There was an hour left before dinner. She laid the tablet on the bed, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, ready to put into practice the other faculty at which, along with geometry, she had become highly skilled thanks to her father.
She let her mind go blank and concentrated on her own consciousness. Little by little, she began to perceive all of her mental space until she had total control over it. Then, line by line, she conjured a bright dodecahedron in that space. When it was complete she rotated it, simultaneously aware of each of its angles and edges. After some time, she shifted a small part of her attention and connected with her body, minimizing muscle tension, breathing, heartbeat… Reducing her bodily functions enabled her to intensity consciousness in her mental space. She concentrated on one point until she felt that it contained her whole being, floating in the space her mind had created. She moved slowly around that space, drawing closer to the great dodecahedron which had maintained its slow, silent rotation. Finally, she entered it.
Surrounded by the dodecahedron, at the very center of its perfect proportions, she was completely insulated from the outside world.
Ariadne gathered all her mental energy to continue going deeper. Making a supreme effort, she began to enter a realm very few grand masters had ever entered before.
CHAPTER 13
April 18th, 510 B.C.
If Akenon had had any inkling of what he would be facing, he would have boarded the first ship back to Carthage. However, after he awoke he sat up and lingered in bed for a while, enjoying a pleasant feeling of tranquility. His immediate plans went no further than taking a walk with Pythagoras. He intended to avoid the subject of his participation in the murder investigation…or refuse it outright, if necessary.
He got up and checked the lock on the wooden chest again. It seemed very strong, which was reassuring. Leaving his room, he crossed a wide internal courtyard lined with rooms similar to his own. In the compound there were four buildings designed to function as dwellings, all of which were single-story with rooms arranged around a large courtyard.
Pythagoras was already waiting for him when he went outside. They greeted each other and walked toward the portico that led out of the community, striking up a casual conversation. Once outside, they turned right, toward the nearby woods.
Akenon asked Pythagoras about his family, hoping the master would tell him about Ariadne.
“I have three children, and Ariadne is the eldest,” Pythagoras replied, unable to conceal a hint of pride. “She’s the most gifted of the three in mathematics, but she’s also the least interested in the rest of the doctrine. Maybe it has something to do with her independent spirit. I suppose, just as it’s not easy to be a father and a teacher at the same time, it can’t be easy being a daughter and a disciple.”
Pythagoras fell silent and stroked his beard distractedly. Akenon had the impression that something sad was running through the master’s mind, and it had something to do with Ariadne. He repressed the urge to ask more questions about her, and Pythagoras continued talking.
“Damo is two years younger than Ariadne. She has always been extremely obedient and disciplined, as well as brilliant. You could say, that together with my wife, Theano, she’s in charge of the female contingent of the community. Theano is an excellent mathematician and has great healing powers, and Damo is making swift progress with her in both areas. I’d say she could end up surpassing her mother. She has already achieved great things for someone her age.”
“Thelauges is my only male child. He’s just twenty-seven, but for some months now he has been in charge of the small community in Catania. I had great hopes for him when I sent him to Catania, and he has never let me down. That said, in spite of his undeniable progress, he lacks too much experience to be considered a candidate to my succession.”
Akenon raised an eyebrow inquisitively. It was the first reference Pythagoras had made to his succession.
The master didn’t clarify the point. He was planning on addressing that later.
“I take it for granted,” he continued with sudden good humor, “that you’ve heard of my legendary son-in-law, Milo.”
Akenon frowned when he heard that Pythagoras had a son-in-law.
Who is married to Milo: Damo o Ariadne?
CHAPTER 14
April 18th, 510 B.C.
Glaucus’ eyes were wide open, as if in permanent surprise, but those around him were aware he couldn’t see them.
Two days earlier, after ordering Yaco to be punished for his betrayal, the Sybarite had drunk the potion Akenon had given him and fallen into a deep sleep. The following morning, a secretary called Parthenius found him asleep on a triclinium in the banquet hall. He closed the doors to the hall and gave instructions that Glaucus was not to be disturbed. However, several hours later, realizing uneasily that his master wasn’t waking, he had ordered some slaves to transfer him to his bed in his private chamber.
There he had remained for a day and a half without leaving his bed.
The first afternoon, when Parthenius had discovered his master was beginning to show signs of fever, he ordered a sacrifice at the Temple of Asclepius, the god of medicine. The sacrifice had been splendid, but the god hadn’t been moved to help Glaucus, and the fever continued to rise.
Parthenius observed his master and shook his head, demoralized.
What more can we do?
Next to the bed were two slaves who kept their master’s forehead covered with cold cloths. They also moistened his lips with an herbal infusion Asclepius’ priest had given them.
Suddenly, Glaucus sat up in bed, dripping perspiration, his gaze fixed on images only he could see. He stretched out his plump arms and opened his hands as if trying to catch something that was almost close enough to reach with the tips of his fingers.
“Yaco, Yaco, Yaco…!” His cries were heartrending.
Parthenius looked at his master, his face tense.
By Zeus and Heracles, he’s going to start with this again.
He turned and hurriedly left the room. It was too much to bear. Every few minutes, Glaucus would begin to shout his lover’s name until he collapsed once more, spent.
Parthenius passed the altar of Hestia and crossed the courtyard toward the main doors. There, he met the chief of the palace guards, a stern and efficient man.
“Any news?” grunted Parthenius.
“We’ve just finished questioning everyone. A slave girl claims she saw the Egyptian investigator enter the banquet hall when the only person left there was our lord Glaucus.” The chief guard looked at Parthenius more deliberately. “She says he was carrying a goblet, swirling its contents.”
A horrific thought suddenly struck Parthenius.
Our lord has been poisoned!
“By the gods!” he exclaimed angrily. “We have to catch that swine, Akenon, if it’s the last thing we do.”
CHAPTER 15
April 18th, 510 B.C.
Akenon had never heard of Milo. When he told Pythagoras as much, the master was amazed.
“No one in Carthage has ever heard of the six-time wrestling champion of the Olympic Games and seven-time victor of the Pythian Games?”
Akenon shrugged, denying it again with a slight shake of his head. He didn’t know who Milo was, nor had he heard of the Pythian Games. On the other hand, he did know that the Olympic Games were a one-day tournament of athletics and wrestling in which all the Greek city-states competed. They did so in honor of Zeus, their main god, and the victors obtained glory for themselves and their cities, as well as being supported for the rest of their lives by the public treasury. He also knew that the Olympic Games were celebrated in Olympia every four years. That meant that this alleged Milo had been wrestling champion for over twenty years. Pythagoras’ son-in-law must be a colossus.
“Don’t tell Milo he’s not famous in Carthage,” continued Pythagoras, “because he’s convinced he’s the best-known Greek of all time inside and outside our borders.”
The master chuckled, and Akenon glanced at him, realizing his lively facade didn’t reflect his inner feelings.
Pythagoras continued in a more serious vein, walking slowly with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Milo can be a bit gruff, but he is a man of good principles. He’s also a great public figure. He belongs to the Council of Three Hundred and is commander of the Crotonian army. He isn’t devoted to the School in the same way as his wife, my daughter Damo, but he’s an initiate.” Akenon smiled to himself when he learned that Milo’s wife was not Ariadne. “Milo comes to the community regularly, and has made a country house permanently available to the brotherhood. We hold some of our meetings there.”
Pythagoras stopped and looked around, wondering whether to keep going or turn back. They had only spent twenty minutes meandering along the forest paths, but it was starting to get dark. He turned to Akenon.
“I think I’m blessed to have the best family a man could wish for. My wife and three children have been a gift from the gods. Moreover, we members of the brotherhood forge very close bonds between ourselves.”
Deep in his golden gaze a light shone brightly, and Akenon felt a momentary vertigo, as if he were looking over the edge of a bottomless abyss. The voice of the master of masters altered.
“This is one of the main precepts of the doctrine: friendship as a sacred bond. All the members of the School are my friends, my brothers…” He paused for a moment, as if unsure whether to continue or not. “But, as you might expect, there are circles within the circles.”
A moment of silence ensued. The entire forest seemed to be hanging on Pythagoras’ next words. Akenon watched the master closely, knowing he was about to get to the source of his concern.
“The innermost circle in the community is formed by the disciples who have spent the most time with me, and who, at the same time, have demonstrated the greatest capacity to absorb and develop my teachings. Up until three weeks ago, this circle was made up of six members. One has been murdered, leaving just five.” Pythagoras raised his gaze from Akenon’s face, observing the darkening sky. “Let’s go back.”
They retraced their steps. Akenon could barely make out the unevenness of the terrain, and tried to follow in the master’s footprints. Pythagoras had mentioned the murder, but had fallen silent afterwards, perhaps in an attempt to keep his promise not to talk about it. Or had it been a subtle attempt to manipulate him?
Akenon felt a pang of guilt.
Damn it, why should I feel guilty?
He was under no moral obligation to take on the case… Or was he?
Images of when he was thirteen years old came to his mind. He could see his father and Pythagoras laughing together. There was no doubt his father held Pythagoras in very high esteem. He himself had been very fond of Pythagoras when he was in Egypt. Now he watched him surreptitiously, noting his venerable image. His beard and long white hair shone in the growing darkness, like his linen tunic.
But this isn’t about appearances.
His discomfort lay in the fact that he felt he should help Pythagoras…although… Had the master used his mysterious powers to alter Akenon’s feelings? He tried to think objectively. No, that wasn’t it. He had to help Pythagoras because he appreciated him and respected what he did. Because he knew he was a generous man who strove to restore peace among individuals and governments. And, it was true, also in memory of his father, whose murderers he had never succeeded in catching.
“Tell me more about the murder.”
The master turned toward him. Akenon scrutinized his face, looking for the slightest sign of triumph, but found none.
“I’m afraid there’s not much to tell. The police investigated for several days, but didn’t unearth a single clue.” Pythagoras deliberated a few moments, his expression somber, remembering the tragedy. “I was with the six disciples closest to me in the Temple of the Muses. I began talking to them for the first time about my succession…” He paused, uncertain. “Akenon, all of this is extremely confidential. There could be catastrophic consequences if anyone else knew what I was telling you.”
Akenon nodded. Pythagoras’ eyes caught his, and again he felt the master could read his mind.
“We drank some grape juice,” Pythagoras continued. “Each man from his own goblet, and all of us at the same time. A few seconds later, Cleomenides, who was sitting on my right, fell to the ground, dead. Apparently he had been poisoned. We kept his goblet as evidence. The police examined it and said they found poison in the juice. They claim to be certain he was killed with mandrake root.”
Akenon frowned. He was an expert on all kinds of substances, both beneficial and harmful, and he knew there were different types of mandrake whose effects could vary widely.
“Do you still have the goblet or any of the juice Cleomenides drank?”
“The juice spilled, but I have the goblet in a safe place. I didn’t let the police take it away. I was already planning to seek outside help, since I fear the enemy could be someone from Croton, or even from inside the community.”
“Do you suspect anyone?”
The old man shook his head. They were nearing the entrance portico. Even though there was no one around, he drew closer to Akenon and said in a low voice, “I have no clear suspect—therefore everyone is a suspect. It could be someone on the outside with an inside collaborator, or maybe someone on the inside. I have to recognize that the candidates to my succession, the men who were with me that night, must be considered as suspects.” He gestured toward the compound. “You’ll meet them shortly, as we’re going to dine with them. Even though they are the men I trust most, I suppose it’s worth remembering that Cleomenides was the main candidate to succeed me, and his death considerably improves the chances of the other candidates. However, you should also know that none of them knew who was going to succeed me. I hadn’t informed anyone of that, nor had I completely made up my mind.”
Before crossing the portico, Pythagoras stopped and turned to Akenon one last time. His voice became a hushed whisper.
“I don’t wish to mislead you, Akenon. The School has very powerful political enemies. On the other hand…” He paused a moment, choosing his words. “You should also know that the highest levels of my teachings confer power over nature and over men. A power whose limits are not yet known.”
Akenon swallowed, and Pythagoras’ expression hardened as he finished.
“The enemy may be extremely dangerous. And I know he will try to kill again.”
CHAPTER 16
April 18th, 510 B.C.
The beauty of numbers was a reflection of their power.
A power that few even glimpse, and which I must fully possess.
Placing another parchment on the table, he drew the tetraktys at the top, and began to sketch lines and triangles, the shapes becoming increasingly complex as he worked. He noticed his mind had lifted above the material world and that he was initiating a dialog with the occult forces of nature.
Pythagoras, your focus is wrong.
He still remembered a time when he had considered Pythagoras to be a superior being. At first, he had been dazzled by him, but in a few short years he had become accustomed to his brilliance and, without realizing it, had overtaken the grand master revered by the masses.
I will crush your master and subjugate you forever.
His state of ecstasy on this occasion was incomplete. Worry gnawed at him. Pythagoras now had external help, the Egyptian, a threat he needed to quantify. For now, he knew little more than his name, but there would be ample opportunity to probe his innermost thoughts, learn his abilities and his character.
He took a deep breath.
His body, his physical casing, was a chrysalis about to open. When the metamorphosis was complete, he would possess the power of a god.
I’m close, very close.
CHAPTER 17
April 18th, 510 B.C.
Glaucus’ palace had two stories. The Sybarite abhorred cli
mbing stairs, so his bedroom wasn’t on the second floor, as was customary. The upper floor of his palace was basically used to house his slaves. Boreas shared the biggest room with other servants.
The giant was sprawled on several blankets, face up, with his hands behind his head. Whenever he was off duty, he liked to stretch out there, in the large space the other nine slaves who slept in the same room had conceded to him. Boreas’ blankets, which no other slave would ever dare tread upon, took up half the floor.
The palace was unsettled by the lord’s illness and his delirium. As Glaucus was the only person who dared give Boreas orders, the giant now had nothing to do, and decided to withdraw for a rest. His room was very quiet, but Glaucus’ periodic cries could be heard clearly.
He heard his master weeping again.
“Yaco, Yaco, Yaco…!”
Boreas smiled through the gaps in his decaying teeth. The cries brought back the pleasure he’d had with the adolescent for whom Glaucus was now pining.
That night, after crushing Thessalus—he tingled with pleasure at the recollection—he’d left the banquet hall with Yaco over his shoulder and headed straight for the kitchens. Without releasing the whimpering boy, he had half-filled an urn with red-hot embers. He stuck three large iron pokers into the embers, took a torch, and went down to a basement storeroom.
Dropping the boy on the ground, he sat down to wait for the pokers to heat. Yaco lay without moving, weeping. His long bangs covered part of his face. A while later, Boreas realized the whimpering had changed and now seemed too rhythmic and regular. The kid must be devising some scheme.
Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) Page 7