Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015)

by Marcos Chicot

  Ariadne stopped her mount in front of a wide portico with stylized columns. Behind them, a heavy door made of wood and metal remained closed. She looked up. The frieze under the pediment was decorated with bas-reliefs of Hades and Dionysus, the gods of wealth and wine.

  This must be it. I hope he hasn’t left.

  She jumped nimbly from her donkey and knocked loudly on the door.

  Akenon sank his hands into the bag of precious metal.

  There were hundreds of small coins, bracelets, ingots… He grabbed an object that was half buried and lifted it out. It was a medium-sized tray. The handles were two eagles, crudely carved, their wings outstretched. He weighed it in his hands with satisfaction before returning it to the sack with the rest of the silver. It was a fascinating sight. He savored the moment in the peace and quiet of the stable, kneeling on the sand and straw strewn on the ground. The only sound to be heard was the heavy breathing of the animals, and he assumed no one would come in.

  It’s incredible that this treasure is mine.

  Suddenly, the smile vanished from his face, and he withdrew his hands as if he had touched something dirty. He had just remembered Thessalus’ savage execution.

  He closed the sack in disgust and placed it beside another of the same size. He tied them together with a rope and loaded them onto his mule, together with the rest of his luggage.

  His mind flooded with thoughts of the final moments of the night before. As soon as Glaucus had ordered everyone to leave, the doors became jammed. Some people were injured in their rush to flee from their master’s murderous madness. Akenon stayed beside the Sybarite, who remained on all fours moaning like a sick animal.

  Finally, Glaucus raised his contorted face.

  “Give me something to help me sleep.” He was whimpering, his chin soaked in saliva that dangled in viscous strings to the ground. “I need to be unconscious until Yaco’s boat has set sail.”

  Akenon nodded silently. He didn’t need Glaucus to claim his reward. They had agreed to all the conditions in the presence of a secretary, who would make the payment.

  Exhausted, he left the banquet hall and headed for his room. He neither saw nor heard a soul as he walked through the palace, as if instead of housing two hundred people it were empty. The torches in the courtyard illuminated only the cold, still night air. He entered his room and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, putting his head in his hands. After a few moments, he slid one arm under the bed and pulled out a large sack where he kept most of his luggage. At the bottom of the sack was a leather bag with numerous jars and smaller bags, all carefully wrapped in soft leather for protection. He had spent many years in Egypt, and later in Carthage and Libya, learning how to use the properties of plants, minerals, and various animal substances. That leather bag was the most valuable item in his luggage. He took out a small rock crystal vial with a symbol engraved on it that only he could interpret.

  If I exceeded the dosage, Glaucus would never wake up again.

  He took pleasure in that thought for a few seconds. To his mind, Glaucus had behaved like a criminal.

  The execution of slaves was permissible in many cultures, and in most Hellenic cities only the murder of a citizen was punishable by death. Naturally, if the killer was an aristocrat and the victim a slave, the crime was hardly ever investigated. Nevertheless, Akenon considered himself to be stateless and, therefore, judged and acted according to his own rules. Still, he needed to be pragmatic: the first consequence of killing Glaucus would be that his own head would roll. Besides, he wasn’t a murderer. Up to now, he had only killed in self-defense, and he didn’t want that to change.

  He poured some water into a goblet and carefully added two small measures of the gray-brown powder in the little jar. He swirled it around as he walked back through the palace once more to the banquet hall. Glaucus, crying feebly, had lain down on one of the triclinia. Thessalus’ dead body was still on the ground, in a pool of blood. Glaucus raised his head when he heard him approach, snatched the goblet from his hand, and drained its contents in one gulp. Then he dropped the goblet and looked at Akenon before turning over to go to sleep. It was a look charged with resentment. He had not thanked Akenon, nor would he ever.

  The mule shifted, bringing Akenon back to the present. He patted it on the hindquarters and shook his head, trying to erase the events of the previous night.

  He hadn’t seen the boy Yaco again. By now, his young face would be destroyed and he would be chained to an oar on one of Glaucus’ merchant ships.

  Again, he shook his head and filled his lungs with the cold morning air. Guiding the mule by its reins, he went out the stable doors into the inner courtyard.

  The scene that appeared before his eyes caused him to stop abruptly in his tracks. An instant later, his heart began to pound as if it would burst out of his chest.

  CHAPTER 6

  April 17th, 510 B.C.

  The Ionian Sea sparkled in the morning sun.

  Upon returning from his morning stroll, Pythagoras had paused at the compound entrance, beside the statue of the god Hermes. He leaned one hand on the pedestal and gazed northward, watching the convergence of the sea and coastline.

  Tomorrow they’ll be back.

  He had been downcast since Cleomenides’ death three weeks ago and only with great difficulty had kept up the pace of activities in the community. His exceptional disciple had been an aristocrat by birth, and his family had ordered a thorough investigation which had included questioning all the members of the School present on that fateful night.

  Not the slightest clue had been uncovered.

  Thanks to the fact that most of Cleomenides’ relatives were initiates in the brotherhood, he had persuaded them to leave the investigation in his hands.

  Although I am just as confused about this as I am about naming a successor.

  After his death, Cleomenides’ virtues had stood out more than ever compared to the other candidates. Hippocreon, Orestes and Aristomachus, albeit for different reasons, would not be able to handle politics. Daaruk lacked commitment, and Evander still needed several years to mature.

  He inhaled deeply, taking a last look toward the northern path.

  Gods, enlighten me.

  Thunderstruck, Akenon observed the scene.

  His surroundings were as refined as they were inoffensive, except for one spine-chilling detail.

  Glaucus’ palace courtyard was lined with columns that formed a wide gallery along the entire perimeter. Two of the columns supported a pediment, creating a portico that opened onto a wider courtyard, which in turn gave access to the Sybarite’s private chambers. In front of the portico, on the other side of the courtyard Akenon had just entered, was the passage connecting the palace to the street. This was the goal that suddenly seemed so distant.

  A few steps away from Akenon, a life-size statue of the god Apollo reclined on a pedestal. Six yards further ahead rose another statue, of Dionysius. Between them, like a sphinx guarding the way, Boreas waited.

  The gigantic slave was barefoot, clad only in a loincloth. The cold did not appear to bother him. His arms were crossed in front of his enormous chest, and his eyes were closed, as if he were sleeping bolt upright.

  Akenon remained motionless. His mule had stopped at his left with its head lowered. The only signs of life in the palace came from the animals in the stables behind him.

  He moved slowly, as stealthily as he could, till he was standing on the other side of the mule. It was no doubt a good idea to have the animal between him and that giant who, the night before, had crushed a man as easily as an eggshell.

  Why was Boreas standing there? Maybe Glaucus had ordered him to retrieve the silver. It was also possible that the giant followed his own personal agenda. Akenon thought of Eshdek, his powerful Carthaginian friend whose name should be enough to protect him…from men, not wild beasts. He took a step toward the exit without taking his eyes off the giant, who didn’t move a muscle. Holding his breath, he co
ntinued advancing cautiously. If Boreas attacked him, his priority would be to reach the street even if he had to abandon the mule and the luggage that contained his reward. He could try and recover it later through Eshdek.

  He was two steps from the entryway when Boreas opened his eyes and fixed him with an intense, piercing look.

  A smile began to spread across the monster’s face.

  CHAPTER 7

  April 17th, 510 B.C.

  The knocking dispelled the images in Alexander’s mind. The young man, a member of Glaucus’ personal guard, had been bitterly reflecting on the events of the previous night. He had been one of the guards stationed at the doors of the banquet hall to prevent people from leaving while their master unmasked the unfortunate Thessalus.

  Thanks to Akenon’s help, that damned Egyptian.

  He had played many games of dice with Thessalus, who had been a good man, placid and friendly, always ready with a smile. He would never forget his horrible death.

  There was another knock, and Alexander approached the outer double door. His colleague stayed at the other end of the entryway.

  Through the metal spyhole he saw a woman of about thirty standing outside. Behind her were two men who looked harmless enough. The three were dressed in simple white tunics, without clasps or other jewelry, and none seemed to be carrying weapons.

  He pulled back the latch and opened one of the doors.

  “Is this Glaucus’ residence?” The woman spoke before Alexander did.

  Who is this woman, behaving as if she were a man? the guard mused, slightly offended.

  “Who’s asking?” he retorted brusquely.

  “I’m Ariadne of Croton. We’re looking for Akenon. I believe this is where we can find him.”

  The damned Egyptian. Alexander felt the rancor burning his stomach, and he tightened his grip on his lance.

  He shot the woman a hostile look and was tempted to say something vulgar, or at least tell her Akenon wasn’t there. However, from what he had seen so far, the Egyptian visitor was highly esteemed by his master. He would be well advised to swallow his resentment.

  “I’ll have him called,” he said grudgingly.

  He closed the door in Ariadne’s face. It was the only bit of satisfaction he could get, at least for the time being.

  Ariadne smiled. It doesn’t look like Akenon is making too many friends on his travels. She was curious to meet him. Turning, she left the portico to wait beside her companions.

  She realized she was nervous. Up to that point, she had assumed the Egyptian would agree, but the truth was she had no guarantee that he would.

  Apollo willing, he’ll accept our invitation.

  She folded her arms and kept her eyes glued to the door.

  Boreas and Akenon stared at each other in silence. The sun shone directly on the giant Thracian’s skin, highlighting its reddish tone. Neither man flinched, as if they were frozen in time.

  Finally, Akenon pulled his mule’s reins toward the exit. Though he didn’t take his gaze off Boreas, he could see from the corner of his eye that the door was closed. He would have to call and wait for someone to open it.

  The mule started to walk. The sound of its hooves seemed to provoke Boreas, who unfolded his huge arms. Akenon felt his blood go cold and began to unsheathe his sword.

  CHAPTER 8

  April 17th, 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 17th, 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.