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

her. She collected her writing satchel from the groom she had
     left it with and made her way back to the tent she shared with Simeon.
    The camp was noisy, fires glowing in every direction. Soldiers staggered about, but officers dressed in full armor and horsehair-plumed
     helmets, kept good order with stout ash canes. Soldiers lurched up from the campfires and staggered toward her. When they
     recognized who she was, they mumbled apologies and slipped quietly away. The camp followers were doing a roaring trade in
     different tents and bothies and she could hear the hasty, noisy sound of lovemaking. Somewhere soldiers were singing a raucous
     song. From another place she heard the piping tunes of flutes. Horse neighed. Servants hurried through with bundles on their
     backs. Miriam looked up. The sky was clear, the stars more distant than in the hills of Macedon. She recalled Alexander’s
     words. He would never go back there. She wondered about his boast to march to the ends of the earth. Sometimes Alexander,
     in his cups, would talk of leading his troops to the rim of the world, of creating an empire dominated by Greece that would
     make the world gasp in surprise. He wants to be greater than Philip, she thought; he wants to outshine him in every way.
    She pulled back the flap of her tent and went in. Someone had lit the oil lamp on the table; it still glowed weakly. She picked
     up the scrap of parchment lying beside it. She made out the letters in the poor light.
    “Doomed, oh lost and damned! This is my last and only word to you for ever!”
    Miriam’s heart quickened. She fought hard to control her trembling. She recognized the quotation from Sophoclesand recalled the mysterious intruder outside that lonely chamber in the Cadmea. She was being warned, and if Simeon hadn’t
     come? She sat down on the thin mattress that served as a bed.
    “Miriam.” She started. Hecaetus poked his head through the tent flap, smiling sweetly at her like a suitor come to pay court.
    “You shouldn’t crawl around at night, Hecaetus. It doesn’t suit you!” she snapped.
    “May I come in? I have a visitor.”
    “I can’t very well stop you.”
    Hecaetus entered. He pulled his great cloak more tightly.
    “It’s so cold,” he moaned. “Why doesn’t Alexander march somewhere warm, where the sun always shines. By the gods, where is
     he?” He went back and pulled up the tent flap. “Come on man,” he said pettishly, “the lady’s tired and I’m for my bed.”
    The man who lumbered in was small and thickset; a scrawny mustache and beard hid the lower part of his face. His hair was unkempt
     and oil-streaked. He moved awkwardly, nervously staring around the tent.
    “This is Simothaeus.” Hecaetus made the man sit. “He’s a soldier, served under Memnon. Come on. Do you want some wine?” Hecaetus
     spoke to the man like some disapproving aunt. The man shook his head, eyes fixed on Miriam. She smiled and he grimaced in
     a show of broken teeth. Hecaetus sat between them and patted the man’s bony knee.
    “Simothaeus likes drinking, and he’s been rejoicing at his king’s victory. Do you want some wine, Miriam?”
    “I drank enough in the king’s tent.”
    “Yes, I’m sure you did.” Hecaetus’s womanish face became petulant. “Always the servant, never the guest.” Hewaved his hand foppishly. “Alexander needs me but never invites me to drink with him.”
    “He knows you are a skilled hand at poisons.”
    Hecaetus, eyes crinkled in amusement, wagged a finger. “You are very naughty, Miriam; I only remove the king’s enemies.”
    “Or those who get in your way. Do I get in your way, Hecaetus?”
    “I am the king’s searcher-out of secrets,” Hecaetus replied defensively. “But no, my dear, I like you. I’ve watched those
     eyes of yours, sharp and shrewd. You mean me no ill. You don’t mock me like the others do.”
    “And your friend Simothaeus?” Miriam asked.
    “Well I’ve spent the day . .