A Murder in Thebes (Alexander the Great 2) by Paul Doherty Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paul Doherty
always smiling. The languid way he walked, the rather girlish
movement he deliberately cultivated were no different now. He patted the dog and got to his feet, adjusting the green-edged
robe thrown over his shoulder.
“My lord king.” He bowed.
“What are you doing here Hecaetus?” Miriam asked.
“Why Miriam, the same as you, searching out my lord’s enemies.” He pushed his head forward. “I was told you were in council,
my lord, and were not to be disturbed.” He sighed. “So I came up here and” . . . He gestured at the dog who had now risen,
brushing against him. “I thought I would make acquaintance with Hercules. Isn’t it a pity that animals can’t talk?”
Alexander walked into the room. He stretched out his hand and the dog approached and licked his fingers. The rest fanned out
around him in this austere gray-stone chamber.
“He’s friendly enough,” Alexander observed.
“He always is,” Cleon declared. “He wouldn’t hurt a child.”
“But he protected Memnon?” Miriam asked.
Cleon nodded. “If he thought Memnon was under attack, if you raised your voice or made any threatening gesture, Hercules would
change.”
Miriam crouched down. The great war dog was a beautiful animal: iron-gray fur, lean body, long legs. She patted him, feeling
the muscle ripple under the smooth soft skin. The hair around his neck was bunched and more coarse, the head perfectly formed.
She noticed the powerful jaws. The dog now started licking at her so vigorously that she got to her feet, wiping her cheek
with the back of her hand. Alexander laughed and stared around the chamber.
“It’s not much, is it?”
Miriam had to agree. A truckle bed in the corner, a chest at the foot of the bed, a large table with a camp chair before it.
Some shelves bearing cups and pots, pegs driven into the wall on which to hang belts, armor, and cloaks. In one corner a statue
of Aphrodite, small, perfectly carved. Alexander pointed at it.
“Memnon stole that from a house. He called it his good-luck charm.”
Followed by Miriam he went across to the window, nothing more than a wooden square. The shutters had been pulled back. Miriam
leaned over and looked down into the cobbled courtyard below. She studied the rough gray-stone walls, the plaster ceiling,
the heavy reinforced door. There was no secret passageway into this room.
“What’s above this?” she asked.
“An empty garret, a storeroom,” Demetrius explained. “Memnon kept it locked. He hated anyone going in there.”
“Why?”
“Oh, it’s empty enough,” Cleon replied. “It was a personal foible. Memnon once fought as a mercenary and had to hide in a
cellar. He couldn’t stand hearing footsteps above him, it brought back memories.”
“He often told us the tale,” Alcibiades drawled. “He would send us up to check that it was empty, no rat droppings on the
floor. It’s nothing more than a dingy loft.”
“How did he die?” Hecaetus wondered.
“It must have been suicide,” Alexander declared. He went across the room and tapped the great bolt on the door. “How did you
get in? I mean, this has not been forced!”
“Memnon’s corpse was found just after dawn,” Demetrius explained. “We came up here; well, you’ve seen the door—it would take
a siege to batter it down. So we went up to the tower, tied a rope around one of the battlements and lowered down one of the
Cretans, an archer. The shutters were open; he slipped into the room. It’s almost as you find it now: the bolts were drawn,
the key turned in the lock. Hercules was lying on the floor asleep. We gave the archer some meat so the dog proved to be no
trouble. He pulled back the bolts, turned the key, and we came in.”
“What about his papers?” Miriam asked. “As commander of the Cadmea, he must have kept records?”
“I seized them immediately,” Demetrius explained. He went across to the chest, opened it, and took out a roll of
movement he deliberately cultivated were no different now. He patted the dog and got to his feet, adjusting the green-edged
robe thrown over his shoulder.
“My lord king.” He bowed.
“What are you doing here Hecaetus?” Miriam asked.
“Why Miriam, the same as you, searching out my lord’s enemies.” He pushed his head forward. “I was told you were in council,
my lord, and were not to be disturbed.” He sighed. “So I came up here and” . . . He gestured at the dog who had now risen,
brushing against him. “I thought I would make acquaintance with Hercules. Isn’t it a pity that animals can’t talk?”
Alexander walked into the room. He stretched out his hand and the dog approached and licked his fingers. The rest fanned out
around him in this austere gray-stone chamber.
“He’s friendly enough,” Alexander observed.
“He always is,” Cleon declared. “He wouldn’t hurt a child.”
“But he protected Memnon?” Miriam asked.
Cleon nodded. “If he thought Memnon was under attack, if you raised your voice or made any threatening gesture, Hercules would
change.”
Miriam crouched down. The great war dog was a beautiful animal: iron-gray fur, lean body, long legs. She patted him, feeling
the muscle ripple under the smooth soft skin. The hair around his neck was bunched and more coarse, the head perfectly formed.
She noticed the powerful jaws. The dog now started licking at her so vigorously that she got to her feet, wiping her cheek
with the back of her hand. Alexander laughed and stared around the chamber.
“It’s not much, is it?”
Miriam had to agree. A truckle bed in the corner, a chest at the foot of the bed, a large table with a camp chair before it.
Some shelves bearing cups and pots, pegs driven into the wall on which to hang belts, armor, and cloaks. In one corner a statue
of Aphrodite, small, perfectly carved. Alexander pointed at it.
“Memnon stole that from a house. He called it his good-luck charm.”
Followed by Miriam he went across to the window, nothing more than a wooden square. The shutters had been pulled back. Miriam
leaned over and looked down into the cobbled courtyard below. She studied the rough gray-stone walls, the plaster ceiling,
the heavy reinforced door. There was no secret passageway into this room.
“What’s above this?” she asked.
“An empty garret, a storeroom,” Demetrius explained. “Memnon kept it locked. He hated anyone going in there.”
“Why?”
“Oh, it’s empty enough,” Cleon replied. “It was a personal foible. Memnon once fought as a mercenary and had to hide in a
cellar. He couldn’t stand hearing footsteps above him, it brought back memories.”
“He often told us the tale,” Alcibiades drawled. “He would send us up to check that it was empty, no rat droppings on the
floor. It’s nothing more than a dingy loft.”
“How did he die?” Hecaetus wondered.
“It must have been suicide,” Alexander declared. He went across the room and tapped the great bolt on the door. “How did you
get in? I mean, this has not been forced!”
“Memnon’s corpse was found just after dawn,” Demetrius explained. “We came up here; well, you’ve seen the door—it would take
a siege to batter it down. So we went up to the tower, tied a rope around one of the battlements and lowered down one of the
Cretans, an archer. The shutters were open; he slipped into the room. It’s almost as you find it now: the bolts were drawn,
the key turned in the lock. Hercules was lying on the floor asleep. We gave the archer some meat so the dog proved to be no
trouble. He pulled back the bolts, turned the key, and we came in.”
“What about his papers?” Miriam asked. “As commander of the Cadmea, he must have kept records?”
“I seized them immediately,” Demetrius explained. He went across to the chest, opened it, and took out a roll of