Free A Murder in Thebes (Alexander the Great 2) by Paul Doherty Page A

was
     different.
    “And Cleon?” she asked.
    “Oh, he was fair enough Memnon’s man. He protected his captain like an old woman would her solitary chicken.”
    “And the night Memnon died?”
    “No one knew about it,” Castor replied. “Not till first light and the poor bugger’s body was found at the foot of the tower.
     I think Patroclus was on guard. Cleon was furious. They had a meeting here in the hall, Patroclus swore he heard nothing from
     the captain’s chamber.”
    “Why do think Memnon died?” Miriam asked.
    “He was lonely,” Castor replied. “He thought there was a traitor among his officers. It was common gossip. To be blunt, mistress,
     everyone was terrified! They thought the Thebans were going to attack, break in, and crucify us as they did poor Lysander.”
    Miriam pushed two coins down the table.
    “And do you know who the traitor was?”
    “It couldn’t have been Cleon or Memnon.”
    “Why is that?” Miriam asked the younger one.
    “One night Cleon was in his captain’s chamber. I came up with some wine and a bowl of fruit. There were voices raised.”
    “And what was said?”
    “Cleon was talking to his captain. He agreed there was a traitor in the garrison. Cleon was terrified that this traitor would
     open the gates and allow the Thebans in. He was begging Memnon to double the guard, which the captain did. Anyone who went
     near the gate at night would have had an arrow in his gullet. And then Cleon said ‘If theybreak in, sir, you’ll not let them take me alive? You’ll kill me won’t you?’ Memnon scoffed, but Cleon insisted. I paused
     on the stairway. I love hearing conversations. Cleon asked Memnon if he had his suspicions about who was the traitor? Memnon
     said. ‘Whoever it is must be an archer, that’s right!’ Cleon asked why. Memnon replied that he had been on top of the tower
     late one night and had seen a fire arrow shot from the yard below. It went across the palisade. I thought I had heard enough,”
     he stammered, “so I brought in the wine.”
    “But you left hurriedly?” Miriam asked.
    “They closed the door,” the page replied cheekily.
    “But you listened at the keyhole?”
    “Memnon begged Cleon to discover who the spy was. Cleon agreed, though he said something strange. . . .” The page looked at
     the small pile of coins near Miriam’s elbow. She pushed two across the table.
    “Go on,” she said.
    “Cleon said that if the assassin struck, he’d strike at Memnon. Cleon thought that the Thebans hoped Memnon would join Lysander;
     they then would have killed the two principal officers, and the garrison would have surrendered. Memnon agreed. Cleon told
     him to bar and bolt the door and to stay well armed. ‘They’ll try to kill you here,’ Cleon warned. Memnon pointed to that
     bloody dog he kept.”
    “Where is he now?” Miriam interrupted.
    “Oh, he’s been taken into the camp by that other bum boy, the one with dyed hair.”
    “Ah, Hecaetus.”
    “Yes, that’s right, Hecaetus. Anyway Memnon pointed at that great bloody mastiff and said he would take care of any assassin.”
    “What else do you know?”
    Both boys shrugged.
    Pollux looked toward the window, where the light was beginning to fade.
    “We’ll be going now.”
    “Where?” Miriam asked.
    “Back to the camp; that’s where the best food and wine are kept.”
    The pages pushed back the bench, grabbed the coins, and scampered out.
    Miriam sat until she heard their voices fade. She sighed and, taking her writing satchel, walked out into the corridor. Now
     that darkness was falling, she realized what a gloomy, somber place the citadel was. She put her hand out and felt the cold
     granite walls. It wouldn’t remain long. When Alexander left, this place would be destroyed. She took a pitch torch from its
     bracket and climbed the steep, spiral staircase. The tower seemed deserted, a ghostly hollow place. She paused on the stairwell
     and peeked into the chambers.