Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (2 page)

Pythagoras placed his red clay goblet on the ground and stroked his beard. To his right someone put his goblet down abruptly. The master turned his head toward the sound.

Cleomenides was staring intently at him, eyes so wide they looked as if they might pop out of their sockets.

What…?!

Before Pythagoras could finish the thought, his favorite disciple leaned toward him, trying to catch his arm, but his hand froze before it could reach its target. He tried to speak, but could only gurgle, his mouth filled with foam. Grotesque, bulging veins ridged his red, swollen neck.

In the middle of the sacred Temple of the Muses, Cleomenides collapsed, lifeless.

Pythagoras

…

He was one of the most powerful men of his era, and one of the most mysterious of all time.

Endowed with irresistible charisma and a prodigious intellect, he spent the first part of his life traveling in search of new knowledge. He learned from the great Greek masters: Anaximander and Thales of Miletus. This was followed by long years during which he immersed himself in the teachings of the best mathematicians and geometricians of his time, the Egyptians. Later, he studied with Chaldean magicians and Babylonian mathematicians in Mesopotamia who taught him everything they knew about arithmetic, astrology, and astronomy. With his brilliant mind he synthesized the wisdom of East and West in a way never before attempted, going on to make numerous revolutionary advances for humanity based on his discoveries.

In tandem with scientific knowledge, he studied the religions of all cultures, their sacred rituals and methods of spiritual enlightenment. Some of his contemporaries claimed he was capable of healing through the laying on of hands, and that on more than one occasion he had been seen controlling the forces of nature and using his gift of divination.

During the second half of the sixth century B.C., he founded a philosophical, mathematical, and political movement which quickly spread through Magna Graecia—the Greek colonies on the Italian and Sicilian peninsula. Starting in Croton, he formed a political-intellectual élite which, through peaceful means, took control of the governments of Croton, Sybaris, Taranto, and many other cities. These were independent of one another, yet all their governments considered Pythagoras as not just a leader but a demigod.

…

Encyclopedia Mathematica.
Socram Ofisis. 1926.

CHAPTER 1

April 16
th
, 510 B.C.

Akenon, without averting his gaze from the small ceramic goblet that contained his wine, observed the innkeeper out of the corner of his eye. He approached the table without quite reaching it, muttered something and turned back again. The innkeeper didn’t like it when customers lingered without finishing even one goblet, but he didn’t dare disturb a foreigner, probably an Egyptian, who was not only a full head taller than he was, but also armed with a sable and a dagger he hadn’t taken the trouble to conceal.

Akenon returned to his thoughts once more, oblivious to the gloomy atmosphere of the inn. He had been there two hours and would remain several more, but once the sun set he would have the company of someone who would never have entered that dump of his own volition.

He ran his fingers distractedly over the goblet before taking a small sip. The wine was surprisingly good. Without raising his head, he scanned the room with his eyes.

Tonight it will all be over
.

Most legends are exaggerated to the point where they bear no relation to reality.
But as far as the Sybarites are concerned, almost all of them are true
, thought Akenon.

Sybaris was one of the most densely populated cities he had come to know during his hectic life. People said it had a population of a hundred thousand people, and maybe it was true. The other myths, however, were only true of the part of the city closest to its large port. That was where most of the aristocrats lived, owners of almost the entire fertile plain on which the city was built, as well as of a commercial fleet second only to that of the Phoenicians.

The reputation enjoyed by the Sybarite aristocrats was well deserved: they lived for pleasure, luxury and refinement. They prized comfort and convenience to such a degree that blacksmiths, copper merchants and coin minting were banned in their district. Despite avoiding work like the plague, they kept a tight rein on the power they exercised directly, and on commerce, which they managed through trusted employees. They had been accumulating wealth for two centuries, much to Akenon’s delight, since it was thanks to this that he had been offered the best-paid investigation of his life.

Darkness had fallen before a silhouette appeared at the entrance to the inn. The visitor located Akenon, acknowledged him with a small gesture, and went outside again. One minute later, several servants entered, followed by a hooded figure. Hiding behind a hood seemed pointless, draped as the figure was in luxurious satin and velvet fabrics, and with a physique that was twice as corpulent as the average man’s.

A slave hurried to unfold a wide stool with a seat of interwoven leather straps. On it he placed a plush feather cushion. The hooded man sat in front of Akenon with a grimace of discomfort. His servants surrounded him, some attentive to his wishes, others acting as bodyguards. The innkeeper made an attempt to approach but was swiftly stopped in his tracks by the servants.

Akenon raised his goblet to the man.

“I can recommend the wine, Glaucus. It’s not bad at all.”

Glaucus made a disdainful gesture as he pulled back his hood. He drank only the finest Sidonian wine.

Akenon watched his companion uneasily. The man’s plump, sweaty hands fidgeted incessantly. Multiple chins filled the space where his neck should have been, and beads of perspiration ran down his meaty cheeks. His eyes, deceptively friendly, darted from side to side as if incapable of focusing on anything.

I suspect I’ll discover a different side of Glaucus tonight.

An old, unpleasant memory of when he had lived in his native Egypt invaded Akenon’s thoughts. Some twenty-five years earlier he had brilliantly solved a case for the police, thanks to which he had been personally hired by Pharaoh Ahmose II. Officially, he was to be part of his private guard, but in reality his job was to investigate members of the court and nobles who had grown too ambitious. A few months later, Akenon uncovered a conspiracy led by one of the Pharaoh’s cousins. Ahmose II congratulated him effusively, and the young Akenon was bursting with pride. The following day he was present at the conspirator’s interrogation. After routine questioning and threats, the beating began. Next, cruel metal instruments were brought out, and the scene degenerated into one of sadistic torture. Akenon was so sickened he left the interrogation of the Pharaoh’s cousin to others. Half an hour later the questioning was completely dispensed with. Akenon did not leave the room because to do so would have been an unacceptable sign of weakness, but he focused his eyes on the middle distance, a few feet from the prisoner, in an attempt to avoid the images of butchery from being imprinted on his mind. Even so, he could do nothing to block out the screams. Now, every time he woke up in a sweat, the echo of those horrific shrieks would resound in his head for a long time.

He never took part in another interrogation, nor was he asked to, but the thought of having to go through something similar again was one of his greatest fears.

Glaucus pulled him back from his memories.

“How long do we have to wait?” The Sybarite’s face revealed his feverish desperation.

Even though Akenon had already explained it to him in detail, he repeated the answer patiently.

“It takes four to six hours to decompose on the skin at body temperature. As it’s quite cold these days, it may take a few hours longer.”

Glaucus moaned and buried his face in his hands. He still had hours to wait, and every minute was an unbearable torment.

CHAPTER 2

April 16
th
, 510 B.C.

A few hours away from Sybaris, Ariadne dined in silence with her two companions. They were in a corner of the dining room at a small inn. She always tried to sit in such a way that there would be no one behind her.

Upon entering, she had taken a quick look around. All the patrons seemed harmless enough, apart from the two men who were now sitting in front of her, six or seven yards away. Their loud, drunken voices soared above the other conversations. Now and again, they cast defiant looks around the room, and the outlines of their daggers were visible through their clothing. Ariadne ate calmly, without looking at them, though she was mindful of their behavior.

They, too, had noticed Ariadne, especially the smaller of the two, Periandro, who was unable to keep his eyes from wandering constantly in the direction of the young woman dining in front of him. Her fair hair was striking and he could see that beneath her white tunic her breasts were large and firm. He drank some more wine. He was celebrating a successful deal with his friend. They were on their way home after having transferred stolen goods, their usual line of work. On this latest job they had made enough to allow them to splurge for a couple of weeks. Or maybe only one, depending on how much they spent. The previous day, for example, they had forked out a considerable sum at a brothel in Sybaris. Periandro licked his lips remembering the Egyptian slave girl he had taken violently on all fours. He’d love to go at it again with the fair-haired woman.

Without looking up from her meal, Ariadne became aware that one of the men was looking at her lasciviously. She shuddered in disgust, clenching her jaw. Then she closed her eyes and a moment later was completely relaxed. Although her silent companions were peaceful men, they weren’t the only thing protecting her.

Periandro leaned toward his friend without taking his eyes off Ariadne.

“Antiochus, look at that woman.” He nodded in her direction. “She’s driving me crazy. You’d swear she was Aphrodite herself.”

“She is a vision of beauty,” Antiochus whispered in agreement.

“Look at the losers she’s with.” He looked at them with aggressive disdain. “We could knock them out with one hand tied behind our backs. If we plan the ambush properly they won’t even have time to shout. What do you say?” He saw Ariadne licking her fingers with her full lips and felt his arousal grow. “Tell me you’ll do it, because I’m going to have that bitch even if I have to figure out a way of doing it on my own.”

Antiochus gave a start and grabbed Periandro’s tunic.

“Shut up, you fool!” he muttered. “Don’t you know who she is?”

Periandro looked at his hefty companion in surprise. Antiochus leaned closer and whispered in his ear the identity of the voluptuous young woman.

Periandro’s face suddenly grew pale. He glanced at Ariadne, lowered his head, and rested his forehead on his hand, hiding his face.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered.

Before Antiochus could reply, he stood up, careful not to make noise, and exited the dining room as fast as he could.

Ariadne continued eating without even bothering to look up.

CHAPTER 3

April 16
th
, 510 B.C.

One month earlier, Akenon had met with Eshdek, the closest thing he had to a friend in Carthage.

They were in a spacious, heated room in the Carthaginian’s main villa, seated on wooden armchairs covered in large linen pillows stuffed with feathers. Eshdek, one of the three wealthiest merchants in Carthage, gave a cheeky grin, his eyes sparkling.

“I have a new job for you. You’re going to love it.”

Akenon watched him with interest, waiting for him to continue as he sipped Mesopotamian sweet wine from an ivory goblet. The handle, which fitted the shape of his hand perfectly, was a horse standing on its hind legs. It was exquisitely crafted.

“This time it’s not for me. It’s for Glaucus, one of my clients. My best client, as a matter of fact.” Eshdek emphasized his statement by raising one hand with the index finger pointing upwards, making the sleeve of his colorful tunic ripple.

Akenon frowned slightly. He had worked independently as an investigator in Carthage for fifteen years, but for the past thirteen he had taken on contracts exclusively from Eshdek. He made a modest living from these, while valuing highly the trust and security he had found in their professional relationship. He had no desire to work for third parties, but he couldn’t decline the powerful Carthaginian’s offer outright.

“The job has its good aspects and its bad aspects.” Eshdek paused for effect. “The bad aspect is that it’s in Sybaris.”

Akenon grimaced without trying any longer to hide it. He was prone to seasickness, and getting to Sybaris meant crossing from Carthage to Sicily and sailing around it to the Italian Peninsula. This meant about a week of sailing. From there, he’d continue up the Ionian Sea to enter the gulf of Taranto. In all, almost two weeks of sea travel if the weather was reasonably favorable.

“Don’t give me that look. The good part makes up more than enough for your ridiculous aversion to boats. In fact, there are two good parts.” Eshdek drank from his goblet. “The first is that the job seems easy and isn’t dangerous…” He thought for a moment. “Though I should probably warn you that Glaucus needs to be handled with care.” Akenon raised his eyebrows, and Eshdek continued. “It’s as if there were different people living inside the one person. Sometimes I’ve seen him lead an ascetic life, surrounded by scholars to whom he pays a fortune to share their complex wisdom with him, while at other times I’ve seen him devoted to gluttony and lust.”

“Are you saying he might have a violent outburst and attack me?”

“No, it’s not that bad. I’m just saying he’s a bit unpredictable and you have to be tactful in your dealings with him.” He waved a hand as if to imply that none of that was important. “The thing is, Glaucus has a teenage male slave with whom he’s madly in love. He took him as a lover and had been happily enjoying him up until a few weeks ago when he began to suspect that the slave had another lover. It’s driving him mad with jealousy. He hasn’t figured out who it is, and given that he’s completely besotted by the boy, and isn’t absolutely sure he’s deceiving him, he can’t make up his mind whether to extract a confession from him through torture. Your task would be to find out, without using violence or raising suspicion, whether the boy is deceiving Glaucus or not. And if he is, well, you obviously have to find out who his lover is.”

Eshdek leaned back in the armchair, waiting for Akenon to ask what the second good aspect of the case was, but his Egyptian friend only smiled. Eshdek loved to manipulate conversations, prompting questions and reactions at his whim, whereas Akenon enjoyed annoying the Carthaginian by not playing his little game.

“Oh, come on, for the love of Astarte!” Eshdek raised both hands in mock desperation. “Go ahead and ask me, you damned sphinx.”

Akenon smiled broadly.

“OK. How much?” He suspected it would be a handsome fee.

“Listen carefully.”

Eshdek prolonged the moment theatrically, taking another sip of his wine. He leaned forward and waited for his friend to do likewise.

“Payment will be in silver. And the total amount will be…the weight of the slave!”

The slave’s weight in silver!
Akenon was impressed, but managed to hide it.

“Is he fat?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For Baal’s sake, what difference does it make!”

Both of them burst out laughing. Even if the slave were thin as a rail, that amount of silver would be at least ten times more than Akenon had ever been paid for an investigation.

He would be master of a small fortune…if he solved the case.

Glaucus was crying.

His arms had been folded on the table for some time now, his head buried in them. His face was hidden, but his shoulders shook at regular intervals.

I feel a bit sorry for him
, thought Akenon, grimacing.
It’s pathetic that his servants should see him like this
.

He had ordered a second goblet of wine half an hour ago, and given the innkeeper a silver coin to make up for the fact that neither Glaucus nor his dozen servants had consumed anything in all the time they’d been there.

I hope the plan works and I have silver coins to spare
.

Suddenly, Glaucus lifted his head and looked at him imploringly, his face lathered in sweat and tears.

“Can we go now?” he pleaded, his voice breaking.

“It won’t take effect for another three or four hours.”

Glaucus reddened unexpectedly. He hammered the table violently with his fist and stood up.

“I’m not giving those damned pigs any more time!” He turned to his men. “Let’s get out of here!”

He marched out of the inn without pulling up his hood. Akenon took a last sip of wine and ran after him.

In the street were a dozen of Glaucus’ guards and a two-wheeled gig, its seats covered in cushions. Several servants helped Glaucus up. Once he had settled himself, the Sybarite waved a hand at Akenon.

“There’s room for both of us.”

Akenon hesitated a few moments. The gig wasn’t attached to a horse. Six slaves held the harness that pulled the cart, standing where the horses should have been. In the wealthy district in Sybaris, horse transportation was forbidden during siesta time and at night. Akenon would have preferred to walk alongside the gig, but he imagined Glaucus would make the slaves run, so he climbed up nimbly and sat beside the enormous Sybarite.

“To the palace, quick!”

The slaves pulled the gig, and the rest of the servants started running beside them. Two dozen men in all, half of whom were guards with their swords unsheathed. The streets of that lowly area of the city were almost deserted and the only source of light came from the torches Glaucus’ men carried. Round some corners they caught brief glimpses of huddled shadows, highwaymen or beggars scurrying out of their way. Akenon stopped looking at the dirty, narrow streets they were traveling through and discreetly observed the Sybarite. Although his chubby face held little expression, his empty stare was unsettling.

They soon reached the aristocratic district. The paving on the streets here was covered in rough sackcloth that changed the clatter of their progress to a dull murmur, as stealthy as the advance of an assassin. Shortly afterwards, they arrived at Glaucus’ palace. Its tall reddish walls made it look like a fortress, a reflection of its owner’s powerful wealth. As soon as they passed through the entryway and entered the courtyard, Glaucus got out of the gig, stumbling and shouting orders like a madman.

“Get everyone up! Right now, everyone into the banquet hall!”

He went toward one side of the entryway and approached a shadow hidden in the semi-darkness. The shadow stepped forward, transforming itself under the light of the torches into a colossal human figure. Akenon shuddered despite himself. He found it impossible to get used to that monster, even though he had seen him every day since his arrival in Sybaris. It was Boreas, Glaucus’ trusted slave and bodyguard. He had been stationed at the entrance under orders not to let anyone leave the building while his master was out.

Glaucus asked Boreas something, and the slave shook his head. He had no other way of communicating, having had his tongue cut out with pliers in his native Thrace when he was a child so he could become a trusted servant who would never reveal his masters’ secrets, even under torture.

Glaucus and Boreas crossed the courtyard. Akenon followed, keeping his distance from the Thracian giant. He was always keen to stay out of reach of those enormous hands. Even though he was quite a tall man, he didn’t even reach Boreas’ shoulders. Moreover, the giant was inhumanly large and, though not fat, he must have weighed twice as much as Akenon. His head was completely bald and as big as a bull’s. His arms and legs were thick as tree trunks, his formidable muscles well defined under his dark skin. His huge torso ended in a short neck that was wider than his head, emphasizing his massive build.

Akenon advanced anxiously behind Boreas, never taking his eyes off his back. On one occasion, he had been amazed to see the enormous monster move as quickly as a cat. But there was something else that gave him even more cause for alarm: the look in Boreas’ eyes, as if he were lying in wait for those around him. It was unsettling, strange…

… the cold look of a corpse
.