Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (9 page)

Akenon wondered what things Pythagoras was referring to: women? Ariadne appeared for a moment in his mind, and he brushed her quickly aside. Unlimited quantities of food and drink? His freedom? It was true he wasn’t prepared to stop enjoying life in exchange for something he didn’t believe in… He shook his head, surprised to discover his thoughts had become defensive. It must have happened in reaction to the fact that he was attracted by Pythagoras’ words as a sailor was to the song of the sirens. Becoming a higher being with powerful faculties was a compelling dream, especially if someone showed you the theoretical path to achieve it.

He looked up, feeling as if he had just woken from a dream or a spell whose enchantment still surrounded him.

“Excuse me, but I think I need to retire.”

At that moment, Aristomachus leaned his small body forward with a nervous movement.

“I’d like to make just one comment. The inventor of the
tetraktys
,” he respectfully bowed his head at Pythagoras, “can at times be too generous in his judgment of some of his enemies. For this reason, I feel obliged to point out…”

“Say no more!” Pythagoras reprimanded him.

Aristomachus stopped. He lowered his eyes, visibly agitated, his fists clenched. Suddenly, an expression of intense pain crossed his face and he began to speak again.

“He needs to know,” he said, turning hurriedly toward Akenon. “Cylon swore he’d take revenge on Pythagoras when he denied him access to the community. We all think the investigation should focus on him, however powerful he might be.” He lowered his head, and his voice faded to a whimper. “I’m sorry, master.”

A tense silence ensued. The other disciples fixed their gaze on the table, without reacting to their colleague’s words. Akenon examined them quickly, and found that Daaruk was nodding almost imperceptibly. He wasn’t looking at him, but Akenon perceived that his attention was directed firmly at him. He scrutinized his face, unable to detect any other clue, and frowned.

Does Daaruk want me to suspect Cylon, or Aristomachus himself?

CHAPTER 19

April 18
th
, 510 B.C.

Boreas took the last few steps toward Falanto. A hideous smile contorted his face.

The old slave tried to retreat, but his back hit the wall. He looked up, his eyes bulging from their sockets in terror. The monster was a mountain of muscles about to fall on top of him. He tried to speak, beg for compassion, but no sound came from his trembling lips.

Boreas savored the moment. He was in no hurry. The time spent with Yaco had left him quite satisfied. Falanto had seen what he shouldn’t have and for that, he was going to kill him, of course, but he didn’t feel the need to brutalize him. Maybe the best thing would be to make it look like an accident. He was an old man. Boreas could strangle him without leaving marks on his body and then leave him in the kitchen. The others would think he had died of natural causes.

A noise was heard from upstairs. Boreas took his eyes off the old man and looked toward the top of the stairs.

“Father?”

It was one of Falanto’s sons.

“Father, are you down there?” another of his sons asked.

The sound of approaching footsteps was heard. Boreas frowned, turned quickly and picked Yaco’s tunic up off the ground.

Falanto saw the giant walking away from him and thought about escaping, but couldn’t move a single muscle. He also wanted to shout, though not so much to ask for help as to order his sons to flee from the beast.

Boreas took Yaco’s body as if it were a rag doll and began to dress it in the tunic. The boy emitted unconscious moans with every movement. When Boreas finished, it looked as if the torture had been confined to the adolescent’s face.

Falanto’s two sons came into the storeroom.

“Father!”

They helped him to his feet and looked at Boreas with a mixture of fear and hatred. For a few seconds they all studied each other in silence. The two young men were strong, accustomed to hard physical labor, but the giant could have crushed them with a swipe of his hand. At last, Boreas lifted Yaco’s body and shook the boy’s head in front of the three slaves.

Falanto’s sons looked at each other, uncomprehending.

Boreas drew closer and grunted fiercely as he shook the boy’s disfigured face.

“What he’s trying to tell us,” Falanto pointed out in a feeble voice, “is that we are witnesses to his having carried out Master Glaucus’ orders. He was ordered to destroy Yaco’s face with a red-hot iron, and that’s what he’s done. That and nothing else.”

Falanto’s sons nodded, took their father by the shoulders and helped him up the stairs.

He also told me
, thought Falanto before passing out,
that he’ll do to us what he did to Yaco if I tell anyone what I’ve seen
.

Glaucus’ renewed cries interrupted Boreas’ memories. There was something different about his howling, though. His master was no longer bawling Yaco’s name. The giant tried to decipher what he was shouting but couldn’t.

He stretched himself on the blankets and sat up. He felt like stretching his legs as well, but couldn’t stand upright under the ceiling without stooping, and he didn’t want to go out. He decided to stay where he was a while longer.

After he had shown Yaco’s disfigured face to Falanto and his sons, he had taken the unconscious boy to the port. Two soldiers accompanied him and helped him convey Glaucus’ orders to the captain of one of his ships. Boreas selected the one that was about to set sail to a remote destination. The captain did not object to chaining Yaco to one of his oars. The giant took advantage of the soldiers being momentarily distracted to take the captain aside. Boreas wanted to make sure he would have no problems with Glaucus in the future, and to this end he used gestures to give the captain further instructions of his own. The captain promised to comply with all his requests. Everyone who knew Boreas, slaves and freemen alike, knew it was preferable not to contradict the giant.

Two guards appeared at the entrance to his room while he was still lost in his memories.

“Boreas, Glaucus wants to see you.”

The giant emitted an enquiring grunt.

“I don’t know,” answered the guard. “He’s regained consciousness and is talking to lots of people. Come on.”

The two guards kept a prudent distance while they accompanied him. They carried a torch to dispel the darkness of the night as they made their way through the palace. Boreas was a little uneasy, even though he believed he had everything under control. He imagined Glaucus had asked about Yaco as soon as he recovered, but he was sure Falanto hadn’t dared utter a word. The old slave knew that that would mean death for his family. Perhaps for Boreas as well, but not before he had finished with them and at least a dozen guards.

When they reached Glaucus’ chamber, the guards stood sentry outside the door. Boreas had to duck to enter the room.

His master was sitting in his bed, his back propped up on several large pillows. He was conscious though perspiring profusely, and his face wore the haunted look of a tortured soul. Boreas scanned the room and saw it was crowded with people. Close to the door stood six guards, among them the chief palace guard, all of them standing at attention. Next to the bed were two secretaries and some slaves who were attending to Glaucus during his convalescence.

To his right, his face full of tension and surrounded by his sons, old Falanto averted his gaze when Boreas looked at him.

CHAPTER 20

April 18
th
, 510 B.C.

Pythagoras made no comment on Aristomachus’ unexpected intervention. He simply gave him an understanding look and brought the evening to a close.

The disciples withdrew quietly to their bedrooms.

“Akenon,” said Pythagoras, “allow me to accompany you.”

They went out into the night. Pythagoras’ house was fifty yards from the communal building where Akenon’s room was. They began to walk in silence, listening to the soft crunch of the soil under their feet. The cool night breeze carried the scent of the sea. A crescent moon shone in the cloudless sky, casting a spectral light on the ground and the buildings.

“Who is Cylon?” asked Akenon half way along the path.

“Have you decided to take on the case?” replied Pythagoras.

Akenon mulled it over for a few minutes before answering.

“If it’s all right with you, I’ll spend a few days making some inquiries and investigating here and there, and then we’ll see if I can help you or if I’m wasting my time.”

“Is six drachmas a day acceptable payment?”

It was a reasonable offer though, naturally, it was far less than what he had earned from Glaucus.

“In memory of my father, I won’t charge for these first days of work. If I decide to stay longer we can talk about possible payment.”

Pythagoras was about to protest, but Akenon stopped him by raising his hand.

“That’s what I want to do. I’m happy to be able to help you. Besides, you’ve seen that I’m not exactly short of money right now.”

Pythagoras considered for a moment and then nodded.

“Very well. Thank you, Akenon.” He sighed before answering Akenon’s original question. “As for Cylon, he’s one of the most powerful political enemies we have. When I arrived in Croton three decades ago I gave a series of talks in which I convinced many members of the government. They granted me a plot of land and built this compound on it so men, women, and children could study here. Apart from the basic teachings, I began to offer more in-depth instruction to those who wanted to advance further in my doctrines, and those students passed a series of tests. That was how the School was born. Cylon, whose wealth and lineage made him powerful, considered himself to be the most suitable candidate for the School. He proved to have a notable intellect, but I had to refuse him once I had analyzed his physiognomy and his expression. He is vain, selfish, and violent. He left, spitting curses, and I know that since then he’s held a grudge against us and has tried to do us harm. Even so, at this point he’s a familiar old thorn in our side. I would be surprised if he intensified his attacks after thirty years.”

They paused under the starry sky, at the doors to the communal building, and Pythagoras continued talking in a quiet voice.

“I don’t want to draw particular attention to Cylon because I don’t think there’s any greater probability of him being the murderer than anyone else I’ve ever refused. It could equally be a political rival, in Croton or any other city where our brotherhood forms part of the government. Ultimately, we have thousands of suspects if the criterion is that they have a motive, whether personal or political. However, only the evidence should single out one person as opposed to another, and we have no evidence against anyone. Aristomachus has had a few brushes with Cylon in the past, and that’s why he’s focused on him. I don’t share his opinion. It’s true we must consider Cylon as a possible candidate, but he’s just one of many.”

“And within the School?” Akenon looked instinctively toward the interior of the communal building. “Could anyone have a motive for doing away with Cleomenides?”

“No personal motives, as far as I know. Cleomenides was very fair and had a pleasant personality.”

“You mentioned the subject of your succession.”

Akenon left the word hanging in the air, and Pythagoras took his time answering.

“Yes, that’s something that should be kept in mind, even though I find it upsetting. The night of the murder was the first time I ever brought up the subject. I’m in good health and had never spoken about retirement. Anyone could have speculated about it, but it would have been unfounded. Nevertheless, I had been reflecting on the future of the School for some time. A few days before the crime, I decided it would be best if someone replaced me while I could still assist him for a few years. The main candidates to my succession are the men with whom you dined this evening, but that night, I must stress, none of them knew anything about it yet. The murder couldn’t have been committed because of my succession, at least not because of anything I had said about the matter. Bear in mind that I informed all of them at the same time during that meeting—and ten minutes later Cleomenides died. We had been in the Temple of the Muses for more than an hour, and no one had come in or gone out during that time.”

“In other words, the poison was ready in his goblet since before the meeting,” said Akenon.

“That’s right. Before any of them had heard a single word about my succession.”

The men parted company and Pythagoras turned his steps toward the Temple of the Muses. He was deeply engrossed in his thoughts, walking slowly along the flat stone path that ended at the entrance to the temple. The only sound in the whole community was the gentle brush of his leather sandals on the ground.

He thought about the ten years he had spent in Thebes, rising through the different ranks of the Egyptian clergy. At each level, deeper mysteries of their religion and science had been revealed to him. When he’d reached the highest stage, he’d left the clergy to perfect his studies in geometry, the branch of knowledge he could still learn something about from the Egyptians. The Pharaoh did him one last favor by sending him to Memphis so he could receive instruction from Akenon’s father, a renowned geometrician who also spoke Greek, since his deceased wife had been Athenian. In Memphis, Pythagoras became a master of geometry—a science which he himself developed further in the years that followed—and met the young Akenon, who was now his greatest hope for solving Cleomenides’ murder and removing the most dangerous threat he had ever felt.

He went up the three stone steps and entered the temple.

Back then, Akenon had been no more than a boy—carefree despite having recently lost his mother, very intelligent, and endowed with a rare purity of feeling. When Pythagoras learned of his father’s murder and the fact that Akenon had abandoned his studies to join the police force, he’d thought Akenon might lose that purity of spirit. Pythagoras knew how difficult it was to redeem a soul, and how easily it could be corrupted without a good model to follow.

Fortunately, that hasn’t been the case,
he thought, remembering his recent impressions of Akenon.

In truth, it had been a coincidence that Akenon was so close by when the community needed an investigator from outside Croton. If a political enemy had been audacious enough to commit a murder right under his nose, the possibility of him also extending his tentacles through the police force and the army couldn’t be discounted. He needed someone who had no connections with his enemies in Croton.

This was a very delicate moment. The School had already achieved the political weight of a small empire. The time was coming to expand into those nations that might see them as a threat and gain their confidence before they attacked the Pythagoreans. They had already had some conversions among the Romans and the Etruscans, but they needed to keep working to gain clout in those governments until they could take control of them. The next step would be to establish a presence in Carthage, and finally in the government of the massive Persian empire. Pythagoras’ grand political aspiration was a community of nations. Putting an end to war. He wouldn’t see it in his lifetime, but maybe his successor would. He had spent thirty years sowing the seeds of this project.

Maybe in another thirty it could become a reality
.

Beside the statue of the goddess Hestia, the sacred fire danced, casting undulating shadows on the internal walls of the Temple of the Muses. Pythagoras let his gaze linger on the fire that was never extinguished. Against that background of yellow flames he mentally superimposed the image of the
tetraktys
. He meditated on the secrets of that simple shape, and gradually began to connect with the deepest and most powerful currents of spiritual strength.

The ratios between the numbers one and two, two and three, and three and four were some of the most basic and essential laws of nature shown by the
tetraktys.
Pythagoras had discovered that music, the harmonic relationship between the notes, obeyed these ratios. Now he advanced beyond that knowledge, and his mind navigated among the seven celestial spheres. Like a vast lyre, the spheres produced music as they moved through the universe, music detectable only to his superior spirit in moments of supreme concentration.

He could hear it now.

From the sublime state he had entered, he made a final effort, pushing his limits, and achieved something he would only teach the
chosen one:
he extended his control over his mind beyond the natural limits of consciousness, entering the vast territory of the intellect, which registers and processes information automatically, and almost infinitely. He broadened his control over his unconscious perceptions, his subconscious memories, and those precise, unfathomable conclusions the brain produces at its deepest and most inaccessible levels, generally perceived by us only as occasional flashes of intuition. For a few intensely arduous instants he would have access to the most tenuous and impenetrable perceptions of his senses, his understanding, and his memory. He would be able to analyze everything his mind was registering, or had registered, in the vast areas normally inaccessible to our conscious minds. He focused that extraordinary insight on Akenon, and found the same impressions he had received during the day: a deep sensitivity, almost excessive given what he did for a living; a hardened layer of pragmatism and detachment, the result of many bitter experiences. Akenon was a just and competent man, down-to-earth though somewhat spiritual; trustworthy and capable of carrying out investigations among men, but defenseless before powerful spiritual forces.

I hope to be by your side if you have to confront them
.

He sustained his mental effort, redirecting his concentration to his main disciples. Nothing came to him, which worried him. He had tried hard to help his favorites reach far higher levels than average mortals. He had endeavored to make them grand masters, shepherds, as he himself had been, for a humanity that had lost its way. And he had succeeded, but by doing so he had also made them resistant to his ability to see what lay within them. He could discern little when he searched the depths of their gaze or the resonance of their voices. He had assumed that with the unparalleled perception his mind gave him at moments like these, he would be able to penetrate beyond the layers the teachings and training had developed in them, but now he wasn’t sure. Were they hiding nothing, or was he simply incapable of detecting it? He had released them long ago from his influence so they could make their own advances.

Maybe one of them has reached greater heights than I imagined.

He was growing weaker. He wouldn’t be able to continue much longer.

His thoughts focused on Ariadne. A strong wave of love for her came over him. This was followed by guilt, though there was nothing he could have done to prevent what happened to her as a teenager. It was what had made her aloof, not wanting to be around others, not even her own mother. The only solution to keep her from abandoning her studies was for him to guide her personally, in violation of the rule that Theano was in charge of instructing the women in the School. Ariadne had immersed herself in the doctrine obsessively, as if it was the only thing that eased her inner turmoil. He had tried to balance that excess, but had ended up giving in, fascinated by the incredible pace of his daughter’s progress. Then he broke another of his rules: he allowed her access to increasingly higher knowledge far too quickly, when she was too young. He even began to think she might succeed him one day. But Ariadne changed again. She gained confidence and became a full-grown adult. She stopped living exclusively in the world of ideas. It soon became clear she was no longer as interested in the doctrine, and there were even many moral codes with which she didn’t agree. He had to accept that she would not succeed him, and respect her independence. Although she now worked for the community, she felt caged within its confines, and requested any work that involved travel. Perhaps, unconsciously, she was trying to escape the past.

His strength began to fail and his mental vision flickered.

One last attempt
. Gritting his teeth in the Temple of the Muses, Pythagoras shifted his concentration toward several of the councilors opposed to his School. His exceptional perception revealed antagonism, even flashes of hatred. Stronger than he had imagined.

He was unable to continue. The power of his mind decreased until it was once again within the ordinary limits of consciousness.

Pythagoras opened his eyes, dazed. The sacred fire was still performing its ever-changing dance. Doubled over and panting, he stumbled forward and leaned against Hestia’s pedestal. At the last second he had seen something more. All the perceptions had ignited in a terrifying flash.