Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (5 page)

CHAPTER 8

April 17
th
, 510 B.C.

“Akenon!”

He turned swiftly as he drew his sword. The door had just opened and a guard was calling him from the threshold.

Relief washed over him, turning a moment later to a wave of apprehension. Maybe this guard and Boreas had the same thing in mind: retrieving Glaucus’ silver from his saddlebags.

He tensed his muscles and waited with his sword held high, alert to what was happening both in front and behind him.

“Someone’s asking for you,” the guard informed him reluctantly. “A woman… Ariadne of Croton.”

Akenon frowned.
I don’t know any Ariadne
.

A second guard appeared beside the first one. Between the two of them, they opened the inner and outer doors wide, then stood back so he could pass with his mule. Akenon hesitated, then decided that whatever the risk, it was preferable to encountering Boreas. With one hand on the reins and the other gripping his sword, he entered the passageway, keeping a watchful eye on the giant.

Well, well… No one told me he was this attractive
, thought Ariadne.

Her manner betrayed not the slightest hint of interest, but she eyed Akenon with pleasure as he crossed the threshold, pulling a heavily laden mule behind him. The man was ten or fifteen years older than she was, and from what she could see he was in good shape. He wore a short, dark tunic which outlined his body without revealing the paunch typical of men his age. The strong muscles on his arms were well-defined. That, coupled with his height, made it hard not to notice him. As he approached, the Egyptian gave her a penetrating and somewhat suspicious look. Ariadne kept staring at him, detecting a flash of interest in his expression. His swarthy face had a strong, square jaw, with fleshy lips and dark eyes. He wore his black hair slightly long and, unlike most Egyptians, was clean shaven.

Akenon came through the portico and looked behind him. The guards were closing the doors, removing the imminent threat of Boreas and themselves. He returned his sword to its sheath and silently observed the only people to be seen in the street: an attractive woman and two men standing beside three donkeys which carried almost nothing.

“You were looking for me?” he asked, addressing the men.

One of them gestured toward the woman, who answered in a calm, steady voice.

“My name is Ariadne, and these are Brauron and Telephontes. We’ve come from the Pythagorean community in Croton. Pythagoras would like to invite you to the community, to employ your services. He asked me to convey his most affectionate greetings and his desire to see you again.”

Akenon looked away and took a few moments before replying. In fact, he had intended to visit Pythagoras once he had completed his work in Sybaris. More than thirty years ago, when Akenon was still a child, Pythagoras had lived for a while in Memphis, the city where Akenon was born. His father, a government employee, was a renowned geometrician whose job was to train new geometricians so that they could work at correctly redistributing the land every time the Nile overflowed its banks. The Pharaoh himself had asked him to teach Pythagoras that science which the Egyptians had been developing for centuries. The charismatic Greek spent many days with Akenon and his father. Akenon’s mother, a native of Athens, had passed away the previous year, and his father was all the family Akenon had left. They had shared their table on many occasions with Pythagoras, who had even slept at their house more than once when the animated conversation carried on unexpectedly into the early hours of the morning.

He smiled without realizing it. His recollection of Pythagoras was of a fascinating man who had been very kind to him and always told Akenon he had great abilities. Such praise from his father’s and the Pharaoh’s friend used to make him swell up with pride. In those days, Akenon studied with his father, and at thirteen already knew quite a lot about geometry. He would have made a good geometrician if life hadn’t pushed him down a different path.

As the years went by, Pythagoras’ name had become famous all over the world. Now and again, Akenon would hear about him, about his growing influence, and his wonderful deeds. Three decades had gone by without seeing him, and he was happy that the grand master remembered him, though less pleased to learn that he wanted to hire his services. With the silver he had earned from Glaucus, he had been hoping to fulfill his dream of forgetting about investigations and crimes for a few years.

He nodded briefly, lifting his eyes toward Ariadne.

“I’ll go with you. I’m very much looking forward to seeing Pythagoras again. However, I don’t think I’ll be able to stay and take on any work. I plan to set sail in a few days.”

“I appreciate you coming with us,” Ariadne replied. “As for the rest, it’s probably best if you speak to Pythagoras.”

And I doubt you’ll refuse him. No one does
.

At that very moment, fifty miles from Ariadne and Akenon, Pythagoras was taking a solitary stroll in a forest not far from the community. He walked slowly, absorbed in his thoughts, shaking his head now and again. The great weight he carried on his shoulders caused him to stoop instead of standing tall, with dignity, as he usually did.

Behind him, hidden among the pines, someone was spying on the grand master. He had been following him for a while. Like Pythagoras, Cleomenides’ death was on his mind. However, unlike the master, the thought brought him great delight.

CHAPTER 9

April 17
th
, 510 B.C.

Akenon felt instant euphoria once they left the last houses of Sybaris behind them.

The sensation was so intense and pleasurable it was almost dizzying: a mixture of happiness and energy that came from having successfully completed a job and left behind a situation where he had feared for his life. He was also carrying in his saddlebags two sacks of silver, a genuine treasure trove. Mingled with this was the excitement of being on the road again, almost on vacation, in a region unknown to him, with a woman he was finding more and more attractive as time went by.

They had been traveling for three hours, hugging the coast. The sun was high in the cloudless sky, and the temperature had grown deliciously mild. Akenon noticed that the terrain was becoming increasingly rugged as they moved further from Sybaris. Ariadne, at that moment, was riding just behind him. Her two companions kept their distance behind them, riding in total silence, seemingly engrossed in meditation on their mules.

Akenon had exchanged a few words with Ariadne, but it couldn’t be called a conversation. Although she answered his questions, she referred him to Pythagoras whenever he asked her anything about his reasons for wanting him to go to Croton. Despite her reserve, Akenon thought he could detect in Ariadne’s silences and the way she looked at him that she was not indifferent to him. In Carthage, he had been quite successful with women, and there was no reason to think it would be different with Greek women. It wasn’t that he was a womanizer, not at all. In fact, during his youth he had been celibate for a long time, and to some extent it had influenced his habits. Nevertheless, celibacy was far from guiding his will right now.

He surreptitiously slowed his mount and observed Ariadne as she overtook him. The young woman wore her light brown hair up in a ponytail. Her face was intelligent, and her green eyes and sensuous mouth had a piquant air of defiance. She was quite a bit shorter than he—her head would probably reach his shoulder—and curvaceous, in a voluptuous rather than a chubby way. He watched the tantalizing movement of her breasts under her tunic. The fabric was thin and clung to her body in a revealing way. Akenon’s lips parted and he began to breathe through his mouth. She turned to look at him with a smile, causing a wave of warmth to roll through him. He was almost sure…maybe…

He spurred his mule and rode up beside Ariadne.

“I suppose we’ll be stopping before we get to Croton.”

“Of course, we’ll have to overnight half way along the route. You can’t go fast along these tracks. We’ll reach an inn before sunset.” Again, Ariadne gave him her enigmatic, perhaps suggestive smile. “We can stop for something to eat in a meadow just beyond that little cape.”

Akenon looked behind him. Brauron and Telephontes were several feet away, out of earshot.

“Perhaps we could stop before that. I mean…”

He looked intently at her, with an unmistakable smile. He would have never behaved this way under normal circumstances, but it was as if he were high on euphoria and Ariadne’s uncommon beauty. Moreover, who knew if they would get another opportunity as good as this one to be alone, in the middle of nowhere, with only two companions who kept their distance, absorbed in their own thoughts.

She looked at him uncomprehendingly, her expression surprisingly ingenuous.

Is she playing hard to get, or does she really not understand?

“What I mean is,” Akenon insisted, “somewhere one could hide among the trees and no one would see.” He nodded in the direction of the woman’s companions.

“I see.” Ariadne smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what you meant.”

She raised her hand to halt her companions and pulled on the reins of her donkey.

“I didn’t think you’d be so shy,” she said. “But don’t worry, I’m used to it. My elderly father also needs to stop frequently to urinate. These are the little afflictions of aging.”

Akenon’s jaw dropped as he stared at Ariadne. The young woman wore a teasing expression. She had known full well what he wanted before he ever opened his mouth.

He jumped from the mule and went deep into the trees, cursing quietly to himself.

The little afflictions of aging…

He waited a minute before returning, sufficient time to go from feeling offended and embarrassed to laughing at himself.

He returned to the path with a smile on his lips and mounted his mule, good-humoredly putting up with Ariadne’s amused look as they set off again.

For some time they rode in silence, until Akenon turned toward Ariadne and made another calculatedly ambiguous comment. Without changing her expression, she replied with apparent naiveté once more, while deftly sidestepping his meaning. Akenon lowered his head to hide a smile. A short time later, he admired the landscape in such a way that it could be interpreted as a reference to Ariadne’s misleading candor. She nodded and replied, making reference to the barrenness of the surrounding terrain. Her words seemed to mock people who had been taught a lesson for being too presumptuous.

This game of misunderstandings and double entendres went on for the rest of the day while they continued to wind their way along the coast. Akenon hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. Ariadne’s subtle wit and teasing manner had the curious effect of attracting him to her all the more.

That night, alone in his bed at the inn, Akenon mulled over the events of the day. Before falling asleep he made himself a promise:

In Croton he would make Ariadne welcome him into her bed.

They arrived at their destination as dusk fell the following day.

The route followed the coastline, which became less rugged as it neared Croton. Akenon watched with interest as his mule wearily plodded along the last stretch of the journey. The city of Croton had been built facing the sea, its bustling port at its center. Over the years, it had expanded inland, tailing off in the foothills that stood guard over it from the rear. It wasn’t as large as Sybaris, but even so, Akenon was impressed by its expanse. He was also surprised by the size and magnificence of its main buildings. There was a reason it was the second most populous city in Magna Graecia.

Instead of entering the city, they skirted it in silence, riding toward the nearest hill. On the lower part of the hillside, just over half a mile from the Croton city limits, a simple hedge formed a rectangle of three hundred by two hundred yards. Clustered within it were several buildings, some temples, and small gardens dotted with statues. It looked like a small suburb of Croton, linked to it by a winding path that resembled a long umbilical cord. As if the large city and the village formed a mystical symbiosis.

The road along which they were traveling intersected that winding path, and Ariadne led the little group away from Croton, toward the strange collection of buildings. It was the Pythagorean community, built by the city of Croton so that Pythagoras could convert it into the center of his powerful enlightenment. In the past few decades, the Pythagorean brotherhood had gone from being a modest institution with a few dozen participants to the most dynamic and influential School of its time. Six hundred disciples lived in the buildings of the Croton community, there were thousands of supporters of the doctrine spread throughout various cities, and the School controlled dozens of governments.

Although Akenon was unaware of it, there was a reason Pythagoras’ fame wasn’t even more widespread: among the main tenets of the School was the secrecy that surrounded many aspects of the brotherhood, and specifically the heart of its wisdom. The oath of secrecy the members took was so strict they could not even commit their main discoveries to paper. Pythagoras was known for his political power and his immense reputation as a teacher and spiritual leader. Nonetheless, the only way to access the knowledge he possessed was to try to grow close to him and be accepted.

Being admitted to the School wasn’t easy, and reaching the highest echelon was almost impossible. Everyone was witness to the master’s powerful radiance, but very few were able to contemplate it close up. Over the three decades that the brotherhood had existed, only six grand masters had succeeded in becoming part of Pythagoras’ intimate circle. One of them, Cleomenides, had been murdered. Of the five remaining, only the one Pythagoras named as his successor would receive his powerful enlightenment in its entirety.

As he neared the compound, a shiver ran down Akenon’s spine. It was impossible to be unaffected by the aura of spirituality that embraced the community. He forgot about his attractive travel companion, with whom he hadn’t exchanged a word since glimpsing the community. His mind was focused on the energetic, enigmatic man he had met in Egypt. He was about to meet him again, but now he was no longer just a remarkable man.

He had become the master of masters.

At the gate of the compound, a small reception committee awaited them. Standing at the front was the great Pythagoras. Drawn by his irresistible magnetism, Akenon couldn’t take his eyes off him. The master was distinguished by his impressive height, but above all because he seemed to radiate a special light, as if the sun illuminated the whiteness of his tunic and his hair far more brightly than anyone else’s.

They dismounted and walked the last few yards on foot. Ariadne walked at Akenon’s side with an enigmatic expression.

Pythagoras stepped forward, placed both hands on Akenon’s shoulders, and spoke in his steady, sincere voice.

“Akenon, I’m so happy to see you again.”

He enveloped him in his penetrating gaze, and Akenon felt strangely embarrassed, as if everything good or bad he had been responsible for throughout his life had been suddenly exposed. At the same time, despite his determination not to get involved in a new case, he felt certain it would be very difficult to refuse Pythagoras anything.

When he turned his intense gaze from Akenon to Ariadne, his next words made Akenon pale.