There’s no way anyone could know I’m carrying a fortune in gold, he told himself, trying to stay calm.
Something brushed against his face and he lifted his head. It was starting to rain. The color of the clouds advertised that a severe storm was imminent.
Thank goodness it didn’t rain yesterday. He half smiled, experiencing a bittersweet feeling as he recalled the funeral pyre blazing downstream.
He arrived at his destination, a large livery stable where, as well as stabling horses and beasts of burden, you could purchase a good mount. He walked by the stable boys, going directly to the man in charge. In the past, he had dealt with him when he had bought two donkeys for the community.
“Greetings, Eteocles.”
The man turned around with the same mistrustful expression he always wore behind his thick, unkempt beard. He made an effort and, being a good salesman, managed to remember his name.
“Good morning, Atma. You’re up early today. Do you want another donkey? I have excellent stock.”
Atma answered, trying to appear nonchalant. He wanted to leave the city as soon as possible, but must avoid arousing suspicion at all costs.
“This time there’s more in it for you.” Eteocles’ greedy eyes narrowed. “I’ve been instructed to purchase a strong, fast horse, one that can cover twice the distance of a donkey in a day.”
“I see. And who’s in such a hurry?”
“It’s to speed up the delivery of messages. Politics, I suppose.” Atma shrugged, pretending the subject was of no interest to him, and resisted the urge to look toward the stable door. He was afraid that at any moment someone would come around the corner and detain him.
“Very good, I’m sure I’ve got what you’re looking for.”
Eteocles went into the stables and Atma followed. The Crotonian was undecided, trying to plan how he’d handle the transaction. Should he start by showing an inferior horse so as to increase the price when Atma asked for a better one? Or maybe it was preferable to offer his best horse at a very high price, so he could end up making a good profit on a more modest steed?
Atma had no time to spend on wheeling and dealing.
“Listen, Eteocles, I’ve come this early because I have many errands to run today. If you show me your best horse at a reasonable price, I’ll pay you in gold right now. Otherwise, I’ll go about my errands and come back later…unless I find a suitable horse somewhere else.”
Eteocles bit down heavily on his lower lip. He wasn’t used to doing business like this, but neither did he want to lose the opportunity of making a decent amount of gold. On the other hand, Atma’s attitude was very suspicious.
By all the gods, he’s talking about paying immediately, and in gold!
The fact that he didn’t appreciate being spoken to like that by a slave was tempered by the mention of gold. Besides, he remembered the first time Atma had bought a donkey from him. At first, he hadn’t paid him any notice because he was a slave, and Atma had to leave without being served. Some hours later, a Pythagorean master had come to Eteocles to explain, with a disturbing mixture of gentleness and firmness, that Atma was more than a slave, he was a Pythagorean initiate and, therefore, should be treated the same as Pythagoras himself. Eteocles wasn’t a Pythagorean but, like all Crotonians, he knew that Pythagoras was the most influential person in the city. And one only needs to see him and hear him to know he has a direct connection to the gods, if he isn’t one himself.
Never again would he show disrespect toward Atma.
Five minutes later, Atma was trotting through the streets of Croton. Eteocles had thrown a pair of saddlebags into the bargain, where the fortune in gold he had just begun to spend was now nestled. The deal with Eteocles hadn’t gone too badly considering the haste with which he had closed it.
This horse is excellent, he thought, delighted. The animal was young, big, and very strong, not at all like the community mare.
Rain was now pelting down in fat drops, but it wasn’t as cold as it had been at dawn. Squinting to see better through the rain, Atma could make out the blurry profile of Croton’s north gate a hundred steps away.
My dream is about to come true.
Heedless of the pedestrians, he spurred the horse to a powerful gallop.
CHAPTER 40
April 24th, 510 B.C.
Once the mare had passed the gymnasium, a light drizzle began to dampen Ariadne’s and Akenon’s clothes. They finished the journey to Croton at a gallop, then slowed to a trot. Akenon guided the horse through the streets, following Ariadne’s directions. The rain was heavier now and the dirt streets were beginning to turn to mud.
“That’s it, where those guards are,” Ariadne pointed out after a while.
Akenon had just explained his suspicions to her and Ariadne agreed with him. If we move fast we could be on the verge of catching Cleomenides’ and Daaruk’s killer.
Akenon pulled up the mare next to the small stable at the corner of the building, practically flinging the reins into a servant’s hands. The servant stared at them, dumb-struck, as they ran to the main entrance.
The guards began to block their entry. No one barged into Eritrius the custodian’s establishment. At the last minute, however, they realized that the young woman running with the Egyptian was Pythagoras’ daughter, and stepped back, bowing respectfully as they passed.
As they entered the main room, Akenon noticed that the stone walls were twice as thick as normal. He looked up at the ceiling and saw it was reinforced with heavy wooden beams.
The treasury chamber, he thought at the same time he realized there were no windows in the room either.
Eritrius was sitting at a table, poring over a document with interest. When they entered, he got up and walked toward Ariadne, his arms outstretched. He was about fifty-five, with a slender frame discernible under an elegant tunic, grey hair and a long beard that had been meticulously combed. Akenon looked at his open, smiling face and decided he could trust him.
“Greetings, dear Ariadne. How long it’s been since I’ve seen you.”
“Greetings, Eritrius,” she said hastily. “This is Akenon.”
“Welcome to my home, Akenon.” The smile he gave him was so cordial it reminded Akenon that Eritrius was an initiate in the brotherhood. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re looking for Atma,” he replied. “Has he been here?”
Eritrius raised his eyebrows in surprise. He looked at Ariadne, who was also anxiously awaiting his answer, and then back at Akenon.
“Well, yes, he was here a short while ago. He gave me this document.”
He turned away and took a parchment from the table, the document he had been examining when they came in. Its marked creases and tendency to fall back into a folded position showed it had been recently opened after a long period of being folded.
“It’s a will of sorts, Daaruk’s will,” he explained.
“What does it say?” urged Ariadne.
Eritrius took a deep breath and exhaled before replying. It was obvious that the matter made him uncomfortable.
“Well… Basically everything that belonged to Daaruk now goes to Atma.”
Ariadne opened her mouth to reply and then closed it again without saying a word. She was speechless. Though not stipulated by law, the custom was for all property belonging to members of the community to pass to the Pythagorean School after their deaths. In cases where members had family outside the community, at times the belongings were divided between them. What was unprecedented was for someone to leave nothing to the brotherhood. It was all the more shocking when the person in question was a grand master in Pythagoras’ innermost circle.
“Could it be a forgery?” asked Akenon.
“No, no,” replied Eritrius, waving a hand. “The seal is a sufficient guarantee for me that Daaruk is the person who sealed this document. I’ve compared it to a similar one in my possession. Besides, Daaruk told me on a couple of occasions that he trusted Atma implicitly.”
Akenon took the document from the custodian’s hands. From one corner hung the almost intact wax seal, having broken just at its edge when the document was opened. He examined the seal for a few seconds. Then he slipped his hand inside his tunic and pulled out Daaruk’s gold ring. Ariadne was surprised to see it. Akenon held it between the tips of his fingers and placed it over the wax seal. It was a perfect fit. There was no doubt the pentacle had been marked on the wax using Daaruk’s ring.
At that moment, less than a hundred yards away, Atma was closing the deal with Eteocles for his best horse.
“We have to find him as soon as possible.” Akenon left the document on the table and put the ring away. “How long has it been since he left?”
“No more than ten minutes,” answered Eritrius. “In fact, you just missed him. My guards will be able to tell you what direction he took.”
They rushed to the door with Eritrius leading the way. The custodian had the sinking feeling that he had erred in his actions. Now he wanted Atma to be caught as soon as possible. Could the slave be the murderer? He would never forgive himself if that was the case and he had helped him escape.
“What did Atma take with him?” asked Ariadne.
Eritrius turned to look at her without slowing his pace.
“He wanted me to give him all the gold I could. I explained that a large part of Daaruk’s estate is invested in trade expeditions and loans to the public treasury. Cashing it all in could take weeks, if not months. There’s also some family property I could arrange to sell, but that would also take time. He interrupted me, insisting he only wanted gold, and he wanted it immediately. I gave him what I had here, which was a considerable amount. I also told him I could get him more in a few hours, as most of the gold and silver I keep is stored in the Temple of Heracles, according to our custom.
Akenon nodded, remembering that Greek tradition. The sacred nature of the temples and the sanctions imposed on anyone who desecrated them meant that in many cities they were used as depositories for the public treasury, and sometimes even for private fortunes. In the case of Croton, the Temple of Heracles was particularly important since it was believed that Heracles had been the founder of the city.
“Which way did Atma go?” shouted Eritrius at his guards before he reached them.
The guards turned around, startled. They hesitated until finally the younger of the two spoke.
“First he went that way.” He pointed to the right. “I guess he was going to Eteocles’ stables, because soon afterwards he came back on a huge horse, heading toward the north gate.”
Ariadne began to run toward the stables before the guard finished.
“How long ago did you see him on horseback?” asked Akenon.
“Not long at all. A couple of minutes ago at most.”
Ariadne appeared on the mare. Her tunic clung to her body because of the rain, and water dripped from her chin.
“Get on,” she urged.
Akenon went to her and took the reins.
“No. I’ll go alone. It could be dangerous.”
To his surprise, Ariadne pulled a dagger from the folds of her tunic.
“I can be dangerous too. Get on right now or I’m going without you.”
Akenon scrutinized her face. It was clear she would go after Atma on her own if he waited a second longer. He jerked his head at Ariadne for her to make room for him in front, and leapt onto the mare.
A second later, they were galloping through the streets toward the north gate, the mare’s hooves thudding dully against the wet ground. When they reached the city gate, Akenon went to inquire of the guards if they had seen Atma, but Ariadne interrupted him before he could ask.
“There he is!”
A dark dot was moving swiftly along the coastal road toward Sybaris. A small clearing had opened in the clouds and a ray of sunlight shone directly on him. The clouds closed up again and the fugitive disappeared from sight.
Akenon spurred the mare to a gallop. Atma’s horse was faster, but with the rain, he wouldn’t be able to see that he was being pursued.
If he makes a stop, we’ll be upon him.
CHAPTER 41
April 24th, 510 B.C.
It had been two hours since Ariadne and Akenon had set out in pursuit of Atma, and in Croton Pythagoras was facing a difficult challenge. He was about to inaugurate the second session of the Council of a Thousand since Daaruk’s death. The atmosphere in the Assembly was as agitated and disorderly as a marketplace. Cloaked in solemnity, the philosopher crossed the hall toward the stage. The thousand councilors quieted as they realized he was about to address them. By the time he had crossed the room, a thousand faces were following the venerable master’s advance, like a field of sunflowers following the sun.
Pythagoras sensed strong opposition, just as Milo had warned him the previous afternoon. His unease was all the more intense because of the news he had received of Atma’s disappearance as he was leaving the community. The dark omens of recent weeks churned inside him, and he felt they were moving toward a future of blood and fire.
I’ll deal with Atma later, but now I have to focus on the Council. I must be convincing before the flames of rebellion ignite. He still had the support of the majority. However, his influence was at its lowest ebb in the thirty years since he had arrived in Croton.
He climbed the five steps to the stage and surveyed the audience. Croton’s Council Hall was one of the largest buildings in all of Magna Graecia. The skill of its builders had allowed a thousand people to be seated inside with virtually no visual obstacles from columns. The stone risers along the sides were seven levels high. Between them was a rectangular space measuring twenty by one hundred feet. In the center of the floor was the famous mosaic dedicated to Heracles. It portrayed him predicting the founding of Croton and erecting a statue in honor of Croton, the hero whose name the city would bear, and whom Heracles had killed by accident.
Pythagoras wrapped the edge of his tunic around his left arm while leaving his right free so he could use it to emphasize important points in his speech. He raised it for a few seconds before starting to talk in his deep, commanding voice.
“Councilors of Croton, I know that the decision to bring in a foreign investigator hasn’t met with everyone’s approval.” He needed to be direct and ward off his enemies’ arguments before they could put them forward. “It might seem at this point that Daaruk’s death has proven the opposition right.”
A murmur of agreement spread through the hall.
“However,” he continued more forcefully, “only rumormongers could view it as disrespectful to our police force, or even as careless about the safety of our men. Akenon, the investigator we’ve hired, is highly renowned in his profession. He was in the police force in Egypt, where he was so highly acclaimed that Pharaoh Ahmose II hired him to work personally for him.” Pythagoras kept turning to face the persistent murmurs as if putting out a blaze with his words. “He has spent the past sixteen years in Carthage, winning case after case as an investigator. And we were able to bring him here so quickly because he just happened to be in Sybaris, working for Glaucus.”
He paused to let his last words sink in, noting with satisfaction that there were now stirrings of admiration for Akenon among the murmurs of dissent. Glaucus’ wealth was legendary, far greater than that of any Crotonian magnate. If the affluent Sybarite, who could afford anything he wanted, had chosen Akenon as an investigator, it must be because Akenon was the best.
Now I have to diffuse any distrust I might have caused by leaving the police out of it. He knew that the most widespread criticisms were those that accused the brotherhood of considering itself above the laws of Croton.
“Akenon…” He waited for silence to be restored in the Council. “Akenon has worked with Croton’s security forces since he arrived. And from this illustrious platform I tell you that we will strengthen that collaboration, with the police force as well as the army.”
He paused agai
n, uneasily gauging the atmosphere among the audience. Now for the crucial moment. He had a dramatic twist planned which he hoped would secure his control over the Council. He descended the platform and crossed the hall. The thousand councilors watched him expectantly. Pythagoras stopped when he reached Milo, seated in the front row next to the mosaic of Heracles, and held his arm out to him. The enormous man left his seat and stood beside the master in the middle of the Council.
“General Milo has suggested the army reinforce security in the community.” Murmurs of approval were heard. “Croton’s hoplites will patrol both the surrounding areas and the compound itself. In this way, they will protect the citizens of Croton, my disciples, and your families. Of course I am delighted and grateful to accept the proposal of our army’s commander-in-chief.”
Milo and Pythagoras clasped hands, and the councilors began to clap, hesitantly at first, then with enthusiasm. By presenting the situation as he had, and thanks to some ambiguous rumors that had been spread earlier, it looked as if Pythagoras had reluctantly conceded to something Milo had imposed. Pythagoras’ supporters would think that the army’s intervention had been agreed upon with Milo. His detractors, on the other hand, would think that Pythagoras had bowed to the city’s demands.
Pythagoras bent his head humbly in gratitude. It had been easy, but he had guessed as much when he had noticed, upon entering the Council, that Cylon was nowhere to be seen.
Very clever of him, he thought uneasily.
Cylon avoided direct confrontations when he knew he couldn’t win. He was as smart as he was devious. He would await the right moment, scheming with unwavering persistence, taking advantage of the fact that he could attend all the Council sessions, whereas Pythagoras’ obligations barely allowed him to attend once a month.
The philosopher paused, observing a group of councilors that didn’t belong to the Three Hundred. Their posture and expressions were stern, as if they wanted to make it clear he hadn’t convinced them. Pythagoras had not expected anything else, since they were Cylon’s staunchest supporters.
Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) Page 19