A Murder in Thebes (Alexander the Great 2) Read online

  A MURDER IN THEBES

  PAUL DOHERTY

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prophecy of Doom. . .

  List of Historical Characters

  Historical Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Copyright © 1998 Paul Doherty

  The right of Paul Doherty to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2013

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN: 978-0-7553-9573-6

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  To Jean and Rick Hewett,

  great parents with a love for Greece

  PROPHECY OF DOOM. . .

  “My lord king you’d best come now.”

  “What is it?” Alexander slurred.

  “Three guards have been killed.”

  All drunkenness seemed to disappear. The king sprang to his feet, snapping his fingers for the others to join him. A cart stood outside the royal tent. Three corpses, foot soldiers, sprawled there splattered with blood. Alexander took a pitch torch from one of the escorts and moved closer. The side of each man’s head looked as if it had been smashed in by some war ax or club.

  “The men were out on picket duty,” the captain explained. “I found one of the shields, then the corpses, as well as this!”

  Alexander took the small scroll and handed it to Miriam.

  “Doomed,” she read aloud. “Oh, lost and damned! This is my last and only word to you. Forever!”

  LIST OF HISTORICAL CHARACTERS

  PHILIP OF MACEDON: king; murdered in 336 B.C.

  OLYMPIAS: his widow and queen; Alexander’s regent in Macedon

  ALEXANDER: son of Olympias; later Alexander the Great

  PTOLEMY, NIARCHOS, HEPHAESTION: Alexander’s companions

  ARISTANDER: Olympias’s sorcerer; later in the service of Alexander

  DEMOSTHENES: Athenian orator; leader of the anti-Macedon faction

  DARIUS III: new king of Persia; Alexander’s great opponent

  ARISTOPHANES: playwright

  ARISTOTLE: Philosopher; tutor to Alexander

  SOPHOCLES: playwright; author of the Oedipus cycle of three plays

  SOCRATES: Athenian philosopher

  ALCIBIADES: pupil of Socrates; later general of Athenian forces

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  IN 336 B.C., Persia, ruled by Darius III, was a world power. Its only rivals were the Greek city-states led by Athens, Thebes, Sparta, and Corinth. They, in turn, were becoming alarmed by the increasing military power of Philip of Macedon, who had forced his will upon them. In 336 B.C., Philip was brutally murdered. Both Persia and Greece thought this would mark the end of Macedon’s Power. Alexander, Philip’s son, soon proved them wrong. He left his mother Olympias as regent of Pella and, in a brilliant show of force, brought the Greek city-states into line. He was given the title of captain-general, and he formed the League of Corinth against Persia.

  Alexander, who had dreamed of marching in glory through Persopolis, still had to make sure that all of Greece acknowledged him. He marched into the wild mountain region of Thessaly intent on bringing its tribes under submission. While he was gone, rumors began to circulate in Greece that Alexander and his army were no more and that Queen Olympias had succumbed to a successful coup in Pella. The Thebans rose in revolt, besieging the small garrison Alexander had left in their citadel, the Cadmea. The Thebans, however, were soon proved wrong. Alexander hurried back, leading his bedraggled army, to show all Greece that he would brook no opposition.

  THE OEDIPUS LEGEND

  Oedipus is a figure from Greek mythology. The son of king Laius and Queen Jocasta, when Oedipus was a child his foot was pierced and he was abandoned, at the behest of his father, because of a warning from the gods that he would kill his father and marry his mother. Unbeknownst to his parents, Oedipus was rescued by a shepherd. He grew to manhood and returned to Thebes to find his parents: by accident, he killed Laius and married Jocasta, and though unaware that these were his parents, he incurred the wrath of the gods. When their identities were revealed, Jocasta committed suicide, and Oedipus, blinded, wandered Greece, a man cursed by the gods and man. Sophocles, the playwright, wrote three brilliant plays—a trilogy that had a profound effect upon Alexander and the world he lived in—based on this legend.

  CHAPTER 1

  THEBES AUTUMN 332 B.C.

  “YE SHALL BEHOLD a sight even your enemy must pity.”

  “A quote from the Iliad, my lord?”

  Alexander King of Macedon didn’t bother to turn but stared out across the dusty plain toward the soaring gray wall of Thebes. He was studying the Electra Gate, one of the seven great entrances to Thebes. Beyond this rose the Cadmea, the fortified citadel of the city where his men—leaderless, trapped, and besieged—could only look on helplessly at the drama unfurling below. Alexander clawed at his hair. Usually it was styled, cut by his barber so as to imitate the busts and statues of the gods, curled and oiled to cluster round his forehead and fall in layers to the nape of his neck. Now it was dirty, dusty, and far too long. Alexander lowered his hand.

  “If mother sees me, she’ll moan,” he murmured. He shielded his eyes against the light. The Theban army had now deployed in front of the walls: phalanx after phalanx of heavily armed hoplites. In the wings stood the cavalry, their conspicuous blue cloaks ruffling in the strong winds.

  “Look.” He pointed. “In the center is the Sacred Band, the cream of the Theban infantry if we break them?” He paused. “What will it matter? The Thebans will simply retreat behind their gates and the siege will continue.” He stared back over his shoulder to where his own Macedonians were now deploying for battle. The foot companions in the center, his own cavalry, were held back. Alexander would wait to decide how to deploy those.

  “We’ll have battle within the hour,” Alexander declared. He looked at the man who had spoken, Timeon, leader of the Athenian delegation to the Macedonian camp outside Thebes. “I thought you’d recognize the quotation.” Alexander’s weather-beaten face creased into a smile, his different-colored eyes crinkling in amusement. “That’s not the Iliad! It’s a quotation from Sophocles’ Oedipus!”

  Alexander strode down the hill, his captains and generals gathering behind him. He paused and stared up at the sky. There was really nothing to see. The clouds had broken, the previous night’s storm had ended. Alexander was copying his father. Philip had known all the tricks for keeping people guessing as he acted the role of a preoccupied commander. In fact Ale
xander didn’t have a clue as to how the coming battle should be fought. The Thebans would stay in their positions; his infantry would attack. He would try the usual feint—go for the center, then suddenly switch, sending his crack troops into the enemy’s right or left flank, thereby trying to roll up the enemy like a piece of string. He’d force them back, but then what? The Electra Gates would open, the Thebans would retreat, and the bloody siege would continue.

  “I’m hungry,” Alexander declared. He rested his hands on the shoulders of two of his commanders, tall Hephaestion and Perdiccas. Hephaestion’s eyes glowed with pleasure at being touched by a man who was both his lover and his king. Perdiccas, short, wiry, dark-faced, and black-haired as a Cretan, wondered what trickery Alexander was up to.

  “We’ll break our fast,” Alexander declared. He pulled his purple cloak around him and flicked the long hair from his face, a girlish flirtatious movement. “We have the best of stages, gentlemen; the play we are going to present will be witnessed by all of Greece.”

  Alexander pursed his lips in satisfaction. He liked such lines; his scribes and clerks were taking them down. They would be passed from mouth to mouth: dramatic words before a fateful battle!

  I should have been a playwright, Alexander thought. He walked back through the ranks, nodding and smiling at the men standing at ease, their weapons piled before them.

  “Will we fight today, my lord?” one of them shouted.

  “We fight every day,” Alexander replied. “We are Macedonians.” He stopped. “That’s old Clearchus, isn’t it?”

  The guard who had spoken shuffled his feet in pleasure. Alexander shook his finger at him.

  “That’s your problem Clearchus—too much fighting, too little loving. It’s time I got you a wife and you settled down.”

  Alexander moved on, smiling at the ripples of laughter his retort had caused. The men on either side formed a wall of armored flesh. Alexander continued smiling even though he noticed how thin his soldiers were, how dusty and tired. They had marched hundreds of miles in a few weeks, pouring down from the mountains of Thessaly to confront this great danger to his new rule. If we fight, Alexander wondered, are we going to win? Are the men too tired? He passed the horse lines. The ribcages of many of the cavalry mounts were visible, their coats mangy and dull. The baggage carts lay about, the wood was splintered, the wheels cracked. The tents were rain-soaked, weather-beaten, and a hand-picked group of archers guarded their precious stores of food. Alexander snapped his fingers, indicating for his companions to disperse.

  “If the Thebans begin to move,” he declared, “tell me.”

  Once inside his tent Alexander let the flap fall and sighed, his shoulders sagging. He took off the leather corselet, threw it on the ground, and slumped down onto a camp stool.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Alexander looked up startled. Two figures sat on cushions at the far end of the tent. Alexander peered through the gloom; one of the figures moved: a woman, rather tall and wiry with a clever pointed face, her oiled hair bound with a fillet. She picked up a cushion, came and knelt beside Alexander.

  “What’s the matter?” She put a hand on his knee, her fingers pressing the leather kilt. “Alexander, are you ill?”

  The king raised his head and grinned at Miriam.

  “I had forgotten I had invited you here. . . . I am sorry, Simeon.” He gestured at the man still squatting on the cushions. “Come closer.”

  The man joined his sister. Alexander stared at them. The two Israelites, Miriam and Simeon Bartimaeus, childhood companions who had joined him in the groves of Midas where his father, Philip, had sent him to be educated by the foppish, brilliant Aristotle. Simeon was slightly shorter than his sister, more closed-faced. Miriam, if she hadn’t look so sharp, would have been pretty, with her large, lustrous eyes and slender nose, but that determined mouth would put many a man off. She showed a steely determination; this reminded Alexander of his mother, Olympias, now busy ruling in Pella and slaughtering any opposition. He sighed and ruffled his hair.

  “I thought I was alone. My men are tired, exhausted, and now we face a crack infantry that, at a moment’s notice, can scuttle behind thickset walls.” He grasped Miriam’s hand and squeezed it. “Tell me again, Miriam, how this happened! Read the draft of that proclamation I am going to issue.”

  Miriam leaned back on her heels, head slightly to one side. Alexander was gray with exhaustion. Like all of them, he had hardly bathed or changed. They had been campaigning in the mountains of Thessaly, mandating that the savage tribes accept Alexander’s rule. News had come, seeping through like a breeze in the forest, rumors from Greece, that a revolt in the Macedonian capital of Pella against Alexander’s mother had been successful. That Alexander himself had been killed, his Macedonian army annihilated. That the League of Corinth, that confederation of Greek cities forced by Alexander to accept his lordship, were plotting revolt, taking gold from the Persian King Darius. Alexander raised his head.

  “What are you waiting for, Miriam?”

  “If you win the battle,” she answered tartly, “there’ll be no need for a proclamation. All of Greece will know that you are still alive, that you are king and that you are ever victorious.”

  Alexander stared at this sharp-spoken young woman. “And if we lose the battle?”

  Miriam smiled slightly, “Proclamations will be the last thing on our minds.”

  Alexander threw his head back and laughed.

  “Some wine,” he murmured. “Three cups, two-thirds water.” Simeon got up, filled the goblets, and brought them back on a tray. The king took one and handed it to Miriam. He waited until Simeon sat down and took his and then toasted them quietly.

  “Father has been dead twelve months,” he murmured. “I have troops in Persia and I have taught the Thessalians a lesson they’ll never forget. Now I return to find trouble in my own garden.”

  “It’s only Thebes,” Simeon murmured.

  “It’s only Thebes,” Alexander mimicked. He jabbed a finger at the entrance to the tent. “Out there, my dear Simeon, throng the delegates from every city in Greece. In their wallets jingle the golden darics of Persia; Thebes’ revolt is serious. It’s thrown off my rule, killed my officers.” Alexander’s face grew hard. “That’s what I wanted to see you about. It’s blockaded my garrison in the fortress of the Cadmea. Now they shout defiance from the walls. If I don’t teach the Thebans a lesson, then by this time next week Athens, Corinth, Argos, will all be in revolt, the fires of rebellion breaking out all over Greece.”

  “Thebes will be defeated,” Miriam declared.

  Alexander shook his fist and stared above their heads as if talking to someone else.

  “I’ll not leave one stone upon another,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes half closed. “I’ll teach Greece a lesson it will never forget.” He blinked and lowered his fist. “Simeon, you’ve sent my orders out to the commanders?”

  “If the city is taken,” Simeon repeated Alexander’s stark commands, “every house is to be leveled and plunder taken; fighting men will be killed, women, children, and the aged taken to the slave pens. Only the house of Pindar the poet will be spared.”

  “And the temples?” Alexander asked. “You told them about the temples?”

  “You know I did,” Simeon replied crossly. “No temple is to be entered, no priest or priestess violated!”

  “Especially?”

  “Especially,” Simeon continued, “the small shrine of Oedipus in the Archon quarter.”

  “Why is that?” Miriam asked.

  “It is a very small and ancient temple,” Alexander explained. “It stands in its own olive groves. Father took me there once on a visit to Thebes; it is built out of white marble in a sea of quiet greenness.” Alexander closed his eyes. “The path up to it is a dusty chalk. I remember holding father’s hand. You turn a corner and the shrine’s there: white columns, crumbling steps leading up to a porticoed entrance. The doors are of Lebanese w
ood reinforced with brass studs. Inside there is a small vestibule; the walls are white and there is a black marble floor. Yes, yes.” Alexander’s face was like a boy’s flushed with excitement. “On the right is a small shrine to the god Apollo. Yes.” Alexander opened his eyes. “And on the left. . . .” His eyes were bright. Miriam felt a pang: Alexander was going back to his childhood, when the father he’d adored deigned to show him some love and affection. Cunning, one-eyed Philip with his lame leg and his gruff manner that was interspersed by moments of brilliant charm. Philip could treat an individual as if he or she were the only person in the world. Great Philip, Warrior King, cruelly slain by one of his own bodyguards.

  “To the left,” Alexander continued, “is a statue of Oedipus. He was King of Thebes.” He explained, “Oedipus can mean lame foot. As a child Oedipus was abandoned by his parents, King Laius and Queen Jocasta. He was raised by shepherds.” He waved his hands. “You know the story from Sophocles’ three brilliant plays. Oedipus grew to manhood. He later killed his own father, married his own mother, and the gods turned against him.” Alexander paused as he picked at the leather kilt, studying one of the brass embossments that had worked loose.

  Miriam held her breath. She knew the story, the legend of Oedipus. In many ways it might also be the story of Alexander. People accused Alexander of having had a hand in his father’s murder, and they maintained that the relationship between Alexander and his mother, Olympias, bordered on the unnatural. Both were blasphemous lies. Alexander had been innocent of Philip’s death. Miriam knew the full truth behind it. And as for Olympias, no one was more wary of his mother than Alexander. Privately he called her Medea, deeply concerned as he was by her lust for blood, her practice of secret rites, and her constant demands that her authority and status be enhanced.

  “You were talking about the shrine?” Simeon broke in.