“Over here!” she called.
The officer hurried forward, wiping his sweat-soaked brow on the back of his wrist. He recognized Miriam.
“What is the matter, mistress? We’ve seen the corpses of two Cretans. They were killed in the same way as the sentries around the camp, skulls staved in, brains and blood spilling out.”
“We were attacked,” Miriam replied, “by whomever it was that killed the Cretans.” She pointed at the charred shutters, the still-smoldering doors. “Though no real harm has been done,” she forced a smile, “my legs still tremble and my stomach is pitching.”
The officer turned around shouting orders.
“Weren’t there soldiers in the grove?” Miriam asked.
The guards officer shook his head.
“There’s a rumor,” he declared, “that something happened at the shrine. Perdiccas ordered the guards and archers stationed there back to camp to take an oath.”
Miriam pulled a face. Of course, that was what Alexander had decided earlier. In fact, she had recommended it. The assailant must have discovered this and exploited the gap between the soldiers leaving and fresh ones arriving. Yet how had he killed those archers? Such men were fierce fighters? They wouldn’t have given their lives easily.
“I want a guard around this house!” Miriam declared. “No one is to approach the priestesses unless they carry the personal seal of Alexander.”
The officer agreed.
“You are the Israelite, aren’t you? Perdiccas told us to look out for you.”
He spoke with that lazy, easy charm, a characteristic of Alexander’s officers. Once they recognized her, they would do what she asked and, in teasing good humor, offer no objection. Miriam stared back through the open doorway. The priestesses had now regained their composure. Antigone, despite being the youngest, calmed them down, served them cups of watered wine. Antigone was cool, self-assured. During the attack she had acted as bravely as any soldier.
What, Miriam wondered, if there was more than one Oedipus, a group of ardent Thebans dedicated to Alexander’s discomfiture? Miriam crossed her arms and walked away, leaving the officer looking nonplussed. Such an explanation, she reasoned, would resolve a number of mysteries. How Oedipus could have been seen inside and outside the Cadmea. And what if this group was both male and female? A lonely soldier would not regard some pretty girl as a threat though a woman like Antigone could wield a club as deadly as any man. Had Antigone encouraged Jocasta to go out? Had someone like Antigone, or indeed her sisters in the order, learned both the password and the secret way of lifting the Iron Crown? Such thoughts ran wild in her mind. One Oedipus? Two, or even a dozen?
“Mistress.”
She turned around. The officer was looking at her strangely.
“I’ll leave a guard here, as you say. Is there anything else?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry,” Miriam apologized and walked over to him. “Tell your men not to stay alone or to stand guard by themselves. Treat anyone who approaches you-man, woman, or child-as suspicious, unless as I said, they carry the King’s personal seal.”
The officer nodded and shrugged. “I would agree with that.”
Antigone came out of the house, a blanket wrapped around her, though her feet were still bare. Her eyes were red-rimmed but otherwise she looked serene enough. Miriam recalled her suspicions. Addressing Miriam, she said, “We have allowed no one near this house.” Turning to the officer, she continued, “And we will not unless they are escorted by you; that’s how it all began.”
“What do you mean?” Miriam asked.
“When the city was stormed,” Antigone replied, “the king sent an officer with the seal of Macedon to assure Jocasta and the rest that we and the shrine would be safe.”
Miriam half heard her; Alexander had done that throughout the city, dispatching envoys to the different temples and shrines to afford them protection. The priestess turned, about to go back to the house.
“Did you leave the shrine during the siege?” Miriam asked.
Antigone whirled round. Miriam saw the flush on her face.
“We have nothing to do with war,” she declared, drawing herself up. “The only time was when the elders of the council led by Pelliades came to the shrine to take the oath that they would fight to the death. And, of course, to ask Jocasta to act as the intermediary to swear that Lysander would be returned unharmed.”
“An oath they broke,” Miriam declared. “Why did they come to see Jocasta?” she continued. “Why not to some other shrine or temple?”
Antigone licked her lips, opened her mouth to reply, but then glanced away. “It was my idea,” she answered.
“What?” Miriam drew closer. She took the woman by the elbow and led her into the house.
“I am not what I appear to be.” Antigone closed the door. She peered around Miriam to ensure that she was out of earshot of the rest.
“You are a priestess,” Miriam declared, “a keeper of the shrine.”
“I am also kinswoman to Pelliades, leader of the Theban council.” She glimpsed the surprise in Miriam’s eyes.
“Pelliades came here,” she declared in a rush. “He was full of what he called great news. Alexander’s army had been massacred in the Thessaly mountains. The Macedonian king was dead, the League of Corinth dissolved. Thebes would be free again.”
“And he came here to ask Jocasta to intervene?”
“No, no. He came here to see me,” Antigone retorted. She rubbed her cheek. “He always did. I’m his niece. He had no children himself and often brought gifts for myself and the other sisters. I’ll never forget that morning; Pelliades was almost dancing with joy.”
“He and who else?” Miriam asked.
“Telemachus, his confidant, his aide. They were rejoicing. They’d poured oil on their heads and drunk quite heavily. All Thebes, they said, would soon know the news.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this?” Miriam interrupted.
“You never asked,” Antigone replied in mock innocence. “But then again, Miriam Bartimaeus, when Alexander’s soldiers are marauding through the city and Pelliades is at the head of their list of wanted men, it is not the time to declare kinship!”
“Did Pelliades tell you” Miriam asked, “how he had learned such news?”
“He was going to but Telemachus restrained him, urging him to caution. He said it wasn’t right that I should know but Uncle was insistent. He said they had a spy in the Cadmea. Someone who had Thebes’ interest at heart. Telemachus laughed at that. More like Persian gold, he quipped. Pelliades, however, said this man was a friend of Demosthenes and that he had confirmed the news, a closely held secret in the citadel, that the Macedonians had suffered a terrible setback in Thessaly.”
“Did he give any indication, please,” Miriam grasped her hand, “as to who this person was?”
“He said he was an officer.”
“Did Jocasta know all this?”
“Oh yes, she always insisted that she be present when Uncle was visiting.” Antigone smiled sadly. “We are all consecrated virgins and Jocasta took her duties very seriously. Moreover, there was a secret agreement between Jocasta and the council that if Thebes ever fell Jocasta was to take the Crown and hide it.”
“Then why didn’t she?”
“Jocasta was furious with Pelliades. He had broken his oath to her and killed Lysander. She cursed him, told him never to visit this house again. I think Pelliades would have taken the Crown himself but the council would never have accepted such blasphemy.”
“And this spy?” Miriam prompted her. “And Lysander?”
“Well, this was before Pelliades broke his oath. He said he wanted to avoid all bloodshed, that he would be happy if the Macedonian garrison left, walked out of Thebes, and never came back. I remember asking him why their spy didn’t just open the gates. Telemachus laughed. He reminded me that there was one main gate and a small postern door; their spy had told them that both were closely guarded.”