Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (40 page)

CHAPTER 86

July 9
th
, 510 B.C.

The masked man had ordered Boreas not to disturb him for a few hours.

In front of him were the parchments containing his greatest achievement: the method for obtaining the approximation to the quotient. The content of those documents was so sublime that by simply absorbing himself in them for a while he was able to enter an intense mathematical trance. In that state of maximum relaxation and concentration, he saw everything with greater clarity, which he used to refine his worldly plans down to the last detail.

He had intended to spend those hours further elaborating his new strategy, but felt a compelling need to return to the purely mathematical. A fleeting intuition had unexpectedly crossed his mind, the feeling that perhaps there was something more there, just beyond the reach of his abilities: a reality that surpassed the limits of what was known. He concentrated harder. There was no doubt it was something related to the method for calculating the quotient, but it eluded him, his mind was having trouble seeing it.

He returned to the starting point for the third time and followed each step slowly, meticulously reviewing the concepts relating to the circle…to Pythagoras’ theorem…to the numerous and complex calculations he had had to make.

The key is here, I can tell. But where exactly?

Not even his herculean concentration, greater than any man was capable of, was enough.
Maybe there’s nothing else to discover… Or maybe I need a change of focus, a totally different approach
.

He mentally distanced himself from the circles and geometric shapes, the processes and symbols, and attempted to stop thinking, allowing himself to be guided by intuition alone. He tried not to develop concrete ideas, simply letting the basic concepts flow through him, impregnate him, become one with him. Truth was in mathematics. Mathematics was Truth itself. He knew nature was governed by laws written in the language of mathematics, the language of the gods, but he needed to go beyond that divine manifestation to the very essence from which everything emanated.

Intellectual exaltation pushed him beyond his own limits, endangering his life: his heart rate dropped to less than fifteen beats per minute.

His breathing became imperceptible.

He was nearing it.

Suddenly, he was pierced by a beam of strength, pure logic, and unfathomable concepts…

He was back in his lair, the parchments before him. He looked at them, disoriented. After a while, a smile appeared under the mask. Those documents might be the door to his greatest triumph yet, something far greater than the discovery of the quotient. He hadn’t succeeded in grasping the enormous mystery they hid this time, but he had glimpsed it. The masked man leaned back in his wooden chair. From now on, he would devote all his energies and abilities to making progress along the new path, searching for what he had fleetingly seen waiting for him on the other side.

If I manage to solve it
, he thought in awe,
the total destruction of Pythagoras will be within my power.

Despite Boreas’ enormous size, Crisipo didn’t notice him until he was less than twenty yards away. The giant was sitting, hidden among the vegetation surrounding the door to the underground storeroom where his master usually worked. He didn’t get up when Crisipo approached. Nevertheless, when Crisipo neared the door, Boreas issued a grunt of warning.

“I have to talk to him,” objected Crisipo. “He’s waiting for me.”

Boreas shook his head just once, then fixed him with a cold stare. Crisipo looked at the door and then at Boreas, then moved away and leaned against a tree to wait.

I’m not going to be the one to argue with the beast.

He still had nightmares in which Boreas appeared, destroying the ship’s crew. The image of the last unfortunate man whose head the slave had cracked open with a punch sent shivers down his spine.

And he’d have loved to do the same to me
, he thought, remembering the look Boreas had given him during the slaughter.

Boreas was staring at him again now. Crisipo had to make an effort to look elsewhere to try and forget about the giant.

Almost an hour went by without either of them moving. Then a shrill metallic sound was heard. It was the sign that they could go in.

Boreas didn’t move. Crisipo walked past, keeping a watchful eye on him, opened the door, and went down the stairs. The masked man was waiting in his chair, a large pile of parchments spread on the table beside him. He seemed tired.

“What news do you bring me, Crisipo?” he whispered in his cracked voice.

“Everything went according to plan, master. Even better than I expected.” Crisipo bowed his head in reverence, happy to be bringing his master news that would please him. “There were more than a hundred people at the last meeting, and each of them was representing at least five men. In total, I’d estimate we’ve reached more than a thousand men.”

The masked man nodded in satisfaction.

“I’ve also managed to identify one of their leaders who has been working along the same lines as us for some time. His name is Tellus. He’s very highly regarded among them. As soon as he starts talking, they all stop to listen.

Tellus…
thought the masked man.
In Croton I have Cylon and in Sybaris I’ll have Tellus…though his role will be very different.

There was a silence before Crisipo spoke again.

“Will I be going back to Sybaris, master? Do you want me to continue with the meetings?”

“You’ll go back to Sybaris, Crisipo, but before that I need you to deliver a message to Croton. Cylon must be informed that I won’t be able to meet him for a few days. Needless to say, you’ll give him a good amount of gold so he can continue his work.”

The masked man leaned forward to emphasize his next words.

“And when you return to Sybaris, Crisipo, you’ll also take gold with you, lots of gold.”

An investment that will soon yield a thousand times that much
, he thought, exhilarated. Leaning back in his chair again, he continued.

“This time, your mission will be to organize a large clandestine meeting. Tellus should occupy a position of prominence and bring all the influential men he knows. Give him half the gold. You can use the other half as you see fit, but before the week is out I want to personally address all the leaders of Sybaris.”

To begin the definitive attack
, he added to himself.

CHAPTER 87

July 10
th
, 510 B.C.

Akenon had gone to Croton thinking it would be an uneventful morning.

Now he was leaving Eteocles’ establishment, where he had gone to ask for clarification on what had become of a couple of horses that appeared in his records. Eteocles’ answers hadn’t led to anything and Akenon decided to return to the community.

He mounted his horse and rode away from the smell of manure in the merchant’s livery stables. Shortly afterwards, another horse crossed his path. Akenon stared at the rider, thinking he recognized his face, but couldn’t remember where he’d seen him. He shrugged and continued at a leisurely pace along the streets of Croton. For a while, it looked as if the other rider was going in the same direction. However, when they left the city, Akenon took the western path while the stranger started trotting northbound.

Then it hit him.

I’ve seen him at the door to Cylon’s house. He’s one of his guards
.

He reined in his horse, hesitating, and watched the man ride away. Finally, he decided to follow his instincts and set out after him.

Cylon’s guard was traveling along the coastal route. It was a busy road, especially on the outskirts of Croton, which meant Akenon could follow fairly closely without being spotted. Thanks to this, he saw the rider leave the path and make his way into the forest.

Akenon also left the path and continued following. The forest was sparse, which helped him to see. His sense of danger had increased. After a few minutes, he thought he saw through the branches that the guard was stopping. He dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and approached on foot.

There was a noise and he crouched down. He heard men’s voices talking to each other. Akenon continued to approach as quietly as he could.

There they are
.

In a small clearing two men stood, their mounts beside them. One was Cylon’s guard whom he had been following. The other had his back to Akenon, so he couldn’t see who it was. Then the man turned his head.

Crisipo!

Akenon’s heart began to race. Here in front of him was the traitor, the soldier who had placed the coins under Orestes’ bed.

The masked man’s servant
, he thought in excitement, watching him carefully. Crisipo was talking while the guard listened and nodded. It looked as if he was receiving instructions, or some message from the former soldier. A few minutes later, Crisipo went to his horse and brought back a bag that appeared to be quite heavy. He said something else and gave it to Cylon’s guard.

By Osiris, I bet it contains gold from the prize.

Akenon forced himself to think objectively. He could reveal himself and take on the two men, but there was a possibility the guard might engage him while Crisipo took the advantage to escape. He couldn’t risk it. His priority was to catch Crisipo and get him to confess the whereabouts of the masked man.

And then go there with half the army to put Boreas out of action
.

The guard hid the bag and got on his horse. Crisipo mounted his own and the two men slowly rode away. Akenon untied the reins and followed at a distance along the same path until he reached the coastal road once more. There, he saw the guard spur his mount to a trot and ride toward Croton. Crisipo, on the other hand, headed for Sybaris.

Akenon forgot about the guard and set out in pursuit of Crisipo.

Crisipo rode all day despite the exhausting heat and humidity. It looked like he was heading for Sybaris and wanted to make it in one day. Visibility was excellent, which meant Akenon had no opportunity to get close to him without being noticed. At least it was easy to follow him discreetly, since there were several riders along the route who were also traveling to Sybaris.

Once the sun had gone down, though, the situation became more difficult. The road emptied of travelers and it was more and more difficult to see. Akenon had to get closer to Crisipo if he didn’t want to lose him. After a while, he realized the distance between them was increasing. Crisipo’s horse was trotting at a livelier pace. Worried, Akenon increased his speed.

This is starting to look too much like an obvious chase
.

Suddenly, Crisipo broke into a full gallop. Akenon responded instantly and spurred his horse. If he let Crisipo out of his sight, he could slip away from the road and it would be impossible to find him.

There was no longer any point in trying to remain unnoticed, so Akenon allowed his horse, superior to Crisipo’s, to gain ground. His body tensed in anticipation of a fight. A minute later, when he was less than thirty yards away, Crisipo turned abruptly and entered a cluster of trees without slowing down, risking his horse breaking a leg, or hitting a branch with his own head. Akenon followed at the same speed. Thanks to that swift reflex, he caught sight of the soldier jumping to the ground and hiding among some bushes while his horse galloped away. Akenon pulled on the reins and jumped down. Realizing his strategy hadn’t worked, Crisipo launched into a furious attack, brandishing his sword.

Akenon barely had time to unsheathe his sword and fend off the first blow. The crash of metal blades sent sparks into the dark night. With lightning speed, Crisipo launched a second attack and then a third. It was evident he had been a good soldier. He delivered the fourth blow holding his sword with both hands and bringing it down over Akenon’s head. Akenon still hadn’t regained his balance after the previous lunges, but he was an expert swordsman. He stopped the blow with the base of his blade, avoiding injury while taking advantage of the moment Crisipo pulled back his sword to aim a kick at his opponent’s stomach. Crisipo swiveled and Akenon’s foot glanced off, but the kick succeeded in giving him the upper hand. Crisipo was unable to regain a defensive position before Akenon’s saber clashed against his with tremendous force, almost wrenching it from his hands. He took a few steps back to gain time and clasp the hilt tighter.

He’s mine now
, thought Akenon.

He had gained the advantage. He was stronger and more agile than his opponent, and could finish the soldier off at any moment, but he needed him alive. He struck several blows in succession as he advanced quickly. Crisipo couldn’t retreat at the same speed without losing his balance, so he desperately lunged forward, letting his guard down. Akenon easily deflected his blade and then smashed the hilt of his sword into Crisipo’s face. The soldier managed to remain standing, but was dazed, as if drunk. Akenon barely had to tap his sword to disarm him.

“It’s over, Crisipo.”

His opponent looked at him, still confused. Then he looked at the sword on the ground by his feet.

“Don’t even think of it,” grunted Akenon.

Suddenly, Crisipo’s face became a mask of hatred. He roared and threw himself at Akenon. The blind attack surprised Akenon, who didn’t want to risk killing his opponent without finding out first where the masked man was. The bodies of the two men crashed onto the dry ground. Crisipo landed on top of Akenon, trapping the latter’s sword between them. The hand gripping the weapon was immobilized. Akenon tried to fend off Crisipo’s punches with his free arm, but received a blow on the temple and another one that barely missed his nose. He let go of his sword, managing to free his trapped arm, rolled over, and landed his fist forcefully on Crisipo’s jaw.

The soldier crumpled like a dead man. Akenon pushed him off and sat up, catching his breath. Just then, he noticed a piercing pain under his eye. He touched his cheek and looked at his fingers. It hurt, and was swelling up, but there was no blood.

He turned to Crisipo. The soldier’s eyes were closed and a trickle of blood flowed from his slightly parted lips. It would be a while before he regained consciousness.

Akenon stood up, collected the swords, and went to his horse to get a rope. He was frowning, looking sober as he reflected.

How much will Crisipo have to be tortured before he betrays the masked man?

The pain made Crisipo whimper.

He could feel his body swaying, but didn’t understand what was happening. He half-opened his eyes, disconcerted, then realized where he was and quickly closed them again.

I must make Akenon think I’m still unconscious.

He was lying across his horse’s back, his arms and legs round the animal. His jaw hurt. He ran his tongue around his mouth and found a deep gash on the inside of his cheek and a couple of loose molars. He opened the eye closest to the horse just a slit. Night had fallen and they were moving slowly. He heard another horse to his left. Akenon must be riding beside him, leading his mount by the reins. Crisipo contracted one arm slowly to test how strong his bonds were. Instantly, he felt tension. He tried with one leg; the same.
I’m not going to be able to free myself
, he thought in frustration. He’d have to wait for the Egyptian to untie him and try to catch him by surprise at that point.

“Good evening, Crisipo.” Akenon greeted him with feigned friendliness. Crisipo continued pretending he was unconscious. “Guess who’s going to interrogate you.”

Where are we going?
wondered Crisipo. It was impossible to discern anything from where he was. He didn’t even know how long they’d been riding. He imagined they were heading for Croton. Probably the Pythagorean community.

“At first I thought I’d interrogate you myself in the forest.” The Egyptian seemed determined to keep talking, and Crisipo wondered why. Just to amuse himself while they traveled through the night? Akenon continued: “However, I figured you might not cooperate, and there’s someone who’s more competent than me at obtaining information. Who do you think that might be?”

Crisipo felt his breathing quicken, not from fear, but hatred. He hated the Egyptian and he hated himself for putting his master in danger.

“Are you thinking we’re going to Croton?” Akenon asked. “The truth is, it crossed my mind, but I found two good reasons not to do that. The first is that you might have many allies in Croton. You’re a criminal and a traitor and, unfortunately, we know there are many of your kind, hoplites who sell themselves to Cylon, or whoever will pay them.” Akenon continued in an ironic tone. “Maybe you were hoping Cylon would save you? This morning I saw you meeting with one of his guards.”

Crisipo made no reply.

“The second reason not to go to Croton is that we were much closer to Sybaris.” Crisipo opened his eyes in alarm. “I see you’re reacting to that. Good, because you still have time to spare yourself some very unpleasant business. Maybe you’d prefer to talk to me before I hand you over to Glaucus.” Akenon let the name float in the air for a moment. “As you might imagine, he’ll have far fewer scruples when it comes to…
interrogating you
than the community might have.”

Crisipo’s mind was racing. Maybe Glaucus would look on him favorably given that he was the servant of the person who had furnished him with the knowledge he so much desired, but it was also very possible…

“It might help you in your decision to know that Glaucus has reestablished his good relationship with Pythagoras. The community receives envoys from him almost every day with friendly messages of good will and respect.” Akenon paused to let his words sink in. “Three days ago, Glaucus sent a message saying that the ship and crew which transported the gold prize must have been lost at sea. That ship was also carrying the masked man, Boreas, and you. My guess is Glaucus will want to ask you about that, too, and there’s nothing you can tell him that’s going to calm him down. I can’t remember if I mentioned he’s really angry about this. Have you ever seen Glaucus when he’s really angry?”

Curse you, Akenon!
thought Crisipo.
You’re trying to scare me about Glaucus so I’ll reveal where my master is.

Naturally, he wasn’t about to confess, but neither did he think he was capable of withstanding torture.

Two hours later, Akenon and Crisipo were in Glaucus’ palace, in the storeroom under the kitchen. The Sybarite was talking to Crisipo while he heated some iron rods.

“Do you know that in this very place your companion Boreas tortured someone I loved very much?”

Crisipo gritted his teeth and felt a dart of pain in his jaw. He was tied to a chair, a guard on each side.

“You left Sybaris over two weeks ago,” Glaucus commented with apparent nonchalance. “As well as the prize, you took a good ship and a valuable crew.” He turned to his prisoner with a strange smile. “I suppose, Crisipo, that your master ordered Boreas to kill my ship’s crew. Is that what happened?”

“I had nothing to do with it,” answered Crisipo in a faint voice.

“Of course not,” said Glaucus in an extremely kind tone, as if it was very important to him that Crisipo understood he didn’t suspect him. “I don’t believe you had anything to do with it.” He checked the iron rods. They were still not hot enough. “Unfortunately, we’re in this regrettable situation because you can tell us where your master is, the man who hides behind a black mask, but you don’t want to.”

Crisipo bowed his head as he shook it. He had to make an effort not to break down from fear, but he couldn’t keep his hands and legs from shaking.