Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (23 page)

CHAPTER 48

June 3
rd
, 510 B.C.

The banquet hall in Glaucus’ palace looked as if it had just been hit by an earthquake.

Most of the tables and triclinia had disappeared, and those that remained were heaped in disorderly piles in the corners. The polished silver panels that had covered the walls were thrown on the ground, scattered like a shower of autumn leaves. In the middle of the hall, perforating the marble floor, stood an iron bar two feet high. Tied to its upper end was a rope that ran through the hall like a snake, ending in a sharp metal bodkin. Using this artifact as a giant compass, a perfect circle had been traced with a diameter as wide as the length of the rectangular hall. In order to complete the circle, Glaucus had ordered the wall dividing the hall from the storerooms and the pantry to be demolished.

Leandro entered the chaos that had formerly been the banquet hall. For the past month and a half, there had been no banquets held there. Thessalus’ and Yaco’s punishment had put an end to that daily custom, and the master’s new phase of madness, which had begun two weeks earlier, had completely changed the function of the hall. Now it seemed consecrated to the circle, as if this were the master’s new god.

My role has changed too
, Leandro thought uneasily. Glaucus no longer needed a wine servant. He hadn’t tasted a drop of wine in two weeks, and barely touched food or water.

Everything began at that strange instant
, Leandro remembered with a shiver,
when my master stood paralyzed before the statue of Zeus, as if he were having a revelation
. From that moment on, Glaucus had become obsessed with making larger and larger circles, insisting to the craftsmen that they had to be perfect. Right now several of the wooden circles were scattered around the hall, those that were less than six feet in diameter and fit through the door. Glaucus had measured them repeatedly with a cord divided into minute graduations, then made some calculations and flung them away in rage, shouting that he needed them to be bigger. Propped against the columns in the adjacent courtyard stood a twelve-foot-high circle that had been discarded as well. That was when Glaucus had had an ironmonger drill an iron bar through one of the valuable marble panels that formed the floor of the banquet hall. Then he had ordered the storeroom wall to be pulled down, and devoted an entire day to etching into the ground the thin circle that now ran around the hall and part of the storeroom.

Leandro understood nothing, but he was worried that his master would want to trace an even bigger circle and would end up demolishing the whole palace.

Glaucus, however, was no longer interested in
material
circles. The measurements he had taken had given him the assurance that the quotient he sought was three plus a little more. The first decimal was one, of that he was sure, and the second was a middle number, between four and five. Besides, he was now more convinced than ever that only through abstract mathematical methods could he come up with an approximation that would place him above all other mortals, including Pythagoras.
I need a method that will give me at least four decimal places.
Using mechanical methods as an alternative was unfeasible: constructing or drawing a perfect circle with a diameter a half mile long, and then measuring the diameter and the circumference of the circle with exact precision, was impossible.

For days he had been following abstract methods exclusively, using the silver wall panels as writing tablets. He plotted arcs and lines on them using the sharpened stylus he had used as a compass. He scored the soft surface of the silver in an attempt to solve the problem of squaring the circle: to obtain, with the aid of a ruler and a compass, a circle whose area was identical to that of a square with a known area.

If I can attain that, I’ll be able to figure out the quotient from it immediately
.

Most of the work he did in his head. Sometimes he would close his eyes and spend hours lost among the images in his mind. When he thought he was getting close to a solution, like someone with a word on the tip of his tongue, he would open his eyes, and start drawing frantically, but not long afterwards he’d drop the stylus. The etchings on the silver sheets refused to yield anything meaningful. Again, he would close his eyes, immersing himself in a mathematical universe of perfect lines and curves.

Clients, suppliers, and associates of Glaucus’ grew tired of arriving at the palace doors only to be turned away. The government of Sybaris worried about the bizarre behavior of one of its most prominent members, but they, too, were unsuccessful in their attempts to talk to him. The only people he would receive, immediately and regardless of the hour, were those who promised they could solve the problem Glaucus was working on. The Sybarite had offered a prize consisting of so much money it initially generated an enormous flow of aspirants. However, word soon spread that Glaucus wasn’t a simpleton who could be easily duped, but an expert in mathematics who ordered everyone who attempted to deceive him flogged. With that, the flow of applicants dried up. It was further, bitter proof for Glaucus that no one knew the solution to the problem.

He opened his eyes and saw there was no more free space on the polished silver panel resting on his legs. He turned it around and contemplated the completely scratched surface for a few seconds. Finally, he grunted in annoyance, letting it fall to one side. The metallic clink echoed off the walls while Glaucus struggled to his feet. As he leaned on one knee, he saw his tunic was dirty and ripped, but he didn’t trouble to ask himself how many days or weeks he had gone without a change of clothes. Instead, he staggered around the hall, going from panel to panel with the stylus in his hand. As he examined them, he realized that in many he had drawn exactly the same approach to the problem. For days, he had made not even the slightest progress, but at least navigating through the universe of mathematics in his mind kept him isolated from worldly matters. He had no need to eat or drink, and he barely felt the pangs brought on by Yaco’s memory.

A languid smile curved his lips, but left the rest of his soft, fleshy face expressionless. He felt empty inside.

Untying the stylus from the rope, he started scratching the walls. There, he could make bigger drawings than on the silver panels. Gradually, enormous circles, arcs, and segments began to cover the walls, gratifying him. It was as if the mathematical dimension that had dominated his brain more with each passing day now surrounded him in the physical world as well.

He continued scratching the walls, faster and faster, producing unpleasant, high-pitched screeching noises. His body shook as he wrote, as if afflicted by feverish spasms. Even so, his eyes followed the grooves left by the stylus with cold interest, like the eyes of a large reptile following the flight of its prey as it approaches.

Dispassionate and lethal.

CHAPTER 49

June 3
rd
, 510 B.C.

When Pythagoras saw Ariadne leaving, he supposed she would go to Akenon with the news. He had just told all the masters, and utter confusion reigned in the room. Several groups had formed to vehemently debate the possible implications. Many of the masters were asking him questions, unable to contain the excitement created in them by the news.

“Is it actually possible?”

“Does he really have so much gold?”

“Why did he do it?”

Pythagoras patiently observed his followers’ agitation. Then he immersed himself in his reflections and began pacing the dais, momentarily distracted from the disorderly tumult.

An hour before, a messenger from Sybaris had arrived at the compound. The message that had caused such a stir was that Glaucus was offering a mathematics prize.

If only it were a simple prize
, thought Pythagoras uneasily.

Although he had arranged other competitions in the past, this one was different in important respects. First, the prize was not just for something an ordinary man would have difficulty achieving for himself, it was for something that lay well beyond the abilities of
any
man, including Pythagoras himself. Glaucus was offering his prize to whoever could find the ratio, or quotient, between the circumference and the diameter of a circle. It was known that this quotient was close to three. Based on some old calculations Pythagoras had collected, it seemed that the first decimal place was a one.

But Glaucus wants an approximation to four decimals places before he’ll award the prize
.

“Can it be calculated?” insisted several of the masters present.

In fact, what they were asking Pythagoras was if he could calculate it, and the answer was he couldn’t. The quotient was one of the most elusive secrets they had pursued for years, finally concluding that they should devote no more time to it, as it was too far beyond their grasp. Not only did they lack a good method by which to calculate it, they had no approximation that came anywhere near what Glaucus was proposing.
Why would Glaucus want to know something so complex?
wondered Pythagoras.
And with such desperation
, he added, remembering the amount of the prize.

The almost unimaginable sum was what made him think he should take the matter very seriously.
So much gold could mobilize very powerful forces.
The relative calm of the past few weeks in the community and in the Council of a Thousand now seemed fragile.

The peace that reigns Magna Graecia could also be in danger.

The sense of a hidden threat that hadn’t left him since the first death intensified with news of the prize. He stood tall at the center of the dais and observed everyone, his most advanced disciples. On some of their faces he could see reflections of greed. They considered the prize as an opportunity, but it wasn’t. To Pythagoras it was like an immense volcano whose first rumblings announced an imminent and devastating eruption.

He raised his hands, calling for silence.

“All of you are masters of our School.” His eyes traveled from one to the next. Several still had their hands raised, but lowered them as he continued speaking. “That means each of you is responsible for many disciples who are beginning their education, minds that still lack sufficient discipline, men and women who in many cases are still too conditioned by their animal instincts. Your disciples need you to guide them. Given that news of this prize will inevitably reach their ears, the one clear message you must transmit to them is this: Glaucus’ aspiration is madness and nothing more, foolishness no member of the brotherhood should devote a single minute to.”

He paused, pacing the dais, so his words would hit home.

“Neither I nor anyone among us is going to attempt it,” he continued. “We are here because we know the futility of the material. That mustn’t change, not for all of Hades’ wealth. On the other hand, the constant presence of soldiers in our community should remind us that we are under threat, and our safety depends on us managing to remain united and calm.”

The masters nodded in silence.

“Now, go to your disciples and help them gain the correct perspective on this piece of news. Let this trial serve to increase our commitment and wisdom. Greetings, brothers.”

He descended from the dais and walked toward the door with a firm step. He passed among the masters, none of whom uttered a word. As he exited the schoolhouse door, silence descended on the numerous disciples gathered outside. He stopped among them to address them in a paternal voice, with the gentle firmness of a father teaching his children.

“Esteemed disciples, we will devote ourselves to study, as we do every morning, until the sun reaches its zenith. To take advantage of the good weather, you will take class with your masters in the gardens, the woods, or under the porticos at the gymnasium. Each group will devote ten minutes to the news that has come to us from Sybaris. The remaining time will be spent on whatever topic each group had prepared for study today.”

The disciples bowed their heads without replying, relieved as they always were whenever they listened to their supreme leader. To them, his words were a manifestation of his Wisdom.

The philosopher continued walking along the dirt path toward the gymnasium. Two imposing hoplites followed a few yards behind. Pythagoras believed they were still under threat, but the presence of the army and the amount of time that had passed without incident made him feel he should deal with some outstanding matters.

The time has come to resume my travels
.

For the past month, he had been postponing a trip to Neapolis, a city located half way between Croton and Rome. He had to decide if conditions were favorable for establishing a permanent community in Neapolis. Besides, he wanted to obtain the latest news about Rome. The last information he had received was confusing. Apparently the current king, Lucius Tarquinius, a despot known as “the Proud”, was facing difficulties over some murky affair.

Pythagoras had always felt intuitively that the city of Rome, traditionally vibrant and expansive, would play an important political role in the coming years. To maintain good relations with them, and perhaps win them over to his cause in the future, he kept key contacts in the royal family as well as among the opposition. Winners of political conflicts usually implemented significant institutional changes. Those moments when power was redistributed could be useful to the Pythagorean School in gaining a presence.

The Roman throne is tottering. We must be closer to Rome than ever
.