Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (22 page)

Pi

…

The ratio between the perimeter of a circumference and its diameter.

It has been called Pi since the 18
th
century. Its name comes from the Greek letter pi
(Π, π)
, the first letter in the Greek words for periphery
(περιφέρεια)
and perimeter
(περίμετρον)
.

It is an irrational number: i.e., it cannot be expressed exactly as a ratio of any two integers. Therefore, its decimal digits are infinite and non-repeating. To five decimal places, its value is 3.14159…

The effort to compute the value of Pi to a high degree of accuracy has occupied many of the most brilliant minds throughout history, some of whom have devoted their lives exclusively to it. Around 1800 B.C., the Egyptian scribe Ahmes estimated its value as 3.16
[3]
. In the Bible, the Book of Kings narrates the construction of the Temple of Solomon in the 10
th
century B.C. and mentions a circular bronze pillar with a diameter-circumference ratio of exactly 3. In Mesopotamia it was also given a value of 3, and sometimes 3.125.

In the 3
rd
century B.C. Archimedes was the first to develop a rational method of calculation with which he produced a range whose midpoint is 3.14185
[4]
. Archimedes’ method was used by the Chinese mathematician Liu Hui in the 3
rd
century A.D., and by the Indian astronomer and mathematician Aryabhata, in the 5
th
century A.D.. Aryabhata achieved a close approximation to the fourth decimal place (3.1416), and Liu Hui to the fifth (3.14159).

During Pythagoras’ time, centuries before Aryabhata, Liu Hui, and Archimedes, no one had developed a method of calculation, and no decimals of Pi were known with certainty, but its importance was recognized. The number Pi is indispensable for calculating circumferences, circles, and spheres. To the Pythagoreans the most perfect shape was the circle and the most perfect solid the sphere. Moreover, they believed the planets moved in circular orbits.

They needed Pi, but calculating it was still far out of their reach.

…

Encyclopedia Mathematica.
Socram Ofisis. 1926.

CHAPTER 47

June 3
rd
, 510 B.C.

“Master!”

The boy, about ten years old, was running toward Orestes as fast as he could. He was barefoot and wore a short tunic. The community grounds sloped gently down from the residential buildings to the entrance portico, which propelled the boy even faster. He looked as if he’d fall at any moment.

Orestes stopped in front of the statue of Dionysus and raised his hands to chest level, signaling to the boy to calm down. Running wasn’t allowed inside the compound, but the boy’s expression seemed to indicate he had a good reason for breaking the rule.

“Master Orestes!” The boy reached him and had to take several breaths before he could continue talking. “Master Pythagoras has summoned an urgent meeting. You have to go to the schoolhouse as soon as possible.”

Orestes tensed immediately and looked toward the schoolhouse. Many people crowded outside the door. He swallowed. In the six weeks since Daaruk’s murder, calm had gradually returned to the community. Even so, many recoiled like frightened animals at the slightest hint of trouble. It was clear that the re-established tranquility in the compound was as fragile as a Sidonian crystal wine glass.

“Do you know what it’s about?” he asked as he started walking.

The boy shook his head.

“All I know is that news has arrived from outside.”

News from outside
, thought Orestes, puzzled.
What could have happened?

He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to regain his composure of a few minutes earlier. He had just returned to the community after the solitary walk he took every morning to meditate. Or, more precisely, which had been solitary until he’d been assigned two bodyguards who accompanied him at all times. They dogged his steps from the moment he went out into the street at dawn until he returned to his room at night. The bodyguards then returned to Croton, and the community was protected by guards who patrolled it at every moment. Walking on the grounds after sundown was forbidden now, unless accompanied by a patrol. Orestes didn’t know the soldiers on night duty, but his bodyguards were always the same.

He turned to them without slowing his pace.

Bayo was about twenty-five, of medium height, with well-honed muscles under his leather and bronze-plated cuirass. His face was pleasant and frank.
You can tell he likes being a hoplite. He probably never challenges an order.
Next to Bayo walked Crisipo. He was taller and thinner, but also in excellent shape in spite of his forty years. Like his companion, he wore the full panoply befitting a hoplite: cuirass, helmet, greaves, shield, lance, and sword. Sixty-six pounds in all.

Crisipo looked back at Orestes, and his eyes flashed with a shrewdness rarely seen in a soldier. Orestes turned away. Despite having spent a month and a half with these bodyguards, and having atoned for his crime almost three decades ago, he was still uncomfortable in the presence of security forces. The mistake made in the past, his shame and repentance, had left an indelible mark on the deepest part of his being. He now knew, though, that it wasn’t a problem for Pythagoras. The night of Daaruk’s murder, the philosopher had scrutinized Orestes' innermost thoughts, but during the process, Orestes had also glimpsed something within his master.

I was able to perceive the reaction Pythagoras had to what he was seeing inside me
.

Thanks to that, Orestes was sure that with Cleomenides gone, he was the main candidate to succeed Pythagoras.

Without realizing it, he lifted his chin, taking long strides as he approached the throng milling around the schoolhouse. Pythagoras’ confidence in him made him feel strong and safe. He couldn’t change the past, but he could throw off the burden of that past that hampered his public appearances. He knew he was a good master and was beginning to feel he could guide the Pythagorean communities and do combat in the political arena. In his youth, before his error, he had achieved considerable success as a politician.

Now I’m much better prepared in every way
.

A warm breath of air affirmed this thought. At this time of year, the sun shone brightly from early morning on. He reached the schoolhouse door and the disciples parted to let him pass. Their linen tunics gleamed with the strength of Apollo. Such brilliance was in keeping with the purity of their philosophy.

Orestes glanced around him before crossing the threshold. He saw Akenon entering a nearby building that housed the infirmary.

Bayo and Crisipo remained at the schoolhouse door with the lower-level disciples. Orestes entered and headed toward the closest room. Pythagoras was standing there, surrounded by all the community masters. They moved aside to allow him to move closer. He joined Evander and Ariadne in the front row. More than the presence of the masters en masse, what surprised Orestes was the intensity of the atmosphere.

It must be a very important piece of news
.

“Does it hurt?”

Akenon was sitting on a stool with Damo at his back. She raised his right arm over his head and back.

“A bit,” he replied, trying not to wince.

“It’s normal to feel some pain when you force it.” Damo released Akenon’s arm. “The pain might disappear in a few weeks, or you might have it for the rest of your life, but you were very lucky. I’ve had patients with similar injuries who’ve lost their arm.”

Pythagoras’ younger daughter now stood in front of Akenon. She was tall and slim, and her blond hair framed a surprisingly dazzling smile. Her tunic was sleeveless, short enough to reveal some of her thigh, and she wore leather sandals with long straps that tied around her calves. Her features and her bearing were equally impressive, the result of a fortuitous combination of her parents’ physical features. She looked straight at Akenon, and he had to stand so as not to feel intimidated. The young woman’s light-colored eyes not only enhanced her beauty, but also seemed to extract more information from Akenon’s eyes than he wished to communicate.

He looked away to hide his embarrassment and took a few steps around the room, moving his arm as if he were checking the state of his shoulder. Theano, Damo’s mother, was usually present during treatments, but on this occasion she had gone to the meeting that had just begun at the schoolhouse. Akenon was grateful to both women. Their knowledge of the healing arts was excellent. Not only had they set his dislocated shoulder back in place, they had also shown great wisdom during his rehabilitation.

“Try doing the exercises we showed you,” Damo suggested.

Under the young woman’s attentive gaze, Akenon forced his shoulder little by little until he felt pain. It reminded him of how close they had come to catching the murderer—though that only helped to make him feel all the more frustrated.

The murderer managed to escape, and I ended up injured, passed out in the mud and the rain
.

Fortunately, Ariadne had been able to get him back to the community in a cart she borrowed from the inn. For a couple of days, he had been in bed with a fever before resuming the investigation. Exhaustive questioning had led him to conclude that the murderer was someone from outside the community, and the only accomplice had been Atma. At least there were no longer any doubts about the trustworthiness of the other members of the community.

But that leaves us with another unknown.
He gritted his teeth as he raised his arm.

They were assuming Atma had put the poison in Cleomenides’ goblet. However, his alibi had proven to be airtight with regard to the barley cake that killed Daaruk. Atma couldn’t have poisoned it because he had spent the day in the city. The only remaining possibility was that someone from outside had put the poison into the cake after entering the community in the guise of a visitor. Akenon wondered if that false visitor could have been the mastermind behind both murders, and if he had walked among them preparing the deaths.

That would indicate incredible cold-bloodedness
, he thought uneasily. The more merciless a criminal, the less likely he was to make a mistake.

Akenon felt somewhat safer with the soldiers patrolling the grounds and acting as bodyguards, but an inner voice told him the murderer must have already come up with a new plan to keep killing. He was probably lying low in some nearby location, biding his time. Even though they had made it more difficult for him, he had already shown he wasn’t deterred by difficulties.

Akenon bitterly recalled the moment he had been just three feet away from the hooded man, trying to find a space between the horse’s legs so he could plunge his sword into him. He had had it raised, ready to lunge at the man’s leg, when the horse’s hoof had crushed his shoulder. After that, all he could do was hang from the reins with his good arm, trying to hold the horse back or wait for Ariadne to launch a surprise attack against the murderer.

There was no point in going back over all that, but he couldn’t help it. Sometimes he found himself struggling to evoke the shadows that had surrounded his enemy’s hooded face, as if by concentrating harder he might be able to draw back the veils of darkness and discern some feature, possibly one he recognized.

“Are you alright?”

Damo’s gentle voice made him realize he had been absorbed in his thoughts for a while.

“Yes, of course.” He smiled at her as she looked inquisitively at him. “I got carried away by my memories.”

Damo nodded before speaking again.

“I must go. I need to attend the meeting in the schoolhouse.”

“By the way, what’s it about?” asked Akenon, walking toward the door.

“A few minutes ago, a messenger arrived from Sybaris. My father spoke to him and then called an urgent meeting. I don’t know anything else.”

They left the infirmary together. Akenon thanked Damo and let her go ahead. He hadn’t been summoned to the meeting, so he assumed it was about something unrelated to the safety of the community. All the same, he went over to the group waiting in front of the schoolhouse.

As Damo disappeared into the building Akenon thought it was a shame that was the last day of the treatment. Both Theano and Damo had been very kind, and they were beautiful women, especially young Damo. However, he still found Ariadne more attractive. Compared to her sister, Damo’s beauty seemed too idealized, perfect but lacking expressiveness. And her personality…too formal and predictable. Ariadne, in contrast, was still an unknown for him. Dealing with her almost always involved the stimulating thrill of the unexpected.

After a while, he decided to peek inside. When he reached the door, Ariadne suddenly came out with a serious look on her face. She gestured to Akenon to follow her, and walked a few feet away from some disciples without responding to their questions.

“What’s going on?” asked Akenon when they were alone.

“News has arrived from someone you know,” she answered gravely.

Ariadne’s tone surprised him. He could see in her face that she was upset. He nodded, encouraging her to continue, and listened carefully as she related the details.

A few minutes later Akenon shook his head, unable to recover from his astonishment.