Pythagoras the Mathemagician

by Karim El Koussa

  Kylon glared at the direction of the warning that had interrupted the emergent rage he wanted so much. From among the multitude, the caller, a notorious politician, darted towards him. In a flash, he climbed the few steps, reached Kylon, stood face to face with him, and stared, fiercely into his eyes. Kylon held his breath and froze in astonishment.

  The politician veered to the audience. “My fellow citizens!” his voice thundered. “You can’t possibly believe what this man claims! Pythagoras is a blessing to our city! Pythagoras has envisioned our matters rightfully and fairly. Remember the war! Remember Telys, the tyrant! We would have all turned into ashes if Pythagoras had not interfered. How could you forget the key role he played in making us win the war? It was his great wisdom and his effectual support that overthrew the fierce and unbeatable army of Sybaris! Thanks to him and only him, Sybaris has become part of the State of Crotona. Isn’t that a huge victory he has granted us, and our posterity, with his acumen and integrity? How could you forget it? Shame on you! Yes, shame on you! Ungrateful citizens! We owe the saint man our safety and security. We owe him our new wealth and work opportunities. We owe him the peace that this Kylon and his club are trying to shatter and disgrace!”

  Stillness fell on the plaza at the accuracy of the facts. Many nodded in agreement, his rational historical input accepted as true. Even Kylon agreed inwardly, yet he could not afford another public disaster, especially not this time! He pondered quickly on how to turn the tables on the authorities as well.

  He sneered in the secret recesses of his mind. “Yeah, right!” he spat out in a bitter tone. “We won the war. But tell me, fellow politician, how has the government rewarded the people for risking their lives in the battles? Tell the citizens here what you have really done to compensate the families for the loss of their martyrs” he shouted with a rage that echoed like a thunderbolt.

  The politician blushed then went pallid.

  “No reply? Of course, you can’t answer this,” Kylon snickered then veered to address the crowd with a thunderous voice, “because I tell you, citizens of Crotona, nothing has been given to you in exchange. Nothing!”

  Mesmerized by his counterwords, the audience gaped at him, as if paralyzed by his wrath. Having grabbed back all their attention, he decided to strike fast and hard, for he knew he had successfully touched a painful nerve in them.

  “The lands, my friends!” he yelled to their consideration. “All the new lands and properties, acquired from that war, have been divided between the political body and the Pythagoreans! Know that they worship each other as gods, and regard all of us here as brutes!”

  “That is not true!” Someone retorted from the back of the crowd, probably a friend of the Pythagoreans. “Liar! Imposter! That’s not true at all!”

  Before he could add another word, a lobbyist knocked him down with a blow to the back of his head. Rendered silent and unconscious, he was immediately dragged out of the plaza, and thrown in an alley.

  Kylon smirked with wicked pleasure. Adamant in his hate, he delivered to his audience, “You pathetic citizens! How could you have let them fool you for so long? Tell me, please, how can you still trust them, even now? Come now, open your eyes! Look at the facts! This has been naught but an immense conspiracy against you, innocent citizens; pure exploitation, fabricated by Pythagoras and his followers in alliance with the political body!”

  Fury stormed through the mass akin to an unruly tsunami. Like vampires thirsty for human blood, members of the Lobby and the growing group of Kylon’s followers gathered there, in the plaza, unleashed their rage first, to be followed then by the crowd; the greater part of it.

  “Death to Pythagoras!”

  “Death to his Society!”

  “Kill the fraud!”

  “Annihilate the Fraternity!”

  Ugly condemnations roared and barked in all directions. The crowd went wild, their anger feral, and the plaza boisterous.

  Chaos and ruckus reigned.

  All those friends and followers of the Pythagoreans scurried away, running for their lives.

  Kylon bellowed, “Wake up from the spell cast upon you by that dark sorcerer! Walk by me now, and you will never regret it! You shall never feel betrayed, never again! Your social and political rights will be granted to you in full. Walk by me, citizens of Crotona, and every coin that you lost will be returned to you! Trust me! Walk by me… Walk by me!” he kept repeating in a metrical litany.

  Excited, the multitude pounded the floor with their feet and shouted, “Kylon! Kylon! Kylon!”

  It took him some time to command their rowdiness into some semblance of quiet order. He fathomed in ecstasy the dangerous state into which he had driven them, yet, he still strove to fuel them even more.

  “Listen to me! Let us judge them without a hearing! Yes! The same way in which they have condemned us! Together, let us persecute the swindler who has corrupted our youth; that impostor who has robbed them of their souls, and away from the gods of Greece!” his voice blasted, his body launched forward with his fist up. “We must strike… and strike powerfully!”

  “Death to Pythagoras!

  “Burn the White City!

  “Kill the impostor!

  They roared over and over again until foam spit out from their mouths like mad dogs, ready to attack, and tear at human flesh. Like automatons, they lurked in wait of orders.

  Kylon and his Lobby relished in the luscious taste of their remarkable triumph. They shared, with a grin, the rotten evilness of their hearts.

  And so it cropped up. The Lobby vowed to launch a strong attack on the White City upon devising a well-organized plan that could annihilate the Pythagoreans to the very last one. They had sworn to do that.

  That night, alone in his bedroom, Kylon stood in front of his polished bronze mirror, dreaming of glory and fame. His eyes shone with the red color of wrath. His reflection embodied the very personification of evil; a man thirsty for blood and destruction. Somehow, that image of himself fascinated and excited him. He laughed out loud. And, for a while, the sound reverberated in the silence of the creepy darkness.

  * * *

  Those who had witnessed the uproar, and feared for their relatives and friends, scuttled to the White City. In panic, they asked to see Master Pythagoras. Their hysterical requests urged the Masters to rush them in, at once.

  In growing angst, he heeded their frantic reports. He had barely had time to urge them back to their safe dwellings, when the Maters darted in with some more feverish visitors: his few, close politician friends. They reported the same tale without contradictions. Pythagoras took the threat on his people very seriously.

  His eyes probed the anxious politicians in front of him. “When?” His tone betrayed his internal torment.

  “We don’t know! They did not divulge it!” The man who spoke kept twisting the cord of his belt in edginess.

  Pythagoras turned to the older official who rushed to say, “We were tipped, on our way here. Kylon and his rabble are now in the pre-final stage of preparation.” His nervous tic twisted his right eye again and again. His hands quivered on his cane.

  The younger politician halted his fretful pacing at last to press on him, “Master Pythagoras! It is just a matter of time!”

  Pythagoras walked to his window. He gazed at Crotona for a long while, then observed the horizon for any sign that might belie his presage.

  “What about the Senate?” he finally asked in a murmur. There was no reply, he turned to probe the politicians with a commanding voice. “With whom are they siding? Do I have their loyalty? It is crucial for me to know immediately. Will they help us defend our White City?”

  The important question met with total silence. Their eyes reflected their deep sorrow and anguish. They shook their heads in shameful negation.

  “We cannot speak on behalf of the Senate, nor in favor of all our fellow politicians, but we, the eleven of us, are here to stay with you until the end, if you want us to,” the older po
litician offered with emotion.

  Pythagoras nodded.

  Time stood still while he struggled, in the secret of his heart, to cope with the deep pain of abandonment and betrayal. The precarious outcome of such a crisis tortured him. He had always refused to acknowledge the vision of the imminent destruction his spirit had revealed to him.

  Beware the envious souls…

  Pherecydes had often cautioned him against their dangerous deeds. He had even warned him about it in his deathbed. Had his uncle foreseen, as well, the brutal end of the White City, or was it his nephew that he meant? Whatever his message, time proved him more than just a wise man.

  He was a prophet with foresight!

  Pythagoras deduced, with respect, then reverted to the problematic condition that had entrapped him. Dismissing the eleven politicians to safety, he summoned all the members of the White Society for an urgent Assembly. At the time, the Outer Circle counted two thousands members, and the Inner Circle, six hundred. In a state of apprehension, they assembled on the wide terrace of the Temple of Al-Apollo.

  Pythagoras emerged in all his glory, his long white linen tunic draped with his purple robe over his shoulder. His mathematikoi stood at his sides and his akousmatikoi just behind them. He stared at his devout people for a long painful minute before he uttered.

  “Dear brothers and sisters, thank you for coming on such short notice. As most of you probably know by now, this is a matter of extreme emergency. Heed and behold my words. The time has come indeed, and the waiting has ended.”

  The sorrow of his heart reflected in his voice, and rendered his bizarre statement incomprehensible to them. He could read their fretfulness and confusion in their eyes. He sighed deeply and decided to enlighten them with the blunt truth with no further delay.

  “My friends, evil is about to heave its vengeance and odium upon our White City. Unfortunately, nothing can be done to impede the imminent fury. Nothing…,” his voice broke in profound sadness.

  Gasps ensued, eyes widened in shock then fear and murmurs wafted like a brisk wave that prompted to turn into cries and wails.

  “Please!” Pythagoras urged them. “Do not panic! Let us remain composed to plan for our safety! I urge utmost discipline and self-control. Let us face our predicament with wisdom and clarity.”

  He continued talking to them in a soothing, even tone that meant to assuage their fears and impose some sense of order. When he felt them ready to heed him, he raised his voice to announce, “Everybody is free to leave the White City, and seek shelter somewhere else,” he declared. “No one, I repeat, no one should assume, in any way, that he, or she, should stay any longer. I just ask you to uproot and spread around the neighboring cities. I also urge the akousmatikoi among you to depart at once for the sake of their families,” he pressed on them in spite of the raucous refusal of many.

  He raised his hand to command their silent attention. “Listen to me! There is something you should know! As you spread around, you might fail to identify a fellow member of our Fraternity. We can’t allow such an outcome, not when we have shared so many years together. You should keep in contact with each other. I will reveal to you now our secret handshake so you will be able to distinguish each other outside the White City. Use it when greeting each other from now on. Remember, you are all brothers and sisters of our Great Fraternity, and whatever the separation, you owe support to each other!”

  At that, he murmured a brief order to his Masters at his sides. They stepped forward from among the Outer Circle. From one to another, they communicated the secret sign of the Fraternity. In turn, the members were prompted to practice among themselves. The Inner Circle already knew it and had been using it for a while now.

  “What are you going to do, Master?” a woman previously cured by Pythagoras asked him with tears in her eyes.

  “Fair lady, your care surely touches me,” he replied with sincerity. “The Truth I tell you! I shall never abandon you, or this great White City. I will not turn my back on all the love and peace that have infused its sky all these years! No, and a thousand times no! This is what I have lived for, and this is what I shall die for,” the Mathemagician claimed his allegiance with a voice full of emotion, and a tone strong with certainty.

  “Master!” A mathematikoi exclaimed in fearful protest.

  “My decision is irrevocable, brother!” Pythagoras asserted firmly.

  “Then, if this is your decision, we shall stay with you until the end!” A young mathematikoi affirmed his allegiance and loyalty.

  “We shall die with you!” An akousmatikoi acclaimed high and loud.

  Many echoed then waited for his orders.

  In truth, the silence that ensued pierced a hole in the sky above, and reverberated deep down in the land below.

  “No… and a thousand times no!” Pythagoras shouted at last. “You, all of you, must leave for good. You must not die now, but live instead in safety, away from here. The essence of friendship, morality, and loyalty is deeply rooted within you. Your mission now requires that you relegate it to the generations after you. This is my last recommendation to you! Heed it as sacred and apply it as such,” he ordered. “My beloved friends beware the growing ominous danger. Leave in peace, and do it immediately!”

  Suddenly tired, the Master sought by himself the Temple of the One for meditation and solace.

  * * *

  Early one autumn afternoon, almost a month later, Pythagoras, alone with his thoughts, meandered through the Sacred Garden of his cave. The leaves of his Cedar trees and Oak trees had turned from the orange color of maturity to the blackish yellow one of death. At that moment, they made their final way to the ground, stating their smooth decline, one after the other. The wind blew swiftly, and scattered them through the beautiful garden and beyond it. Pythagoras observed that significant motion of life before he resumed his walk at an even slower pace. His feet felt heavier, and his shoulders laden. Slothful and listless, as if almost defeated, he realized that the end of his present life had finally come.

  He already grieved the departure of most of his people. He knew that at this very moment, the remaining families of his Outer Circle were about to leave. In spite of his disapproval, a few of them had chosen to stay, like the mathematikoi. That decision of theirs worried him deeply. Yet, he could not force them to run for their lives and into safety. Even at this stage, he still conformed to the free-will and democracy ideal he had applied and implemented in his own city. He had hoped that with the days following the warning, they would come to change their minds. Yet, they kept going on with their daily-lives, almost normally, regardless of the state of maximum alert.

  Pythagoras turned to the sea. In a flash of memories, he recalled his very first trip with his father, then the several others that had journeyed him towards his destiny. He smiled faintly. At this moment in which the sun glowed with wonderful titian hues before setting for the night, he recalled the tale of the Phoenician man seeking the end of the world, there where the sun touched the sea, like it did now. Yet today something was different. Pythagoras perceived it in the way the Mediterranean Sea swallowed the sun into its very depth.

  It was the year 500 BCE.

  A sudden gloom befell the White City. He gazed for a while at the black clouds and felt their sinister foretelling. In a brisk motion, they extended above him like the shadows of death. His eyes searched for a glimpse of light from the moon. Yet, the clouds swallowed the astral body in its darkness. Night fell in from all sides akin the augur of an unavoidable demise.

  Pythagoras knew then.

  His eyes, burning with an internal ache, browsed his surroundings before they closed for a moment. Somehow, he discerned the faraway pounding of a marching army. A thousand probably, his mind estimated. His spirit flew, beholding the horrible sight of the dark mass of heinous creatures storming towards his White City.

  Torches and long spears in their hands, they hummed like some nightly beasts craving for their prey. Pythagoras sna
pped his eyes opened. Cold sweat dampened his back.

  He ran as never before to order an immediate evacuation. As previously trained, all the families scuttled frantically through the two narrow passages, the right and the left, known only to the members of the Society.

  In fretfulness, he screamed to Theano to follow him quickly. He grabbed his two small children in both his arms. He scuttled through the secret passages. He halted when Aristaeus of Crotona ran to meet him half way.

  “You know what to do!” He prompted in his ear and handed over his precious children to his most faithful Initiate.

  “Fear not, Master. They will be safe with me,” Aristaeus assured him with firmness then his voice broke, “Master…”

  “No, brother!” Pythagoras commanded him with resolution, impeding an emotion that could weaken his wife, already in tears. “Remember, I am about to pass to another life. We all do. My time has come. That is all.”

  He veered to Theano and engulfed her in his arms in his first public display of husbandry affection. He would have kept embracing her forever had the sounds of the marching death not loomed closer by the minute. He murmured words of love and caution to her ear then informed her what he had agreed on with his loyal Initiate, “Aristaeus is now in charge of you and the children, Theano. He will make sure to find you a safe shelter in a neighboring city. Trust him, dear. He has pledged his life to protect you and the children as his own family.”

  Before releasing her, he delivered his last spoken will to her ears. Yet, Theano would not let go of him. She clung on to him, crying her heart out. He swallowed hard. He missed her already.