Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (51 page)

Milo looked at the ground, frowning. The figures were good compared to what could have happened, but he considered them mediocre given how the battle had unfolded.

“Very well,” he said finally, “this is what we’ll do: half of the first infantry regiment will make camp around the prisoners. The remaining infantry will march toward Sybaris. We’ll go ahead with the cavalry to try and cut off whoever escaped. I estimate there were about six thousand.” He looked at Polydamantus, who nodded. “I hope we can capture at least half of them. To that end, the third infantry regiment will advance at a forced march, and we’ll follow the same procedure we did here: we’ll detain them with the cavalry, and then the infantry will arrive to surround them. If possible without casualties.”

He paused and his generals nodded.

“If we manage to take prisoners, we’ll send them back here with an escort to keep them all together. Then we’ll camp close enough to Sybaris to make them tremble. Tonight they won’t sleep, and tomorrow they’ll be more willing to talk.”

He looked northward. On the hills across the river, a few men could be seen running away. The Sybarite horses, on the other hand, were already out of sight.

“The cavalry who escaped will warn them, but the city no longer has the resources to confront us.” Milo glanced at the sun. “I want to get to Sybaris before nightfall. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 110

July 23
rd
, 510 B.C.

Behind the black mask, a pair of eyes coldly observed the plain. The hooded man hadn’t moved since the battle had begun. He was breathing calmly, his hands resting on his legs, the reins of his mount hanging loose. The sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky. It was going to be a warm day. In a few hours, the breeze, now mild and sweet, would carry the heavy stench of rotting bodies.

From the foot of his hill to the seashore, the masked man contemplated the same panorama: a dense strip of dead men and horses, blood-soaked earth, and soldiers helping the wounded. There were also Sybarite horses that had survived. The Crotonian soldiers were herding them to one side to deal with them later. After all, in their military campaign against Sybaris, animals that started dancing to the sound of trumpets were useless.

It was a really ingenious strategy...probably thought up by Pythagoras. The old man is still capable of some good ideas. I mustn’t underestimate him
.

The masked man looked north. Half a mile down the plain dotted with corpses, a circle of Crotonian soldiers surrounded thousands of Sybarite prisoners. Beyond the river, the bulk of the Crotonian army was advancing toward Sybaris at a forced march.

“Let’s go back to the hideout,” he whispered, turning to Boreas.

The giant looked at the battle scene for a few more seconds, then turned and followed his master.

As they descended the other side of the hill, the masked man reflected unhurriedly on his next moves. Although the scenario which at first had seemed most improbable—the Crotonian army’s victory—had just materialized, it was actually bringing him closer to his goal of revenge and domination more quickly. Had the Sybarites won, he would have gone down the hill to join Tellus as they took Croton. Under the actual circumstances, though, he would go to his hideout and, from there, contact Cylon again.

He thought with satisfaction of the gold he had handed many of the Crotonian officers. He had given it to them to control their actions in the very unlikely event of a Sybarite defeat. If those officers had died, it would have been wasted, but now that gold would yield a fabulous return.

Absolute power over the Council of Croton
.

Three hours after the battle ended, Pythagoras’ concentration was interrupted by shouting. He had been meditating on the meeting he had convened for five days hence at Milo’s house. He trusted it would help strengthen the future of the School.

Looking away from the sacred fire, he turned his attention to the voices outside.

“Master Pythagoras! Master Pythagoras!”

In the cries he heard through the stone walls were distinct notes of jubilation.

It worked
, he thought with a sigh of relief.

Pythagoras smiled toward the statues of the muses, but it was a sad smile. Wars meant the senseless death of many innocent people. He turned and went out of the circular temple, where he was met by dozens of people at the columns framing the entrance. Disciples and Sybarite refugees were thronging around a young, smiling soldier, clearly a messenger.

“Greetings, soldier. Did Milo send you?”

“Yes, master.” The messenger bowed respectfully, abashed by the philosopher’s imposing presence. “He instructed me to inform you that our army achieved a decisive victory. Our men played hundreds of instruments as the enemy cavalry was about to fall on us, and the Sybarite horses started dancing. We finished with all their cavalrymen and half their infantry in just half an hour. In all, there were about fifteen thousand casualties on their side…” he frowned, experiencing a bittersweet sensation, “and five hundred on ours.”

Pythagoras felt a pain in his chest and closed his eyes. He had learned from Glaucus that the masked enemy was behind the rebellion in Sybaris. Everyone who had died in that battle had been a consequence of his deadly enemy’s hatred.

The messenger continued.

“We also took ten thousand prisoners. Only about six thousand Sybarites escaped, but Milo is pursuing them as he advances toward Sybaris. Our army will camp close to the city tonight, and tomorrow we’ll demand their unconditional surrender.”

The Sybarite aristocrats shouted with joy. Since the previous day, they hadn’t taken their eyes off the northern road, fearing they’d see the enemy cavalry appear at any moment.

Pythagoras thanked the messenger and turned around. Several Sybarites wanted to know his opinion on the military situation, but he raised a hand and went back into the Temple of the Muses without another word.

Sometimes doing the right thing is very painful
.

Making the Sybarite cavalry unusable by playing music had been his idea. There was no doubt it had been necessary, but imagining the massacre caused him intense anguish. Music played a very important role in his doctrine. He frequently used it to induce certain emotional states and cure illnesses of the mind or the body.

But this is the first time I’ve used its power to destroy
.

Destroy to create, he reminded himself. It was one of nature’s maxims, but it provided little consolation right now.

He concentrated on the eternal flame of the goddess Hestia. The fire danced to silent music. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to regain composure. They were living through critical times, and the community needed him more than ever.

Soon he managed to quiet his spirit. However, another concern was dogging his thoughts.

I hope Milo obtains a quick and peaceful surrender from Sybaris
.

CHAPTER 111

July 24
th
, 510 B.C.

There were two hours left before dawn.

Androcles, a veteran infantry officer in Milo’s army, was walking along the perimeter of the Crotonian camp, leading a horse that wasn’t his by the reins. He was tense and annoyed. His plan would have been much easier to put into action if the army had camped at the gates of Sybaris, as had been initially decided.

He spat on the ground with contempt.

Sybarite dogs
.

The previous day, having defeated the enemy, Milo had gone ahead with the cavalry to capture more prisoners. He managed to corral two groups, numbering almost three thousand men in total. On each occasion, he had had to stop and wait for the Crotonian infantry to catch up so they could take charge of the prisoners. Earlier in the day, several groups had left Sybaris with the intention of joining Tellus. Two thousand men in total. Along the way, they had been alerted to the situation by the Sybarite riders who had fled the battle. When they received the news, the men who were farthest ahead had withdrawn to a river some ten miles outside their city. They crossed the river, pulled down the two bridges over it, and stationed themselves on the other side, feeling they were Sybaris’ last defense. At that time of year, it was easy to wade the river, but that was all they could do against the Crotonian army. Sooner or later, surrender would be inevitable. Their last resort was to try and look like a significant obstacle to the Crotonians. Maybe that way they would be able to attach some conditions to their surrender.

Androcles kept advancing until he reached the end of the camp. There, he glanced at the far side of the river. There were many campfires. The two thousand Sybarites who had withdrawn to that position had been joined later by another three thousand from Tellus’ ill-fated army, and five thousand more who had trickled in from Sybaris.

About ten thousand in total, comprising cowards, peasants, and old men
.

Androcles didn’t agree with Milo’s clemency. If it were up to him, those ten thousand Sybarites would descend to the realm of the dead the following day, and their women would be booty for the soldiers who killed them.

The thought put a sinister smile on his face. He walked a few yards away from the camp, stopping when he reached the first clump of bushes. A soft whistle reached him from the other side. He whistled in reply and went around the bushes.

“By Ares, Androcles, I thought you’d never get here!”

His companion was also a Crotonian army officer, with a rank similar to Androcles’, though he belonged to the cavalry corps.

“Relax, Damophon. We need to stay calm.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” complained Damophon. “It’s my neck that’s on the line.”

“We’re all risking our lives”—Androcles gave him a twisted smile—“but the masked man paid us well for it. Besides, I’ll remind you that I’m the one who’s going to have to explain your disappearance to Milo. If he finds out I’m lying, he’ll rip me apart with his own hands.”

Damophon chose not to reply. Over the past few days, they had discussed several times who would be the one to leave the garrison. He didn’t like it, but it was already decided. There was no point going back over it.

He reached up and took the horse’s reins.

“I’d better leave as soon as possible.” He mounted the horse. “I want to be past Sybaris before sun-up.”

Androcles waited for Damophon to disappear into the night. Then he turned around and went back to the camp accompanied by the babble of the river. He knew that one in five officers was aware of what was about to happen.
And let’s hope the rest will be taken in by the ruse
, he told himself, tightening his lips. As for the soldiers, those who weren’t involved would simply follow their officers’ orders. Besides, the whole plan was likely to succeed because it catered to the most basic passions shared by all men: vengeance, lust, ambition… The plot would triumph in a natural and inevitable way. So the masked man had said, or something to that effect. Androcles had believed him.

His men were at the southern end of the camp. He made his way silently among them.

“Wake whoever’s asleep,” he told them as he went by. “In a few minutes I’ll give the order.”

After organizing the lookouts, Milo had ordered the garrison to be wakened half an hour before dawn. That time was still an hour away, but the commander-in-chief had been awake for a while. He slept little when they were on a campaign, even when the situation was as controlled as it was now.

He turned in his bed, which consisted of a grass mat covered in a linen sheet. The heat inside the tent made him uncomfortable. He would have preferred to sleep out in the open, like most of his men, but for his own security as well as that of his generals, they spent the night with a roof over them.

Milo was sure there would be no skirmishes. He had ordered his men not to cross the river, and the Sybarites wouldn’t be so foolish as to attack them.

They have enough to contend with just standing up to us
.

It was obvious that the Sybarites’ only intention was to stall them for a few hours. Milo assumed that at that moment the women and children were being evacuated. They no doubt feared the Crotonian army would sack Sybaris.

They don’t know I won’t allow a sacking
.

Uncomfortable in the heat, he lay face up and shook his tunic lightly to fan the air between the fabric and his skin. The perspiration evaporated, causing a pleasant, cool sensation. He focused on relaxing so he could rest even though he couldn’t sleep.

Some hours earlier, when they arrived at the river, he had sent a messenger to the Sybarite camp with a simple, clear communiqué: at dawn, they must surrender or be annihilated. He didn’t mind giving them a few hours of truce. The Sybarites no longer had the forces to oppose them. Besides, he preferred to take Sybaris when his troops were rested. They had just fought a battle and then been forced to march for many hours. It was neither wise nor necessary to fight in order to reach the city after the sun had already set.

He shook his tunic again to cool himself.

I hope we resolve this quickly
.

Milo deeply disliked having to fight against the Sybarites, but it was imperative that Sybaris surrender. Leaving the situation unfinished would create an unacceptable risk for Croton. With all the gold the rebels had confiscated from the aristocrats, they could buy an army of mercenaries large enough to invade Croton.

At dawn, he would make them surrender and take control of the city, but he would cede its government to the Sybarite aristocrats as soon as possible.

I’ll have to leave some support troops
, he reflected,
until the aristocrats organize sufficient forces to maintain control. Two thousand soldiers should be enough. The rest of the army will be home in a few days.

He suddenly realized he had been hearing distant voices for a while. He opened his eyes and stared at the roof of his tent, faintly lit by an oil lamp. Although the noise was some distance away, it seemed to be the typical clamor of battle.

He sat up at once, grabbed his weapons, and went out of the tent. The two sentinels stationed at the door stood at attention. Outside, the sound of combat was clearly audible. It was coming from one end of the camp.

“Bring my horse!”

Milo took a few steps to the river’s edge and peered into the darkness. The Sybarite camp in front of him looked peaceful. The problem was coming from the southern end.

It seems to be an isolated skirmish
.

He frowned, puzzled. His men had orders not to cross the river, and it would be absurdly rash of the Sybarites to have done so.

One of the sentinels approached, leading his horse by the reins. Milo mounted quickly and rode toward the conflict. There was very little light, but as he got closer he could see his men had crossed the river.

“What’s going on?” he shouted from his horse to a sentinel.

“It looks like some Sybarites crossed the river, sir. Then they fled, and some of our men went in pursuit of them.”

Damn it. Who could have been the imbecile…?
His orders not to cross had been very clear. They couldn’t be disobeyed even for punishment incursions.

“Which officer was first to cross?”

The sentinel hesitated before replying.

“I think it was Androcles, sir.”

Milo’s expression hardened. He was almost sure Androcles was one of the members of his army who received payoffs from Cylon. The practice was so common that if he were to rid the army of everyone who did it he’d be left without half his troops.

He wondered what to do. Maybe Androcles had had a good reason to cross the river.

The only way to find out is go after him
, he thought decisively. It might be dangerous, but he couldn’t stand by with his arms crossed. There was no sense either in waking the entire camp over an isolated incident that clearly posed no threat to them.

He unsheathed his sword and dug his heels into his mount, riding toward the river. Although the riverbed was quite wide, it had hardly any water in it. He reached the opposite bank with no problem.

There’s no one here
, he said to himself as he scrutinized the surroundings. The Sybarite camp had withdrawn toward the northern side as if reacting to a lateral attack.

He advanced cautiously among the abandoned campfires. The shouting was coming from in front of him, some fifty paces away. It was so dark, Milo couldn’t make out anything from where he was. What he could see were corpses strewn on the ground.

They’re all Sybarites
.

The shouting was moving away from him. He spurred his horse to a trot and quickly caught up with a group of Crotonian soldiers.

“Where’s Androcles?”

The hoplites jumped when they saw their commander-in-chief emerge out of nowhere. They were so surprised, all they could do was point in front of them. Milo trotted on, overtaking more soldiers until he reached several who were viciously running some fallen Sybarites through with their swords.

“Androcles!” roared Milo in his thunderous voice.

One of the men turned toward him and instantly stood at attention.

“Yes, sir.”

“What the devil happened?”

The officer swallowed before replying.

“Several Sybarites crossed the river without us noticing. They remained hidden until Officer Damophon passed near them, then leapt on him and captured him.” Androcles seemed to be reciting from memory. “It was a very speedy operation, sir. By the time the alarm was raised, they were already on their way back across the river. We set out after them immediately, but instead of confronting us they continued to withdraw. A minute ago we caught up with the ones who were furthest ahead,” he pointed with his sword at the Sybarite corpses, “but we’ve been unable to rescue Officer Damophon. Before they died, these men confessed that a small cavalry unit took him to Sybaris. I think they believed he was a general. We haven’t got horses, sir. Right now, I was about to return to the camp and alert the cavalry.”

Milo listened gravely to Androcles’ story. He strongly doubted any of it was true, but now wasn’t the time to judge his actions.

“Return to camp with all your men,” he said coldly.

He turned around and began riding at a gentle trot. Although he wanted to get back as soon as possible, it would be unwise to gallop through that darkness.

As he neared the river, he noticed there was movement in his camp. It seemed like everyone had woken up. Hundreds of torches zigzagged close to the water.

What is it now?
he wondered in exasperation.
More suicidal incursions?

He paused a moment to listen. His ears filled with the urgent splashing sounds of thousands of feet, together with the deafening battle cry of an entire army.

A wave of panic hit him.

Are the Sybarites attacking us en masse?!

Had he radically miscalculated the enemy forces? Were they hiding a mercenary army in Sybaris? Suddenly he realized it was his own men who were all crossing the river at once. He frowned, disconcerted. What motive could his officers have to order an attack? What the devil were his generals doing?

It was so absurd it seemed like a hallucination in a feverish dream. He spurred his horse forcefully, crossed the riverbed, and rode along the edge of his camp shouting orders at the last men to fall back. But it was already too late to stop what had been unleashed.

A few yards away, he saw General Polydamantus reprimanding some officers from his horse.

“Polydamantus!” bellowed Milo, riding up to him. “What’s happening, for the sake of all the gods?”

His general’s face, usually inexpressive, was contorted with desperation.

“I don’t know, sir. All of a sudden, I heard cries of
we’re under attack
all over the camp. The troops took to the river in the midst of the darkness to stave them off.”