like to put my hand on some sacred object and swear that Captain Memnon’s mind was turned, that his wits were as wandering as flies in summer. But that wouldn’t be the truth. I don’t think Captain Memnon committed suicide.” He leaned his arms on the table. “But only the gods know how he was murdered.”
“I ask the same question myself.”
Miriam started and turned. Alcibiades stood in the doorway. He sauntered across, picked up a piece of stale bread, and sat on the bench next to Cleon. He had been drinking, and his eyes were red-rimmed, his pale face sweaty; the tunic he wore still bore stains from the previous night’s feasting. He scratched his unshaven cheek.
“Don’t worry. I am going to have a bath.”
Cleon wrinkled his nose. “And not before time,” he whispered.
Alcibiades playfully nudged him back but his eyes held Miriam’s. She saw the malevolence, the sneering look.
“You don’t like me, do you?” she asked.
She moved the writing satchel from the table on to the bench beside her.
“It’s not that, my dear. I just don’t like women in general. And I don’t like those who come snooping into men’s affairs.” He chewed noisily on the bread, deliberately opening his mouth so Miriam would look away.
“Do you like Israelites?” Miriam asked.
“You are the first I have met. So, no.”
“Hush,” Cleon intervened, “she’s from the king’s writing office.”
“I couldn’t give a donkey’s fart where she’s from!” Alcibiades retorted. “I am a Macedon, I can speak my mind. I was loyal to Philip and I’ll be loyal to his son. I have marched through freezing snow. I have had the sun burn my arse! I have stood in battle line with the rest and I’ve never retreated.” He turned and spat the bread out of his mouth onto the floor. “I was a loyal officer of the garrison.” His voice became strident. “As is Cleon and the others! I saw no treachery. We should be rewarded not treated with suspicion.”
“I fully agree.” Demetrius, clapping his hands, came in with Patroclus and Melitus. They bowed sardonically at Miriam and then wandered into the kitchen looking for food. They came back talking noisily about the feast the night before-like boys in a school room determined to antagonize their master through dumb insolence rather than direct insults. They sat on the bench, scraping their bowls with their fingers, slurping beer from their cups.
Miriam sat patiently. She had been raised among men like these, coarse but brave. Soldiers who believed women had a certain place in the scheme of things but it certainly wasn’t in their mess hall asking questions. Nevertheless, beneath all their bluster, they had a deep personal loyalty to the Macedonian crown. She was here on Alexander’s orders, and by their very presence, they were acknowledging that. Demetrius cleaned his bowl, running his tongue round the rim.