“Well, mistress, you sent for us? More questions, eh?”
“More questions,” Miriam replied. “But I assure you, they won’t take long.”
She asked the same questions she’d asked of Cleon, and they responded in similar vein. They were terrified of a Theban surprise attack. Memnon was surly and withdrawn. He was personally worried about Alexander but relieved at the approach of the Macedonian army. He feared a mutiny and, in the last days before the Macedonian attack, kept to himself. Of all the men, he seemed to trust Cleon the most; they also declared that it was difficult to accept that a man like Memnon would commit suicide.
“So, why did you put a guard on his door?” Miriam asked. “I mean, the night he died, two of you took turns?”
“It was to reassure the old bugger!” Alcibiades drawled. “We were his officers. We had pledged loyalty.”
“And you heard nothing untoward that night?”
“Not a flea’s fart,” Melitus declared.
Miriam rolled the goblet between her hands. The men were politely attentive but she caught a look of sardonic amusement in Alcibiades’ eyes.
I am making no progress, she thought, and they know it.
“Tell me how Memnon was dressed,” she said.
“I have told you, in battle drill.”
“He was wearing a sword?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Did anyone see him fall?”
“No one,” Cleon replied. “We heard and saw nothing. You must remember, apart from fires and lights on the gates, the citadel was in darkness.”
“But surely,” Miriam persisted, “even when a man commits suicide, he very rarely falls to his death without a scream or a yell?”
“He may have screamed,” Alcibiades retorted. “We are simply saying we heard nothing.”
The way he said, “we” pricked suspicion in Miriam’s mind. Was it possible that all four, even all five, were conspirators? But that didn’t answer how they would have managed to get through a locked door, take an old veteran, silence his dog, and throw him through a window. Memnon would have fought for his life; he would have shouted and screamed.
“Who took his food up that night?” Miriam asked.
“I did,” Alcibiades declared. He blinked. “And before you say it, Mistress. .”
“Say what?”
“That the wine or food could have contained a potion.”
“How do you know it didn’t?” Miriam asked. “I am not,” she added hastily, “saying you are responsible.”
“The food was prepared in the kitchen,” he explained.
“Alcibiades took it up.”
“I was there,” Demetrius added. “We knocked on the door. The dog growled. This must have been early in the evening. Memnon opened the door, took the bowl and cup, then locked and bolted himself in.”
“And how do you know it wasn’t drugged?”
“Because when we entered the chamber,” Demetrius answered, “the food and the wine had been untouched; everyone who was there saw that, not just us.”
“But he must have been hungry.” Miriam said.
“Yes, that’s what I thought,” Cleon replied. “However, earlier that day he had come down to the mess hall here; he was rather sullen and withdrawn but he ate well.”
“And the ghost story?” Miriam asked, quickly changing the subject.
“The ghost story?” Cleon asked.
“Oedipus,” Miriam explained. “Didn’t Memnon say he had heard or seen the shade of Oedipus in the citadel?”
“Yes, and in the week before he died,” Demetrius declared, “he complained that sometimes he’d hear a man with a lame foot climbing the stairs, the sound of a club being struck against the brickwork.”
“And?”
“None of us saw anything.” Demetrius turned to his companions. “Did we?”
They all shook their heads.
“You must remember,” Cleon declared, “that sometimes Memnon was the only one in the tower; during the day we had our own duties to carry out, while before the siege began, we could go where we wished.”
“Didn’t Memnon go out into Thebes?”
“Never! It was too dangerous.”
“So this ghost could have been a figment of Memnon’s imagination?”
“No,” Demetrius snapped, “we didn’t say that. We have heard, mistress, what happened last night in the camp. In fact, I saw. .” He blew his cheeks out. “Well, both Melitus and I saw something.” He looked shamedfacedly at his companion.
“One night we were on guard duty.” Melitus took up the story. “I was on the parapet walk. Now beyond the stockade the Thebans had set up, we always glimpsed torchlight, camp fires. One night Demetrius called me over; a figure was standing in the glow from a fire. He was tall, long-haired; you could make out the outline; in his hand he carried a club. The rest of his body was shrouded in a cloak but when he moved it was with a limp. We watched him for some time.”
“You didn’t loose an arrow?” Miriam asked.
“Why should we? He posed no threat. And we didn’t wish to antagonize the Thebans any more than we had to.”
“So,” Miriam mused, “we have Memnon believing he hears the shade of Oedipus in the citadel. You also see him in the wasteland between the citadel and the city; meanwhile, the same creature, specter, ghost, whatever, may have been responsible for the death of the camp guards last night.”
“Rumors are sweeping the army,” Patroclus declared. “The men don’t like the city; it reeks of death. They want Alexander to march away.”
“But not before he’s taken that bloody Crown!” Alcibiades groaned.
“Are you all right, Miriam?” Simeon stood in the doorway, pale-faced and heavy-eyed.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”
“Are there any more questions, mistress?” Demetrius got to his feet. “We still have duties to perform.”
“What will the king do with this citadel?” Miriam asked.
“When we march, he will burn it. Gut it with fire.”
Miriam thanked them and, picking up her writing satchel, joined Simeon in the passageway outside.
“Did you discover anything new?”
“Hush.” Miriam pressed a finger against his lips. “Not here, Simeon.”
She led him up the stairs and into Memnon’s chamber. The shutters were still open; the room was freezing so she hurriedly closed them. Simeon went out, got a torch, and tried to light the charcoal brazier. Miriam sat on the edge of the bed and watched him. At last Simeon was successful. The charcoal glowed red. He pulled the brazier over and sat beside it.
“Two more guards have been found,” he declared, “their heads staved in. What do you think it portends?”
“I’d like to say its Oedipus,” Miriam retorted. “That the old king has come back to curse the destroyers of his city. But, I don’t believe in ghosts, Simeon. It’s human trickery.”
“Why?”
“Alexander is the Conqueror of Thebes.” Miriam paused. “Yes, he has shown how he will deal with rebels but our noble king always likes a challenge. Never since the Spartan war has a Greek city been leveled with such cruel barbarity. Oh, all of Greece will hail him, as victor and captain-general. They’ve got little choice; Alexander’s boot is firmly on their necks! We all know what’s going to happen next. Alexander is going to march to the Hellespont. He’ll demand that some Greek states send troops and that Athens send its navy. Those war triremes will be essential for any attack on Persia.”
“You should have been a general, Miriam.”
“Brother, I sit and listen to Niarchos and Perdiccas argue with Alexander about tactics and strategy. Which ships should go first? What formation should be adopted? Alexander is like a dog with a bone; he knows that, once he crosses the Hellespont, he must leave a united and quiet Greece behind him. Now there are many who will whisper behind their hands that the destruction of Thebes was a mistake. How Alexander is guilty of hubris and will rightly incur the wrath of the gods. They will look for some sign.”
“The Crown of Oedipus?”
“Precisely. If Alexander takes it by force then Greece will say he has lost divine favor; meanwhile these stories about a lame-footed specter killing Macedonian soldiers will make the story more juicy, the scandal more alluring.”