Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (42 page)

CHAPTER 91

July 11
th
, 510 B.C.

The Council session that day had left Pythagoras seriously concerned. Even though his presence was enough to keep Cylon in line, there was no denying that the Crotonian continued to gain strength.

He opened his eyes and contemplated the eternal flame in front of the statue of Hestia in the Temple of the Muses.

We have too many loose ends, and all of them are worrying
.

The masked man was still at large and now he had the monster Boreas. Glaucus seemed to have settled down, but not before he had handed over a mountain of gold to his enemy, and his combination of power and instability continued to be an underlying threat. Cylon became more daring by the day, attracting new supporters, apparently aided by the masked man’s gold. His own succession was a difficult proposition given that he had lost several of his best men, though he hoped to solve the problem with the idea of the committee. And, finally, his plans to expand the School had come to a dead stop when he had had to postpone the Roman initiative.

Pythagoras put a hand closer to the flames and felt the waves of heat. There was another matter bothering him: Akenon had been missing since the previous day. After much investigation, he had learned that he had been seen leaving on horseback along the northern road. Could he have gone to Sybaris again? Why had he said nothing beforehand? It all seemed to indicate an urgent departure, and that made Pythagoras uneasy.

He thought he heard commotion outside and turned to the door. The sounds of a distant disturbance reached his ears and he hurried out. He heard his name being shouted and his heart contracted.

His bodyguards were only a few yards from the temple. Some disciples ran toward him, calling at the top of their lungs. Pythagoras heard the word “fire” just as he saw a column of smoke rising from the communal buildings.

“Run for water,” he ordered the disciples who had come to get him.

He noticed there were already several masters organizing a human chain to transport water, and he hastened to the building the smoke was issuing from. Despite having always been in excellent shape, he now felt exhausted after running barely a hundred yards. In the last weeks he had aged several years.

I hope no one’s hurt
, he thought as he went through the door and into the courtyard.

When he saw where the fire was coming from he froze.

It’s Aristomachus’ room!

He advanced until he was within a few feet of the blaze, trying not to think the worst. The fire was under control but there were still flames in what was left of the ceiling. Smoke billowed so thickly through the open door it was impossible to see.

When he tried to get closer, someone took his arm and held him back. He turned and saw it was Evander. The master didn’t seem injured, but his tunic was ripped and his body blackened from the smoke.

“Master, we have to wait.”

“Do we know where Aristomachus is?” asked Pythagoras intently.

“I haven’t seen him…” Evander paused, shaking his head. “The door was blocked from the inside. I knocked it down myself, but it was impossible to go in and I couldn’t see anything.”

Pythagoras looked for a moment at the fire and joined Evander in the human chain that was transporting water, throwing it into the bedroom. When the smoke abated a little, they decided to go in. A warm vapor enveloped them, smelling of damp ashes. The ceiling had caved in and the floor was covered with smoking fragments of wood.

They saw a body on the ground.

Pythagoras kneeled in the ashes and scrutinized the face, but was unable to identify it.

“Help me get him out,” he said urgently.

He pulled a piece of wood out of the way and took the body by its feet. Evander picked it up by the arms, and between them they carried it out. It weighed almost nothing.

Many disciples had congregated outside the fire-ravaged room. In silence, they stood back to allow Evander and Pythagoras through. When they laid the body face up on the sandy ground of the courtyard, all doubts were dispelled. It was Aristomachus. His body was charred, but the part of his face that had been resting on the ground was intact. It revealed an expression of suffering and sadness that was painful to contemplate.

“There’s something in his hand,” Evander said hoarsely.

Pythagoras continued to stare at his dead friend’s face, trying to hold back his grief. It was impossible to read his expression. Finally, he looked away and focused on Aristomachus’ hand, which was clutching what appeared to be a dirty parchment.

“How could it not have burned?” asked Evander as Pythagoras prised it from the stiff hand.

The philosopher shook his head in answer. It surprised him as well. Aristomachus’ hand was burned, but the document had survived. Although it was dirty and burnt around some of its edges, most of the contents were legible. Pythagoras turned it around, looked at it, disconcerted, then turned it right way up again.

An inverted pentacle!

His eyes scanned the same text Aristomachus had perused an hour earlier. Pythagoras’ powers of comprehension were superior, so the abyss and the darkness conjured up by the document enveloped him faster. His face blanched until it was as white as his hair, and he had to lean on Evander’s shoulder to keep himself upright. He stammered an excuse and left his disciples and Aristomachus’ corpse.

He needed to continue reading alone.

CHAPTER 92

July 16
th
, 510 B.C.

The masked man was unusually restless.

This meeting could result in a dramatic step forward for my plans
.

He was standing with his back against a wall. The dim light in the enclosure came from a single oil lamp which rested on the ground. High above him, the walls disappeared into the darkness. Tellus, the influential popular leader from Sybaris, stood next to him. He was a man whose appearance often caused mistaken first impressions. He looked harmless and had a tendency to get lost in his thoughts, but when he spoke in public he was transformed. His gestures became energetic and his ringing voice transmitted such enthusiasm it galvanized everyone who heard him.

His main weakness is excessive prudence
, thought the masked man as he observed him.

Probably as a result of being so cautious, Tellus had spent years conspiring in the shadows, without ever taking action…
until now
.

The masked man silently watched Tellus as he paced back and forth. The Sybarite leader kept rubbing his hands together, murmuring in an inaudible tone. In front of them was a wide curtain, which would soon be opened. On the other side was a large room packed with two hundred expectant men, each of them attending on behalf of a good number of Sybarites.

In all, they represented close to twenty thousand men.

There’s no doubt, Crisipo’s best move was finding Tellus
, the masked man told himself with a grunt of satisfaction. Tellus had saved him many months’ work and a huge amount of gold.

The building where the meeting was being held was a granary. They had improvised a stage—a simple wooden platform—and behind that, with strips of wood and cloth, a curtain, to create the separate room where the masked man and Tellus waited. The granary had a rear door. Guarding it were Boreas and two of Tellus’ bodyguards, who looked like seven-year-old boys beside the giant. In the silent forest surrounding them, some twenty guards patrolled, invisible in the darkness of the night.

Behind the curtain, the excited din of the audience was growing louder. The two men were just waiting for one of Tellus’ men to confirm that all the invitees had arrived.

Four days earlier, the masked man had gone with Boreas to the meeting place arranged with Cylon. Every day, the Crotonian politician sent a guard to a safe place so they could communicate. On that occasion, the masked man wanted to know the outcome of the letter he had sent Aristomachus the previous day.

“Aristomachus perished in a fire,” the guard told him. He smiled under the mask, but the guard’s next words wiped the smile from his face. “Cylon asked me to deliver another piece of information. We’ve just learned that Akenon detained Crisipo and took him to Glaucus’ palace. There he was tortured until he died.”

“Did
they
kill him?!” The intensity of the masked man’s voice made the guard tremble.

“I don’t think so, sir,” he answered hurriedly. “One of Glaucus’ guards who was present at the torture confirmed that Crisipo died the moment the torture began. It seems Glaucus and Akenon mentioned poison.”

The masked man breathed a sigh of relief.

Stupid guard, you had me worried that Crisipo might have revealed the location of my hiding places
.

“Tell your master Cylon to continue with his work.”

Without giving the guard a second glance, he turned his horse around and rode straight to Sybaris. Now that he had lost Crisipo, he’d have to deal personally with the Sybarite question, the most important branch of his current strategy.

The curtain drew back slightly and a head peered in.

“Tellus, they’re all here.”

“Very good,” replied the Sybarite leader. “We’ll be right out.”

Tellus turned to the masked man and offered him his hand with an energetic gesture. They shook hands solemnly and then went through the curtain. Instantly, the crowd roared, though there was no true fervor yet. That would come after the speeches if everything went well. For now, there was still a current of anxiety that blended with the dry, sweet smell of grain. Everyone present had taken a large risk to attend the meeting that night.

Tellus was a natural leader and a long-time acquaintance of all those men. The audience was already his before he opened his mouth, but he knew that meeting was far too important to take anything for granted. He ran his gaze over his public, looking people in the eye. It was essential that both he and the masked man play an extraordinary role on that stage. He had to argue more convincingly than ever before if he was to demand of those men something he had never asked before.

He raised his hands for silence, then waited just the right amount of time before beginning his speech, modulating the emotion in his voice.

“Citizens, comrades, brothers of Sybaris…!”

The masked man stayed behind the stage, watching discreetly in the background. It was the first time he had seen Tellus in action and, very soon, he was more than satisfied. He couldn’t even hear the audience breathe. His thoughts returned to Crisipo. Fortunately, he had had time to bite one of the poison capsules stitched into the hem of his tunic.

Crisipo had given him wonderful service, but he no longer wanted servants who could be made to confess the locations of his hiding places. For now, he’d limit himself to Boreas, who would act as his bodyguard and keep the occasional traveler far from his two lairs where his gold was stored. The buildings were often left unguarded, but from the outside they looked like abandoned villas, of no interest to burglars, and besides, they were far from the main roads.

Boreas will be more than enough…until the day arrives when my servants will be counted in the thousands.

He cast a possessive look over the crowd. Up to now, almost everything had worked to perfection. The only minor setbacks had been Crisipo’s capture and Akenon surviving Cylon’s plan to
exil
e
,
then kill him. What had occurred with Crisipo had been bound to happen sooner or later. It had been a necessary sacrifice.

As for Akenon, I’ll take care of him personally if my overarching plan doesn’t crush him along with the rest of them
.

The key to his continued success against the Pythagoreans was the intimate knowledge he had of them. Aristomachus, for example, had been pathetically easy.

Poor fool, I knew exactly what you’d do when you got my letter
.

Aristomachus had always been a dramatic sort. It seemed that his highest aspiration had been to give his life for Pythagoras. Fine, all the masked man had done was hand him that opportunity on a silver platter. To achieve that, of course, he had first had to make his most impressive discovery and then send it to Aristomachus.

The thought sent a shiver through his body. He himself was still deeply moved by his discovery.

Aristomachus gave his life in vain to protect his god, Pythagoras
.

The parchment he had sent him had been impregnated with a fire-resistant substance. It had most likely survived the fire and ended up in the philosopher’s hands.

Are you going to commit suicide too, great Pythagoras?
The masked man stifled a laugh.
Are you going to abandon your flock of sheep?

Pythagoras would probably keep to himself the terrible truth that he had revealed to him. However, he wouldn’t be able to forget it, and it would eat him up inside. Later, the masked man would make sure he spread that devastating knowledge among all the Pythagoreans.

But right now, this is the time for Sybaris
.

Suddenly there was a round of thunderous applause. Tellus had finished his speech and the audience was on fire. They cheered him, waving their arms in the air, shouting their leader’s last messages.

Ready to die for
our
cause
, the masked man smiled cynically.
Exactly what I need
.

Tellus turned to him and held out his hand, radiant. He had used all his powers of persuasion to convey ideas for which he was prepared to give his life.

Much better, you come across more convincingly that way
.

The masked man didn’t believe a single word he was about to utter. He didn’t need to. It was easy to deceive an audience that was already so convinced. Led by Tellus, he walked out onto the stage. Two hundred influential Sybarites watched him with shining eyes. He reached the edge of the platform and waited a few seconds for the expectation to build even more.

From the black mask, a cavernous voice issued, taking total control of the audience.