Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (3 page)

CHAPTER 4

April 16
th
, 510 B.C.

Five minutes later, Akenon watched the last man hastily enter the banquet hall. The doors were closed.

There must be at least two hundred people in here
.

Akenon couldn’t help feeling the crowd’s fear as they were herded together without knowing what was happening. Almost all of them were free workers or slaves, though there were also some of Glaucus’ relatives who lived with him permanently. Two armed guards blocked one of the exits, and the other was barricaded by Boreas’ bulk.

Glaucus ordered that the triclinia, benches and tables usually used for banquets, be pushed into the center of the hall, leaving a large, empty space between the furniture and the walls.

“Now we have our little stadium,” said the obese Sybarite with bitter sarcasm.

He ordered the embers of the enormous hearth to be stoked and the fireplace filled with dry branches. Soon, the flames licked up the wood, engulfing it completely.

The temperature in the hall quickly began to rise.

Some hours earlier, Akenon had handed Glaucus a small glass vial sealed with wax.

“Keep it cool, and don’t open it until you’re ready to use it.”

The Sybarite took the vial and looked at Akenon suspiciously. He was used to people fawning over him, and the Egyptian’s overly-confident, independent attitude bothered him. It was particularly annoying at that moment, so terribly crucial for him. He felt a surge of rage, but his attention was quickly drawn back to the vessel in his hand. He raised it to his eyes and observed its contents, a dense liquid, whitish yellow in color.

“Are you sure he won’t notice anything?”

“It’s completely odorless until it decomposes,” replied Akenon, “and when you mix it with oil it will acquire that consistency. There’s no way he’ll suspect anything.”

Glaucus breathed a tired sigh and put the vial away among the folds of his wide tunic.

Half an hour later, he locked himself into his private chambers with Yaco, the teenage slave.

“Today I’m the one giving you the massage.”

Yaco smiled mischievously. His long blond bangs fell over one of his sky-blue eyes. He had let his tunic slip down to his waist, revealing a slender, lithe body the color of alabaster.

“Master,” he drew closer, moving his hips suggestively, “are you going to rub my whole body?”

Glaucus smiled sadly. It was probably his fault that the incredibly beautiful Yaco was so lascivious.

“You’ll be shining from your gorgeous hair to the tips of your adorable toes.”

“And slippery,” purred Yaco, licking his lips and parting them slightly.

He let his slim body fall onto the bed, and Glaucus began to caress his smooth skin. Beside them was a bowl of oil into which he dipped his hands regularly. To the scented oil he had added the entire contents of Akenon’s vial.

The caresses were more prolonged and intense than usual. Throughout, Glaucus cried over his young lover, not wanting what could be their last intimate encounter to end.

“I have to go away to take care of some political affairs. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon,” he lied when he had finished.

As he walked away, his head hanging and his shoulders stooped, he could feel the youth’s eyes fixed on his back.

I hope your innocence is proven tonight, my beloved Yaco. For everyone’s sake
.

“Yaco, come here.”

The teenage slave was standing at one end of the room, among a group of trusted servants, his expression a mixture of fear and confusion. Why had his master returned in the middle of the night and made them all get out of bed to gather them in the banquet hall? Why was he behaving so oddly?

He advanced a few steps and stopped, unsure. Everyone around him was quiet, as still as statues, not daring even to whisper. Only the increasingly loud crackle of the fire could be heard.

“Come here, Yaco,” Glaucus insisted with extreme tenderness. His fleshy lips were spread in a kindly smile.

The boy smiled, taking another step forward, but stopped again. A gut feeling warned him to stay away from his master.

“COME HERE!!!”

The Sybarite’s bestial howl made everyone gasp. When the echoes had died away, the only sound heard in the hall was Yaco’s muffled sobs. The petrified slave drew closer, taking small steps, his head bowed.

Poor boy
.

Akenon didn’t regret having done his job, but couldn’t help feeling sorry for the terrified young boy.

Before the attentive gaze of two hundred pairs of alarmed eyes, Glaucus put his arm around Yaco’s shoulders and led him to the fireplace. The flames were dancing furiously.

“It’s very hot,” Yaco protested feebly.

Glaucus ignored his complaint.

“Stay here.” He turned to everyone else. “The rest of you, run around the hall. This way.” He made circles in the air with one hand to indicate the direction they were to run in.

Several men looked at each other warily, then began a slow, uncertain trot.

“Ruuun!!!” shouted Glaucus, making his flabby body tremble until his lungs ran out of air.

Two hundred men and women started running around the furniture piled in the center. The track that had been cleared between the walls and the furniture was too narrow, causing the servants to trip over each other frequently. Sometimes one of the weaker ones would fall, and those behind him would try to jump over him, but it was impossible to avoid kicking or trampling the fallen. No one stopped to help them.

The walls were covered in polished silver panels which reflected a hundredfold the number of terrified runners. It was a horrific sight. Akenon contemplated them for some time before approaching Glaucus and Yaco. With the heat that was being generated, it was only a matter of minutes before the case was solved…unless the ointment didn’t work, or the slave and his lover had bathed after their amorous encounter.

In that case, Glaucus might direct his fury at me
, he thought, glancing at the colossal Boreas. Akenon was fit, and very competent with a sword. He could escape if confronted by a few guards, but he would be doomed if he had to fight the giant.

“What’s wrong? What’s that smell?”

Yaco looked nervously from side to side, realizing that he was the source of the foul odor. Glaucus had moved a few steps away from the intense heat blasting from the fireplace. Now he approached Yaco again and took several sniffs of the pungent odor that the teenager’s skin gave off, a mixture of sulfur and rotting vegetables.

“Good. I know the smell now. You can move back from the fire. Stand over there, by yourself, in the corner.”

Yaco still didn’t understand what was happening, and moved away from the flames, greatly relieved. He was completely flushed and thin trails of smoke rose from his clothes. After Glaucus’ enraged shouts, he had started to burn but hadn’t dared move away from the enormous fire.

At least the ointment worked
, thought Akenon, slightly more at ease.

His relief quickly vanished in the tension of the situation. Glaucus was walking around the hall observing the runners’ panting faces. His movements were erratic, his fists clenched, and he breathed with difficulty, as if he himself were running.

“Stop,” he ordered suddenly. “Now walk slowly.”

He placed himself in the middle of the sweating human flow. Everyone watched him with fear, whether they were slaves, free servants or his own relatives. Glaucus threw his head back and closed his eyes. His nostrils were dilated, sucking in as much air as they could.

For a few minutes, only the sound of two hundred people tip-toeing could be heard, trying to pass unnoticed through that smell of sweat and rot. Akenon thought everyone had passed the Sybarite. Maybe Yaco had not deceived him.

“Stop.”

Glaucus’ command was barely a whisper. He lowered his head and stood for a few moments with his eyes closed. From where he stood, Akenon saw a few tears escape from the Sybarite’s closed eyelids.

Everyone had stopped walking and waited expectantly, their eyes glued to the ground. Glaucus turned around and walked to the people who had just passed him, looking at them with no expression other than one of extreme weariness. Then he moved a few steps away from the wheel of runners.

“Camiro, come here,” he said in a hoarse voice.

A young, attractive man separated himself from the group and advanced cautiously toward his master, who sniffed the air around him.

“Go. You,” he pointed at an old woman, “come here.”

He breathed the air around the woman for a few seconds.

“Go.” The woman scurried away. “Thessalus, come here.”

The man he had called walked forward from the group. He was about thirty and had a kind face, accustomed to smiling, though now it reflected only fear. Glaucus smelled his neck and then his chest. Without changing his expression, he kneeled heavily and sniffed between his legs as if he were a dog.

“Help me up.”

Thessalus was tall and strong, but he was barely able to lift Glaucus to his feet. When the fat Sybarite was standing again, he took a calm breath and, suddenly, with surprising force, struck Thessalus so hard he knocked him to the ground.

“Damned son of a bitch, I trusted you implicitly. I took you out of the gutter, and this is how you repay me!”

Thessalus remained on the floor, with one hand over his ear. A trickle of blood appeared between his fingers. His lips trembled, but he dared not move or reply. Glaucus had become incensed once more, his face apoplectically red.

Akenon wondered what the punishment would be for the unfortunates. Probably not even Glaucus knew. In spite of Eshdek’s warnings, until that night Akenon had thought the Sybarite was a reasonably level-headed man. During the days he had spent in his palace he had seen him eat for hours at sumptuous banquets, but he had also seen him weep at the delicacy of some of the musical and dance performances he organized daily.

Although Eshdek had told Akenon only that Glaucus was a passionate man, and slightly unpredictable, what was palpable in the atmosphere right now was pure violence and hatred.

Glaucus’ expression hardened. He turned toward one of the doors.

“Boreas!”

A silence descended on the hall, so dense it was hard to breathe. In the overheated atmosphere, impregnated with the stench of the ointment, a single plea was heard.

“No, no, please, no.” From the floor, Thessalus shook his head desperately, terrified at hearing the giant’s name.

The enormous Thracian walked forward. People moved out of his way, imagining in horror what would befall the man who had up to then been Glaucus’ personal wine servant. A man he had trusted, always at his side with a goblet of Sidonian wine, attentive to his signal whenever he was thirsty.

“Pick him up!”

Thessalus squirmed on his back in a pathetic attempt to escape. Boreas caught him in an instant, lifting him with one hand as if he were a mouse. His huge fist enclosed the wine servant’s forearm as he dangled from the giant’s outstretched arm.

“Nooo!”

Yaco’s desperate cry surprised everyone. He ran across the hall toward Glaucus.

“Let him go, please. Do whatever you want to me, but leave him alone.”

The slave threw himself at his master’s feet. Glaucus looked at him with sudden affection.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Yaco raised his blue eyes, hopeful at the change in Glaucus’ tone and the fact that he had started to stroke his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Yes,” he confessed ingenuously.

Glaucus continued to caress him for a few seconds before speaking to Boreas without taking his eyes off the boy.

“Kill him.”

The giant pressed Thessalus’ back to his chest and squeezed him tightly. Yaco screamed in desperation, clinging to his master’s legs. Boreas stopped and looked at Glaucus, waiting for confirmation.

Akenon felt paralyzed. Suddenly, it was as if he were back in the Pharaoh’s torture chamber, only this time he couldn’t look away.

“Kill him,” Glaucus bellowed.

Boreas tightened his grip little by little, prolonging Thessalus’ agony on his own initiative. A smile curved the giant’s lips when Yaco released Glaucus’ legs and hurled himself at his.

He’s a monster
. Akenon instinctively grasped the hilt of his sword.

Thessalus’ eyes bulged so that they looked as though they would shoot out of his head. His face went from crimson to purple. There was an initial crack, followed by a second and a third soon after. The unfortunate man’s mouth twisted in a silent scream. He tried to kick Boreas who didn’t even notice. When Thessalus seemed at the point of death, the giant relaxed his grip a little, then took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and jerked his arms violently. There was a spine-chilling gelatinous crunch, and Thessalus’ chest was crushed like a trampled plum.