The news that wild animals obeyed Pythagoras spread quickly through those lands.
“He calls himself Pythagoras,” the locals said, “but, in fact, he’s the incarnation of the god Apollo.”
Two days later, as they went further into the Daunia region preaching the doctrine, they were no longer followed by dozens of people, but by hundreds.
Several men approached him as he traveled next to his disciples.
“Master Pythagoras, allow me to prostrate myself at your feet,” one of them said, kneeling.
He was a thin man of about forty, his gestures uncertain. His frayed tunic and bare feet revealed his poverty. Evander stepped forward and helped him up. He was used to men behaving as if the master were a god.
“Brother,” said Pythagoras, “don’t treat me in a way I don’t deserve, speak to me as an equal.”
“Thank you very much, master,” the man replied, though he kept his eyes on the ground. “We wanted to ask you…” he gestured toward his companions, as poor and nervous as he was, “if you’d visit our village. It’s not an important or wealthy town, but most of us have been trying for years to live our lives according to your teachings. We travel to the community in Metapontum whenever we can to listen to the masters who live there.”
He stopped abruptly, his head still bowed.
“Lead the way,” replied Pythagoras. “We’ll follow you.”
The villagers started walking, bowing repeatedly and expressing their joy. Two of them ran ahead to announce their arrival. Pythagoras, who had noticed Daaruk’s puzzled look, turned toward Evander.
“Tell us, Evander, why are we going to this village today and not to a big city?”
“Because power is just one of the means used by the School, master.”
Evander’s quick reply made Pythagoras smile. He explained the answer to Daaruk.
“That’s right. Power must never be an end in itself, but only a tool to ensure that the greatest number of people live by the principles we believe in.”
Orestes, walking behind them, frowned and looked at the ground. In his youth he had been a politician in Croton and used power to gain wealth. He had been a different person for years now, but would always regret his past actions.
Pythagoras continued.
“The brotherhood controls the governments of several cities. That’s why we’re treated with such respect throughout the region by the authorities and some of the people who accompany us on our journeys. But most of our followers, such as the inhabitants of the village we’re going to right now, only look for truth in our doctrine. These men come to us in search of enlightenment. We must satisfy their longing to live according to our principles of justice and personal growth.”
They continued in reflective silence. Pythagoras was worrying about the effect power might have on his disciples. The brotherhood had become hugely influential in only a few years. This meant that he had enormous political clout, but also that his disciples held positions of authority in society. After all, they were the representatives of an organization that controlled several cities, including their armies.
Someday, one of them will succeed me.
Whoever inherited his position would also inherit all his political power.
I must mold not only the best masters, but the best governors. He smiled as he observed the young masters from the corner of his eye. Fortunately, there are many years left to think about retirement.
Remembering that journey had brought a smile to Pythagoras’ face, but only briefly.
One of the three disciples who were with me on that journey has just been murdered.
His two other companions, Evander and Orestes, were the same ones he had been able to analyze completely the night before and they had been eliminated as possible suspects.
Who could have murdered Daaruk?
He continued thinking about the rest of the candidates. His analysis of Hippocreon had been interrupted midway, but the impression he had received confirmed his previous conclusions: Hippocreon was an excellent master, with a marked aversion to public life, but completely devout. He hadn’t had time to analyze Aristomachus, who he considered his most transparent disciple and, therefore, free of suspicion, or Daaruk, whose death had uncovered a side to him he had never imagined.
Pythagoras shifted in his seat. Might some other disciple be hiding similar secrets? he wondered uneasily. He needed to finish analyzing Hippocreon and do the same with Aristomachus as soon as possible.
His thoughts returned to Atma. At this moment he was probably ready to light the funeral pyre. Daaruk’s body would turn to ashes. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He hoped at least to have the opportunity to bury the ashes. He hadn’t discussed this with Atma, but on this point he would stand firm. Daaruk would be cremated—he had agreed to it—but he would also be buried with the ceremony befitting him.
His next thought brought a frown of concern to his face. He had asked Akenon to bring back Daaruk’s ashes…
Even if he has to confront Atma.
CHAPTER 35
April 23rd, 510 B.C.
Akenon was only a few steps from Atma.
He was using the excuse of paying his respects to approach him. Akenon’s intention was not to deceive Atma with condolences, but to lessen the tension of getting so close to each other without speaking. Besides, Akenon wanted to see how Atma would react before the confrontation that would likely occur when he tried to take Daaruk’s ashes.
Atma had closed his eyes and moved his lips silently, as if in a trance. Akenon stopped a step away from him and waited, unable to find the right moment to speak. He looked at the pyre. It was a small boat on which Atma had mounted a structure made of intertwined branches placed at ninety-degree angles. This gave the pyre stability and guaranteed good air flow between the branches. The resulting bonfire would burn for several hours, given that the trunks at its base were as thick as Zeus’ powerful thighs. On top of the pyre lay Daaruk’s body, dressed in a pristine white tunic. Strips of cloth printed with symbols were wrapped round Daaruk’s forehead, arms, and hands, which Atma had folded across his chest.
Akenon noticed the gold ring Daaruk was wearing on his ring finger. It was engraved with a Pythagorean symbol he had seen before: a pentagon with a five-pointed star inside it. He remembered Ariadne telling him that the star was called a pentacle. What he didn’t know was that Atma had in his possession a document sealed with the same symbol.
The cloth wrapped around Daaruk’s body, as well as his skin and hair, were covered in a viscous substance.
It will burn well, thought Akenon.
Atma opened his eyes and looked at him with tense recrimination. Akenon felt as if he had rudely interrupted a sacred ceremony. He murmured an apology, lowered his head as a sign of respect, and returned to Ariadne.
She was sitting on the ground, hugging her knees to her against the increasing cold. The mantle of clouds above them had faded from the vivid red of sunset to the cold, grey-blue of nightfall. Akenon sat next to her on the sand and they watched the funeral ceremony in reverent silence.
Atma went to a small bonfire a few steps from the boat that had burnt down to embers. He stoked it and laid the end of a branch in the flames, as if preparing a torch. Then he lifted his gaze to the sky and the growing darkness, perhaps offering a final supplication for Daaruk’s soul. He removed the lid from a heavy clay vessel and, holding it in both hands, walked over to the funeral pyre.
Atma doused the branches at the base of the pyre with the liquid in the pot. He then walked around the boat, wading into the river up to his knees to douse the branches on all sides. When he had gone all the way around, he clambered onto the pyre and poured the rest of the fuel on top.
Ariadne was still sitting, clasping her legs. Her head rested on one knee, but she lifted it anxiously when Atma grasped the torch. Night had fallen quickly and the moon was hidden behind the clouds. All was dark except for the bright circle of light thrown by the torc
h. Atma walked to the pyre and stopped for a few seconds, holding the torch high. Ariadne thought she saw tears etching his swarthy face.
The slave stuck the torch into a crack between the branches and set fire to a pile of straw and dry twigs. Flames quickly enveloped the wooden structure, and Atma had to stand back. A moment later, he tried to come closer, but the heat kept him at bay. He seemed to hesitate, then threw himself into the cold water and drenched his entire body. Crawling to the pyre on all fours, he leaned his hands on the edge of the blazing boat, and started pushing. Ariadne could clearly see his face, flushed from the effort and the pain. The vessel was completely aground, weighed down by the branches and Daaruk’s body. Atma redoubled his efforts, digging his feet into the sand on the riverbank and pressing his face and shoulders into the edge of the burning boat. Fire licked his head and his hands. Groaning in pain, he managed to drag the funeral pyre into the river. He waded in and continued pushing until the current slowly began to take the boat. With one last effort, Atma propelled the floating pyre into the center of the river.
It was an impressive sight, as if a fire had broken out in the middle of the water. The fact that those flames were also devouring a man’s body was disquieting. Ariadne and Akenon sat in silence, watching as the floating bonfire drifted languidly away. The intense glare of the pyre submerged everything around it in even blacker darkness.
Ariadne sat up suddenly, alarmed.
“Where’s Atma?!”
Akenon scrutinized the darkness in every direction.
The slave had disappeared.
Pentacle
…
A pentacle is the five-pointed star that results from joining the opposite corners of a pentagon.
It is also known as a pentagram and a pentalpha.
For thousands of years it has been thought to hold great secrets, among them the construction of the world. Its use has been documented in Mesopotamia around 2600 B.C. For the Babylonians it was a symbol of health and contained various symbolic relationships.
Throughout history it has been used frequently to represent human beings. It is also a very important symbol in magic, used with the point facing upwards in white magic and facing downwards in black magic.
The Pythagoreans sometimes depicted it with one letter of the word “health” (υγεια in Greek) at each of its corners.
They also used it as a secret sign by which to recognize each other.
…
Encyclopedia Mathematica. Socram Ofisis. 1926.
CHAPTER 36
April 23rd, 510 B.C.
The funeral raft drifted slowly away, throwing dazzling reflections on the black surface of the water. Akenon watched it for a few seconds and then peered through the darkness around him, searching for Atma. With the clouds covering the moon, it was almost impossible to see anything. He strained his ears, but could not detect him that way either.
Ariadne was beside him, concentrating hard with her eyes closed. After a while she opened them and shook her head.
“He must have gone back,” she said, unconvinced.
They untied the reins and started walking along the river’s edge, following the lazy movement of the boat. After a few minutes, Akenon felt his eyelids drooping. The sight of the enormous bonfire in the midst of the darkness was hypnotic, and he hadn’t slept for two days.
He yawned hugely and rubbed his face, trying to wake up. Pythagoras had asked him to retrieve Daaruk’s ashes so they could be buried, but continuing while he was so tired wasn’t a good idea. Getting the ashes could mean a confrontation with Atma and, in view of his behavior over the past few hours, he might react with the violence of a cornered animal.
Besides, the situation has become more dangerous now that we’ve lost sight of him. He looked around again as he walked along the sandy riverbank. The night was so dark Atma could come within three feet of them and they’d never see him.
The cool breeze from the river was refreshing but even so, Akenon soon felt his eyes closing again. There was no point waiting for the boat to run aground. It would eventually do that even if they weren’t following it…or it might reach the sea in a couple of hours, and then there would be no way of knowing where the currents would take it. It could be pushed to shore or swallowed up by the sea.
The community was not far. Akenon felt more and more tempted to go back. In little more than a half hour he could be asleep in a soft, snug bed. He could return to look for the boat at dawn.
His weariness made the idea impossible to resist.
“Let’s go back.”
When they reached the community, they agreed to meet at daybreak, and Ariadne went to the women’s quarters. Instead of going to his room, Akenon crossed the compound in the semi-darkness to Atma’s room. He wanted to talk to him before going to bed to try and extract from him his plans for the next day.
With any luck I’ll be able to recover Daaruk’s ashes without having an altercation with him.
The slave’s three roommates were already in bed, but one of them sat up on his mat when the door opened.
“Do you know where Atma is?” asked Akenon, pointing at the empty mat.
The man looked at Atma’s mat before replying.
“I haven’t seen him for several hours. Since he left with Daaruk’s body.”
Akenon shook his head slowly.
Where can he have gone, in the middle of the night, soaking wet? Akenon had no way of knowing. Besides, drowsiness was making his brain as slow as cold honey. If he didn’t go to his room he’d end up falling asleep standing.
He went outside and tried to scan the compound. The darkness was so dense all he could see was the torches of the patrols along part of the perimeter. He dragged himself to his room and fell into bed, knowing he would be asleep in seconds.
A new thought hazily took shape in his head.
I should organize a search party right now.
Instead of listening to his intuition, Akenon allowed himself to slip under the waters of sleep.
He would regret it for the rest of his life.
CHAPTER 37
April 24th, 510 B.C.
A soft sprinkling of dew covered the vegetation and the greyish hues of dawn painted the landscape in a pale wash of color. Amid the stillness, a bush shook, creating a shower of tiny drops. Atma’s face appeared among the branches and surveyed his surroundings. When he was satisfied no one was near, he crawled from his refuge.
At last, he mouthed, without making a sound.
It had been easy to slip away from Akenon and Ariadne the previous night. After pushing the funeral pyre into the current, he’d returned to the bank and run off into the night, keeping his feet in the water so as not to leave footprints. His visitors had been mesmerized by the pyre for a while before they started looking for him. By then, Atma was already well away from them. He’d scrambled upstream a few hundred yards, entered the forest, and hidden himself inside a thick clump of bushes. There he’d remained, wary of every sound for an hour, but lack of sleep, hard work, and the intense emotions of the day overcame him, and he’d fallen into a deep sleep.
Now he stretched to loosen up his body, unable to stop trembling. Though he was almost frozen, it had been worth it. Had he returned to the community, he might not have been free to come and go as he pleased that morning, and the time had come to carry out the next part of his plan. His hand slid under his tunic and pulled out the second document.
This is all I need.
He put it back, close to his chest. The day before, he had buried it on the riverbank to protect it in case he was searched and to keep it from getting wet. Thanks to that, it had remained dry and was now helping to conserve his body heat as well as being essential to his future plan.
As he hopped from one leg to the other and rubbed his arms, he considered recent events. He shuddered when he recalled the image of Daaruk splayed on the ground like a broken doll, his face drenched in blood and that yellow foam from the poison. That had b
een the worst moment.
Also when I set fire to the pyre.
Painful emotions began to surface again and his throat closed up, but something had changed. He began to feel that all that belonged in the past. He needed to focus on the future opening up before him.
At that moment his old life ended and a new, very different one began.
Soon the sun would be up. The best thing would be to go down to the river for a drink, and from there to Croton. There he would lose himself among the dockworkers. He had to remain hidden for a few hours.
Then I can use the document and disappear from Croton forever.
He touched his chest and felt the raised wax seal with the pentacle symbol on it. He stroked it through his tunic, his lips beginning to curve upwards, slowly at first, opening finally in a wide, euphoric smile.
Atma was so close to achieving his goal he felt like laughing out loud.
CHAPTER 38
April 24th, 510 B.C.
The ashes were damp with dew, which indicated they had been cold for a while. To make sure, Akenon dug a finger into the remains of the small fire. He pulled it out, cold and wet, and reflected as he looked around. This was where Atma had built the pyre. Akenon had decided to start his search here. From the state of the ashes, he could tell the fire hadn’t been stoked since he and Ariadne had left.
Atma must have spent the night elsewhere.
The river meandered eastward, where the first rays of sunlight touched the horizon. Akenon let them warm his face while he cleared his thoughts. He had left the community before dawn so that Ariadne wouldn’t go with him. The fact that Atma had fled meant he was hiding something, and was therefore likely to be dangerous. He might even be the murderer.
Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) Page 17