A Murder in Thebes (Alexander the Great 2) Read Online Free
Author: Paul Doherty
knew Alexander would be in the center, marching with his companions like any common foot soldier. The tactics employed
by both sides were the same as those used at any battle between Greek states: phalanxes of footman against phalanxes of footmen.
The two sides were supposed to clash, savage hand-to-hand fighting would ensue. One side would waver and flee the field, yet
Miriam knew that this would be different. Alexander had taken the military manuals and torn them up. She had seen that in
Thessaly: where foot soldiers were not supposed to go, Alexander would take them. Tactics that would horrify any other commander
were used at a moment’s notice. Surpriseand cunning were no strangers to Alexander but here in the open, in this great dusty plain before Thebes? Miriam watched,
grasping her brother so tightly that he winced as her nails dug into his wrist.
“You are hurting me, Miriam!”
“Wait,” she said. “Something is about to happen.”
The Theban line had also begun to move—marching toward the Macedonians to break their impetus before they charged. Abruptly
the Macedonian line changed. Trumpets rang out, banners rose and dipped. The Macedonian army began to turn on its axis. Instead
of meeting the Thebans head-on, they were now moving toward the Thebans’ right flank. At the same time the Macedonian line
began to lengthen.
“They are going to outflank them,” Simeon explained. “They are going to push the Thebans back on each other. Roll the line
up.”
Confusion had broken out among the Thebans. They were unused to this. In warfare, line was supposed to meet line, not shift
and turn. The Theban ranks became staggered. Miriam spied gaps, then the armies clashed. Great clouds of dust rose. The sound
of trumpets and war horns was broken by faint screams and shouts.
“Can you see what’s happening?” she shouted.
A sharp-eyed ostler was peering through the dust.
“Some of the Thebans are breaking!” he shouted. “They are fleeing back to the postern gate. It’s been left open and undefended.”
CHAPTER 2
I N T HE C ADMEA , the great gray stone citadel that overlooked the city of Thebes, the spy and assassin whom Hecaetus called the Oracle pulled
a military cloak about his shoulders setting the hood firmly around his face. He tapped the hilt of the sword he had taken
from the armory and hurried up the steps onto the curtain wall overlooking the city. Other members of the garrison were assembled
there, shouting and gesticulating. The spy gazed down the rocky escarpment. The great palisade built by the Thebans so as
to hem them in was now deserted. The sound of hideous battle came from the city.
“Alexander has broken in!” a voice shouted. “The king is here!”
Discussion and debate broke out. Should the garrison help or stay in the citadel? There was no Memnon or Lysander to impose
order. The spy smiled to himself; that was his doing. What did it matter if Thebes fell? He looked down at the courtyard where
the rest of the garrison wasmilling about. Some were dressed in half-armor, others totally unprepared.
“I can see plumes of smoke!” someone shouted. “They are setting fire to the houses!”
The Oracle stared across at the great high tower of the citadel, which housed the officer’s chambers. The windows were all
shuttered, a grim, stark place though one where good work had been done. Darius III in Persepolis would be pleased, and the
Persian bankers in Argos and Corinth would put aside more silver and gold. He could play this game as long as he wanted, do
as much damage as he could, and leave, whenever he wished, with his heart’s desire, the love and light of his life.
The Oracle walked down the steps, across the dusty yard, and into the tower: a great square four-storied building. Some people
said it had been built when Oedipus was king. The spy stopped, scuffing the dust with his thonged sandal. Oedipus! He knew
what Alexander
by both sides were the same as those used at any battle between Greek states: phalanxes of footman against phalanxes of footmen.
The two sides were supposed to clash, savage hand-to-hand fighting would ensue. One side would waver and flee the field, yet
Miriam knew that this would be different. Alexander had taken the military manuals and torn them up. She had seen that in
Thessaly: where foot soldiers were not supposed to go, Alexander would take them. Tactics that would horrify any other commander
were used at a moment’s notice. Surpriseand cunning were no strangers to Alexander but here in the open, in this great dusty plain before Thebes? Miriam watched,
grasping her brother so tightly that he winced as her nails dug into his wrist.
“You are hurting me, Miriam!”
“Wait,” she said. “Something is about to happen.”
The Theban line had also begun to move—marching toward the Macedonians to break their impetus before they charged. Abruptly
the Macedonian line changed. Trumpets rang out, banners rose and dipped. The Macedonian army began to turn on its axis. Instead
of meeting the Thebans head-on, they were now moving toward the Thebans’ right flank. At the same time the Macedonian line
began to lengthen.
“They are going to outflank them,” Simeon explained. “They are going to push the Thebans back on each other. Roll the line
up.”
Confusion had broken out among the Thebans. They were unused to this. In warfare, line was supposed to meet line, not shift
and turn. The Theban ranks became staggered. Miriam spied gaps, then the armies clashed. Great clouds of dust rose. The sound
of trumpets and war horns was broken by faint screams and shouts.
“Can you see what’s happening?” she shouted.
A sharp-eyed ostler was peering through the dust.
“Some of the Thebans are breaking!” he shouted. “They are fleeing back to the postern gate. It’s been left open and undefended.”
CHAPTER 2
I N T HE C ADMEA , the great gray stone citadel that overlooked the city of Thebes, the spy and assassin whom Hecaetus called the Oracle pulled
a military cloak about his shoulders setting the hood firmly around his face. He tapped the hilt of the sword he had taken
from the armory and hurried up the steps onto the curtain wall overlooking the city. Other members of the garrison were assembled
there, shouting and gesticulating. The spy gazed down the rocky escarpment. The great palisade built by the Thebans so as
to hem them in was now deserted. The sound of hideous battle came from the city.
“Alexander has broken in!” a voice shouted. “The king is here!”
Discussion and debate broke out. Should the garrison help or stay in the citadel? There was no Memnon or Lysander to impose
order. The spy smiled to himself; that was his doing. What did it matter if Thebes fell? He looked down at the courtyard where
the rest of the garrison wasmilling about. Some were dressed in half-armor, others totally unprepared.
“I can see plumes of smoke!” someone shouted. “They are setting fire to the houses!”
The Oracle stared across at the great high tower of the citadel, which housed the officer’s chambers. The windows were all
shuttered, a grim, stark place though one where good work had been done. Darius III in Persepolis would be pleased, and the
Persian bankers in Argos and Corinth would put aside more silver and gold. He could play this game as long as he wanted, do
as much damage as he could, and leave, whenever he wished, with his heart’s desire, the love and light of his life.
The Oracle walked down the steps, across the dusty yard, and into the tower: a great square four-storied building. Some people
said it had been built when Oedipus was king. The spy stopped, scuffing the dust with his thonged sandal. Oedipus! He knew
what Alexander
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