Akenon had exchanged a few words with Ariadne, but it couldn’t be called a conversation. Although she answered his questions, she referred him to Pythagoras whenever he asked her anything about his reasons for wanting him to go to Croton. Despite her reserve, Akenon thought he could detect in Ariadne’s silences and the way she looked at him that she was not indifferent to him. In Carthage, he had been quite successful with women, and there was no reason to think it would be different with Greek women. It wasn’t that he was a womanizer, not at all. In fact, during his youth he had been celibate for a long time, and to some extent it had influenced his habits. Nevertheless, celibacy was far from guiding his will right now.
He surreptitiously slowed his mount and observed Ariadne as she overtook him. The young woman wore her light brown hair up in a ponytail. Her face was intelligent, and her green eyes and sensuous mouth had a piquant air of defiance. She was quite a bit shorter than he—her head would probably reach his shoulder—and curvaceous, in a voluptuous rather than a chubby way. He watched the tantalizing movement of her breasts under her tunic. The fabric was thin and clung to her body in a revealing way. Akenon’s lips parted and he began to breathe through his mouth. She turned to look at him with a smile, causing a wave of warmth to roll through him. He was almost sure…maybe…
He spurred his mule and rode up beside Ariadne.
“I suppose we’ll be stopping before we get to Croton.”
“Of course, we’ll have to overnight half way along the route. You can’t go fast along these tracks. We’ll reach an inn before sunset.” Again, Ariadne gave him her enigmatic, perhaps suggestive smile. “We can stop for something to eat in a meadow just beyond that little cape.”
Akenon looked behind him. Brauron and Telephontes were several feet away, out of earshot.
“Perhaps we could stop before that. I mean…”
He looked intently at her, with an unmistakable smile. He would have never behaved this way under normal circumstances, but it was as if he were high on euphoria and Ariadne’s uncommon beauty. Moreover, who knew if they would get another opportunity as good as this one to be alone, in the middle of nowhere, with only two companions who kept their distance, absorbed in their own thoughts.
She looked at him uncomprehendingly, her expression surprisingly ingenuous.
Is she playing hard to get, or does she really not understand?
“What I mean is,” Akenon insisted, “somewhere one could hide among the trees and no one would see.” He nodded in the direction of the woman’s companions.
“I see.” Ariadne smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what you meant.”
She raised her hand to halt her companions and pulled on the reins of her donkey.
“I didn’t think you’d be so shy,” she said. “But don’t worry, I’m used to it. My elderly father also needs to stop frequently to urinate. These are the little afflictions of aging.”
Akenon’s jaw dropped as he stared at Ariadne. The young woman wore a teasing expression. She had known full well what he wanted before he ever opened his mouth.
He jumped from the mule and went deep into the trees, cursing quietly to himself.
The little afflictions of aging…
He waited a minute before returning, sufficient time to go from feeling offended and embarrassed to laughing at himself.
He returned to the path with a smile on his lips and mounted his mule, good-humoredly putting up with Ariadne’s amused look as they set off again.
For some time they rode in silence, until Akenon turned toward Ariadne and made another calculatedly ambiguous comment. Without changing her expression, she replied with apparent naiveté once more, while deftly sidestepping his meaning. Akenon lowered his head to hide a smile. A short time later, he admired the landscape in such a way that it could be interpreted as a reference to Ariadne’s misleading candor. She nodded and replied, making reference to the barrenness of the surrounding terrain. Her words seemed to mock people who had been taught a lesson for being too presumptuous.
This game of misunderstandings and double entendres went on for the rest of the day while they continued to wind their way along the coast. Akenon hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. Ariadne’s subtle wit and teasing manner had the curious effect of attracting him to her all the more.
That night, alone in his bed at the inn, Akenon mulled over the events of the day. Before falling asleep he made himself a promise:
In Croton he would make Ariadne welcome him into her bed.
They arrived at their destination as dusk fell the following day.
The route followed the coastline, which became less rugged as it neared Croton. Akenon watched with interest as his mule wearily plodded along the last stretch of the journey. The city of Croton had been built facing the sea, its bustling port at its center. Over the years, it had expanded inland, tailing off in the foothills that stood guard over it from the rear. It wasn’t as large as Sybaris, but even so, Akenon was impressed by its expanse. He was also surprised by the size and magnificence of its main buildings. There was a reason it was the second most populous city in Magna Graecia.
Instead of entering the city, they skirted it in silence, riding toward the nearest hill. On the lower part of the hillside, just over half a mile from the Croton city limits, a simple hedge formed a rectangle of three hundred by two hundred yards. Clustered within it were several buildings, some temples, and small gardens dotted with statues. It looked like a small suburb of Croton, linked to it by a winding path that resembled a long umbilical cord. As if the large city and the village formed a mystical symbiosis.
The road along which they were traveling intersected that winding path, and Ariadne led the little group away from Croton, toward the strange collection of buildings. It was the Pythagorean community, built by the city of Croton so that Pythagoras could convert it into the center of his powerful enlightenment. In the past few decades, the Pythagorean brotherhood had gone from being a modest institution with a few dozen participants to the most dynamic and influential School of its time. Six hundred disciples lived in the buildings of the Croton community, there were thousands of supporters of the doctrine spread throughout various cities, and the School controlled dozens of governments.
Although Akenon was unaware of it, there was a reason Pythagoras’ fame wasn’t even more widespread: among the main tenets of the School was the secrecy that surrounded many aspects of the brotherhood, and specifically the heart of its wisdom. The oath of secrecy the members took was so strict they could not even commit their main discoveries to paper. Pythagoras was known for his political power and his immense reputation as a teacher and spiritual leader. Nonetheless, the only way to access the knowledge he possessed was to try to grow close to him and be accepted.
Being admitted to the School wasn’t easy, and reaching the highest echelon was almost impossible. Everyone was witness to the master’s powerful radiance, but very few were able to contemplate it close up. Over the three decades that the brotherhood had existed, only six grand masters had succeeded in becoming part of Pythagoras’ intimate circle. One of them, Cleomenides, had been murdered. Of the five remaining, only the one Pythagoras named as his successor would receive his powerful enlightenment in its entirety.
As he neared the compound, a shiver ran down Akenon’s spine. It was impossible to be unaffected by the aura of spirituality that embraced the community. He forgot about his attractive travel companion, with whom he hadn’t exchanged a word since glimpsing the community. His mind was focused on the energetic, enigmatic man he had met in Egypt. He was about to meet him again, but now he was no longer just a remarkable man.
He had become the master of masters.
At the gate of the compound, a small reception committee awaited them. Standing at the front was the great Pythagoras. Drawn by his irresistible magnetism, Akenon couldn’t take his eyes off him. The master was distinguished by his impressive height, but above all because he seemed to radiate
a special light, as if the sun illuminated the whiteness of his tunic and his hair far more brightly than anyone else’s.
They dismounted and walked the last few yards on foot. Ariadne walked at Akenon’s side with an enigmatic expression.
Pythagoras stepped forward, placed both hands on Akenon’s shoulders, and spoke in his steady, sincere voice.
“Akenon, I’m so happy to see you again.”
He enveloped him in his penetrating gaze, and Akenon felt strangely embarrassed, as if everything good or bad he had been responsible for throughout his life had been suddenly exposed. At the same time, despite his determination not to get involved in a new case, he felt certain it would be very difficult to refuse Pythagoras anything.
When he turned his intense gaze from Akenon to Ariadne, his next words made Akenon pale.
CHAPTER 10
April 18th, 510 B.C.
“Why do we have to get a foreigner to do the work of our own police?!”
Cylon waved his arms as he spoke, making his indignation clear. He was haranguing the members of the Council of a Thousand from the dais in the hall where they habitually congregated, the largest and grandest space in Croton. From their tiered seats, the thousand most powerful men in the city listened to his impassioned speech, some with interest, most with suspicion. Cylon’s jowly face jutted from his opulent purple tunic, so congested it rivaled the color of his garments. He struggled to control his erratic breathing so he could continue pontificating.
“I’ve just been informed that the man summoned by Pythagoras has already arrived at the community. An Egyptian!” he exclaimed, appalled. Turning to his right, he pointed at a group of councilors. “Cleomenides was your brother, your cousin—your son, Hyperion! Why are you allowing Pythagoras to ignore our laws, yet again, and usurp the role of the police?”
The elderly Hyperion shifted in his seat, uncomfortable and pained. What Cylon said was partly true. The police had started the investigation into the murder of his son, Cleomenides, without finding any clues, and Pythagoras had asked to continue it on his own. The police could keep investigating, but the fact was they had no leads, and were no longer devoting much time to his son’s murder. On the other hand, it was true he could have requested a much more thorough investigation from the beginning: more agents working on the case day and night, uncovering every last stone in the community…but he would never question Pythagoras’ judgment.
Cylon fixed his stare on each of Cleomenides’ relatives in turn. All lowered their eyes in silence. They were members of the Council of Three Hundred, so they would never oppose Pythagoras. Cylon, however, had no interest in making them confront their master. His intention was to undermine Pythagoras’ moral authority, inciting the Council of a Thousand to rebel against the tyranny of the Pythagoreans once and for all.
Croton’s aristocratic government was traditionally the responsibility of the Council of a Thousand, which represented the most important families and influential groups of the city. After Pythagoras’ arrival, many of the thousand councilors were initiated into the Pythagorean School. They passed stringent moral and intellectual tests, and fervently embraced the doctrine that now informed all their actions. In the end, Pythagoras had convinced the city—Cylon never understood how—to endorse a new institution formed by these initiates: the Council of Three Hundred. It was an offshoot of the Council of a Thousand, but hierarchically above it.
In essence, the city was under the rule of the three hundred Pythagorean councilors, something Cylon was determined to change at all costs. It infuriated him to see his countrymen following Pythagoras like sheep. Cleomenides’ murder and the arrival of that Egyptian might provide him with the opportunity he had long awaited.
He turned to the factions that were less accepting of Pythagoras, raised his fists, and increased the intensity of his diatribe.
CHAPTER 11
April 18th, 510 B.C.
“I’m afraid I’ll make your head spin introducing you to so many people,” said Pythagoras, “but at least you already know Ariadne, my eldest daughter.”
Ariadne is Pythagoras’ daughter!
Akenon struggled to keep the smile on his face, sure that the master’s penetrating gaze could read his thoughts. He couldn’t help remembering how he had tried to bed Ariadne the day before in the middle of the forest.
How was I to know? She never said anything.
The attractive young woman greeted her father, aimed one last teasing smile at Akenon, and made her way into the compound. Akenon followed her with his eyes until Pythagoras spoke once more in his deep voice.
“Come with me. We’ve prepared a room for you. You’ll find fresh water there. If you like, we can bring you something to eat, too, or you can wait till dinner, which will be served in a couple of hours.”
“Water is fine, thank you. I’d prefer to rest now.”
A young man of about twenty approached him and attempted to take the reins of his mule, which Akenon was still holding. Remembering his small fortune in silver, he felt reluctant to hand them over, but checked himself in time.
“Very well,” he released the reins. “Thank you.”
The young man smiled wordlessly.
“He is forbidden to speak unless he’s asked something,” Pythagoras pointed out. “Just like the two men who accompanied you from Croton, Brauron and Telephontes. They are disciples at the apprentice stage. They must listen and meditate. If they complete that level and pass the necessary tests, they will achieve the grade of mathematician where they will have access to higher teachings and be able to discuss them with their masters.”
They passed through a simple portico which served as the entrance to the compound. Although they were still outdoors, Akenon felt he had crossed the threshold of a temple. They were at the foot of a hill. The ground rose gently toward the buildings. Akenon saw a statue of Dionysius to his right and one of Hermes to his left. Further on, dominating the left side of the hill, stood three temples of stone so pale it was almost white. The largest was dedicated to Apollo, but the other two were a mystery to Akenon, especially one with a circular structure, something he had never seen before.
“That’s the Temple of the Muses,” Pythagoras informed him, following his gaze.
Akenon nodded silently as he walked. The path leading to the temples was paved, but the other walkways in the community were no more than dirt paths devoid of vegetation, worn by many feet. They linked groups of buildings used as dwellings, a schoolhouse, the stables, and a beautiful garden with a pond where several disciples were strolling. There were more than two hundred devotees visible, most of them men. The dress code seemed to be exclusively white linen tunics, though some women wore saffron-colored ones.
“I’ve followed your career over the years.”
Akenon was startled by Pythagoras’ words, and realized that the atmosphere in the community was overwhelming him. He looked at the grand master, who smiled under his thick white beard. Could it be true that he had kept himself informed about Akenon’s life? He needed to be cautious and not let vanity cloud his judgment. He also mustn’t forget that Pythagoras had sent for him with the aim of employing his services, something he wasn’t inclined to accept.
“I regarded your family very highly,” continued Pythagoras in a friendly, sincere tone. “Your father was an exceptional man, and I was deeply saddened by his death.”
“He was murdered,” replied Akenon, his face darkening.
“I know. A crime that made you leave your studies in geometry and join the police force to try to assure that the perpetrators would not go unpunished.”
Akenon felt his heart contract. That was exactly why he had become a policeman, but he had never spoken about it to anyone. How could Pythagoras know so much about him?
“I never found them,” he answered bitterly.
“Maybe he would have preferred it that way,” said the master gently. “And your mother too. It was probably the best thing for you.”
“How did you find me?” he asked out of curiosity, but also to change the subject.
“I learned you were working for Ahmose II. After his death I lost track of you, but some years ago I heard the story of an investigator from Carthage who had solved a case with exceptional brilliance. His name was Akenon. I knew right away it was you.”
Akenon frowned. He’s flattering me again.
“Since then, I’ve heard about you several times. The last time was two weeks ago, with the news that you were in Sybaris, just when I was about to send you a message in Carthage. It was an extraordinary coincidence.”
For a moment, it seemed that Pythagoras was about to reveal the reason he wanted to hire him. Instead, he stopped in front of a building.
“This is it.”
Akenon remembered again what was in his luggage and looked back. The silent disciple was guiding the mule a few steps behind them.
“Pythagoras,” he said, lowering his voice, “I have a large amount of silver on my mule.”
The master nodded and replied without the slightest change of expression.
Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) Page 5
