Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015)

by Marcos Chicot

  Where’s your leader hiding? he thought as he watched them. What’s his next move going to be?

  CHAPTER 42

  April 24th, 510 B.C.

  Atma was nearing his destination.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and then blinked, trying to make out the horizon through the rain.

  I still can’t see it, he thought nervously as he rode on.

  Once he had left Croton behind, he had slowed from a gallop to a trot. Moreover, he had dismounted for the uphills, and during the last hour had walked most of the time to conserve the horse’s energy. Soon he’ll have to make a huge effort.

  The thick dark mantle that extended in all directions overhead was an indication that the rain would continue for a long time yet. Good. That way I’ll be able to wear a hood without attracting attention. It would take several weeks for his hair to grow out enough to hide his slave status. In Croton everyone knew him, so he could go about his business as he pleased, undisturbed, but anywhere else he would be taken for a fugitive slave and arrested.

  He looked back. He couldn’t see anyone with the reduced visibility of the gloomy morning.

  For a while, he went at a trot, keeping his head down to protect himself from the rain. To his left, the vegetation passed like a dark cloud. To his right, the choppy gray sea seemed full of foreboding, like an overarching threat. Despite his hostile surroundings, Atma felt safer with every passing minute. Croton was already far behind him.

  The inn materialized before his eyes like an apparition. It was a stone building, two stories high, with a large stable attached to it, where Atma headed first. He dismounted and went in, pulling the horse by the bridle. A youth of about fifteen years of age emerged from the darkness and took the reins, admiring the magnificent animal. Atma went outside again and, making sure the hood covered his head completely, entered the inn.

  The innkeeper was coming out of the kitchen just as Atma reached the dining room. She looked suspiciously at that man who wouldn’t pull down his hood. She didn’t like men who hid their faces, least of all today when her husband was in bed with fever.

  She approached him resolutely in an effort to inspire respect.

  “How can I help you, traveler?”

  Atma looked at her a second. The woman was corpulent and flushed. She was carrying a jug in her right arm, letting it swing as if ready to use it as a weapon. Atma avoided her gaze.

  “I’m looking for Hippolytus.”

  The other hooded man, thought the innkeeper. She shivered as she remembered the eyes of the man lodged in the room upstairs. They had been the only part of his shadowed face she had been able to discern. She also remembered his voice, a barely audible rasp. After he told her his name, which she assumed to be false, he told her that when a man arrived asking for him she was to send him up at once.

  “He’s waiting for you,” she told the newcomer. “He’s upstairs.” She jerked her head toward the stairs. “Just up there, first door on your right.”

  Atma lowered his head and hurried toward the stairs. With every step he took he could feel his anxiety increasing. At the top, he stopped outside the door, trying to compose himself, but was unable to. Now that the meeting was finally here, he was swept by intense emotion.

  He took a deep breath, paused a second longer, and opened the door.

  CHAPTER 43

  April 24th, 510 B.C.

  The rain was relentless. It was cold and they had been riding for a long time, pushing the poor mare to its limits. The situation was in no way pleasant for Akenon…except in one aspect. Since she was sitting behind him, Ariadne was partially protected from the rain, but she was also cold and had wrapped her arms tightly round him. The swaying of the horse pushed Ariadne’s body repeatedly against Akenon’s back. Though it was only an inch or two, it was enough for him to be very conscious of her large breasts.

  Oh, Akenon, you’ve been abstinent too long, he told himself as he tried to ignore the softness pressing into his back.

  “There’s the inn!” exclaimed Ariadne, pointing ahead of them.

  A form, blurred by the rain, began to take shape as they got closer. It was the same inn where they had lodged when they had traveled from Sybaris to Croton. There wasn’t anywhere else to rest for several leagues, which meant that Atma had probably stopped there. Akenon pulled on the reins. They would walk the last stretch of the journey. When they dismounted, he realized the mare was so exhausted he didn’t have to find a place to tie her up. During the ride they had gotten off at every uphill slope and let her stop for a drink on two occasions, but despite that, the poor animal was at the end of her rope.

  They left the road and, for the last few yards, took a path that went around the side of the inn. The only two windows on that wall were closed. Akenon gestured to Ariadne to stay behind him, and peered round the corner.

  No one outside.

  He turned to Ariadne and was surprised to see she had unsheathed her knife and was holding it in a defensive position in front of her, like a professional.

  “I’d rather go in alone,” he said, knowing what her answer would be.

  Ariadne just shook her head and motioned him on.

  “Very well.” There was no time for discussions. “Make sure you stay behind me.”

  Akenon went round the corner and moved rapidly and stealthily toward the main door. He knew the stables were on the other side of the building, and it would have been useful to check if Atma’s horse was there, but he would have risked detection. The best thing was to assume Atma was inside, and enter the inn as quickly as possible. He might be with an accomplice. He wanted to protect Ariadne, but if she knew how to use a knife her help could be vital.

  He unsheathed his sword and turned wordlessly to Ariadne to see if she was ready. Her lips were trembling, with cold or fear, but her eyes showed the determination of a wolf defending her cubs.

  Akenon leaned his free hand against the door. His idea was to open it gently so as to scan what was happening inside before losing the element of surprise. The wind and rain lashed the inn, reassuring him that no one could have heard their approach.

  He looked one last time at Ariadne and pushed the door open.

  CHAPTER 44

  April 24th, 510 B.C.

  Atma hesitated on the threshold. He couldn’t see anything inside the room. The only source of light was a window open to the wind and rain.

  “Close the door, Atma.”

  The slave was startled. The voice was coming from one side of the room. There was someone sitting there with his back to him.

  He went in. With the door closed, the wind and rain coming in through the open window diminished. Atma pulled down his hood and a cautious, fearful smile appeared on his face. He took a couple of steps toward the man who continued to sit with his back to him, hooded and motionless. Atma paused uncertainly.

  “It’s very cold here, my lord.”

  There was no reply. He stood for a long time behind the man he had addressed as lord. His vision, exposed to the light in the common room of the inn, became accustomed to the dark again. There was a bed in the room, which didn’t appear to have been slept in, an empty pot in which for guests to relieve themselves, and two wooden stools. The hooded man was sitting on one of them.

  “Are you well, my lord?” he asked in a trembling voice.

  “Atma.” The voice was a gravelly whisper. “Sit down beside me.”

  The slave did as he was asked. He looked toward his lord, trying to read his mood in his face, but the man’s head was bowed and his hood, pulled far forward, hid his features. The deep, indistinct murmur came again from the shadows of the hood.

  “How much gold did you get?”

  “Less than we had hoped, my lord,” he replied, trembling. “The custodian says half of it is invested and another part is stored in some temple. Even so, I have a horse in the stables with a decent bag of gold in its saddlebags. More than enough to start another life far from here.”

  “
Is it a good horse?”

  “Excellent,” Atma ventured more hopefully. “It was expensive, but I was able to make the journey from Croton without stopping, and it still has energy enough to take both of us now.”

  “Good, good.” The hooded man spoke with unnerving slowness. “Atma, you’ve done everything that was required of you.”

  A strange silence descended. The wind howled outside and the rain coming through the window drummed against the sand floor. After a while, the hooded man stood up, making the stool creak several times. He walked around Atma till he was behind him.

  The slave could feel his lord’s hands resting on his shoulders. They moved slowly up his neck and began a gentle massage. He closed his eyes, feeling happy, and noticed that the tension built up over the past two days was beginning to ease.

  “Are you sure no one followed you?”

  “Akenon and Ariadne were watching me while I prepared the funeral pyre, but they didn’t cause me any trouble. After I set fire to the pyre, I managed to give them the slip and spent the night hiding in the woods. This morning I went to Eritrius’ stable as soon as it opened, bought the horse, and left Croton immediately.” The massage was now a caress making its way up his neck, and he experienced a tingle of pleasure. “Even so, my lord, Akenon is clever and obstinate. He’ll be on my trail when he realizes I didn’t spend the night in the community. It’s dangerous for us to delay here.”

  Standing over him, the hooded man contemplated Atma’s relaxed face, his closed eyelids and partially open mouth. In spite of his words of urgency, the slave had been lulled by his caresses. He smiled and brought his lips close, brushing Atma’s ear as he whispered.

  “Relax, Atma.” The tips of his fingers felt the pulse in the slave’s neck. “You’ll never see Akenon again.”

  He pressed a little harder. Utterly relaxed, Atma noticed with pleasure that his exhaustion was melting into sleep. The flow of oxygen to his brain slowly decreased. He rested his head on his lord’s hand, who cradled it gently while continuing to block the flow of blood. The slave instinctively kissed his hand, then fainted. The hooded man increased the pressure. After a couple of instants, Atma’s body convulsed in a final attempt to cling to life. The hooded man held his prey firmly.

  Seconds later, Atma’s heart ceased to beat.

  The hooded man continued to apply pressure for a while as he considered his next move. The first thing is to throw that damned Egyptian Akenon off my trail. He had a hunch that Akenon had followed Atma, which meant he had to leave the inn as soon as possible. He smiled, thinking of the horse and the gold waiting for him in the stables.

  He laid Atma’s body on the ground and went to the door. He opened it without a sound and cautiously put his head round it. The innkeeper was talking to someone. A second later, others appeared in his line of sight.

  Akenon and Ariadne!

  They finished talking to the innkeeper and started up the stairs.

  Unseen, the hooded man hastily re-entered his room and unsheathed his sword.

  CHAPTER 45

  April 24th, 510 B.C.

  Ariadne was behind Akenon as they went up the stairs, squeezing the handle of her knife so tightly her knuckles had gone white. The closer they got to the top, the dimmer the light that reached them from the ground floor.

  The innkeeper had just confirmed that a lone man had arrived fifteen or twenty minutes earlier. Though he hadn’t pulled down his hood, he seemed to fit Atma’s description. He was to meet another man who had arrived an hour earlier and who hadn’t revealed his face either.

  Even so, the innkeeper couldn’t help shivering when she referred to him, thought Ariadne.

  In semi-darkness, they reached the landing. On their right, a step away, was a closed door. Akenon placed himself next to it and gestured to Ariadne to stand on the other side. They were no longer after an unknown enemy. They were about to come face to face with two men who were almost certainly responsible for the murders in the community.

  Akenon put his ear to the door and listened intently, looking at Ariadne. She was tense, breathing quickly through her mouth, but she showed no sign of faltering. Akenon was surprised at this new side to Ariadne. He closed his eyes to concentrate on what he could hear. It seemed there was a window open, but he couldn’t hear voices or movements. Opening his eyes, he signaled to Ariadne. They were going in.

  He took a step back. His plan was to burst in and make a quick attack. A slash at whoever was closest, and then he’d throw himself on the second man. That way, the worst Ariadne will have to face is an injured man. Once he’d finished with the second opponent, he’d deal with the first one again.

  Just as he was about to push open the door, he heard a thud inside the room. He hesitated a moment, then kicked open the door. He ran in and turned, brandishing his sword, unnerved by the darkness in the room. His eyes rapidly scanned the wall where the door was, but he saw no one. Ariadne came in; they had agreed she would wait until he launched the first attack. She crouched and turned swiftly, like a cobra about to strike. Akenon saw a body lying on the ground. From its cropped hair he assumed it was Atma. They kept moving as fast as they could. Ariadne went to the body while Akenon rushed to the window. The stables were directly below. He saw a man roll off the edge of the roof and fall to the ground.

  “He’s in the stables!” Akenon shouted.

  The window was too narrow for him so he raced to the door. He took the stairs four at a time and dashed across the common room, sword unsheathed.

  Ariadne followed him out into the heavy rain and saw Akenon enter the stables. Armed with her knife, like a wasp with its sting, she ran after him. She had verified that Atma was dead, but still didn’t understand why. There was no time to think. She had to follow her instincts to stay alive and help Akenon.

  When she reached the stable, the door flew open and an enormous horse burst forth without giving her time to get out of the way. The animal’s withers hit her on the head knocking her on her back. The knife flew from her hand. Dazed, the only thing she could do was watch what was happening. The horse seemed unsure whether to start galloping or stop in its tracks. Ariadne saw Akenon holding the reins with his left arm while his right hung limply by his side. Astride the horse, a hooded figure attempted to spur him on, lashing out at Akenon with his foot.

  The horse pawed the ground in a frenzy. Ariadne rolled to avoid being trampled, found her knife and jumped to her feet again. At the same moment, the hooded figure kicked Akenon full in the face. Akenon crumpled to the ground, and the horse bolted away at a frenetic gallop.

  Ariadne ran to him. Akenon was dazed, blood pouring from his nose, but that seemed to be the extent of his injuries. She left him sitting on the ground and rushed into the stables to find a horse to go after the hooded man. The mare crossed her mind, but Ariadne knew she was so exhausted she wouldn’t last another half mile at a gallop. In a corner of the stables a young boy cowered. He was shaking, hugging his knees, and bleeding from a cut on his cheek. He had to be a servant of the innkeeper’s. Desperate, Ariadne looked in all directions, but the only animals in the stables were donkeys and mules.

  She looked down the path with a shout of anger. Their enemy was so far away he was barely visible.

  She left the stable, her tension turning to crushing frustration. They had been so close… She shook her head, feeling a sense of unreality as if she were waking from a dream, then dropped the knife and ran to Akenon, who was still sitting in the rain, spitting blood. His right shoulder had been caved in by a kick from the horse’s foreleg, making his collar bone protrude like an ugly ledge.

  Akenon looked up at Ariadne, his face contorted and pale as wax.

  “The man upstairs… Is it Atma?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “Yes. He’s dead.” Ariadne thought about the enemy who had fled. She hadn’t been able to see his face. “Did you see who the hooded man was?”

  Breathing with difficulty, Akenon shook his head, then lowere
d it again. He felt he might faint from the pain.

  “Hold on. I’ll get help.”

  Ariadne put a reassuring hand on Akenon’s cheek and got up. Before going back to the inn she took a last look at the road to Sybaris.

  The only thing to be seen was the rain.

  CHAPTER 46

  May 21st, 510 B.C.

  Glaucus was on the verge of a spiritual awakening.

  For the past month, his only activities had been dozing intermittently and wandering through the palace at all hours, as if his mind had lost the ability to distinguish night from day. When he was awake, he roamed the mansion constantly, going in and out of the same rooms over and over, apparently in search of something he couldn’t find. Beside him limped Leandro, his new wine servant, a slave so old and ugly he’d never interfere in Glaucus’ relationships with young lovers, as Thessalus had done with his adored Yaco.

  Leandro faithfully followed Glaucus’ instructions, bringing wine to his lips every five minutes. This procedure managed to alleviate the unrelenting pain he felt when he remembered his young lover. In sleep, however, there was no escape. In spite of not having been present at Yaco’s torment, he dreamed constantly of the teenager’s delicate face twisted in pain, pleading for clemency, while Boreas tortured him with a red-hot iron. He could clearly hear the screams, the heart-wrenching pleas, Glaucus, my dearest master, why are you doing this to one who loves you so much? He often woke screaming, and then gulped down his Sidonian wine so avidly it spilled over his tunic and sheets.

  Since that abominable event Glaucus couldn’t bear the sight of Boreas. He forced him to hide himself so that his gigantic presence wouldn’t remind him that Boreas had disfigured Yaco and then chained him to an oar on a ship destined for distant shores. Two days after Yaco’s disfigurement, Glaucus had sent a second ship to rescue him. By the time they reached the first ship nothing could be done. The boy, too fragile to row, had died on the fifth day out of port.