Cleon was still shaking his head, muttering to himself.
“Is the Crown gone?” Miriam insisted. She took Cleon’s face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “It’s over,” she murmured. “It’s all finished.”
“Why should I give it back?” Cleon brought his head up. “Why should I give it to you, clever Israelite?”
“A quick death,” Miriam replied, ignoring the exclamations of the others. “The Crown,” she insisted.
“Do I have your word on that?” he demanded.
“You have my oath,” she declared.
“The garden,” Cleon smiled, “at the back of the priestesses’ house. Dig deep beneath a stunted rosebush in the far corner.”
Miriam looked at the officer, who rattled out an order.
“Simeon,” Miriam declared, “go with them! Have the prisoner taken away.”
Chaos broke out as the guards pushed Cleon to the door. Demetrius and the others jumped up. Patroclus tried to lash out with his fist but the guards officer knew his business. He pushed them away and, with Cleon shouting insults, bundled him out of the room.
“Is this acceptable?” the officer asked, coming back. “Shouldn’t my lord the king?. .”
“All the king wants is justice for the murders and the return of the Crown,” Miriam replied. “Nothing else. We could nail Cleon to the walls of the citadel and the Crown could lie undiscovered for ever. If he speaks the truth, then I’ll keep my word.”
Miriam sat down and put her face in her hands. Patroclus brought some wine but her stomach curdled, so she refused it. On the one hand she felt relieved, on the other a sense of exhaustion. It had been so close, Cleon and Antigone so clever. If the priestess hadn’t given her that gift, that piece of blue silk, or had the Fates ordained that? Had Antigone made a mistake because she liked her? She looked around the mess hall. Miriam wondered if the officers would intervene-seize the prisoner and carry out their own dreadful punishment? She got up and went out to the courtyard. She was sitting on the steps when Simeon came hurrying back. He thrust a soiled leather bag into her hands.
“It’s there, undamaged!”
She undid the cord and took out the Iron Crown. Although it looked heavy, it was surprisingly light. Its blazing red ruby sparkled and flashed. Miriam resisted the urge to put it on her head and moved it around in her hands. Was it iron, she wondered, or some alloy? She recalled a lecture given by Aristotle on how the Dorians had first used iron.
“You know, Simeon,” she murmured, “it’s all a charade! We call this the Iron Crown but I think it’s made of some alloy. If there was a real Oedipus, I doubt very much that he ever wore this. But as Plato said, things are not what they are but what people make of them. Tell the officer to come out. Ask him to lock the hall door behind him.”
Simeon hastened off and the officer came down. He towered above Miriam, his harsh young face staring through the slits of the armored helmet. He stood, one foot on the step beside her, one hand grasping the hilt of his sword.
“I have the Crown,” Miriam declared. “You heard me. I gave my oath. Let it be done quickly! Before the others know.”
The officer shouted to two of his men. Miriam heard them go down the steps to the cellars below, heard the sound of doors opening. She sat holding the Crown, staring up at the sky. She would be glad to be gone from Thebes, away from destruction and death. She still marveled at Antigone’s cunning.
“Simeon, will you do me a great favor?”
“That’s what I’m here for sister, to do your bidding.”
Miriam smiled at the gentle sarcasm. “If Antigone had governed Thebes,” Miriam declared, “the city would never have been ruined. She was shrewd and calculating, a woman of great strength. I’ll always wonder if she loved Cleon as much as he loved her.”
“You asked me for a favor?”
“This will all be over soon. I don’t want Cleon’s and Antigone’s bodies thrown to the dogs. Put their corpses together in the olive grove. Take some of the guards and pay them well. Let the corpses be burned together! Please!”
Simeon nodded and stepped back as the soldiers returned. Miriam glimpsed one of them wiping his sword on some straw before sliding it back into his scabbard.
“It’s done,” the officer declared. “He fell on a sword.”
“Did he say anything before he died?”
“Antigone.”
Miriam nodded and got to her feet.
“It is what I expected.”
A few hours later Alexander-beside himself with glee, ready to accept what Miriam had done, and loudly telling Hecaetus not to sulk-stood on a great dais in front of the Macedonian army, Olympias beside him. In the presence of his armed host and of the representatives from all over Greece, Alexander lifted the Crown of Oedipus and placed it gently on his own head. He stood, hands extended, as thousands of swords rattled on shields. The Macedonian king was hailed as victor, captain-general, and soon-to-be conqueror of Persia!