Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (36 page)

CHAPTER 78

June 29
th
, 510 B.C.

Cylon threw out his chest, brimming with exultation. The collaboration with the mysterious masked man was reaping magnificent rewards only hours after it had begun.

He was sitting in the main hall of his mansion with twenty councilors sympathetic to him. It was a meeting like many others he held on a weekly basis,
with the exception that today there are two guests who, up to now, have never set foot in my house.

The first of them was the masked man himself. At first, the councilors had been surprised to see him there, sitting at one end of the large room. However, once he got up and started to speak, he commanded the councilors’ full attention. A few minutes later, his words had infiltrated the deepest recesses of their minds, and now all of them were treating him with reverence as if, instead of a man behind a black mask, he were the fearsome god Hades. Cylon was pleased to have such a powerful ally, though he also felt a twinge of jealousy.

The second novelty among the guests was also the most important element of the meeting.
Without him, this assembly would make no sense
. Cylon congratulated himself, observing the man with satisfaction. It was Helicaon, one of the Council secretaries, whose signature and seal were required to ratify laws and rulings. This secretary had never helped Cylon. On this occasion he had come to his mansion simply to refuse the invitation and state with dignity that neither his position nor his honesty would permit him to attend that kind of meeting. Ten minutes of conversation with the man in the black mask, though, and the bag of gold he was offered, had persuaded him to leave dignity and honesty for another day.

Helicaon had drafted a document at the request of Cylon and the masked man. At that very moment he was stamping it with his seal. Cylon went over to Helicaon and waited impatiently for him to finish, after which he grabbed the parchment from his hands and read through it avidly. Obviously, he already knew its content, but it gave him enormous satisfaction to see it written in an official document.

It decreed the exile of the foreigner Akenon and the confiscation of all his property.

Perfectly legal
, Cylon said to himself as he reread it.

This kind of decision could be made by a minimum of twenty councilors without any of them having to belong to the Three Hundred. If Akenon had been a citizen instead of a mere foreigner, his exile would have had to be decreed by a majority of the Council of Three Hundred. And, even as a foreigner, for a decree of capital punishment, several councilors from among the Three Hundred would also have been required.

But even though we’re from the marginalized seven hundred, at least we have the authority to rule on this
. With a fierce look, Cylon shook the document.

Everyone present had a goblet of wine close to hand. The masked man leaned forward to take his and raised it in Cylon’s direction.

“To the destruction of Pythagoras.”

His rasping voice sent a shiver down the Council secretary’s spine, as he hurriedly raised his goblet with the others.

“To the destruction of Pythagoras!” they all exclaimed in unison.

The secretary emptied his goblet in one swallow, anxious to silence his guilty conscience. Even so, he didn’t doubt he had followed the most appropriate course. Talking to the masked man had made him understand something that he needed to bear in mind from then on.

The Pythagorean faction’s days were numbered
.

Half an hour later, Cylon went upstairs to his bedroom and requested the services of his slave girl, Althea, whom he addressed as Ariadne. He rarely used her before nightfall, but he was in a celebratory mood. Among other things, the day was quickly approaching when the woman laboring between his legs would be the real Ariadne.

Akenon was about to be put on a ship to Biblos, the ancient Phoenician city that was now part of Persia. His small fortune in silver—about which Cylon had been informed in detail by Kallo—was probably passing at that moment from Eritrius the custodian’s hands into the public treasury.

Of course, the decrees of exile and confiscation will be appealed and rescinded by the Pythagoreans
, he smiled, gloating,
but then they’ll discover it’s too late
.

The slave girl’s expertise made Cylon close his eyes and moan with pleasure.

In one hour, Akenon’s ship will set sail…
he moaned again, nearing climax,
and tonight my soldiers will throw his dead body overboard
.

“On your feet, Egyptian dog.”

Akenon tried to stand up, but could only get on all fours on the damp, stone floor. He was dizzy and his head felt as if it would explode. He leaned one hand on the wall and with effort managed to stand upright.

“Come here. And don’t try anything stupid.”

At the door, three soldiers awaited him, their swords unsheathed. They had relieved him of his saber and knife. He took a deep breath, giving himself time to think.

My best option is still to wait till Pythagoras rescues me
. That was something that had to happen sooner rather than later. Otherwise, if he confronted the soldiers he’d probably end up wounded, if not dead.

He walked slowly toward them.

“Turn around.”

He obeyed, and they pulled his hands together behind his back. He could feel them tying his wrists with a rope, pulling it tight.

“Come on, big boy, you’re going on a trip,” said one of the hoplites sarcastically.

A chill went through Akenon.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, attempting to keep his voice firm.

The leader spat in his face, then thought better of it and answered.

“The city is sending you into exile, foreign dog. You’re being sent to Persia.”

They pushed him along in front of them through a narrow corridor and out into the inner courtyard of some sort of prison. The sun was already low in the sky, but the light forced Akenon to close his eyes, and he felt a new wave of pain in his head.

At the door leading to the street, another three soldiers were waiting with several horses.

They’re the six hoplites from Eteocles’ establishment
.

“Does this look familiar?” one of them asked mockingly, showing him a bloodstained hood. It must have been the one they had put on him that morning. “Be a good boy or we’ll have to beat you up again before we put it on.”

Akenon nodded silently. If an opportunity presented itself, he’d take it, but he wasn’t going to risk his life trying to escape if all they were planning to do was expel him from Croton.

They pushed a folded cloth into his mouth and gagged him so he couldn’t shout while they transported him. Then, they stuffed his head into the hood and slung him across the back of a horse.

When they started on their way, the swaying made the blood pound in Akenon’s head and his pain increased again. Even so, he tried to stay alert to what information he could glean from his surroundings. After a minute, he gave up. Breathing was hard enough with a rag stuck in his mouth and a felt hood pasted to his face with perspiration.

Though it didn’t last long, the ride was torture. When it was over, they pulled Akenon off the horse, and he could hear the everyday sounds of the port. They immediately grabbed both his arms and made him walk without taking the hood off.

After a while, one of the soldiers holding him spoke into his ear.

“Up a gangway now.”

Akenon blindly placed one foot in front of him. They pushed him so he’d go up faster. Suddenly, the ground swayed beneath him. He heard the slap of the sea on both sides and felt he was losing his balance.
I’m going to fall!
Panic gripped him and his face dripped with sweat under the hood. He was sure he would fall into the water at any moment with his hands tied behind his back, a hood on his head, and a rag stuffed in his mouth.

He knew how to swim, but under those conditions it would be useless.

They tugged at his clothes to keep him moving. He realized there was a soldier holding on to him from the front and another from behind. He took small steps in the direction they pulled him, careful not to step on the edge of the gangway. When he felt the deck under his feet, he let out his breath in relief.

The soldiers led Akenon to the ship’s hold and made him sit. Two remained to guard him while the rest stayed ashore. As they had told him, the ship was bound for Persia, but it would first make a final stop in Magna Graecia, at the port of Locri, in two days’ time. The soldiers accompanying him intended to get off there.

By then, they would no longer have a prisoner to guard.

Akenon checked the strength of his bonds. He couldn’t separate his wrists even a fraction.

Persia
, he thought, with a mixture of resignation and helplessness. If they untied him at some point, maybe he could overpower his guards. However, he had to keep in mind that the ship’s crew must think he was a criminal. If Pythagoras didn’t manage to rescue him before the ship set sail, his only option would be to escape the guards and try to jump off the ship onto dry land during one of the stopovers.

If I can’t do that…I’ll have to manage as best I can to get back from Persia
.

He thought of Pythagoras and Ariadne and felt anger, but forced himself to stay calm. Things would go better if he kept a cool head. He took slow, deep breaths, forcing himself to relax. He needed to distract himself from the sensation of suffocation and the desire to gag brought on by the cloth stuffed in his mouth. It kept sliding back toward his throat, and the only way to stop it was to continuously push it forward with the back of his tongue. At the same time, he had to control the urgent need to swallow saliva, or the cloth would go down his throat and he wouldn’t be able to get it back up again.

Just then, he felt the lines being cast off.

CHAPTER 79

June 29
th
, 510 B.C.

That morning, in Eteocles’ establishment, one of the stable boys had taken charge of Akenon’s horse. He remembered it well, as it was one of the best they’d ever had for sale. After he had tied it up, he went out into the street and saw some soldiers carrying a hooded, still figure away. He crouched down and watched carefully.

It’s Akenon
, he thought, recognizing his clothes. Not wanting trouble with the authorities, he went back into the stables without asking any questions. His only reaction was to keep the horse next to his master’s horses, in case Akenon didn’t come back.

That afternoon, the stable boy met his cousin, Anticlos, an enthusiastic young man who had asked to be admitted to the Pythagorean community. He debated whether he should mention the incident with Akenon, but he had a close relationship with Anticlos, and would have felt bad hiding information that would interest him.

“Anticlos, I know something you’re going to think is very important. But first, you have to swear before all the gods you’ll never reveal it was me who told you.”

Anticlos opened his eyes wide with interest and immediately swore. His cousin continued in a low voice.

“This morning, shortly after we opened, Akenon turned up. You know, the investigator Pythagoras hired.”

Anticlos nodded. He knew perfectly well who Akenon was.

“A little while later, soldiers arrived,” his cousin continued. “I don’t know what was going on, I didn’t see anything, but when they left they took Akenon with them slung over a horse. They’d put a hood over his head and he was unconscious. Maybe he was dead.”

Anticlos put his hands on his head.

“By Zeus and Heracles!” he exclaimed in shock. He stared at his cousin for a moment and suddenly ran off without even saying goodbye.

Half an hour later, the soldiers guarding the community entrance blocked his path. At first, they smiled at the presumptuousness of the nervous young man’s request to speak to Pythagoras himself, but once they learned his story, they hastened to take him to the master.

Anticlos prostrated himself at Pythagoras’ feet, feeling he was in the presence of a god. Next to the philosopher were Ariadne and Aristomachus, who had just announced that Glaucus had awarded the prize.

“Get up, young man.” Pythagoras put his hand on Anticlos’ shoulder. “Tell us what news you bring.”

The youth quickly repeated what his cousin had told him. Ariadne felt her heart turn over when she heard Akenon might be unconscious or dead.

“We’ll go to Croton at once,” Pythagoras told the soldiers. “Half the hoplites in the community will accompany me. Send a messenger immediately to tell Milo to meet me in front of the Temple of Hera. And he should bring all the soldiers he can marshal without delay.”

The hoplites hurried away and Pythagoras hastened to the stables to get the mare.
First we need to launch a quick search to find all possible witnesses.
He also needed to send patrols out of Croton, placing one at each of the city’s exit routes, as well as at the port.

He was taken in the morning
, he told himself with concern.
They’ve got a huge head start. I hope not too much.

All around Pythagoras, the soldiers swiftly organized themselves. The one who would notify Milo was already en route to Croton at a full gallop.

On the horse’s rump, clinging to the soldier, rode Ariadne.

Before Pythagoras arrived at the Temple of Hera, Milo and Ariadne had already learned that some soldiers had taken a hooded and bound prisoner to the port. They raced there in the company of some twenty hoplites, and after questioning several port workers, finally found one who could give them specific information.

“Yes, sir.” The man was impressed at being addressed by Milo, who was a hero to the Crotonians. “A hooded prisoner, escorted by several soldiers. I saw them half an hour ago. The prisoner and some of the soldiers went aboard that ship…” He turned and looked for it. “Blast! It’s already set sail.” He clicked his tongue, sharing the disappointment of his questioners. “It was quite a large merchant ship… There it is, it’s the one just leaving the estuary!”

Ariadne turned in the direction he had pointed and felt her heart sink. The ship was already a mile away, had unfurled its large rectangular sail, and was beginning to plow through the open sea.

Milo watched the ship as it sailed away, quickly scanned the port, and, without explanation, broke into a run. Ariadne and the soldiers looked at each other in bewilderment and ran after him.

Despite being forty-four, the commander-in-chief of the army outran soldiers half his age. He was still in top physical shape. It was no coincidence he’d won the Olympic Games six times in the wrestling category. The last time had been six years earlier, and he no longer competed, but he was still strong as an ox.

He reached the end of the port where the smaller vessels were tied up and jumped into a small boat. The first of the soldiers who had been following him tried to get in, but Milo stopped him with his powerful voice.

“No! I’ll be faster on my own.”

The boat had only two oars. Milo began to row energetically and soon left the pier far behind. Several soldiers requisitioned other boats and tried to follow in their general’s wake.

For a while, Milo rowed faster than any other man would have been capable of, but the distance between him and Akenon’s ship didn’t seem to lessen. The ship was catching favorable winds in its broad sail and was already far enough away to discourage the best of men. Milo looked at the ship again and clenched his jaw, putting even more strength into his rowing. His muscles strained. To increase the pace, he started counting in his head, slowly increasing his speed as he did when he forced soldiers to march to a beat.

One, two; one, two; one, two…

His ears registered the hiss of the wind and the murmur of the hull as it sliced through the water. He turned, panting. Was he closer or was it wishful thinking? He needed to go even faster, but was beginning to feel the effects of exhaustion.

The soldier Crisipo was key in Orestes’ murder, and now other soldiers are attacking the brotherhood
.

His pride as commander-in-chief was stung by these thoughts, and he succeeded in increasing his speed.

One, two; one, two; one, two…

After a while he turned around again.
I’m getting closer. I have to keep up this pace
.

He was already on the open sea. The paddle of his oar hit the crest of a wave and the cool spray splashed his face. It undermined his strength, but his body, burning from the colossal effort, welcomed it.

Looking toward the port, he could see the soldiers following him in other vessels. They had advanced less than half the distance he had, though there were several hoplites in each boat taking turns at rowing.

Again, he felt he was reaching the limits of his strength. He closed his eyes and remembered his master’s teachings. His heart and respiration slowed a little and became synchronized, increasing his body’s efficiency. He kept rowing with his eyes closed, concentrating harder the more exhausted he became, without slowing his pace.

Suddenly he heard it. Something large was plowing through the sea and the wind close to him. He opened his eyes and saw the ship less than twenty yards away.

He made a last effort to catch up with it and started shouting.

In the ship’s hold, the hoplites who were guarding Akenon were dozing, leaning against the curved wooden hull. All they had to do was kill time until nightfall, when they would slit the Egyptian’s throat and throw him over the gunwale. Though they had to avoid being seen by the sailors, their backs were covered: the ship’s captain had received some gold coins to insure there’d be no trouble. If anyone raised the alarm, they would say the prisoner had attacked them, and the captain would corroborate their story.

Neither they nor Akenon noticed the ship slowing, but they were all startled when the door to the hold burst open and a furious voice boomed out, “By Zeus, Heracles, and Pythagoras, what the devil is going on here!”

The soldiers sat up in terror.
How did the general get here?!
They scrambled to stand at attention as Milo came in.

“We’re obeying orders, sir. We’re transferring the pri…”

The blow sent him flying backwards. Milo backhanded the second soldier, leaving him unconscious on the ground. Then he squatted next to Akenon, took off the hood, and pulled the gag from his mouth.

Akenon inhaled great gulps of air.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “Thank you, Milo.”

The colossus kneeled behind him without a word, took out his knife, and cut Akenon’s bonds.

Ariadne was waiting on the pier beside her father, who had just arrived. In the distance, on its way back from the pot-bellied merchant ship, they could see a tiny boat. Ariadne squinted through the dying light of dusk until she knew for sure that Akenon was in that boat and alive.
Thank the gods
, she thought, closing her eyes.

It was at that moment she realized she didn’t want to go to Catania.

The boat approached rapidly. General Milo had ordered the two soldiers to row and was forcing them to keep up an exhausting pace. When they reached land, he shoved them toward his hoplites.

“Lock this scum in the dungeon. We’ll question them later.”

The general left with his soldiers, and Akenon went over to Pythagoras and Ariadne. She felt the urge to hug him, but held back, and it was Pythagoras who welcomed him.

“I’m so sorry about what happened, Akenon. I thank Providence we made it in time.” He placed his hands on Akenon’s shoulders and examined him to see if he was injured. Even with the fading light, he could see his neck was bloodstained. “Let me take a look at that.”

Akenon showed Pythagoras the back of his head.

“That’s a nasty-looking gash,” said Pythagoras, frowning. “And it’s already dry. We’ll have to clean it properly before sewing it up.”

Akenon just nodded. Ariadne stayed in the background, looking at him in a way he couldn’t decipher.

Pythagoras waited a moment, then took out a parchment.

“We know for sure who’s behind this.” He showed the document to Akenon. “Cylon managed to have a decree of exile issued against you.”

“So it’s true,” replied Akenon with bitterness. “My exile is a Council decision. I thought the people who seized me had made that up.”

“Only twenty councilors are required to condemn a foreigner to exile,” explained Pythagoras, “plus the signed and sealed ratification of one Council secretary. Up until yesterday, I’d have told you not one secretary would ratify something like this without letting us know first, but now we know Cylon’s influence has reached alarming levels. In any case, don’t worry about this. Tomorrow we’ll have the decree rescinded.”

Akenon looked at Pythagoras, surprised. His words were shadowed by an unaccustomed heaviness. He looked at Ariadne next, and realized something was afoot.

“What else has happened?” he asked in alarm.

Ariadne answered.

“We just learned that Glaucus awarded his prize. Someone worked out what the Sybarite wanted…and he did it by using my father’s most important theorem.”

Akenon was stunned. He didn’t have enough knowledge to comprehend the intellectual magnitude of what had happened, but he himself had heard Pythagoras declaring it wasn’t possible. Moreover, using Pythagoras’ theorem…

“Do you think using the theorem is another message? Is our enemy behind this?”

“He has to be,” affirmed Pythagoras. “He had already demonstrated he had extraordinary abilities, and now he’s revealed that they’re not only extraordinary, but unique.” He sighed, and with that weary sigh acknowledged that his enemy had bested him. “To do away with Orestes he used the secret of the dodecahedron, showing us he had access to our best-kept secrets and might even be one of us. Now he’s used my own theorem to mock us again. And at the same time, he has acquired enough material resources to buy almost anything.”

Akenon remained pensive for a while.

“Did you say the secretary who signed my decree of exile has just switched loyalties?”

The philosopher nodded.

Right
, thought Akenon.
Maybe there’s a connection between collecting Glaucus’ prize and having me exiled.

He turned to Pythagoras resolutely.

“Tell me where that secretary lives.”