“Have you never been on guard duty?” Miriam asked abruptly.
The officer smiled, licking his fingers.
“More times, mistress, than I like to think.”
“Well let’s say you were guarding a house and someone came toward you; what would you do?”
“If she had big breasts,” one of soldiers declared irrepressibly, “I’d run down to meet her!”
His words were greeted by guffaws and laughter.
“So if a woman approached you,” Miriam declared, “you would not find it threatening?”
“Well, of course not,” the fellow replied. “I mean, I’d only draw my sword if a stranger approached.”
“How would you know it was a stranger?” Miriam asked, “if it was dark or, like this, misty?”
“Well, you’d call out, wouldn’t you!” the officer declared. “And if there was no answer, you’d strike first and ask afterward!”
“So,” Miriam continued, putting her bowl down, “if you were on this so-called duty and a Macedonian approached you?. .”
“I wouldn’t give it a second thought.”
“But how would you know it’s a Macedonian?” Miriam insisted.
“Well, by his armor, his speech.”
“But there are Thebans who could take Macedonian armor, and Alexander’s armies include men from all over Greece, not to mention Asia.”
Miriam got to her feet.
“What’s the matter, mistress? Something we’ve said?”
“No, no,” she replied absentmindedly. “It’s more something I’ve said. I’m looking at this the wrong way, aren’t I? I mean, you accepted me into your circle because you know who I am.”
“We were pleased to see you,” one of the soldiers declared. “You’re not that ugly, and all soldiers like to hear a bit of gossip.”
“Thank you,” Miriam declared. “I’m glad I’m not that ugly.”
“No offence, mistress.”
“None taken.”
Miriam thanked them and walked back to her tent. She sat on the edge of the bed and recalled Aristotle’s lecture, “A True Philosopher.” Her teacher had declared, “Always look at things differently. The sophists put the question, ‘Is there a God?’ I would answer: ‘Why shouldn’t there be a God?’ My question is as valid as theirs!”
“And the same applies here,” Miriam whispered to herself.
She thought of those soldiers outside the shrine of Oedipus. They had been lounging about, chatting to each other. If that terrible figure had appeared, they would have sprung to arms, as they would have with any stranger. Accordingly, their assailant must have been a Macedonian, seen as friendly and no threat. It was the same with the guards on the outskirts of the camp. They could call out, and the person would reply. Now a solitary guard would be easily dispatched once his suspicions were lulled, but a guards officer and a group of men? How could they be attacked and killed so expertly? Miriam recalled Telemachus’s death the previous night. I think we’ve seen the last of Oedipus, she thought. The Macedonian army is now on the alert. Nobody will go wandering about, garbed like the figure she had glimpsed; in a way it was becoming more dangerous. The assassin, the spy, the Oracle had now turned silent. He would hide and lurk, strike without warning. Hecaetus had wanted to discuss the prisoner’s death but Miriam knew the truth. The assassin must be a member of the garrison. One of those five officers, frightened that Telemachus under torture might break and reveal more. Yesterday evening all the soldiers would have left the citadel, drifting back toward the camp. It would have been easy for one of them to run ahead, to lie in wait with a bow and arrow. Throwing the pitch torch had been a clever idea; it startled their horses and allowed the assassin a good glimpse of the prisoner. Of course, it would be easy to flee under the cover of night. She wondered if Hecaetus should question Demetrius, Cleon, and the rest about their whereabouts. But what would that prove? Telemachus was dead, and his secrets had gone with him. But there was something he had said. Something about Memnon flying from his tower.
Miriam rubbed her arms and looked at the pile of documents Simeon must have collected from the chief scribe. She lit an oil lamp and, sitting on a camp stool, began going through them. Most were lists of stores, similar to the documents she had studied in Memnon’s chamber. At last she found the duty roster. It was divided into night and day. Memnon never took a watch; that was understandable, but each of the officers was listed. She jogged her memory and found the day Demetrius had mentioned, when Lysander had come back from visiting one of the pleasure houses in the city. She grimaced in annoyance. All four had been absent; the only one left was Cleon. Miriam tossed the documents aside.
“They are of little use,” she murmured.
Miriam lay back on the bed, pulling the blanket over her, half listening to the sounds of the waking camp. She tried to impose some order on what she had seen and heard. She rolled over onto her side. The breakfast she had eaten had made her sleepy again. Images flitted through her mind: Antigone telling her about Jocasta, the visits of Pelliades and Telemachus. “That’s where it all began!” she murmured. She heard the sound of the tent flap being opened.
“Oh no, Hecaetus!” Miriam groaned. She felt a flicker of cold and jumped up. She was sure that the tent flap had been opened. Surely someone had entered the tent?
“Simeon!” she shouted. Then she saw it resting against the leg of a stool, a leather ball. Miriam scrabbled under her pillow for the dagger, then relaxed as she heard a voice.
“Mistress, it’s only us. We wondered if you were awake?”
She recognized the two pages from the Cadmea.
“Come in, my lovely lads,” she called. She glanced across. Simeon hadn’t even stirred. The tent flap was raised and the two page boys scrambled into the tent.
“Why are you here?”
“Two reasons,” Castor declared rubbing his stomach. “We are very, very hungry, and we would like to talk to you about old Memnon.”
CHAPTER 11
Miriam went out and brought back bowls of hot food for the pages. By the time she’d returned, Simeon was awake, sitting heavy-eyed on the edge of his bed, staring at the two imps.
“They haven’t moved,” he said, as Miriam came into the tent.
“I wager they’ve got sticky fingers.”
The pages ignored him as they grabbed the bowls and began eating, dipping their spoons into the hot porridge, blowing to cool it, then pushing it into their mouths. The porridge and bread Miriam had brought disappeared in a twinkling of an eye. Both pages burped and sat, eyes wandering round the tent.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Simeon moaned. He wrapped an old blanket around him and left.
“What do you want to tell me about Memnon?” Miriam asked. “Or was that just an excuse to get some free food?”
“We are very hungry,” Pollux replied. “It’s now scraps of food from the kitchen.”
“Well, in future you can stay in the camp,” Miriam replied. “My brother will have a word with the quartermaster.”
“Oh, he’s your brother?” Castor asked. “We thought he was. .”
“Don’t be crude!” Miriam snapped.
“Old Memnon,” Castor hastily added. “We said he liked taking wenches into his bed.”
“He did,” Pollux declared, “but we also think he had a boyfriend.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Late one evening,” Pollux replied, “I was climbing the tower; I was looking for food. Now old Memnon didn’t like us wandering about. I heard footsteps and hid. A figure passed me; the head and face were shrouded, but I smelled perfume, really rich and strong.”
“So it was a woman?” Miriam asked.
“No, no, as the person passed, I glanced down; it was a man! He was wearing military sandals and had hairy legs, not like any woman I’ve ever seen.”
“And where was this person coming from,” Miriam asked, “Memnon’s chamber?”
“It could have been. But then again, all the officers have their chambers in the tower.”
“Not all of them,” Pollux intervened. “Cleon had his over the stables.”