“Quick!” Miriam snapped her fingers at one of the pages. “Castor, run to the camp as fast as you can. Search out Perdiccas and Hecaetus. Tell them Alcibiades has fled!”
The page ran off. Miriam tried to hide her disappointment. She sat on a bench and glanced across at Simeon.
“We failed,” she declared. “Alcibiades could have ridden inland and hidden or he could have hastened down the coast to some prearranged spot where a Persian galley, or one of the ships in their pay, could take him off.”
“What are you saying?” Demetrius came and sat on the bench opposite. The rest gathered round him.
“What does it sound like?” Simeon taunted. “Alcibiades is the spy known as the Oracle.”
“But that’s impossible!” Cleon declared. “Alcibiades is one of us, a Macedonian soldier, an officer! Why should he betray his compatriots?”
“Persian gold,” Miriam declared, “probably sacks of it, as well as the offer of asylum, a pleasant house and gardens, and treatment as a noble in Persopolis. He’ll hand Oedipus’s Crown to Darius and the Persian king will taunt Alexander for all he’s worth. Tell me all you know about him. No, no.” Miriam shook her head, “I will tell you about him; if I’m wrong, you will correct me. Alcibiades was a transvestite, wasn’t he? One of those Macedonian soldiers, brave as a panther in battle, but in private, his ways were foppish.”
Demetrius was about to object, but Miriam stamped her foot on the floor.
“Don’t lie!” she yelled. “If you had all told me the truth earlier. .”
“Alcibiades had his strange ways.”
“Yes, Demetrius and you knew about them. You were his lover, weren’t you?”
Demetrius blinked.
“And when Alcibiades was assigned to the citadel,” Miriam continued, “he became bored, didn’t he? He liked to dress up as a woman, go out into the city. What you didn’t know was that he used this as a disguise to meet Thebans.”
Demetrius shook his head.
“Alcibiades had his eccentricities,” he murmured. “And yes, sometimes he would dress like a woman, but it wasn’t as you said.”
“Well, how was it?” Miriam asked.
“Some men,” Demetrius explained, “and I have met them, believe they have been born the wrong sex. Yes, Alcibiades was my lover. Sometimes he did dress as a woman. But this was ribaldry.” He glanced away. “Alcibiades hated women.”
“Why didn’t you mention this?” Miriam insisted, “when I met you earlier, when I mentioned that the spy had probably disguised himself as a woman?”
“I couldn’t believe it was Alcibiades.”
“The same is true of all of us,” Cleon interrupted. “We all knew,” he smiled, “about what Demetrius calls Alcibiades’ eccentricities.”
“Whatever,” Patroclus declared, “it still doesn’t explain how Commander Memnon died.”
Miriam gazed around the hall. Everything that had happened made sense. Alcibiades must be the spy, yet the more she sat listening to the men, the more her doubts festered. It’s too precise, she thought, too easy. Alcibiades could act the traitor. He could have betrayed his king, his compatriots, for Persian gold, but Patroclus was right. How was this connected to Memnon’s death, the other killings, and the theft of the Crown?
“Since the fall of Thebes,” she asked, “had Alcibiades acted strangely, gone out by himself?”
“We all did that,” Demetrius replied, “having been cooped up here for weeks. We joined the rejoicing in the camp. Now the matter’s over. Isn’t it?” Demetrius got to his feet. “If Alcibiades is the killer and he has fled, there’s no longer need for any questions, is there?” And not waiting for a reply, he spun on his heel and walked out the door.
Miriam glanced at Simeon and raised her eyes heavenward.
“We’d best be going. Is Memnon’s chamber and the little garret above it unlocked?” she asked.
“Of course,” Melitus replied. “We received orders from headquarters to clear the citadel within a week and rejoin the rest of the camp. Alexander intends to burn the Cadmea to the ground.”
Miriam left the hall and went up the steps. On each stairwell the chamber doors were open. Memnon’s room had already been stripped; only a tattered leather belt lay in a corner.
“What’s wrong, sister?” Simeon came up, closing the door behind him.
“What’s wrong, brother, is that I thought Alcibiades was the spy, but now I’m not too sure.”
She heard a rap on the door. Simeon opened it, and Pollux came in looking sheepish.
“I heard what you said, mistress, about old Alcibiades. He could be a bit of a lady.” He grinned, “but. .”
“But what?” Miriam asked.
“Demetrius isn’t a liar; it’s true what he said. Alcibiades dressed up more to make fun, to cause a laugh, and he didn’t do it very well. I mean, paint on the face, a veil over his head. .” Pollux did a mincing walk that made Miriam laugh.
“He could swing his hips and look at you coyly.”
“But you don’t think he was a spy?” Miriam asked.
“No, I don’t,” the page replied. “I have heard what goes on, mistress. I listen to the chatter.”
“And at keyholes?” Miriam asked.
“Yes, mistress, and at keyholes. Alcibiades was dull, more interested in his belly. A good spldier. More important, I don’t think it was him I saw going down the steps of the tower.”
Miriam looked at him.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because of the way the figure looked and walked.”
“But you said it was dark?”
“No, there’s something else. You see, mistress, that night the tower was deserted. The person who crept down the steps came from the very top.”
“He what?” Miriam asked.
“I’ve got good hearing, mistress. At night, when the tower is deserted, it’s like a tunnel; it echoes. The chamber Alcibiades shared with Demetrius is much lower down; that night, I am sure, the person who passed me came down from the very top.”
“From Memnon’s chamber?”
“Perhaps, or even higher.”
“You mean the garret?” Simeon asked.
“I think so. I went up the steps. I was going to see General Memnon. When I knocked on the door, his dog barked and I opened it. Memnon was lying on the bed. Oh aye, I thought perhaps the General had had a visitor, but he looked as if he had been asleep for some time. There was no, well, I couldn’t smell any perfume in the room or see that anyone else had been there.”
Miriam opened the purse that swung from her girdle and thrust a silver daric into the page boy’s hand.
“Keep your mouth closed!” she warned. “Don’t tell anyone. Simeon, go downstairs, use your authority, bluff, anything you want. Ask Demetrius to send out a search party.”
“For whom?”
“For Alcibiades.”
“What are you saying, sister?”
“That Alcibiades hasn’t fled. I think he’s been murdered and his corpse hidden away.”
“But it could be anywhere.”
“Ah yes, brother, but Alcibiades left on a horse. Now, the killer is not going to bring the horse trotting back, is he? I suspect that if we find the horse, Alcibiades’ corpse will be nearby. Now go on, both of you!”
She heard their footsteps outside and, slipping out of the chamber, walked farther up. The small garret room was off unlocked. Miriam pushed it open and went inside. The chamber was dusty and dirty. She opened the shutters and stared abound. A table and stool stood in the corner. She went and sat down, scrutinizing the tabletop. She saw stains in the woodwork, as if someone had spilled ink over it. She leaned down, sniffed, and caught the faint fragrance of perfume. On the floor beneath was what looked like sealing wax, a dark red stain.
“It’s henna!” she murmured. “This is where our spy dressed. But wouldn’t Memnon have objected? Wouldn’t he have heard this person moving about upstairs? Is that how he died?” She glanced at the narrow window, but she was wrong. She had been tempted to think that Memnon had come up, having left his dog downstairs, and that he was killed, his corpse thrown through the window. Of course, the door to Memnon’s chamber was locked and barred with a guard outside, but the window in the garret was far too narrow. Miriam sat and put her face in her hands.