beloved
of the gods!”
“Slayer of his father!” Alexander finished. “Lover of his mother!”
“None can wear that Crown except the pure and those touched by a god.”
“I am king,” Alexander retorted. “I am conqueror and victor of Thebes. By divine decree that Crown is mine!”
“Then take it Alexander.” Jocasta’s voice was softly mocking. “What are you going to do? Empty the pit of fire? Crush the
serpents under your boot? Unlock the clasps and take the Crown? And who can stop you? An old priestess and her acolytes? How
all of Greece will laugh,” she taunted, “at the lion of Macedon.”
Alexander got to his feet, his face flushed. “It cannot stay here.”
“Look, look, Alexander.” Jocasta seized his elbow. “There is the Crown; it rests on top of the pillar. Look at the iron clasps.
They can be loosened, the Crown lifted up and brought to your head.”
“How?” Alexander demanded.
Miriam closed her eyes. Alexander’s petulance had come to the fore. The old priestess had cleverly trapped him, like an elderly
aunt reproving a recalcitrant nephew. All Alexander had to do was stamp his foot and shout, “I want! I want!” and the picture
would be complete. Miriam stared at the pit of fire. It must be at least three to four feet deep and about two yards across.
The spikes were ugly and gleaming, and in the dark pit beyond, what horrors existed! She had seen snake pits in the chambers
of Olympias, the serpents writhing and coiling so that it seemed as if the whole floor were moving! All to protect that Iron
Crown, the ruby in its center glowing like a small ball of fire. It was kept in place by two clasps at the front, like those
on a chest, but how could they be pulled down without crossing the pits? Did the priestess have some kind of bridge that could
lowered and extended across? And what would it rest against? The fire would burn any wooden structure, and the snakes would
strike; even a man wearing thick military boots would be in great danger. So, if it was to be removed, it would have to be
by subtlety and cunning rather than brute force. Miriam grasped Alexander’s arm, pinching the skin. The king moved away, walking
the edge of the pit, his eyes fixed on the Crown.
“How do you remove it?” he asked.
“That is a mystery, my lord king. If the gods and the shade of Oedipus believe it is yours, the way will be shown to you,”
responded the high priestess.
Alexander’s fingers drummed on his sword hilt. Hesmiled bleakly at her, and Miriam realized that this cunning old priestess had cleverly trapped him. Alexander might be conqueror
of Thebes but now all of Greece would learn whether the Crown of Oedipus was still to be withheld from him.
CHAPTER 4
“T HERE IS ANOTHER matter.” Alexander walked determinedly toward Jocasta in an attempt to reassert himself.
“The death of Lysander?” she asked. “My lord king, it had nothing to do with me. Pelliades, leader of the Theban council,
asked me to mediate. I swore sacred oaths that your envoy would be safe. He’d hardly stepped beyond the palisade when the
daggers were drawn.”
The old priestess blinked away the tears.
“I cursed them,” she continued. “I told them that they had broken their most sacred oaths, that the gods would respond. They
just laughed. Pelliades said that you were dead and the power of Macedon shattered.” She lifted one shoulder. “I cursed him;
the rest you know. Lysander’s body was put on a gibbet.” She stared down at the black marble floor.
“And Pelliades?” she asked.
“Dead,” Alexander replied. “Killed with the rest in the final stand beyond the Electra Gate.” He stretched out his hand. “I
may not take the Crown of Oedipus, not yet, but I will take the keys.”
“We have to worship here.” Jocasta’s lower lip trembled. She clasped the pectoral on her chest. “We have to tend the shrine.”
“The officer outside,”
of the gods!”
“Slayer of his father!” Alexander finished. “Lover of his mother!”
“None can wear that Crown except the pure and those touched by a god.”
“I am king,” Alexander retorted. “I am conqueror and victor of Thebes. By divine decree that Crown is mine!”
“Then take it Alexander.” Jocasta’s voice was softly mocking. “What are you going to do? Empty the pit of fire? Crush the
serpents under your boot? Unlock the clasps and take the Crown? And who can stop you? An old priestess and her acolytes? How
all of Greece will laugh,” she taunted, “at the lion of Macedon.”
Alexander got to his feet, his face flushed. “It cannot stay here.”
“Look, look, Alexander.” Jocasta seized his elbow. “There is the Crown; it rests on top of the pillar. Look at the iron clasps.
They can be loosened, the Crown lifted up and brought to your head.”
“How?” Alexander demanded.
Miriam closed her eyes. Alexander’s petulance had come to the fore. The old priestess had cleverly trapped him, like an elderly
aunt reproving a recalcitrant nephew. All Alexander had to do was stamp his foot and shout, “I want! I want!” and the picture
would be complete. Miriam stared at the pit of fire. It must be at least three to four feet deep and about two yards across.
The spikes were ugly and gleaming, and in the dark pit beyond, what horrors existed! She had seen snake pits in the chambers
of Olympias, the serpents writhing and coiling so that it seemed as if the whole floor were moving! All to protect that Iron
Crown, the ruby in its center glowing like a small ball of fire. It was kept in place by two clasps at the front, like those
on a chest, but how could they be pulled down without crossing the pits? Did the priestess have some kind of bridge that could
lowered and extended across? And what would it rest against? The fire would burn any wooden structure, and the snakes would
strike; even a man wearing thick military boots would be in great danger. So, if it was to be removed, it would have to be
by subtlety and cunning rather than brute force. Miriam grasped Alexander’s arm, pinching the skin. The king moved away, walking
the edge of the pit, his eyes fixed on the Crown.
“How do you remove it?” he asked.
“That is a mystery, my lord king. If the gods and the shade of Oedipus believe it is yours, the way will be shown to you,”
responded the high priestess.
Alexander’s fingers drummed on his sword hilt. Hesmiled bleakly at her, and Miriam realized that this cunning old priestess had cleverly trapped him. Alexander might be conqueror
of Thebes but now all of Greece would learn whether the Crown of Oedipus was still to be withheld from him.
CHAPTER 4
“T HERE IS ANOTHER matter.” Alexander walked determinedly toward Jocasta in an attempt to reassert himself.
“The death of Lysander?” she asked. “My lord king, it had nothing to do with me. Pelliades, leader of the Theban council,
asked me to mediate. I swore sacred oaths that your envoy would be safe. He’d hardly stepped beyond the palisade when the
daggers were drawn.”
The old priestess blinked away the tears.
“I cursed them,” she continued. “I told them that they had broken their most sacred oaths, that the gods would respond. They
just laughed. Pelliades said that you were dead and the power of Macedon shattered.” She lifted one shoulder. “I cursed him;
the rest you know. Lysander’s body was put on a gibbet.” She stared down at the black marble floor.
“And Pelliades?” she asked.
“Dead,” Alexander replied. “Killed with the rest in the final stand beyond the Electra Gate.” He stretched out his hand. “I
may not take the Crown of Oedipus, not yet, but I will take the keys.”
“We have to worship here.” Jocasta’s lower lip trembled. She clasped the pectoral on her chest. “We have to tend the shrine.”
“The officer outside,”
Similar Books
