“And you?” Alexander asked.
“I agreed with my commander,” Demetrius retorted. “Old Memnon was right; there’s a spy in the Cadmea.” He gazed bleakly round the table.
“And, as far as I am concerned, he’s still here!”
CHAPTER 3
Demetrius’s remarks caused consternation; his fellow officers had been taken unawares.
“If you have suspicions,” Patroclus snapped, “name them!”
“He tells the truth.” Cleon spoke up. His voice was so loud that it calmed the dissension. Cleon’s eyes filled with tears. “Memnon believed this. He claimed the Thebans had a spy in the citadel.”
“Did he say who?” Alexander asked.
“No.” Cleon shook his head. “He never openly voiced his suspicions.” He smiled. “Well, my lord king, you know Memnon. If he spoke three sentences it was surprising.”
“Old Memnon was as thrifty with his words as a miser is with gold,” Alexander agreed. “But continue, Cleon.”
“Memnon spoke to me on a number of occasions. They were more grunts than speeches. The Thebans know too much,” he declared. “They know about our stores, our men!”
“If there was a spy,” Miriam broke in, “how on earth would he communicate with the enemy?”
The patronizing smile that spread across Demetrius’s face told her she had made a mistake.
“An arrow fired at night,” Cleon kindly explained. “A message wrapped around the shaft. It could be easily done. There are parts of the citadel where an archer could loose and not be seen. The arrow would clear the stockade.” He shrugged. “And the Thebans would know everything.”
“I’m confused.” Miriam smiled apologetically. She brought her hands together.
“You were besieged in the citadel?”
“Yes!”
“For how long?”
“About two months, until news of Macedon’s advance ended all rumors.”
“So,” Miriam thanked Demetrius with her eyes, “during that time, the spy must have acted secretly.”
“Of course!”
“But, by then, the damage was done surely? The rumors had begun, the Thebans were in revolt.”
“Ah, I see.” Demetrius scratched his head. “Yes, before the siege began, we had about six to eight weeks of relative freedom.”
“Ah yes, my supposed death.” Alexander asked, “The rumors about a catastrophe in Thessaly-these changed everything?”
“The Thebans became more arrogant.” Demetrius rubbed his face. “Crowds would stand by the stockade. They’d jeer, shout, throw bricks. One day a herald approached under flag of truce. Memnon went upon to the gatehouse and asked what he wanted. The herald said that news had come to Thebes. That you, my lord king, had been trapped in a gully in the mountains of Thessaly. That you, Hephaestion, Perdiccas had all been killed. That the army was routed during a revolt in Pella.”
“But surely,” Hephaestion broke in, “you must have thought he was bluffing?”
“Memnon said as much,” Cleon replied. He stared around at his companions. “You were all there. Memnon started laughing. The herald went away and Memnon held a meeting here.”
“He wasn’t laughing, then.” Melitus spoke up, his fat jowls quivering. “You see, my lord king, how did the Thebans know that Hephaestion and Perdiccas were with you? How did they know that your mother was ruler of Pella?”
“Continue.” Alexander now cupped his face in his hands, his eyes half closed.
“The following day,” Demetrius continued, “the herald returned; he brought a Thessalian with him who described, in great detail, your death and defeat. The herald was more courteous. He pointed out that if you were dead and the Macedonian army defeated, the League of Corinth was dissolved. Thebes could withdraw its loyalty and we should leave the citadel.” He paused and Stared at Cleon.
“From that moment,” the aide-de-camp continued the story, “Captain Memnon became depressed, more withdrawn than ever. He stayed in his chamber drinking, talking to Hercules.”
Simeon raised his head. “Hercules?”
“His great hunting mastiff. He adored Memnon. Where the captain went, Hercules always followed. If Hercules didn’t like someone, they wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the captain.”
“Lysander took over most of Memnon’s duties,” Demetrius explained.
“He said that we should accept the Theban’s offer to negotiate, to try and establish what was really happening. Memnon agreed; he sent Lysander out alone.”
“That’s not true,” Patroclus interrupted. He pointed at Cleon.
“You offered to go?” Miriam asked.
Cleon nodded. “But Memnon would have nothing to do with it. You see. .” He looked questioningly at her. “Miriam?”
She replied, “My name is Miriam Bartimaeus.”
Cleon bowed deferentially. “My lady, my father is Macedonian but my mother is Theban. Her family always supported my lord king; twenty years ago my parents were murdered on a visit to Thebes. Our whole family was marked for destruction because of its loyalty to King Philip.”
“So Memnon ruled against you going out?” Miriam asked.
“Yes, he did.” Demetrius picked up the wine jug and filled his goblet. “We were all concerned. However, the herald returned under a flag of truce. He was accompanied by the high priestess from the shrine of Apollo, which houses the Crown of Oedipus. What was her name?” he asked. “Ah yes, Jocasta. She came dressed in her oil-soaked wig, her face painted white, black rings of kohl under her eyes. She gave solemn and sacred promises that Lysander would be treated properly.”
“But he wasn’t.” Alexander took up the story.
“No, my lord! He was barely beyond the palisade when the Thebans closed in. From the gatehouse and tower you could see their dagger-work. Two hours later they put up a cross near the stockade; Lysander’s corpse was nailed to it.”
“But the priestess?” Miriam asked.
“She objected,” Demetrius replied. “I believe she spoke the truth. When Lysander was gibbeted, she came forward, her hands extended. She swore by heaven and earth that what the Thebans had done was blasphemous and sacrilegious and that she had had no part in it.”
“Memnon grew worse.” Cleon got to his feet. He took out his dagger and placed it on the table. “Whenever I went into his chamber, . ” He sat down again, “. . Memnon grasped his dagger like this, pulling it out. He believed the spy was one of his officers-indeed, that they were all plotting against him.”
“He’d lost his wits,” Alcibiades drawled. “My lord king, we are Macedonians. I fought at Chaeronea. I would rather die than betray my lord and my companions.”
A growl of approval greeted his words.
“True, true.” Alexander forced a smile. “But there is still a spy here. You say you are Macedonian.” He rubbed his hands together. “But, with the exception of Cleon, all of you have been garrisoned in Thebes for some considerable time. Before I left, before the citadel was besieged, you were allowed to walk through Theban streets, drinking Theban wine, lying with Theban women.”
“You have no proof,” Demetrius spoke up hotly, “of treason!”
“I will get it!” Alexander snapped. “My two good clerks here, the Israelites, they will dig it out. We were talking about Memnon?”
“He stayed in his chamber,” Cleon declared. “He did not wash or shave. He was constantly dressed for battle, Hercules beside him. And then, ten days ago, his body was found at the foot of the tower. He’d either fallen, been pushed, or jumped from his chamber.”
“Why should Memnon commit suicide?” Miriam asked. “Yes, yes, I know his wits may have been disturbed but he was a soldier.”
“Was it murder?” Alexander asked.
“How could it be?” Demetrius cried. “Melitus here was on guard outside his chamber.”
“Is that right?” Alexander asked.
Melitus nodded. “It must have been suicide,” he replied thickly. “The door was bolted and locked on the inside. He had Hercules to guard him. I never heard any sound from the room, nor did Patroclus who took over from me just after midnight. The next morning his corpse was found at the foot of the tower.”