The garrison was assembled in full armor, breastplates and shields gleaming. Their officers stood in front of them, their helmets, adorned with bright horsehair plumes, held under their arms. Alexander’s mood changed as it always did when he moved among soldiers. He walked slowly along the ranks, stopping to chat and joke, slipping silver coins into the men’s hands. He clasped them by the shoulder and kissed them on the brow, calling them his companions and friends, praising them for their valor in holding Cadmea against a hostile Thebes. The soldiers responded: guffaws of laughter broke out as Alexander shared some private joke. Miriam noticed he had no words for the officers. These four were left standing in front, eyes ahead. Alexander gave them no order to relax or stand at ease. When he had finished his inspection, Alexander simply clicked his fingers. The men were dismissed and the four officers followed Alexander up into the tower along a stone-vaulted corridor and into what must be their mess hall. Tables stood around the room. These and the floor had been carefully scrubbed and washed. Servants had laid out bread, cheese, meats, bowls of fruit, and a jug of watered wine. Unceremoniously Alexander sat on a bench and gestured for the others to join him. He took a bunch of grapes from the bowl and began to pop them into his mouth, like a child, cheeks bulging as he slowly chewed. He nodded at Hephaestion who ordered the officers to introduce themselves. All four were Macedonians, grizzled veterans who had fought in Philip’s armies. Patroclus was the youngest: blond-haired, one eye half closed due to an old wound, front teeth missing, nose slightly broken. He reminded Miriam of a boxer. Alcibiades was thin and swarthy-faced; his hair was cropped close to his head and he wore a brass ring in one earlobe. Slightly foppish, Miriam thought, with an ornamental bracelet that he kept shaking. Demetrius was gray-haired, cruel-faced, with sharp, deep-set eyes, and a thin nose above thick lips. He kept scratching at a scar that ran from the top of his right ear down beneath his chin. The fourth, Miletus, was bald, fleshy-faced; his eyes were almost hidden in rolls of fat; he had pursed lips and was clean shaven. He reminded Miriam of a eunuch, an impression greatly enhanced by his rather high-pitched voice. Nevertheless, despite their appearance, Miriam recognized that all four were skilled fighting men, though now very nervous. Alexander had praised the defence of the citadel against the Thebans but they must have expected to be closely questioned on what had happened to cause the deaths of two favorite officers, Lysander and their commander Memnon.
Alexander finished the grapes. He filled the cups himself, chattering about the citadel, how thick its walls, and idly wondering if the tower they now occupied had been built during the time of Oedipus. The soldiers replied perfunctorily. Alexander leaned back, tapping his hands on the table.
“There’s someone missing, isn’t there?” He winked down the table at Simeon, who had already taken out a sheet of papyrus, ink, and stylus; where ever Alexander went, he always insisted on keeping some record of what was said, particularly his own pronouncements.
“There’s someone absent, isn’t there?” he repeated.
“I’m here, my lord.”
They all turned. The thin young man who stood in the doorway, moved nervously from foot to foot, scratching his black hair, rubbing his hands together.
“Come in! Come in!” Alexander smiled. He leaned forward. “You are Cleon? Memnon’s aide-de-camp?”
The young man nodded. “Yes, my lord,” he stammered.
“I was at the jakes, my stomach. .” He chewed the corner of his lip nervously. “I apologize.”
“Dysentery is no respecter of persons,” Alexander laughed. “Come on, sit down, but don’t drink the wine or eat the fruit.” He pushed the bread basket forward. “Take some of that and a little honey in water mixed with candle grease. It might not taste too pleasant but it will bind the bowels. Now you’ve got the ingredients.”
Cleon sat on the bench opposite Miriam and nodded.
“Well, come on, man,” Alexander declared. “Repeat it.”
Cleon did, his harsh Macedonian voice slightly stumbling as he listed the king’s own recipe for the cure of diarrhea. His reply caused a little laughter. The four officers relaxed. They picked up their cups and sipped. Hephaestion rose and closed the door, bringing down the bar.
“I won’t detain you long,” Alexander began. “My two good friends here, clerks and scribes Miriam and Simeon Bartimaeus, have my authority to continue this inquiry and question you closely.”
“A woman.” Miletus’s lip curled. “An Israelite?”
“Mother likes her,” Alexander replied.
Miletus’s face fell as he thought of Olympias.
“Good.” Alexander sipped from his own cup. “Outside, Thebes burns! It is no more. I left you along with Memnon and Lysander to hold this citadel and keep and eye on the city. You held the citadel but what happened to the city?” His face became grave. “Above all what happened to my commanders? Just what occurred while I was chasing barearsed Thessalians through the forest?”
The officer looked at Demetrius, apparently their leader. He slurped greedily from his goblet.
“I’m waiting,” Alexander snapped.
“It’s as you say, my lord.” Demetrius glowered down the table. Miriam recalled that among the Macedonians kingly rank and status was no defence against blunt speech.
“You went off chasing your Thessalians and we poor buggers were left in Thebes. Now, at first. . nah. .” He scratched his chin. “No, from the very beginning they hated us, though they didn’t move against us for weeks. Two of our lads went out to the brothels; they have not been seen since. After that, Memnon became more cautious. He allowed us to bring in stores and whores but he forbade any of us to leave the citadel. The Thebans responded; they built the stockade, sealing us in.”
“Even though we were at peace?” Hephaestion asked.
“The Thebans said it was for our own protection. Then the stockade was replaced by a stouter, higher one. You’ve seen the remains. Memnon and Lysander objected. After two weeks of siege, they went out to meet representatives of the Theban council.”
Alexander looked at Cleon. “Were you there?” he asked.
“Yes, Memnon, Lysander, and myself. Usually.” Cleon rubbed his stomach. “We kept well away from the palisade. Memnon even gave orders to shoot any who approached it since it was not unknown for the Thebans to try and jab a sword or spear through the slats.”
Miriam watched Simeon’s stylus racing over the smooth piece of papyrus, using a code only he could decipher.
“Anyway,” Cleon sighed, “it was a shouting match. Memnon and Lysander were in full armor. The Thebans jeered at them, asked if they were frightened. Memnon demanded to know why the palisade had been built. ‘For your own protection,’ the Thebans replied; then bricks were hurled over the palisade.”
“I’ve never seen our old commander move so fast,” Alcibiades lisped. “He and Lysander fair scurried back.”
“So would you, you wine-soaked fop!” Cleon shouted.
Alcibiades colored, his hand dropping to the dagger in his belt.
“That’s enough, boys,” Alexander murmured. “Then what happened?”
“Memnon became anxious, withdrawn,” Patroclus replied, his voice abrupt. He beat his knuckles on the table. “He met us all in here. He said that he didn’t like the mood of the Thebans. During the exchange of insults, the Thebans had. .”
“What?” Alexander asked impatiently.
“I was there,” Cleon blustered. “My lord king, the Thebans seemed to know all about us and the fortress, as if they had a spy, someone sending them secret messages.”
“What did they know?” Miriam asked before she could stop herself. The soldiers looked down the table at Alexander.
“I’d have asked the same question,” he said languidly.
“They knew everything,” Demetrius declared, “including about the two soldiers we’d recently lost; they’d slipped out under the cover of darkness but the Thebans had been waiting for them.”