Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (6 page)

CHAPTER 10

April 18
th
, 510 B.C.

“Why do we have to get a foreigner to do the work of our own police?!”

Cylon waved his arms as he spoke, making his indignation clear. He was haranguing the members of the Council of a Thousand from the dais in the hall where they habitually congregated, the largest and grandest space in Croton. From their tiered seats, the thousand most powerful men in the city listened to his impassioned speech, some with interest, most with suspicion. Cylon’s jowly face jutted from his opulent purple tunic, so congested it rivaled the color of his garments. He struggled to control his erratic breathing so he could continue pontificating.

“I’ve just been informed that the man summoned by Pythagoras has already arrived at the community. An Egyptian!” he exclaimed, appalled. Turning to his right, he pointed at a group of councilors. “Cleomenides was your brother, your cousin—your son, Hyperion! Why are you allowing Pythagoras to ignore our laws, yet again, and usurp
the role of the police?”

The elderly Hyperion shifted in his seat, uncomfortable and pained. What Cylon said was partly true. The police had started the investigation into the murder of his son, Cleomenides, without finding any clues, and Pythagoras had asked to continue it on his own. The police could keep investigating, but the fact was they had no leads, and were no longer devoting much time to his son’s murder. On the other hand, it was true he could have requested a much more thorough investigation from the beginning: more agents working on the case day and night, uncovering every last stone in the community…but he would never question Pythagoras’ judgment.

Cylon fixed his stare on each of Cleomenides’ relatives in turn. All lowered their eyes in silence. They were members of the Council of Three Hundred, so they would never oppose Pythagoras. Cylon, however, had no interest in making them confront their master. His intention was to undermine Pythagoras’ moral authority, inciting the Council of a Thousand to rebel against the tyranny of the Pythagoreans once and for all.

Croton’s aristocratic government was traditionally the responsibility of the Council of a Thousand, which represented the most important families and influential groups of the city. After Pythagoras’ arrival, many of the thousand councilors were initiated into the Pythagorean School. They passed stringent moral and intellectual tests, and fervently embraced the doctrine that now informed all their actions. In the end, Pythagoras had convinced the city—Cylon never understood how—to endorse a new institution formed by these initiates: the Council of Three Hundred. It was an offshoot of the Council of a Thousand, but hierarchically above it.

In essence, the city was under the rule of the three hundred Pythagorean councilors, something Cylon was determined to change at all costs. It infuriated him to see his countrymen following Pythagoras like sheep. Cleomenides’ murder and the arrival of that Egyptian might provide him with the opportunity he had long awaited.

He turned to the factions that were less accepting of Pythagoras, raised his fists, and increased the intensity of his diatribe.

CHAPTER 11

April 18
th
, 510 B.C.

“I’m afraid I’ll make your head spin introducing you to so many people,” said Pythagoras, “but at least you already know Ariadne, my eldest daughter.”

Ariadne is Pythagoras’ daughter!

Akenon struggled to keep the smile on his face, sure that the master’s penetrating gaze could read his thoughts. He couldn’t help remembering how he had tried to bed Ariadne the day before in the middle of the forest.

How was I to know? She never said anything.

The attractive young woman greeted her father, aimed one last teasing smile at Akenon, and made her way into the compound. Akenon followed her with his eyes until Pythagoras spoke once more in his deep voice.

“Come with me. We’ve prepared a room for you. You’ll find fresh water there. If you like, we can bring you something to eat, too, or you can wait till dinner, which will be served in a couple of hours.”

“Water is fine, thank you. I’d prefer to rest now.”

A young man of about twenty approached him and attempted to take the reins of his mule, which Akenon was still holding. Remembering his small fortune in silver, he felt reluctant to hand them over, but checked himself in time.

“Very well,” he released the reins. “Thank you.”

The young man smiled wordlessly.

“He is forbidden to speak unless he’s asked something,” Pythagoras pointed out. “Just like the two men who accompanied you from Croton, Brauron and Telephontes. They are disciples at the apprentice stage. They must listen and meditate. If they complete that level and pass the necessary tests, they will achieve the grade of mathematician where they will have access to higher teachings and be able to discuss them with their masters.”

They passed through a simple portico which served as the entrance to the compound. Although they were still outdoors, Akenon felt he had crossed the threshold of a temple. They were at the foot of a hill. The ground rose gently toward the buildings. Akenon saw a statue of Dionysius to his right and one of Hermes to his left. Further on, dominating the left side of the hill, stood three temples of stone so pale it was almost white. The largest was dedicated to Apollo, but the other two were a mystery to Akenon, especially one with a circular structure, something he had never seen before.

“That’s the Temple of the Muses,” Pythagoras informed him, following his gaze.

Akenon nodded silently as he walked. The path leading to the temples was paved, but the other walkways in the community were no more than dirt paths devoid of vegetation, worn by many feet. They linked groups of buildings used as dwellings, a schoolhouse, the stables, and a beautiful garden with a pond where several disciples were strolling. There were more than two hundred devotees visible, most of them men. The dress code seemed to be exclusively white linen tunics, though some women wore saffron-colored ones.

“I’ve followed your career over the years.”

Akenon was startled by Pythagoras’ words, and realized that the atmosphere in the community was overwhelming him. He looked at the grand master, who smiled under his thick white beard. Could it be true that he had kept himself informed about Akenon’s life? He needed to be cautious and not let vanity cloud his judgment. He also mustn’t forget that Pythagoras had sent for him with the aim of employing his services, something he wasn’t inclined to accept.

“I regarded your family very highly,” continued Pythagoras in a friendly, sincere tone. “Your father was an exceptional man, and I was deeply saddened by his death.”

“He was murdered,” replied Akenon, his face darkening.

“I know. A crime that made you leave your studies in geometry and join the police force to try to assure that the perpetrators would not go unpunished.”

Akenon felt his heart contract. That was exactly why he had become a policeman, but he had never spoken about it to anyone. How could Pythagoras know so much about him?

“I never found them,” he answered bitterly.

“Maybe he would have preferred it that way,” said the master gently. “And your mother too. It was probably the best thing for you.”

Akenon averted his gaze toward the Temple of the Muses and walked on in silence. Pythagoras had gone straight to the heart of his conflict. His mother had died when he was twelve years old, and after his father’s murder he used to imagine her watching him anxiously. Back then, he had wanted to kill his father’s murderers with his bare hands, not hand them over to justice. That went against the values which were deeply ingrained in him. Now he was glad he hadn’t done that. His life would probably have been much darker if he had done away with those criminals.

“How did you find me?” he asked out of curiosity, but also to change the subject.

“I learned you were working for Ahmose II. After his death I lost track of you, but some years ago I heard the story of an investigator from Carthage who had solved a case with exceptional brilliance. His name was Akenon. I knew right away it was you.”

Akenon frowned.
He’s flattering me again.

“Since then, I’ve heard about you several times. The last time was two weeks ago, with the news that you were in Sybaris, just when I was about to send you a message in Carthage. It was an extraordinary coincidence.”

For a moment, it seemed that Pythagoras was about to reveal the reason he wanted to hire him. Instead, he stopped in front of a building.

“This is it.”

Akenon remembered again what was in his luggage and looked back. The silent disciple was guiding the mule a few steps behind them.

“Pythagoras,” he said, lowering his voice, “I have a large amount of silver on my mule.”

The master nodded and replied without the slightest change of expression.

“I’ve ordered a chest with a lock to be placed in your room. You will have the only key. In any case, there has never been a robbery in the community.” His expression darkened suddenly, and his voice revealed intense sorrow. “Although there had never been a murder before either.”

Akenon raised his eyebrows.

“A murder? Is that why you wanted me to come?”

“Unfortunately, it is. But if you don’t mind, we’ll talk about this later, when you’ve rested. I’ll come and fetch you before dinner so we can take a walk and discuss the details. As for your luggage, it will be safe in your room, but if you’d feel more comfortable we can keep it at my house.” He reflected for a moment. “You can also entrust it to Eritrius, the custodian we work with here at the School.”

Akenon looked at him questioningly, and Pythagoras explained the role of the custodian.

“In the School we have initiates who live outside the community, as well as resident disciples. The initiates receive the simplest of our teachings while they continue living their usual life outside. The disciples who enter the community hand over their possessions to a custodian, Eritrius, while they’re with us. He’s responsible for taking care of them or managing them.”

Akenon mulled this over for a few moments. The compound was enclosed by a hedge that could easily be jumped, but it seemed that inside, there were only Pythagorean disciples. Several hundred men and dozens of women would sound the alarm if an intruder were to sneak in. On the other hand, there might be a murderer among them…

“For the moment I’ll leave my belongings in the chest in my room,” he finally decided. “Maybe later I’ll entrust the silver to the custodian.”

Pythagoras nodded, gesturing to the disciple for assistance with unloading the mule. Akenon was surprised to see the elderly Pythagoras taking part in the operation. His amazement grew when he saw him unflinchingly carrying loads that would have bowed much younger men. When they had finished, the disciple took the mule away to the stables.

Alone with the master in his room, Akenon decided to speak frankly.

“Pythagoras, I didn’t want to leave Magna Graecia without coming to see you. It’s a great pleasure for me to meet you again.”

The master nodded without replying, assuming that Akenon had more to say.

“However, I need to take some time off. I’ve been working without respite for many years, and I’ve seen more crimes, suffering, and injustice than I ever wanted to.” Akenon shook his head, sickened. “I’m weary, and have neither the strength nor the desire to investigate more crimes. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”

Pythagoras could see from Akenon’s expression that he was firm in his resolve, but that to some degree his unwillingness was fueled by recent events. With his great knowledge of human nature, he knew that the impact of recent experiences quickly lessens.

“If you don’t mind,” he placed one hand on Akenon’s shoulder, “we’ll talk about this later. I’ll explain what I’d like to ask of you and the implications of our problem, and then you will be completely free to decide. For now, consider yourself a guest in our community, under no obligation. We don’t have to talk about it today, we can simply enjoy our walk and have a chat.”

Akenon nodded in silence before replying.

“Very well.” He had no option but to accept the master’s kind words, though he could tell it was a ruse designed to ultimately secure his co-operation.

Once alone, Akenon lay on the bed, relaxed, and let his gaze rest on the beams in the ceiling. He didn’t feel like a simple visitor to the compound. He extended his arm and laid a hand on the sturdy wooden chest that contained his treasure.

As his eyes closed, Ariadne of Croton, daughter of Pythagoras, slipped into his dreams.

CHAPTER 12

April 18
th
, 510 B.C.

As Akenon slipped into sleep, Ariadne sat on her own bed, just a few steps away from him, leaning against the wall. On her lap was a wooden tablet coated with a layer of wax. Using a stylus, she had drawn some geometric shapes which she now contemplated with a dreamy expression. She frequently drew those shapes. They brought back happy memories.

A decade earlier, when she was twenty, she had spent every day studying. Her only teacher was her father, who would give her the same frustrating answer more and more often every time she asked.

“I can’t teach you any more on this subject. The next part is reserved for the grand masters of the brotherhood.”

Without responding, Ariadne would lower her eyes obediently, but every day his answer was harder to accept.

“Father,” she said one day, “what do I have to do for you to let me gain deeper knowledge?”

“Ariadne, dearest daughter.” Her father’s voice, though still deep and resonant, took on a sweeter tone when he spoke to her. “In order to teach you what you ask me, you would have to meet the conditions demanded of every grand master. You need to build up seniority in the School…”

“I’m your daughter and I’m twenty years old,” Ariadne interrupted, “which means that’s the amount of time I’ve been in the School.”

Pythagoras smiled at his favorite daughter’s obstinacy. He decided not to mention the fact that a grand master had to demonstrate that he had complied with a set of very stringent moral codes. Ariadne would have assured him that she had complied with them all. It was better to put forward an argument she couldn’t dispute.

“You must also have completed the masters’ studies in all the disciplines we teach, and you are mainly interested in geometry. You must progress further in astronomy, music…”

He paused when Ariadne folded her arms and exhaled forcefully, showing her frustration.

“Do you want to stop for today?”

“No,” she replied. “What I want is…” She fell silent. An idea had just entered her head. “Very well, I understand that I don’t deserve to rise to the level of the grand masters, but would you consider giving me just the geometry test that needs to be passed to become a grand master?”

Pythagoras sighed. Her proposal was clever. The test itself would give Ariadne an insight into one of the teachings she so longed for.

Even so, he was forced to disagree with his daughter again.

“Ariadne, I can’t do that either. You have to take things one step at a time. In due course, I’ll give you the tests that will admit you to the level of grand master. Some years later, if you’re successful in making your own contributions as well as fulfilling the other requirements, you can take the tests you need to become a grand master.”

Ariadne hung her head.

I don’t want to be a grand master, I just want to learn more geometry…and prove that I can be as good in that as the best masters
. She wasn’t willing to accept her father’s proposal, but there was no point in continuing the discussion with him either.

She would have to try and achieve her goal some other way.

The following day, she volunteered to tidy up around the schoolhouse after classes. One of her tasks was to smooth out the wax tablets that hadn’t been properly erased when the day was over. To her annoyance, she discovered that the students at the higher levels, scrupulous in their respect for the oath of secrecy that protected the most advanced teachings, were meticulous about erasing their work. In spite of that, now and again she found she could decipher faint imprints on the edges of some tablets. She examined them avidly and took notes on a piece of parchment she kept hidden under her tunic. One day she realized that, if she looked at the tablets in the sunlight, she could sometimes detect deeper imprints. When the students hadn’t pressed too hard to erase their work, only the outermost layer of wax became smooth. Whatever she could make out on those tablets she hurriedly transcribed to the document she always carried with her.

A few weeks later, her parchment was covered with crowded markings. She spent days analyzing it, trying to find an overarching meaning in all those little bits of knowledge. Most of them made no sense, but there were some that did. Linking what she could see to her own knowledge, she realized she had enough information in front of her to deduce the method of construction of a tetrahedron
[1]
. She copied it out onto a fresh piece of parchment. She could tell her father she had discovered it with no help, claim it was the contribution that demonstrated she deserved to receive further teachings. She could do that, but it would be a lie. She spent weeks mulling it over until one day, as if her faculty of insight had suddenly improved, she came up with something completely new.

It wasn’t a great discovery. Ariadne wasn’t even sure it was entirely new knowledge, but it was new to her. She ran to look for her father. By the time she found him, she was breathless. She handed him the parchment containing her
contribution
.

Pythagoras, without altering his expression, glanced at what Ariadne had handed him. From the moment she had volunteered at the schoolhouse, he had imagined what she was up to. Then he had caught her scrutinizing wax tablets in the sun. He feared that his daughter was now presenting him with something she had copied from those tablets. After a few seconds, he raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was the method for constructing a tetrahedron, but there was something more. He observed it more closely. There was a slight variation in the steps, a different approximation that offered a novel twist. It had no application, but it was unprecedented.

He looked at his daughter. Ariadne had the same expectant look she used to have at ten, but now she was a grown woman, a brilliant disciple who filled him with pride.

“Come and see me at sunset. I’ll give you the test.”

Ariadne squealed with joy.

Hours later, as the sun was setting, Pythagoras repeated the warning he had already given her on a number of occasions.

“Remember, no one must know what you’re learning. I should be exemplary in my conduct, and with you I’ve broken quite a few rules.” He became more serious. “And now I’m about to break another very important one.”

Ariadne nodded solemnly. Pythagoras was inflexible with the rules governing the brotherhood, but with Ariadne he couldn’t avoid making exceptions. She, of all people,
needed
to keep her mind occupied with the doctrine.

“I’m setting the same conditions for you as for everyone else who has taken this test. You have twenty-four hours to solve the problem outlined on this parchment. You mustn’t speak to anyone, and no one must see what you’re working on. The time starts now,” he handed her the folded parchment, “and ends tomorrow, the moment the sun sets.”

Ariadne unfolded the document and scanned it nervously for a moment. Then she ran to her room without uttering a word.

That night she didn’t sleep. By the light of two oil lamps, she analyzed the contents of the parchment until she knew it from memory. She had to solve the geometry problem of inscribing a dodecahedron
[2]
in a sphere. When the shapes began to dance before her eyes, she closed them and continued working in her mind. It was a very difficult problem, much more so than anything she had encountered up to then. She tried to use her previous knowledge of the tetrahedron, to no effect. The dodecahedron was a much more complex shape.

By dawn, she was tired and losing heart. She didn’t leave her room even for breakfast, but half way through the morning she realized that fatigue and hunger were undermining her ability to concentrate. She hurried to the kitchens, took some fruit, and ran back.

Even though the food did her good, she continued to make no progress. Half of the parchment was blank so that she could solve the problem on it, but she had hardly even made any notes. The possibility that she might not be able to solve it occurred to her. How was she going to come up with a solution that only a handful of men, the most competent of all the masters, had managed to discover? The doubt grew and grew until it blocked her thought process. The images stopped flowing in her mind, and she was alone with a parchment full of flat shapes that said nothing to her. Panic froze her inside. The sun was at its zenith, about to begin its descent toward the horizon. She had only a few hours left. Her breathing quickened, and she felt as if she were drowning. Finally, she decided to abandon the parchment and went outside.

She walked toward the Temple of the Muses. From the corner of her eye she could see her father observing her at a distance, but she didn’t want to look at him. The somber tranquility of the temple and the statues of the muses were refuge.

Send me inspiration
, she pleaded with them.

She closed her eyes and banished all thoughts from her mind, waiting for images to come to her. After a while, she gave up. It wasn’t a problem she would solve by relying on enlightenment. She bowed her head and filled her lungs with the peaceful atmosphere of the temple. At least now she felt more relaxed. She should return to her room and continue working on the problem, as intensively as she could, until sundown.

Seated once more in front of the parchment, she reviewed her work. The best course of action now would be to divide the problem into parts, and tackle each one separately. An hour later, she had the impression she had achieved some results for the first part of the problem, but there was no time to check them. She continued with the different elements, writing down everything she could think of. The light coming through the window was growing fainter by the minute.

For hours, she worked at a frantic pace, without reviewing anything, until she reached the end.

Now I have to check which steps are correct, and rethink the ones I haven’t managed to solve
.

Before going back to the start of the problem, she cast a quick glance at the window.

It was dark.

No!

Grabbing the parchment, she ran out at lightning speed, conscious of the tears welling up in her eyes. She raced through the compound and burst desperately into her father’s house.

Pythagoras was sitting at a table, waiting for her.

“Time’s up,” he said with strict formality. “The sun has just set…though I suppose more than one minute has passed since you wrote whatever it is you have there.”

He stretched out his hand and Ariadne relinquished the parchment.

“I didn’t have time to review it,” she murmured, dejected.

Pythagoras unfolded the document and began examining it.

“I divided it into steps,” said Ariadne. “I think it starts here—” she pointed to one area of the parchment—“and then it continues…”

She sat next to Pythagoras to take a better look at what she had written, and realized it was a chaotic mess. Not only were there probably errors in most, if not all, of the steps, it was impossible to know if that muddle was anything more than an absurd overlaying of shapes and symbols.

Two minutes later, Pythagoras raised his head from the documents and looked at her severely. Then he launched into a long speech.

Ariadne cried from the very beginning.

The first thing that prompted Ariadne’s tears was learning she had unraveled the secret of the dodecahedron. Every step of her work was correct.

“You’ve worked out one of the most complex mathematical problems ever solved by man.” Pythagoras’ voice was solemn and respectful. “Fewer than twenty people in the world have succeeded in doing that.” He paused, then continued in a more serious tone. “Now you are the trustee of a transcendental secret, one of the most valuable in the School, and you know that the oath of secrecy obligates you to guard that secret even with your life.”

Ariadne nodded, compressing her lips which were wet with tears. Pythagoras then told her she should renew her oath, which became stricter as access to secrets of greater importance was achieved. Usually, a ceremony was held with several members of the brotherhood in attendance, but as no one must know that Ariadne had learned those secrets, the ceremony would just be between the two of them.

Her father said he was proud of her, but also that she must accept guidance. She must progress at a more uniform rate through the subjects that comprised the teachings.

“I think in two or three years’ time you’ll be able to take the tests required to become a master of the School. Obviously, you’ll have no trouble with the geometry test, but as you know, there are many others.”

Ariadne agreed to everything her father said.

From the next day on, she studied the other subjects with the same dedication she had devoted to geometry. Two years later, at twenty-two, she became the youngest master of the brotherhood. No one knew it at the time: it was not made public for another few years, until she had reached the required age.

Her father wished her to advance to the next and highest stage, that of grand master. He arranged a special seven-year program for her, and continued to personally guide her instruction. However, three years after she had reached the level of master, Ariadne abandoned the project.