“I’ve ordered a chest with a lock to be placed in your room. You will have the only key. In any case, there has never been a robbery in the community.” His expression darkened suddenly, and his voice revealed intense sorrow. “Although there had never been a murder before either.”
Akenon raised his eyebrows.
“A murder? Is that why you wanted me to come?”
“Unfortunately, it is. But if you don’t mind, we’ll talk about this later, when you’ve rested. I’ll come and fetch you before dinner so we can take a walk and discuss the details. As for your luggage, it will be safe in your room, but if you’d feel more comfortable we can keep it at my house.” He reflected for a moment. “You can also entrust it to Eritrius, the custodian we work with here at the School.”
Akenon looked at him questioningly, and Pythagoras explained the role of the custodian.
“In the School we have initiates who live outside the community, as well as resident disciples. The initiates receive the simplest of our teachings while they continue living their usual life outside. The disciples who enter the community hand over their possessions to a custodian, Eritrius, while they’re with us. He’s responsible for taking care of them or managing them.”
Akenon mulled this over for a few moments. The compound was enclosed by a hedge that could easily be jumped, but it seemed that inside, there were only Pythagorean disciples. Several hundred men and dozens of women would sound the alarm if an intruder were to sneak in. On the other hand, there might be a murderer among them…
“For the moment I’ll leave my belongings in the chest in my room,” he finally decided. “Maybe later I’ll entrust the silver to the custodian.”
Pythagoras nodded, gesturing to the disciple for assistance with unloading the mule. Akenon was surprised to see the elderly Pythagoras taking part in the operation. His amazement grew when he saw him unflinchingly carrying loads that would have bowed much younger men. When they had finished, the disciple took the mule away to the stables.
Alone with the master in his room, Akenon decided to speak frankly.
“Pythagoras, I didn’t want to leave Magna Graecia without coming to see you. It’s a great pleasure for me to meet you again.”
The master nodded without replying, assuming that Akenon had more to say.
“However, I need to take some time off. I’ve been working without respite for many years, and I’ve seen more crimes, suffering, and injustice than I ever wanted to.” Akenon shook his head, sickened. “I’m weary, and have neither the strength nor the desire to investigate more crimes. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”
Pythagoras could see from Akenon’s expression that he was firm in his resolve, but that to some degree his unwillingness was fueled by recent events. With his great knowledge of human nature, he knew that the impact of recent experiences quickly lessens.
“If you don’t mind,” he placed one hand on Akenon’s shoulder, “we’ll talk about this later. I’ll explain what I’d like to ask of you and the implications of our problem, and then you will be completely free to decide. For now, consider yourself a guest in our community, under no obligation. We don’t have to talk about it today, we can simply enjoy our walk and have a chat.”
Akenon nodded in silence before replying.
“Very well.” He had no option but to accept the master’s kind words, though he could tell it was a ruse designed to ultimately secure his co-operation.
Once alone, Akenon lay on the bed, relaxed, and let his gaze rest on the beams in the ceiling. He didn’t feel like a simple visitor to the compound. He extended his arm and laid a hand on the sturdy wooden chest that contained his treasure.
As his eyes closed, Ariadne of Croton, daughter of Pythagoras, slipped into his dreams.
CHAPTER 12
April 18th, 510 B.C.
As Akenon slipped into sleep, Ariadne sat on her own bed, just a few steps away from him, leaning against the wall. On her lap was a wooden tablet coated with a layer of wax. Using a stylus, she had drawn some geometric shapes which she now contemplated with a dreamy expression. She frequently drew those shapes. They brought back happy memories.
A decade earlier, when she was twenty, she had spent every day studying. Her only teacher was her father, who would give her the same frustrating answer more and more often every time she asked.
“I can’t teach you any more on this subject. The next part is reserved for the grand masters of the brotherhood.”
Without responding, Ariadne would lower her eyes obediently, but every day his answer was harder to accept.
“Father,” she said one day, “what do I have to do for you to let me gain deeper knowledge?”
“Ariadne, dearest daughter.” Her father’s voice, though still deep and resonant, took on a sweeter tone when he spoke to her. “In order to teach you what you ask me, you would have to meet the conditions demanded of every grand master. You need to build up seniority in the School…”
“I’m your daughter and I’m twenty years old,” Ariadne interrupted, “which means that’s the amount of time I’ve been in the School.”
Pythagoras smiled at his favorite daughter’s obstinacy. He decided not to mention the fact that a grand master had to demonstrate that he had complied with a set of very stringent moral codes. Ariadne would have assured him that she had complied with them all. It was better to put forward an argument she couldn’t dispute.
“You must also have completed the masters’ studies in all the disciplines we teach, and you are mainly interested in geometry. You must progress further in astronomy, music…”
He paused when Ariadne folded her arms and exhaled forcefully, showing her frustration.
“Do you want to stop for today?”
“No,” she replied. “What I want is…” She fell silent. An idea had just entered her head. “Very well, I understand that I don’t deserve to rise to the level of the grand masters, but would you consider giving me just the geometry test that needs to be passed to become a grand master?”
Pythagoras sighed. Her proposal was clever. The test itself would give Ariadne an insight into one of the teachings she so longed for.
Even so, he was forced to disagree with his daughter again.
“Ariadne, I can’t do that either. You have to take things one step at a time. In due course, I’ll give you the tests that will admit you to the level of grand master. Some years later, if you’re successful in making your own contributions as well as fulfilling the other requirements, you can take the tests you need to become a grand master.”
Ariadne hung her head.
I don’t want to be a grand master, I just want to learn more geometry…and prove that I can be as good in that as the best masters. She wasn’t willing to accept her father’s proposal, but there was no point in continuing the discussion with him either.
She would have to try and achieve her goal some other way.
The following day, she volunteered to tidy up around the schoolhouse after classes. One of her tasks was to smooth out the wax tablets that hadn’t been properly erased when the day was over. To her annoyance, she discovered that the students at the higher levels, scrupulous in their respect for the oath of secrecy that protected the most advanced teachings, were meticulous about erasing their work. In spite of that, now and again she found she could decipher faint imprints on the edges of some tablets. She examined them avidly and took notes on a piece of parchment she kept hidden under her tunic. One day she realized that, if she looked at the tablets in the sunlight, she could sometimes detect deeper imprints. When the students hadn’t pressed too hard to erase their work, only the outermost layer of wax became smooth. Whatever she could make out on those tablets she hurriedly transcribed to the document she always carried with her.
A few weeks later, her parchment was covered with crowded markings. She spent days analyzing it, trying to find an overarching meaning in all those little bits of knowledge. Most of them made no sense, b
ut there were some that did. Linking what she could see to her own knowledge, she realized she had enough information in front of her to deduce the method of construction of a tetrahedron[1]. She copied it out onto a fresh piece of parchment. She could tell her father she had discovered it with no help, claim it was the contribution that demonstrated she deserved to receive further teachings. She could do that, but it would be a lie. She spent weeks mulling it over until one day, as if her faculty of insight had suddenly improved, she came up with something completely new.
It wasn’t a great discovery. Ariadne wasn’t even sure it was entirely new knowledge, but it was new to her. She ran to look for her father. By the time she found him, she was breathless. She handed him the parchment containing her contribution.
Pythagoras, without altering his expression, glanced at what Ariadne had handed him. From the moment she had volunteered at the schoolhouse, he had imagined what she was up to. Then he had caught her scrutinizing wax tablets in the sun. He feared that his daughter was now presenting him with something she had copied from those tablets. After a few seconds, he raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was the method for constructing a tetrahedron, but there was something more. He observed it more closely. There was a slight variation in the steps, a different approximation that offered a novel twist. It had no application, but it was unprecedented.
He looked at his daughter. Ariadne had the same expectant look she used to have at ten, but now she was a grown woman, a brilliant disciple who filled him with pride.
“Come and see me at sunset. I’ll give you the test.”
Ariadne squealed with joy.
Hours later, as the sun was setting, Pythagoras repeated the warning he had already given her on a number of occasions.
“Remember, no one must know what you’re learning. I should be exemplary in my conduct, and with you I’ve broken quite a few rules.” He became more serious. “And now I’m about to break another very important one.”
Ariadne nodded solemnly. Pythagoras was inflexible with the rules governing the brotherhood, but with Ariadne he couldn’t avoid making exceptions. She, of all people, needed to keep her mind occupied with the doctrine.
“I’m setting the same conditions for you as for everyone else who has taken this test. You have twenty-four hours to solve the problem outlined on this parchment. You mustn’t speak to anyone, and no one must see what you’re working on. The time starts now,” he handed her the folded parchment, “and ends tomorrow, the moment the sun sets.”
Ariadne unfolded the document and scanned it nervously for a moment. Then she ran to her room without uttering a word.
That night she didn’t sleep. By the light of two oil lamps, she analyzed the contents of the parchment until she knew it from memory. She had to solve the geometry problem of inscribing a dodecahedron [2] in a sphere. When the shapes began to dance before her eyes, she closed them and continued working in her mind. It was a very difficult problem, much more so than anything she had encountered up to then. She tried to use her previous knowledge of the tetrahedron, to no effect. The dodecahedron was a much more complex shape.
By dawn, she was tired and losing heart. She didn’t leave her room even for breakfast, but half way through the morning she realized that fatigue and hunger were undermining her ability to concentrate. She hurried to the kitchens, took some fruit, and ran back.
Even though the food did her good, she continued to make no progress. Half of the parchment was blank so that she could solve the problem on it, but she had hardly even made any notes. The possibility that she might not be able to solve it occurred to her. How was she going to come up with a solution that only a handful of men, the most competent of all the masters, had managed to discover? The doubt grew and grew until it blocked her thought process. The images stopped flowing in her mind, and she was alone with a parchment full of flat shapes that said nothing to her. Panic froze her inside. The sun was at its zenith, about to begin its descent toward the horizon. She had only a few hours left. Her breathing quickened, and she felt as if she were drowning. Finally, she decided to abandon the parchment and went outside.
She walked toward the Temple of the Muses. From the corner of her eye she could see her father observing her at a distance, but she didn’t want to look at him. The somber tranquility of the temple and the statues of the muses were refuge.
Send me inspiration, she pleaded with them.
She closed her eyes and banished all thoughts from her mind, waiting for images to come to her. After a while, she gave up. It wasn’t a problem she would solve by relying on enlightenment. She bowed her head and filled her lungs with the peaceful atmosphere of the temple. At least now she felt more relaxed. She should return to her room and continue working on the problem, as intensively as she could, until sundown.
Seated once more in front of the parchment, she reviewed her work. The best course of action now would be to divide the problem into parts, and tackle each one separately. An hour later, she had the impression she had achieved some results for the first part of the problem, but there was no time to check them. She continued with the different elements, writing down everything she could think of. The light coming through the window was growing fainter by the minute.
For hours, she worked at a frantic pace, without reviewing anything, until she reached the end.
Now I have to check which steps are correct, and rethink the ones I haven’t managed to solve.
Before going back to the start of the problem, she cast a quick glance at the window.
It was dark.
No!
Grabbing the parchment, she ran out at lightning speed, conscious of the tears welling up in her eyes. She raced through the compound and burst desperately into her father’s house.
Pythagoras was sitting at a table, waiting for her.
“Time’s up,” he said with strict formality. “The sun has just set…though I suppose more than one minute has passed since you wrote whatever it is you have there.”
He stretched out his hand and Ariadne relinquished the parchment.
“I didn’t have time to review it,” she murmured, dejected.
Pythagoras unfolded the document and began examining it.
“I divided it into steps,” said Ariadne. “I think it starts here—” she pointed to one area of the parchment—“and then it continues…”
She sat next to Pythagoras to take a better look at what she had written, and realized it was a chaotic mess. Not only were there probably errors in most, if not all, of the steps, it was impossible to know if that muddle was anything more than an absurd overlaying of shapes and symbols.
Two minutes later, Pythagoras raised his head from the documents and looked at her severely. Then he launched into a long speech.
Ariadne cried from the very beginning.
The first thing that prompted Ariadne’s tears was learning she had unraveled the secret of the dodecahedron. Every step of her work was correct.
“You’ve worked out one of the most complex mathematical problems ever solved by man.” Pythagoras’ voice was solemn and respectful. “Fewer than twenty people in the world have succeeded in doing that.” He paused, then continued in a more serious tone. “Now you are the trustee of a transcendental secret, one of the most valuable in the School, and you know that the oath of secrecy obligates you to guard that secret even with your life.”
Ariadne nodded, compressing her lips which were wet with tears. Pythagoras then told her she should renew her oath, which became stricter as access to secrets of greater importance was achieved. Usually, a ceremony was held with several members of the brotherhood in attendance, but as no one must know that Ariadne had learned those secrets, the ceremony would just be between the two of them.
Her father said he was proud of her, but also that she must accept guidance. She must progress at a more uniform rate through the subjects that comprised the teachings.
“I think in two or three years’ time you’ll b
e able to take the tests required to become a master of the School. Obviously, you’ll have no trouble with the geometry test, but as you know, there are many others.”
Ariadne agreed to everything her father said.
From the next day on, she studied the other subjects with the same dedication she had devoted to geometry. Two years later, at twenty-two, she became the youngest master of the brotherhood. No one knew it at the time: it was not made public for another few years, until she had reached the required age.
Her father wished her to advance to the next and highest stage, that of grand master. He arranged a special seven-year program for her, and continued to personally guide her instruction. However, three years after she had reached the level of master, Ariadne abandoned the project.
“Father, I’ve been cooped up in the community for ten years and I hardly ever speak to anyone except you. I think I’m ready to rejoin society. I’d like us to focus on that and defer my studies for now.”
Pythagoras observed her thoughtfully. When Ariadne was fifteen years old, he had taken on the role of her personal tutor. Back then, academic achievement hadn’t been a priority, but she had advanced at such an astonishing pace that he couldn’t help hoping she would follow in his footsteps. In spite of that, he wasn’t about to let those dreams interfere with his priority of protecting Ariadne and trying to ensure her happiness.
“So be it.” There was a sadness in his words because he had the feeling that Ariadne wouldn’t resume her studies, but at the same time he was glad for her. “What would you think about starting work as a teacher to the school children?”
Ariadne agreed and began work the next day. She also started going outside the community, running small errands in Croton at first, and finally in other cities, as Pythagoras’ emissary.
In the years that followed, she traveled all over Magna Graecia. Nonetheless, the mission to contact Akenon had been the first to take her to Sybaris.
Reawakening from her memories, she crossed her legs on the bed and adjusted her back more comfortably against the wall. Then she cast another glance at the wax tablet on which she had drawn the method of construction of the dodecahedron. She smiled and erased the drawing, meticulously smoothing the wax.
Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) Page 6
