Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (21 page)

CHAPTER 45

April 24
th
, 510 B.C.

Ariadne was behind Akenon as they went up the stairs, squeezing the handle of her knife so tightly her knuckles had gone white. The closer they got to the top, the dimmer the light that reached them from the ground floor.

The innkeeper had just confirmed that a lone man had arrived fifteen or twenty minutes earlier. Though he hadn’t pulled down his hood, he seemed to fit Atma’s description. He was to meet another man who had arrived an hour earlier and who hadn’t revealed his face either.

Even so, the innkeeper couldn’t help shivering when she referred to him
, thought Ariadne.

In semi-darkness, they reached the landing. On their right, a step away, was a closed door. Akenon placed himself next to it and gestured to Ariadne to stand on the other side. They were no longer after an unknown enemy. They were about to come face to face with two men who were almost certainly responsible for the murders in the community.

Akenon put his ear to the door and listened intently, looking at Ariadne. She was tense, breathing quickly through her mouth, but she showed no sign of faltering. Akenon was surprised at this new side to Ariadne. He closed his eyes to concentrate on what he could hear. It seemed there was a window open, but he couldn’t hear voices or movements. Opening his eyes, he signaled to Ariadne. They were going in.

He took a step back. His plan was to burst in and make a quick attack. A slash at whoever was closest, and then he’d throw himself on the second man.
That way, the worst Ariadne will have to face is an injured man.
Once he’d finished with the second opponent, he’d deal with the first one again.

Just as he was about to push open the door, he heard a thud inside the room. He hesitated a moment, then kicked open the door. He ran in and turned, brandishing his sword, unnerved by the darkness in the room. His eyes rapidly scanned the wall where the door was, but he saw no one. Ariadne came in; they had agreed she would wait until he launched the first attack. She crouched and turned swiftly, like a cobra about to strike. Akenon saw a body lying on the ground. From its cropped hair he assumed it was Atma. They kept moving as fast as they could. Ariadne went to the body while Akenon rushed to the window. The stables were directly below. He saw a man roll off the edge of the roof and fall to the ground.

“He’s in the stables!” Akenon shouted.

The window was too narrow for him so he raced to the door. He took the stairs four at a time and dashed across the common room, sword unsheathed.

Ariadne followed him out into the heavy rain and saw Akenon enter the stables. Armed with her knife, like a wasp with its sting, she ran after him. She had verified that Atma was dead, but still didn’t understand why. There was no time to think. She had to follow her instincts to stay alive and help Akenon.

When she reached the stable, the door flew open and an enormous horse burst forth without giving her time to get out of the way. The animal’s withers hit her on the head knocking her on her back. The knife flew from her hand. Dazed, the only thing she could do was watch what was happening. The horse seemed unsure whether to start galloping or stop in its tracks. Ariadne saw Akenon holding the reins with his left arm while his right hung limply by his side. Astride the horse, a hooded figure attempted to spur him on, lashing out at Akenon with his foot.

The horse pawed the ground in a frenzy. Ariadne rolled to avoid being trampled, found her knife and jumped to her feet again. At the same moment, the hooded figure kicked Akenon full in the face. Akenon crumpled to the ground, and the horse bolted away at a frenetic gallop.

Ariadne ran to him. Akenon was dazed, blood pouring from his nose, but that seemed to be the extent of his injuries. She left him sitting on the ground and rushed into the stables to find a horse to go after the hooded man. The mare crossed her mind, but Ariadne knew she was so exhausted she wouldn’t last another half mile at a gallop. In a corner of the stables a young boy cowered. He was shaking, hugging his knees, and bleeding from a cut on his cheek. He had to be a servant of the innkeeper’s. Desperate, Ariadne looked in all directions, but the only animals in the stables were donkeys and mules.

She looked down the path with a shout of anger. Their enemy was so far away he was barely visible.

She left the stable, her tension turning to crushing frustration. They had been so close… She shook her head, feeling a sense of unreality as if she were waking from a dream, then dropped the knife and ran to Akenon, who was still sitting in the rain, spitting blood. His right shoulder had been caved in by a kick from the horse’s foreleg, making his collar bone protrude like an ugly ledge.

Akenon looked up at Ariadne, his face contorted and pale as wax.

“The man upstairs… Is it Atma?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Yes. He’s dead.” Ariadne thought about the enemy who had fled. She hadn’t been able to see his face. “Did you see who the hooded man was?”

Breathing with difficulty, Akenon shook his head, then lowered it again. He felt he might faint from the pain.

“Hold on. I’ll get help.”

Ariadne put a reassuring hand on Akenon’s cheek and got up. Before going back to the inn she took a last look at the road to Sybaris.

The only thing to be seen was the rain.

CHAPTER 46

May 21
st
, 510 B.C.

Glaucus was on the verge of a spiritual awakening.

For the past month, his only activities had been dozing intermittently and wandering through the palace at all hours, as if his mind had lost the ability to distinguish night from day. When he was awake, he roamed the mansion constantly, going in and out of the same rooms over and over, apparently in search of something he couldn’t find. Beside him limped Leandro, his new wine servant, a slave so old and ugly he’d never interfere in Glaucus’ relationships with young lovers, as Thessalus had done with his adored Yaco.

Leandro faithfully followed Glaucus’ instructions, bringing wine to his lips every five minutes. This procedure managed to alleviate the unrelenting pain he felt when he remembered his young lover. In sleep, however, there was no escape. In spite of not having been present at Yaco’s torment, he dreamed constantly of the teenager’s delicate face twisted in pain, pleading for clemency, while Boreas tortured him with a red-hot iron. He could clearly hear the screams, the heart-wrenching pleas, Glaucus, my dearest master, why are you doing this to one who loves you so much? He often woke screaming, and then gulped down his Sidonian wine so avidly it spilled over his tunic and sheets.

Since that abominable event Glaucus couldn’t bear the sight of Boreas. He forced him to hide himself so that his gigantic presence wouldn’t remind him that Boreas had disfigured Yaco and then chained him to an oar on a ship destined for distant shores. Two days after Yaco’s disfigurement, Glaucus had sent a second ship to rescue him. By the time they reached the first ship nothing could be done. The boy, too fragile to row, had died on the fifth day out of port.

The captain ordered his body thrown overboard
. Glaucus was horrified every time he thought of that. He pictured his beloved sinking slowly into the abyss, his eyes wide open, beseeching him silently to save him.

Though Boreas kept out of sight, Glaucus sometimes felt an almost uncontrollable urge to kill him. He also wanted Akenon dead, the Egyptian recommended by Eshdek, his main supplier in Carthage; the investigator who had shown that Yaco had been deceiving him with his former wine servant;
the man I had hoped would prove Yaco’s innocence, and instead ruined my life with his cleverness and his vile potions
.

He was also beginning to wish for his own death as the only way of putting an end to his bitter suffering.

Tormented by the thoughts that afflicted him every day, he had been roaming the gallery of the palace’s large private courtyard for hours. He passed the guest chambers, changed direction, walked along the side reserved for his most trusted servants’ quarters, then turned again and paced the gallery in front of the private halls, the bath and massage room…and finally, the empty room that had been Yaco’s. There he increased his pace as if he wished to flee, and ran through the last section of the gallery, leaving behind his rooms, the statue of Hestia with its perpetual fire on the altar, and the large armory. This route was repeated over and over. He maintained such a frenetic pace Leandro couldn’t keep up without spilling wine on the marble floor.

Suddenly, Glaucus stopped in his tracks. He turned around and looked defiantly at the central statue of Zeus.

Merciless gods, you take pleasure in playing with us as if we were common puppets!

The stone eyes stared back with cruel indifference. Glaucus passed between two columns, exiting the gallery, and approached the supreme god. His fervor was such that he was on the verge of cursing the most powerful inhabitant of Olympus.

He halted in front of the statue and raised his fists, enraged. At the same instant, he was paralyzed by a flash of lightning within. As if he had been reborn, Glaucus knew with absolute certainty he had connected with his own divine nature.

A prodigious light flooded his mind.

Fifteen years earlier, Pythagoras had traveled to Sybaris with Orestes and Cleomenides, his most outstanding disciples at the time. The Pythagorean community in Croton had achieved such renown that many Sybarites flocked to it in the hope of being admitted. Very few succeeded, as the character of the Sybarites and the worldliness of their society wasn’t compatible with the rigor and discipline of the brotherhood. Pythagoras finally devised an intermediate plan that would allow them to follow his teachings, and presented his ideas to the ruling classes in Sybaris. He would teach them the lighter part of the doctrine and its rules for individual and societal conduct. His proposal was readily received. Without having to make too many sacrifices, Sybarites could follow Pythagoras, whom they considered divine.

“I must return to Croton,” Pythagoras announced after a few days. “But Orestes and Cleomenides will stay with you for six months.”

Even though there was no plan to set up a community in Sybaris, the Sybarites were to receive preferential treatment from the Pythagorean masters. An agreement was also reached by which ambassadors would travel frequently between Sybaris and the Crotonian community. Contact between Pythagoras and the members of the Sybarite government would be particularly close.

The ensuing years were difficult for the Sybarite economy due to threats to its trade routes and its main clients. Persia invaded Egypt and threatened Greece. Some years earlier, it had invaded Phoenicia, after which the Persian king Darius had diverted the eastern Mediterranean trade routes that went from Greece to Phoenicia, now reduced to a mere province of his empire. On the other hand, Carthage, originally a Phoenician colony, had become independent from its motherland, and monopolized the trade routes of the western Mediterranean. In spite of all this, Sybaris benefitted from the heyday enjoyed by Magna Graecia and its neighboring regions, and flourished above all as a result of the political stability Pythagoras had brought to the area. The Sybarite government became increasingly supportive of Pythagoras and forged ties with the other Pythagorean governments, which were steadily growing in number.

At the time, the young Glaucus had just inherited a commercial empire. His father’s death was sudden, but he had already spent years teaching him the business and making him attend all the meetings. Thanks to that, and to Glaucus’ noteworthy talents, he managed his affairs brilliantly from the outset. Even so, he went through a period of crisis when he became so interested in Pythagoreanism that he neglected his business responsibilities. He even considered entering the community in Croton and devoting himself to the search for knowledge. His partners became uneasy and finally gave him an ultimatum.

“You can be as ascetic as you want,” they had told him. “You’re also free to enter the Crotonian community and never leave it again. But before you do that, and in memory of your father, with whom we worked for so many years, we would ask you to hand over the reins of all operations.”

Glaucus had mulled it over for two weeks. He was young and passionate, and both sides of his nature pulled him equally. He didn’t want to choose, but he had to. In the end, he had decided not to renounce his older, more deeply-rooted inclinations.

Maybe life in the community would prove too hard for me
.

He decided to keep his Sybarite interests and way of life and told his partners so, but his passion for mathematics didn’t wane. Engaging his mind in subtle and complex reasoning gave him exquisite pleasure, as well as calming him like nothing else. For these reasons he tried to convince the master Orestes to allow him access to higher Pythagorean knowledge.

“Your abilities are extraordinary,” Orestes replied, “but Pythagoras’ great knowledge and discoveries are revealed only to those of us who devote our lives to the brotherhood.”

Glaucus bowed his head respectfully before the master Orestes, in apparent resignation. However, it wasn’t long before he again wanted more than he was permitted.

He learned what he could on his own. Then he began to pay anyone who claimed to possess the knowledge he craved. His palace was filled with a cohort of sages, magi, and swindlers with whom he held daily discussions. He awarded prizes to whoever could take him one step further. The amounts offered were large enough to make news of those prizes spread quickly beyond the borders of Sybaris.

One day he received a visit from Pythagoras. The venerable master looked out of place amid the luxury of the palace. He waited to be alone with Glaucus before addressing a delicate issue.

“We should hunger not only for truth, but virtue, too,” said Pythagoras. “Knowledge obtained through gold rather than virtuous merit, can separate us from the path of righteousness and be pernicious to us and our environment.”

Apart from that warning, the rest of the visit was cordial. Pythagoras, in his role as statesman, was interested in maintaining good political relations with Glaucus, who wielded great influence in the Sybarite government.

Glaucus would have preferred to act within the limits and rules outlined by Pythagoras, but found it impossible. His appetite for sensual pleasures had grown at the same rate as his intellectual hunger, and it had become unthinkable to abandon everything to enter the Crotonian community. The only path that remained for him to learn the complex mathematical truths and intimate laws of nature was to offer prizes to anyone who would reveal these secrets to him. The Pythagoreans were the best, but not the only ones who achieved results in the search for Truth.

Experience has taught me to trust in the power of gold
, Glaucus thought, behind the resigned smile he gave the Pythagorean masters.

Thanks to his gold, he advanced further than Pythagoras would have liked. Even so, he soon came up against unscalable walls. At the highest levels of the brotherhood, Pythagoras taught that, ultimately, everything was formed from geometric shapes. He also revealed the properties and method of construction of those shapes. As the basic building block of the universe, the dodecahedron was the most important. Glaucus spent months studying it, consulting dozens of sages, and offering prizes to those who could teach him. All in vain. The secrets of the dodecahedron remained beyond his reach.

There was an even more fascinating secret, though: one that surpassed all the others. It seemed astonishingly simple, but eluded all of man’s best efforts. It was the ratio, or quotient, between the length of a circumference and its diameter—what would much later come to be known as Pi. The search for this quotient occupied Glaucus’ thoughts for years. It became an obsession, from which he barely managed to distract himself during long banquets or while reviewing the state of his business affairs. Glaucus was an excellent example of a Sybarite: fat, gluttonous, of refined sensibilities, and very wealthy. Even so, his mind possessed special qualities more typical of a Pythagorean master. As a result, the attempt to achieve a close approximation to that quotient immersed him in a state of exquisite mental tension, as if he were nearing the greatest climax imaginable.

In time, he learned that the Pythagoreans didn’t know how to calculate the quotient either. It was a bittersweet discovery. On one hand, it was discouraging to know he couldn’t use his gold to seduce a Pythagorean to break his oath of secrecy and reveal the enigma. On the other hand, if he managed to discover the answer without the help of a Pythagorean, he would be at a higher level than Pythagoras himself on that subject, and the promise of glorious catharsis he had always felt while studying the elusive quotient would be transformed instantly into reality. It would elevate him, if only for an instant, to the level of the divine.

A year and a half earlier, his passionate nature had taken a marked turn toward the opposite end of the spectrum. One sunny morning, he had discovered Yaco among the merchandise in a slave market, radiating innocence and sensuality. He’d bought him without haggling and made him the focal point of his life, relegating his mathematical interests—elusive, frustrating promises—to second place.

With Yaco, his life was a prolonged ecstasy. Glaucus sailed the sky-blue of his eyes and lost himself in Yaco’s alabaster skin. He achieved such a perfect state of bliss it seemed eternal. That was why the abrupt ending had hit him so hard. He lost his way, began to go mad, and, little by little, convinced himself that suicide would be the best alternative, indeed, the only one. That idea, shrouded in anguish and an alcohol-induced haze, had been strengthening its hold on his mind for several weeks and was now at the point of being realized.

But now, a simple glance at the statue of Zeus had wrought a new change in his world. The irrational passion accumulated in his soul suddenly overflowed its bonds and began to flood his old obsessions. The mists dissipated, blown away by a breath of clear vision, and he realized his life was beginning to make sense again. His entire being filled with limitless determination when his old goal resurfaced. All doubts vanished. The path to knowledge would be sublime, and its culmination would bring him immeasurable satisfaction.

He closed his eyes in front of the statue, dazzled by the clarity of his vision. He felt an urgent longing, a compelling need to devote every second to his goal.

Whatever the cost, I must possess the secrets that have so far been denied me
.