KILLING PYTHAGORAS
Marcos Chicot
Translated from the Spanish by Anamaría Crowe Serrano
Originally published in Spanish as El asesinato de Pitágoras
First published in Spain in 2013 by Duomo Ediciones
Copyright 2013, Marcos Chicot
English Translation Copyright 2013, Anamaría Crowe Serrano
All rights reserved
NOTE TO THE 2015 EDITION
Thanks to the novel's historical accuracy and its international success, the city of Crotone—where Pythagoras carried out his remarkable life's work—invited Marcos Chicot to visit in May 2015 and honoured him with the distinction Encomio Solenne for "having given new life to the figure of Pythagoras".
Several months later, the novel was again singled out, this time for the acclaimed Mediterranean Culture Award. The author traveled to Italy in October 2015 to accept this prestigious prize.
What began as a self-published novel, the attempt of a father to ensure a future for a daughter with Down Syndrome, turned into an overnight publishing sensation. Within a year it was the top-selling ebook in Spanish in the world. Soon afterwards, the paper version became one of the most notable literary events of recent years: a unique novel, highly praised by readers and critics alike, and an extraordinary phenomenon that has been published in twenty countries so far and continues to grow.
http://www.marcoschicot.com/en/killing-pythagoras#thestorybehindthenovel
For Lara,
and all the people
who throughout my life
have shown me their affection.
Thank you
Contents
MAPS
PROLOGUE
Pythagoras
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
Pentacle
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
Pi
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
The Golden Section
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 75
CHAPTER 76
CHAPTER 77
CHAPTER 78
CHAPTER 79
CHAPTER 80
Pythagoras’ theorem
CHAPTER 81
CHAPTER 82
CHAPTER 83
CHAPTER 84
CHAPTER 85
CHAPTER 86
CHAPTER 87
CHAPTER 88
CHAPTER 89
CHAPTER 90
CHAPTER 91
CHAPTER 92
Irrational numbers
CHAPTER 93
CHAPTER 94
CHAPTER 95
CHAPTER 96
CHAPTER 97
CHAPTER 98
CHAPTER 99
CHAPTER 100
CHAPTER 101
CHAPTER 102
CHAPTER 103
CHAPTER 104
CHAPTER 105
CHAPTER 106
CHAPTER 107
CHAPTER 108
CHAPTER 109
CHAPTER 110
CHAPTER 111
CHAPTER 112
CHAPTER 113
CHAPTER 114
CHAPTER 115
CHAPTER 116
CHAPTER 117
CHAPTER 118
CHAPTER 119
CHAPTER 120
CHAPTER 121
CHAPTER 122
CHAPTER 123
CHAPTER 124
CHAPTER 125
CHAPTER 126
CHAPTER 127
CHAPTER 128
CHAPTER 129
CHAPTER 130
CHAPTER 131
CHAPTER 132
CHAPTER 133
CHAPTER 134
CHAPTER 135
CHAPTER 136
CHAPTER 137
CHAPTER 138
CHAPTER 139
CHAPTER 140
Letter to my readers:
LORD OF MINDS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
Acknowledgments
Notes
MAPS
“Thou wilt likewise know that the misfortunes men suffer
are of their own making.
In their smallness of mind they do not understand
that their greatest good is before them.”
The Golden Verses. Pythagoras.
“Respect yourself above all.”
The Golden Verses. Pythagoras.
PROLOGUE
March 25th, 510 B.C.
My successor is here.
Pythagoras was sitting on the ground, legs crossed, head bowed, and eyes closed, immersed in a state of intense concentration. Before him were six men, waiting in anticipation.
He had performed unimaginable feats, could control the human spirit and the laws of the cosmos. Now his main goal was to ensure that the brotherhood he had founded would continue to develop those powers once he was no longer with them.
Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the air of the temple. It was cool and smelled faintly of myrtle, juniper, and rosemary, the purifying herbs that had been burned at the beginning of that extraordinary meeting.
Without warning, his spirit was violently shaken. His heart stopped beating for a few seconds, and he had to make a monumental effort to avoid betraying any change in his expression. His most advanced disciples were gathered close to him, waiting for him to come out of his meditation and speak to them. They mustn’t notice anything, he told himself, alarmed. He shared most of his premonitions with them, but not this one. The omen was too sinister. It had tormented him for weeks, but had not yet revealed itself in detail.
He exhaled slowly. The dark force of the premonition had intensified when he entered the temple, yet there was no other sign to suggest they were in danger.
The six men seated in a semicircle before him, dressed in simple linen tunics, belonged
to the highest echelon of the School: the grand masters. Over the years, he had grown fond and deeply proud of them. Their minds were among the most able and highly evolved of their time, and each had made his own contribution to the Pythagorean body of knowledge. However, only the one named as his successor would receive his final teachings and, with them, rise one step higher from the human to the divine.
His spiritual heir would also attain a level of worldly power unique in history. He would lead the Pythagorean élites who, following the moral principles of the School, ruled over increasingly larger areas. The brotherhood had already reached beyond Magna Graecia: it governed cities in continental Greece and some Etruscan towns, and was even gaining a foothold in the flourishing city of Rome. Next would come Carthage, Persia…
Although they mustn’t forget that worldly power is only a means.
Pythagoras slowly raised his head and opened his eyes.
The six disciples were taken aback. Burning in the master’s golden eyes was a more intense fire than usual. His hair fell in a snow-white cascade round his shoulders and seemed to gleam as brightly as his thick beard. He was more than seventy years old but his youthful vigor remained almost intact.
“Observe the tetraktys, key to the universe.” Pythagoras’ deep, smooth voice resounded in the solemn space of the circular temple.
In his right hand he held the branch of an ash. With it, he pointed to the marble floor where he had unrolled a small parchment between himself and his disciples. There was a simple drawing on it, a triangular shape consisting of four rows of dots. The bottom line contained four dots, the next three, then two, and at the tip of the triangle, there was just one. These ten dots arranged in a triangle were one of the most important symbols of the School.
He continued speaking with measured authority.
“In the coming days, we will devote the final hour to analyzing the number that contains all others: the number ten.” He made a circular movement with the branch around the tetraktys. “The number ten also contains the sum of the geometric dimensions.” With the branch, he touched each of the levels drawn on the parchment. “One, the point; two, the line; three the plane; four, three-dimensional space.”
He leaned forward and looked more intensely. When he spoke again, his voice was solemn.
“Ten, as you know, also symbolizes the closure of a cycle.”
He uttered these last words with his eyes fixed on Cleomenides, the disciple sitting to his right. The man swallowed, holding back a surge of pride. It was clear that Pythagoras was talking about retiring and who would succeed him. Cleomenides was fifty-six years old, and knew he was one of the main candidates. A notable mathematician, though possibly not the most brilliant, he had distinguished himself primarily for his strict compliance with the rigorous moral codes of the School. Also for his political clout: he came from one of the most important families of the Croton aristocracy, and handled government affairs with effortless diplomacy.
Pythagoras’ face relaxed without completely softening to a smile. Cleomenides was the main candidate, but he wasn’t going to rush into a final decision. First, he had to evaluate the reaction of each candidate after he informed them of his intention to choose a successor. Although the process might take several months, right now he needed to study their initial response, the most revealing.
He turned his gaze on Evander, who reacted with a sincere and satisfied expression. At forty-five, he was one of the youngest members of the intimate circle. His father had been a merchant from Taranto who frequently traveled to Croton. Evander was his second son and usually accompanied him to learn about the business. One day, twenty-five years earlier, though, he had attended one of Pythagoras’ speeches and decided at once to join the School. His father approached Pythagoras to protest vociferously. Half an hour later he came out of the compound happy to leave his son with them, having himself become an initiate who frequently helped in the community until his death.
Evander, a burly, vigorous man, had never lost the devotion of that first day or his occasional flashes of natural impulsivity, though these had been largely tamed by the wisdom he had acquired.
He still needs a few years of training to achieve complete self-mastery.
Like the ten points of the tetraktys, ten marble statues contemplated the master and his disciples. The goddess Hestia, behind Pythagoras, had at her feet the sacred fire that is never extinguished. Along the wall, Hestia formed a perfect circle with the nine other statues representing the nine muses to whom the Temple of the Muses was consecrated.
Seated before Pythagoras, the muse Calliope at his back, Hippocreon watched his master with somber reverence. At sixty-two he was the oldest disciple and had reached the highest level. A native of Croton, he had distanced himself at an early age from his family’s affairs—politics and commerce—to devote himself to philosophy. A hermit by vocation, he seldom left the compound, though on the rare occasions when he did, he used his unique charisma to engage in fruitful conversations. His family’s connections were of great interest to the order. His three brothers were members of the Council of Three Hundred—the highest governing body in Croton—and had been initiated into Pythagoreanism by Hippocreon himself. Every now and again they visited the community. They were guided by many of its precepts and governed collectively with the other Pythagorean councilors.
Hippocreon, if you weren’t as instinctively repelled by politics as a cat is by water, you could be my main candidate.
Within just a few years, the Pythagorean movement could become an empire: the first in history to be based on philosophy and moral precepts. Its leader needed to have well-honed political skills.
As he was about to move on to the next candidate, Pythagoras was forced to stop. He bowed his head toward the tetraktys and closed his eyes. A strange sensation ran up his back and arms, causing the hairs to stand on end. He erased all thought from his mind to allow the omen to take shape, but it remained cloaked in the same darkness he had seen previously. He waited. When nothing new emerged, he gave up. Regaining his composure, he looked up.
Flanked by the magnificent statues of the muses Polymnia and Melpomene, Orestes shifted, unsettled by his master’s penetrating gaze.
You can’t forgive yourself for the things you atoned for long ago, Pythagoras thought with regret.
The Chaldeans had taught him to see inside people based on their gestures, their features, their expression, their laughter. In Orestes he had seen guilt and repentance from the beginning. As a young politician, he had abused his position and stolen gold. He had paid for his actions, and then chosen to enter the community. Pythagoras had initially examined him with skepticism, but was surprised by what he saw. He had known instantly that this man would never again commit an immoral act. Before going through the purification processes that Pythagoras taught his disciples, Orestes had erased from deep within himself all inclination toward selfishness and greed. Once he had completed his three years as apprentice disciple, and advanced to the level of mathematician, Pythagoras realized he had an exceptional gift for numerical concepts.
You may well be the one who best combines mathematical and moral skills, but if you were given power the stain of your past could be used as a dangerous political weapon against you.
Next in the circle was Daaruk. He had been born in the kingdom of Kosala, one of the sixteen Mahajanapadas, the Great Kingdoms around the Indus and the Ganges Rivers. His skin, darker than the Greeks’, was the only thing that hinted at his background. He had come to live in Croton with his father when he was just eleven years old, and spoke perfect Greek without any trace of a foreign accent. Now he was forty-three, two years younger than Evander, which made him the youngest member of the Pythagorean élite. His intellectual gifts had distinguished him from the beginning.
All the same, it’s unlikely that I’ll make him my successor.
It wasn’t simply the fact that nominating a foreigner as leader might cause friction within the School. Da
aruk had a brilliant mind and was a faithful follower of the moral codes but, perhaps because of his youth, he had displayed a touch of vanity more than once. Moreover, in recent years he had shown signs of laziness.
The last man in the group was watching him intently.
Aristomachus was fifty, and had spent thirty years with Pythagoras. He was an extraordinary mathematician and his devotion to the School was unquestionable.
He would give his life for the cause without a moment’s hesitation.
Pythagoras had met no one with such a hunger for learning, no one who needed his teachings more. He had soaked up every concept of the doctrine as if it were his last drop of water, and had soon started to make valuable contributions.
If he had a strong personality he would make the perfect candidate.
But that was something Aristomachus lacked. At fifty, he was as insecure and anxious as a frightened boy of ten. He avoided going outside the compound, and it was a long time since Pythagoras had asked him to make public speeches.
He sighed and ran his eyes over the group, from the last to the first, without resting his gaze on any of the grand masters: Aristomachus, Daaruk, Orestes, Hippocreon, Evander and Cleomenides. Then he lowered his head.
Probably Cleomenides will be my choice. I’ll make my decision in a few months.
He nodded firmly, thinking of his plans for the future.
The chosen one will change the world.
With both hands, he took up the wide goblet that stood on the ground in front of him. It contained clear grape juice through which he could see the figure carved inside. It was a pentacle, the five-pointed star inscribed in a pentagon, another of the sacred symbols of his order that held great secrets of nature. In this case, as was common among the Pythagoreans, one letter from the word υγεία—health—had been added to each point of the star.
He looked up. The shadows of his disciples rippled on the wall to the rhythm of the sacred fire. Behind them, the muses gleamed in the orange light cast by the flames.
“Let us make a toast to Hestia, goddess of hearth and home, to the muses who inspire us, and to the tetraktys that reveals so much to us.”
The six disciples took their goblets and raised them with reverence before his eyes. They held them up for a few seconds and then drank in unison.
Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) Page 1
