Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (32 page)

CHAPTER 68

June 17
th
, 510 B.C.

Ariadne and Akenon’s retinue skirted the city of Croton and made its way toward the community. There was still an hour left before sundown, but the sky was so cloudy it seemed like night. A cool, humid wind was blowing, scattering tiny drops of rain. Everyone was anxious to dismount and enjoy a bowl of hot soup.

The soldiers and servants brightened when they caught sight of the community portico, where people were starting to gather to welcome them back. In contrast, Akenon and Ariadne were still as absorbed in their own thoughts as they had been for the past week, since visiting Glaucus.

I thought I’d be happy to come back to the community
, thought Ariadne. She had been trying for several days to overcome the sense of sadness that enveloped her like a cold wet blanket. She knew it was partially due to having brought up memories of the hours she had spent at the hands of her kidnappers. It was as if Akenon had given her the strength and support she needed to deal with the memories, and then suddenly she had had to face them alone. Her lack of experience with men had led her to make the mistake of coming out from behind the shell that had protected her for so many years. She had opened herself up to Akenon, holding nothing back, and it had become painfully obvious she wasn’t ready for that. The wisest thing was to put her shell back on and keep it securely in place. She needed to keep Akenon at a distance, while at the same time forcing herself to minimize the pain of missing him.

Astride his large horse, Akenon discreetly observed Ariadne. The young woman’s skin glowed with moisture. She was only six feet from him, and at the same time completely out of his reach. They had spoken little, but enough for her to make it clear there could be nothing between them. Akenon sighed, missing the happiness of the outbound journey to Sybaris and the fiery passion he had discovered in Ariadne, but more than that, the pleasant friendship of the previous weeks.
Are we going to lose that too?

The gloomy atmosphere was in sharp contrast to the first few days of their trip, but it was a natural result of their disappointing six-day investigation in Sybaris. As for Glaucus, the visit to persuade him to withdraw the prize had been a failure, as well as dangerous. After that visit, he hadn’t replied to their messages requesting his help in finding clues to the whereabouts of the hooded man. Nor had anything useful been obtained from the endless questioning they had done everywhere in Sybaris. The main suspect in the murders of Cleomenides and Daaruk, as well as Atma, seemed to have vanished into thin air.

They reached the portico and dismounted. Absorbed in his thoughts, Akenon at first didn’t register the strange silence of the welcoming committee.

Suddenly, he noticed no one was talking, and everyone was avoiding his eyes.

What the devil is going on?

He looked for Milo, feeling a growing unease. When he saw him, the commander of the army lowered his head. Akenon’s chest felt hollow. He rushed to the enormous Crotonian and gripped his shoulders.

“What happened, Milo? Talk to me!”

CHAPTER 69

June 17
th
, 510 B.C.

Pythagoras was seated on a stool, his back against the wall, enjoying the coolness of his room. He was in a country house belonging to Mandrolytus, an aristocrat from Neapolis and a longtime supporter. They had been staying at his house since their arrival in the city. The aristocrat had been confident a Pythagorean community would be established in Neapolis. However, after just two days, Pythagoras had realized the city wasn’t ready. Mandrolytus’ disappointment was echoed by Evander’s, who already saw himself as leader of a new community.

But this has been very positive for him
, thought Pythagoras. He was satisfied with Evander’s development. In preparing to guide a community on his own, the youngest of his grand masters had taken a great leap forward in his ability to control his impetuous spirit. It might not be now, but in a few short years the influx of Roman Pythagoreanism would lead to the founding of a community in Neapolis. The city would become the strategic heart of the Croton-Rome axis.

Rome, Rome, Rome
.

Pythagoras no longer had any doubt. In the years to come, the community would expand and gain strength hand in hand with Rome. The city of the Romans would be a powerful focal point of Pythagoreanism at the center of the Italian peninsula. From there, they’d extend their political influence and connect with the territories already under their control in the colonies of Magna Graecia. Pythagoreanism would be the scientific and moral doctrine guiding an area as vast as a small empire.

Rome was experiencing radical political changes that were breathing new life into it. After two and a half centuries of monarchy, the last of the Etruscan Kings, Lucius Tarquinius the Proud, had been overthrown. Protracted social tensions had erupted when his son, Sextus Tarquinius, had raped Lucretia, the wife of one of the king’s nephews. Lucretia committed suicide after the rape and another nephew of the king’s, Lucius Junius Brutus, had headed a revolt, which had recently ended with the proclamation of the Republic.

Grand master Hippocreon had a distant relative who was Lucius Junius Brutus’ sister-in-law. Through her, Brutus himself had requested a meeting with Pythagoras to ask his advice on what the first steps of the Republic should be. The Pythagorean aura of justice and cohesion had reached Rome. Brutus wanted to incorporate those principles into his new form of government.

You’ll have my full support, Lucius Junius Brutus
.

Working on that project filled Pythagoras with satisfaction. His lifelong dream was rapidly taking shape. His ideas were beginning to cross borders and gain currency among peoples who were different from the Greeks.

He half-closed his eyes, going over the strategy he would put into action.

After a while, he got up from the stool and went to the window. A hundred yards away he saw Hippocreon, sitting in the shade of an almond tree. The Pythagorean project in Rome would require the wary master to devote more time to politics. Pythagoras needed him there as his right-hand man, as he himself was thinking of moving to Rome, at least for a time. He had spent months thinking about it, and they had to take advantage of this optimal opportunity while the new leaders of Rome were open to their ideas.

In Croton, Orestes can be the leader, and he’ll no doubt do a superb job
.

The curtain covering the doorway to his room was pulled back, and one of the servants entered. Pythagoras moved away from the window. He was waiting for a reply from Brutus with details about their meeting.

“Master, a messenger has just arrived.” The servant paused before continuing. “He’s come from the community in Croton.”

From Croton!

Pythagoras’ heart turned over.

It could be anything
, he told himself, though he wasn’t convinced. It was odd to receive a message from Croton so soon, but that didn’t necessarily imply it would be bad news.

“Send him in. And tell Evander and Hippocreon to come here.”

After a few seconds, the messenger appeared. His breathing was agitated, his clothes and hair dusty from the road.

“Greetings, master Pythagoras, I’ve been sent by General Milo.”

Pythagoras quickly realized the herald was a member of the Crotonian army. From his greeting, he could also tell he was a Pythagorean initiate.

“Greetings, brother. What news have you brought me?”

The messenger took out a small parchment, wax-sealed with the pentacle symbol. Pythagoras took it and gestured to the soldier that he wanted to read it alone. As soon as the man left, he broke the seal, trying to steady himself.

The brief message filled him with horror from the first line.

Orestes has died…at the hands of other disciples who accused him of being a traitor.

Pythagoras squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a tear roll down his cheek. He tried to regain his composure, but his grief kept growing.

Another disciple, another friend, dead.

His back to the door, he let himself fall onto the stool and wiped his face with his hand. He didn’t believe for one moment that Orestes was a traitor. The deep analysis he had performed on him eliminated any doubt. It had also revealed to him that his disciple needed only a small push to overcome his fear of politics and become a public figure at a level close to his own. He had appointed Orestes to represent him during this journey, taking for granted he would become a solid leader, which in turn would allow him to move to Rome for a while.

He sat up straight and made an enormous effort to compose himself. Evander and Hippocreon must be about to arrive. He touched his beard to make sure there were no tears on it. This was not the time to grieve. Decisions needed to be made. He couldn’t get back in time for Orestes’ burial, but he had to return to control the political situation.
The moment I finish my first meetings with Lucius Junius Brutus I’ll leave for Croton.
He would try not to delay more than a week in Rome, hoping that by then he would have had time to plant a seed in Brutus’ soul. A month later he would try to return to Rome to water that seed and make sure it took root.

Hearing footsteps, he stood up. It was Evander, who frowned the moment he saw his master’s face.

“A message has just arrived from Croton,” said Pythagoras, his tone sad and calm. “Orestes is dead.”

Evander’s face went pale.

“Murdered?” he asked in a barely audible voice.

Before Pythagoras could answer, Hippocreon entered.

“Master, a messenger has arrived from Croton.”

“We know, Hippocreon. I have the message here.” Pythagoras raised the hand in which he held the parchment with the broken seal.

Hippocreon frowned, taken aback. Behind him, a third man came in and planted himself in front of Pythagoras.

“I bring a message from General Milo,” he said formally.

“Has Milo sent two letters with the same message?” asked Pythagoras.

It wasn’t unusual for two, or even three, heralds to be sent when the information they carried was of vital importance.

“No, sir,” answered the messenger regretfully. “I left Croton with fresh news a day after the message you just received. My orders were to try and overtake the first messenger, and substitute my message for his. As you can see,” he added, looking down, “I was a few minutes late in carrying out my order.”

“Very well.” Pythagoras sighed. “Hand me the message.”

The new letter was also sealed with the pentacle. Its contents were longer than the previous note. Pythagoras fell back onto the stool as he read, and stared into space when he had finished.

“Evander, Hippocreon, give instructions for our departure,” he said, his voice lifeless. “We must return to Croton at once.”

CHAPTER 70

June 17
th
, 510 B.C.

Milo’s morose face augured bad news.

He gestured to them to follow him, and moved away from the entrance portico. Ariadne and Akenon walked behind him as they went further into the grounds of the compound. Milo seemed oblivious to the light drizzle that soaked them insidiously and the increasing darkness overhead.

“I trust no one,” he began, looking around him.

“Speak once and for all, Milo.”

Akenon was beginning to get exasperated. Ariadne, on the other hand, wore a neutral expression that made it impossible to guess what was going on in her mind.

“Orestes…” Milo finally said, “has been murdered.”

That startled Ariadne, tearing her away from her thoughts. Questions began to fill her head, but Milo continued talking before she could say anything.

“He was accused of breaking the oath of secrecy. The brothers who shared the communal building with him executed him. One of them, Pelias, had spoken that evening with a sailor who said he had got his hands on secrets in exchange for gold. Specifically, he assured him he had bought the secret to the dodecahedron for twenty gold darics. Since this was a secret restricted to so few, the list of possible traitors was quite small, and…” he hesitated, ashamed of partially agreeing with the killers’ reasoning, “the fact is that Orestes’ past made them think he could be the traitor.”

Akenon shook his head in disbelief as he listened to Milo. He felt as if he was living a nightmare.

“They searched his room and found the twenty darics buried under his bed. There seemed to be no doubt that Orestes was the traitor. Their reasoning was that it also implied he had murdered Cleomenides and Daaruk. So they beat him, threw him into a water tank, and drowned him.”

Akenon clenched his jaw, feeling a wave of anger and desperation.
By Baal and Amon–Ra. The murderer has managed to get the Pythagoreans to start killing each other.

“When did it happen?” asked Ariadne.

Milo hesitated for a second before answering. At that moment he was glad the darkness hid his face.

“A week ago.”

Ariadne snorted in disgust and looked away. It was Akenon who asked the obvious question.

“Why didn’t you inform us?”

“I sent two messages to Pythagoras. They must have reached him by now. As for you…you were investigating in Sybaris and, in any case, you wouldn’t have been able to get back in time to question the sailor.”

Akenon tried to hide his irritation. It was obvious that Milo hadn’t summoned them out of pride. He was used to obeying no one but Pythagoras. Now that the philosopher was gone, he had preferred to undertake the investigation on his own rather than limit himself to following Akenon’s instructions.

“What was the result of that investigation?” Akenon asked curtly.

“The sailor had disappeared. We found out he had frequented the tavern for three days before he approached Pelias. He spent the afternoons drinking there, by himself, no doubt waiting for Pythagoreans to come in. He chose his spot well, since it’s a tavern members of the community usually go to when they go down to Croton. He showed Pelias documents that proved he had the secret to the dodecahedron…”

“Are you sure of that?” interrupted Ariadne.

“I asked Aristomachus to speak to Pelias to be sure about that point, and it seems there’s no doubt. The secret to the dodecahedron was in the sailor’s hands. I’m afraid we’re facing a very well-organized plot.”

“No doubt about that,” murmured Ariadne, deep in thought.

“Did no one know the sailor?” asked Akenon.

“He appeared three days before the murder and vanished that very night. No one had seen him before in Croton and no one has seen him since.”

Could it be possible the sailor and the hooded man are one and the same person?
Akenon turned this idea over in his mind, but discarded it in the end. The sailor had shown his face and no one knew him. He was convinced that behind the hood someone was hiding whose face would be recognized in Croton.

He turned toward the compound. Through the drizzle the shimmer of the torches fastened next to the doors of the communal buildings was barely visible. Milo was taking many precautions so no one could overhear them. That could mean there had been some problem with information being leaked.

“What’s the situation in the Council?” asked Ariadne, intuiting Akenon’s reasoning.

“It’s bad,” replied Milo. “Very bad, and getting worse by the day. We need Pythagoras as soon as possible, or something terrible will happen. Right now there’s no grand master who can stand up to Cylon.” He tried to contain himself, but couldn’t keep from saying, “That coward Aristomachus has refused to set foot in the Council. Every time I mention it to him he starts trembling, and in the end I have to go on my own.”

Milo could feel the rage vibrating in his own voice. He closed his eyes and calmed himself, then ordered his thoughts and continued.

“The night Orestes died, I met with Aristomachus. We decided to inform the Council, but telling them that Orestes had been murdered and there were no clues, as with the previous deaths. At the session the following morning, after our communiqué had been read, I had the unpleasant surprise of discovering there had been a leak.”

Akenon nodded in silence as he listened to Pythagoras’ son-in-law.

“Cylon knew everything and launched a devastating attack against us,” Milo said angrily. “The scoundrel related in detail how Orestes was executed, and then he accused the Pythagoreans of being liars, traitors, and murderers. The Council of Three Hundred flew at him with shouts and insults, but you could see they were unnerved and insecure. They didn’t succeed in getting Cylon off the dais, as they have on other occasions, and the despicable wretch continued relentlessly. He called me a liar and said I was incapable of maintaining security. He brought up my agreement with Pythagoras, where I pledged to prevent new crimes in the community, before the whole Council. He took that opportunity to lash out at Pythagoras as well, calling him incompetent and the leader of a criminal sect. He demanded the Council withdraw its support of the community and even suggested that Pythagoras and all his followers be exiled. Can you believe it? He’s not just trying to reduce the privileges the community enjoys, he wants to destroy it and exile master Pythagoras and all the Pythagoreans from Croton!”

Milo paused to catch his breath, then continued in a slightly calmer tone.

“From that day on, at every session Cylon has basically repeated the same speech. I deny everything and insist on our version of the unknown murderer. To say otherwise would mean jailing the actual perpetrators of the crime, the Pythagoreans who killed Orestes, and that’s something I want Pythagoras to decide. In any case, I’m not a good politician, and every day Cylon wins new converts. More and more people surround him like flies when the sessions are over, following him to his house and muttering about conspiracies.”

“He’s not looking for support from the Three Hundred anymore,” Ariadne said.

“What do you mean?” Milo asked.

“He’s always tried to dupe the entire Council of a Thousand. Both the group he calls the “marginalized seven hundred” and the members who make up the Council of Three Hundred. Now he’s changed his strategy. He’s looking for the seven hundred to back him in a fight against the Three Hundred.” She thought for a moment, then continued. “He’s become more aggressive and ambitious. He knows that according to the law as it now stands, the decisions of the Three Hundred prevail. He needs a revolution to override the Three Hundred, and for that he needs unified support from the seven hundred…” she looked intently at Milo, “and from the army.”

Milo reacted immediately.

“As commander-in-chief of our army, I vouch for its complete loyalty!”

“Loyalty is always there, what changes is the object of that loyalty,” Ariadne shot back, intensifying her attack. She was angry with Milo for not having sent them a message in Sybaris, informing them of Orestes’ death.

Rebuffed, Milo readied his answer, but then Akenon said something that made him swallow his pride. He had been pondering a detail of Milo’s story for a while. The sailor had said he’d paid twenty gold darics, and that was what had appeared under Orestes’ bed. Given that Orestes was innocent, someone must have placed the coins there. It could have been a Pythagorean, but during the questioning after Daaruk’s death, their loyalty had been well established. The alternative was that it could have been one of the soldiers assigned to the community. Akenon considered this possibility likely precisely because Milo had skipped over this key point in his relation of the events.

“Milo, who put the coins in Orestes’ room? Am I wrong in supposing that on that night one of the hoplites you had assigned to the community went missing?”

Akenon paused and there was a tense silence. The rain was falling harder, and the only sound was the drops pelting the ground. He tried to make out Milo’s reaction to his words, but the darkness had become so impenetrable he wasn’t even sure if Milo was in front of him. He felt a wave of apprehension.
Is Milo going to attack us?
Akenon put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Even though the Crotonian was no longer young, he still had the constitution of an invincible wrestling champion.

Milo’s voice finally emerged from the darkness, bitter and humiliated.

“I checked an hour after Orestes’ murder. I ordered all the soldiers assigned to the community to assemble before me. They all did so except for one, whom we haven’t seen since then. His name is Crisipo. He was one of Orestes’ personal bodyguards.”