The Secret Key of Pythagorum

by Michele Angello

  “Calm down, Savaric. Shouting at me is not going to solve anything.”

  Savaric flopped back in the grass. “I’m doomed. I’ll never go anywhere, talk to anyone, ever again. What kind of life can I have? This is even worse than it was before.” He groaned and dropped his face to his hands.

  “Don’t assume that this will last forever and forever. We don’t know that for sure.”

  Savaric groaned again.

  “Did you drink the water of the brook?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied tersely. She dismissed the idea with a flick of her hand even as he replied. “We both have drunk it before. That wouldn’t be it.”

  “Did you touch the tree in a different way than you had before? Were you here a long time?”

  “No!”

  “What was different? Think!”

  “I was listening to you. I was tearing up the pine needles and wishing you would shut up and go away. I said, ‘I suppose.’ I got up—”

  “That’s it!” she said, swatting at him.

  “What? I’m sorry! I was telling the truth. STOP HITTING ME!”

  “No, not that. The needles. The needles.”

  “What about them?”

  “There must be some on you still. Help me. I can’t see what I’m doing.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Get the needles off you.”

  “But I can’t see them either!”

  Nana stood back, exasperated. Her hands dropped to her sides as she thought for a moment. “Then take off your clothes and shake them out,” she ordered.

  “What!? We’re outside and it’s the middle of the day. I can’t take me clothes off,” he yelped, his voice cracking.

  “What’s the problem, Savaric? You’re invisible. I’ll only see you if I’m right and this is the answer to the problem. Besides, I’ve seen you before. I brought you from your ma’s womb.”

  “Don’t remind me. Worst day of my life—the day I was born, thanks to you.”

  “By the gods, Savaric. Are we really talking about that again?”

  “Yes. And I’m not taking my clothes off in the middle of this meadow,” he spat.

  “Very well. Go up to the bunch of trees up there at the top of the meadow. It’s away from the path, so if someone comes here, which they never do, they won’t see ye naked as God made ye.”

  Savaric stomped away from her toward the trees. She followed his footprints and the indignant mumbling.

  “Stay back,” he yelled at her. “Don’t get any closer.”

  Savaric squeezed between the trees into the center of the group. He took his tunic off and hooked it on a branch. It popped into view. Nana gasped. He then quickly wrenched his leggings off and flung them on the ground. The dark-brown homespun weave also came into view.

  “But what about me,” he screeched. “I’m still gone! This isn’t working.”

  “It is working,” Nana said. “Keep going, take everything off. Your medallion. Your breeches. Rub your hands over yourself. It’s the needles. See if you can get the needles off you!”

  Nana could hear Savaric rustling around and slapping at himself. “Keep going,” she said excitedly, “it’s going to work.”

  Then suddenly, just as quickly as Savaric had disappeared, he came back into view.

  A primal screech came out of him, something between a celebratory cry and a sound of fear.

  “Turn around!” he managed to spit out a few moments later.

  Nana spun around, reeling. She sobbed huge tears of relief.

  Her shoulders still shook when he came back out of the thicket, fully dressed. He put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right. I’m all right now.”

  They stood in silence for a while, looking at the center of the meadow where the tree and the brook stood.

  Finally, Nana broke the silence. In a voice barely over a whisper, she said, “This changes everything.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Greece - 496 BC

  Figures cloaked in white, with large hoods throwing deep shadows on their faces, filed through the night from all parts of the city. Their destination was a blind alley behind the house of Milo, a rich merchant with hundreds of slaves and a dozen houses. As the figures descended the steep incline of the alley, guards armed with swords, spears, and bows kept a watchful eye from atop the walls. More armed men stood at attention at the entrance to the alley.

  As the men and women reached the door set into the lowest level of the house, they stepped one by one behind a screen placed to prevent prying, intrusive eyes from seeing the secret pass key. Without this symbol—a brief flash of two hands in the shape of a triangle, then three taps of the hands into smaller triangles—entrance was forbidden. Any intruders were immediately obvious, and their quick, quiet disappearance inevitable. It also ensured that the laboriously arranged meeting could break up immediately. Perfect communication was difficult, and in this time of meeting places being burned and followers being jailed or worse, secrecy was vital.

  Once the followers gained entrance they moved forward, deep into the bowels of the house, down long marble stairs that stretched into the earth. The air steadily grew cool, and a damp staleness filled it. As the followers marched steadily down the torch-lit stairway, snatches of conversation wafted up the stairs.

  “I must insist…”

  “It cannot be…”

  “Noooo…”

  The voices sounded desperate, grieving, and fearful. As the followers reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the slightly smoky and blackened cavern, small groups mingled, whispering anxiously. Fires burned in small clay vessels placed on the floor, feebly lighting the room.

  Near a dais in the center of the cavern, an old man slowly rose to his feet. His long white beard reached to the waist of his toga, and his eyes flashed white in the firelight. He shuffled toward the dais, and when his feet bumped into its base he stepped up and turned to face the group.

  “Come to order,” he said, his breath slightly labored. The crowd hushed. The old man raised his hand, and the crowd said in unison: “By him who handed to our generation the tetractys, source of the roots of ever-flowing nature.”

  The old man paused, then pronounced, “What you have heard is true.” His eyes glinted, reflecting the orange flames. “The Master is dead.”

  Most of the cavern’s occupants took a simultaneous ragged breath. A few sobbed quietly. Others stood stoic, their legs spread wide in defiance.

  “Who took his life?” one shouted out. “We will avenge it.”

  A roar went up from some of the crowd, the guttural sound of men preparing for battle. The old man raised his staff high into the air, and the roar waned.

  “There will be time for revenge. That time has not reached us. We must protect our treasures, for as surely as the Master could not be protected, our treasures are not safe.”

  “But what about our lives? Surely we must be protected as well,” a voice spouted off from the back.

  “Our lives are nothing compared to the treasure. If we do not protect it from falling into vulgar, idiotic hands, then the lives we hold here are meaningless.” The old man’s voice resounded in the cavern, filling it with a holy, righteous anger. Silence fell over the room. The fire in the vessels crackled, sparking ominously. A long pause spilled over the proceedings as the followers pondered the words of the mathematikoi leader.

  A small woman near the dais stood and turned to face the crowd. She spoke slowly and strongly, her voice carrying clearly throughout the room. “What Androcles says is true. Our allegiance must first be to the treasure, then to revenge, then to ourselves. The treasure is too strong to entrust with the bloodthirsty men of this regime. It would surely bring power to the wrong hands, power that would surely be wielded for evil. Our battles with the Persians have proved that. Even as our own persecution has proven that.”

  A murmur of approval went through the crowd.

  A thin wizened man stood and said, “But Maste
r would never approve of the treasure being out of our hands. How will we protect it?”

  The small woman near the dais suddenly felt a strong pressure on her elbow. A breathy whisper in her ear said, “Corinna, we must leave now.”

  “What? Nothing is decided. We can’t leave yet,” she whispered back.

  The man squeezed her elbow harder. “Now,” he said through gritted teeth.

  She turned around and looked at him steadily. “Give me a reason why, Kleitos.”

  He grabbed her elbow and spun her around to face the dais again. “Don’t be so obvious. Look forward but listen carefully. Georgios left a few minutes ago. Do you see how the smoke slowly thickens in the room? We have been betrayed. This is a death trap.” Corinna’s glance flew around the room, taking in the details as he spoke.

  “But we must warn everyone…”

  “No, when everyone knows it will be pandemonium. We may be trampled, or worse. We will sound the alarm once we are down the passage—ahead of the crowd. You know we must survive.”

  Corinna looked back at him, her face tortured. She turned and made her way to the back of the cave, scanning the faces as she waded through the crowd, wondering if she would ever see them again. When they made their way through the last of the crowd, Kleitos grabbed her hand and began running. Once they moved a short distance down the tunnel, he turned back and shouted in the direction of the cavern. “This is a trap! Everyone out. RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! RUN!”

  They stood for a few seconds, then heard shouts and screams, and the sounds of people stumbling and falling. Corinna’s fist went up to her mouth as she stifled a sob. “We must go back. We have to help. They’re dying…”

  Kleitos grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, loosening the pins holding the plaits and coils of her dark hair. “No, Corinna. To go back is suicide. We’ve done what we can.” He turned away and began pulling her down the dark tunnel. She dug her heels in, pulling against him.

  “But the treasure…”

  “NOW, CORINNA!” he shouted. He leaped back to her and picked her up, sweeping her off her feet, threw her over his shoulder and ran down the tunnel. She continued to sob, but after a while fell quiet.

  Kleitos finally stepped out of the tunnel and into the cool night air. The tunnel led to the far side of a hill; the house of Milo sat far above, a sentinel overlooking the valley. He sighed deeply and moved over to one side of the tunnel entrance. He could hear other followers running up through the tunnel behind him. “We’re out,” he said grimly as he took Corinna off his shoulder and lay her gently on the ground. A trickle of blood ran down her face, and her head fell back limply.

  “Oh, no, love. No.” He tapped her face, willing her to come alive.

  “Corinna, Corinna…”

  “What happened, Kleitos?” a follower said to him, leaning over his shoulder.

  “Oh, I … I don’t know. I was carrying her out and her head—her head must have hit the wall of the tunnel.”

  “Ah. She’ll come to. Better toss her up again. I’m sure the soldiers are not far behind. Till we meet again.” The man turned away and hurried over to a path that crossed the hill.

  Kleitos grimaced and picked Corinna up gingerly, holding her in his arms instead of over his shoulder. He picked his way down the hill over the thorny rough ground. When he got to the base of the hill, he continued on through a grove of fruit trees until, muscles screaming, he could carry her no more. After placing her gently on the ground, he sat down himself and pulled her into his arms. From where he sat he could see the tunnel entrance in the distance. Figures in white emerged from the dark spot on the hillside, spilling out and running in all directions.

  “Corinna, Corinna. Wake up, love.” He wiped the blood away with his hands. He felt with his fingers through her hair to the gash on her head. She whimpered as he brushed against it. He moved his fingers away, grateful that it wasn’t any bigger.

  “Come on. Wake up.” He tapped her face gently. She groaned and stirred, her hands going up to her head. He caught her wrist and guided her hand away from her head.

  “No, leave it alone. We’ll get Hermokrates to bind it.”

  “Where are we?” she slurred.

  “We’re safe. For now. But we must get further away to be truly safe.”

  “Oh… treasure?”

  “Don’t worry about the treasure. Am I not the keeper, and for good reason?”

  Corinna smiled at him crookedly, murmuring “Yessss…” He smiled back at her, stood up, picked her up in his arms, and began walking out of the fruit orchard.

  The next afternoon…

  Corinna sat up on the bedstead, propped on enough soft pillows to beckon sleep for the whole house of Kleitos. White linen wrapped her head, a few waxy green leaves sticking out of the dressing. She looked out the window at the gardens beyond, lost in thought.

  After a short rap on the door, the door opened and Kleitos peered inside. “You are awake,” he said, relieved. “How are you feeling?”

  Corinna raised her eyebrows at him. “Strangely enough, I have a headache.”

  “That’s to be expected,” he said cheerfully. “I—”

  “Kleitos,” she said abruptly. “I understand what you were doing, but by the gods, if you ever throw me over your shoulder like that again and ram me into a wall like a pack of rabid foot soldiers beating at the city gates…” She paused and glared at him, running out of breath for the diatribe.

  “Yes, I understand you must be angry. But I only did it to save you. You do know that?”

  “Yes,” she retorted. “Just not again!”

  He sighed and nodded. “Only forty of the followers made it out last night,” he said stiffly.

  Tears welled up in Corinna’s eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “I was afraid of that. And the treasure?”

  “I have it, of course. And I have instructions of what to do with it.”

  Corinna’s eyes grew wide. “But how, we were still…”

  “The mathematikoi had already met and decided what to do. Androcles spoke to me before the meeting began. He said, ‘The treasure will be sent far to the north to a remote and wild island. We will secret it there; it will then be retrieved when the time is right.’”

  “That’s all he said? Where exactly do we take it? We’ll have to ask for more detail.”

  “We can’t,” he replied.

  “Androcles too?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the rest of the mathematikoi?”

  “All gone. They were old, couldn’t move quickly enough. And they couldn’t see through the smoke, much less breathe it. The soldiers stopped up the air holes.”

  Corinna’s hands went up to her face, gasping as she envisioned the horrible deaths of so many followers. “Oh…no,” she moaned. “What do we do now?”

  “I retrieved a scroll from the cavern that the mathematikoi were beginning to write. It has some of the plan for hiding the treasure.”

  “You! Why you?”

  “Why do you think? I have sworn my life as the keeper!”

  “Well, then I’m coming with you.”

  “No, Corinna. This journey is not for women. Even women as strong as you. I will be gone for a very long time.”

  “I am coming with—”

  “No, Corinna. You must stay here. The house, the servants, the slaves, the orchards—they all need a mistress to look after them and keep them from being seized. I must do this alone.”

  Corinna looked at her husband steadily. She knew he was right. “We would lose everything if we both left,” she said distractedly, looking out the window again.

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  “I’ll wait for you,” she said softly as she reached out to caress his face.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Savaric! Savaric!” the angry voice screamed. “Where are you? I know you’re out here.” Nicola beat at a bush with a long heavy stick. No sound or movement came from the bush. She moved to the next one, beating it
savagely.

  “I’ll find you, you traitor. You thief.” She rushed across the clearing next to the cottage, pouncing on another bush. As she raised the stick high in the air, Savaric suddenly popped into view, his arms protecting his head.

  “Stop. I’m here. Don’t!” he shouted.

  Nicola’s stick only hesitated for a split second, then came down on his back with a resounding thwack.

  Savaric bellowed in pain. “STOP. What did I do?”

  “You know very well what ye have done.” She raised the stick again. Savaric cowered. “I only have to mention the word chicken and you’ll know exactly what you’ve done.”

  Savaric peered up at her through his arms still protecting his head. “Chicken?”

  “Don’t you play games with me, you worthless dog. I’m onto you.” She wiggled her stick threateningly.

  “Have you seen me with a chicken? What do you want me to say?” he pleaded.

  “Confess!” she shouted.

  “To what?”

  “To stealing Gorlan’s chicken, of course. Nothing was seen. Nothing was heard. Which sounds to me like – you!”

  “I did no such thing, ma’am. I swear it. By god’s body, I swear it.”

  Nicola looked at him suspiciously. “By god’s body?”

  “Yes,” Savaric said, slowly lowering his arms and standing up.

  Nicola took a big swing and whacked at him. Savaric leaned back but wasn’t fast enough. The end of the stick hit the side of his chest, then grazed along the front of his chest. He fell to the dirt, his breath coming out in a big whoosh.

  “Can’t believe a word coming out of that one,” Nicola said as she turned and stalked off.

  Savaric lay on the ground, gulping air. He beat the ground with his fist, creating a cloud of dust. He let out a grunt of frustration. Ever since his mother found out about his gift, she had suspected him of every bit and tattle that went awry in the village. Every time something went missing, every time something fell over, or someone tripped over nothing—the fault lay with Savaric. He bore the brunt of her anger for the trouble he supposedly caused. At first her suspicions were untrue. But as she punished him more and more for things he hadn’t done, Savaric began to actually do the things she accused him of. Why not, he thought. I’m going to get punished for it anyway. With his breath back in his body, he pushed himself off the ground and walked with quiet fury toward the village.