All right, surprise me, thought Boreas with amusement.
Suddenly, Yaco darted for the door. In a second, he had reached it and was at the bottom of the stairs. Had someone else been watching him, he might have been able to escape, but Boreas’ speed was equal to his incredible strength. He caught Yaco at the door, grabbed him by the tunic and hurled him back like a rag.
Yaco flew ten feet, landing hard on his back against the stone slabs, where he lay still, the air knocked out of him, gasping for breath. Boreas’ enormous head appeared in his field of vision, an expression of obvious enjoyment on his face.
The giant jerked his head toward the other end of the storeroom. Then he withdrew to where he had indicated and sat on the ground. Yaco turned over on his stomach and looked at Boreas. The monster seemed relaxed, even distracted.
He wants me to try and escape so he can punish me for it, the boy thought in terror. All the same, he could see he was only ten feet from the door, whereas the giant was ten yards away.
He looked at Boreas again and then, from the corner of his eye, at the door, naively hoping his intentions weren’t obvious. He began to sit up. Boreas didn’t move. Yaco got on all fours. Boreas continued immobile. The boy readied himself to make a dash. The giant was looking elsewhere, as if he hadn’t figured out what Yaco was doing.
He was no more than three steps from the door, ready to run. Boreas was a whole ten yards away, sitting down.
Yaco gritted his teeth and leapt with greater strength than before. His feet dug into the ground, scraping it as he lunged forward. The door was less than six feet away. He willed his legs to carry him faster than ever before. One step. Another. He heard a noise behind him, a rapid boom as if a rhino were charging.
He shot through the door and started up the stairs. Boreas weighs a ton. He can’t climb as fast as me. As if shod in the winged sandals of Hermes, the messenger god, he flew up the stairs. The kitchen was in sight.
Boreas didn’t need to climb a single step. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he leaned forward, grabbed Yaco by the ankle, and pulled him down.
Yaco felt as if an iron pincer were crushing his ankle. A second later, he was in free-fall. His face crashed into a step, sending a lightning bolt of pain from his nose through his head.
He’s broken his nose, thought Boreas when he heard the loud crunch. It didn’t matter to him. After all, Glaucus had asked him to disfigure the boy.
He yanked on Yaco’s tunic to lift him, but the garment came away in his hand, leaving the boy naked at his feet. Boreas dropped the tunic and dragged the battered body into a brightly lit area of the storeroom. Yaco moaned faintly.
Glaucus’ fascination is understandable, thought Boreas as he observed him. His body was slender, his skin smooth, white and flawless. He sat beside him and gently turned him over. Blood flowed copiously from his nose and mouth, but the sensuous beauty of his face was clearly discernible. Boreas passed a finger along the boy’s jawline, feeling contradictory urges…or perhaps complementary? On the one hand, his sexual urges were aroused; on the other, he wanted to rip him to pieces.
I don’t have all night. He got up and went to the urn. Taking one of the pokers by its wooden handle, he pulled it out of the embers. It glowed red. He returned with it to Yaco, who seemed to be unconscious. He whimpered as he breathed. Boreas hesitated. He preferred victims to be awake, but he figured the boy would regain consciousness at the moment of contact. He sat down and immobilized Yaco by extending a leg over his chest and arms. Then he brought the tip of the incandescent iron rod to his face and tapped it quickly on his cheekbone. The sizzle of flesh was instantly drowned out by the boy’s scream.
Boreas grunted with excitement.
Half an hour later, an old slave called Falanto crossed the courtyard on trembling legs, on his way to the kitchen. Since he had escaped from the banquet hall, fleeing from his master’s murderous outburst, he had huddled with other slaves in one of the rooms on the upper floor. They feared Glaucus would order Boreas to crush them all. For many of them, the death of Thessalus the wine servant, wasn’t the first of Boreas’ killings they’d witnessed.
Falanto had abandoned the relative safety of the room because he had to finish a chore he had left half-done when they were summoned to the banquet hall. In spite of his age, he was entrusted with keeping the palace kitchen fully stocked at all times. This meant he had to keep a constant tally of the ingredients in the pantry, and that day he hadn’t had time to complete the inventory.
He went into the kitchen. It was as dark as the omens of the oracle of Delphi. Lighting his way with the feeble flame of an oil lamp, he descended the stairs leading to the basement storeroom. Thessalus’ death was seared onto his retinas and he did not see light coming from the storeroom until he reached the bottom step.
Then he felt sure he would die of terror.
Boreas stood with his back to him, Yaco on a table before him. Falanto could see that the boy’s head and body were covered in horrific burns.
The torments he was enduring went far beyond what Glaucus had ordered.
Falanto took a step back, unable to control his trembling. If Boreas realized he was a witness to the torture he’d instantly annihilate him. He took another step back and tripped on the stair. Though the giant didn’t hear him, the old man had to support himself on the wall to keep from falling and dropped his lamp in the process. The noise it made as it broke was minimal, but to Falanto’s terrified ears it sounded like a thunder bolt.
Boreas also heard it.
The giant turned his head without letting go of Yaco. When he saw Falanto he smiled, released the boy and started to purr like a huge cat as he sauntered over to the old man.
The expression of sadistic pleasure on his face made Falanto’s heart stop.
CHAPTER 18
April 18th, 510 B.C.
The unusual meeting that night caused some changes in the disciplined habits of the community.
The usual procedure was that each master from the highest level would take charge of one group of mathematics disciples. After sundown, they would pray together and then spend some time meditating individually on the events of the day. Afterwards, they would dine in groups in the various communal dining halls. That night, however, the disciples had to make do without the most important masters. In Akenon’s honor—at least officially—Pythagoras had arranged a dinner at his house for his most intimate circle: the five living members of the select group of candidates to succeed him.
The room was illuminated by a pair of torches that gave off a pleasant scent of resin. Dinner was frugal, though less so than their normal fare. Out of consideration for Akenon, along with the usual water, bread, honey, and olives, a light stew of pork, onions, and peas had been served. The atmosphere at the meal was strange to Akenon. An aura of spirituality surrounded the men, a silent, solemn self-discipline more fitting to a sacred ceremony. He had to admit he was more at home at Glaucus the Sybarite’s boisterous banquets, which he had enjoyed up until three days earlier.
Pythagoras was the center of that congregation. At the table, the reverence with which each of the grand masters addressed him was palpable.
One of them could be a murderer, Akenon reminded himself.
He observed them discreetly. They were seated at a rectangular table, with Pythagoras presiding at one end. Across from Akenon was Aristomachus, a short, lean man of about fifty. All that remained of his hair was a greying, curly fringe. He spent half the time ogling Pythagoras like an adoring child looking at his father, and the other half with his eyes half-closed, moving his lips in silence, talking to himself or praying. Once, absorbed in his internal world, a piece of bread fell from his hand, and he gave a start, his restrained expression becoming flustered for a moment. Quickly composing himself, he took up the piece of bread and closed his eyes again. Akenon made a mental note of his internal tension.
Beside Aristomachus sat Evander. He was approximately Akenon’s age and had
a frank smile and youthful eyes, the same chestnut brown color as his thick hair.
It’s obvious he’s devoted to more than just meditation, thought Akenon as he noticed the breadth of his shoulders. Maintaining the body as a receptacle for the soul was a precept of the doctrine that Evander followed with pleasure. It wasn’t unusual for him to spend two or three hours a day training at the gymnasium, running, throwing discus, and even wrestling, which Pythagoras allowed with certain restrictions.
Daaruk completed the row of disciples across from Akenon. He had been pleasantly surprised to see that Pythagoras included a foreigner in his most trusted circle. Greeks tended to be quite intolerant of foreigners.
Although no one had yet mentioned the reason for Akenon’s presence in the community, there was an awkward moment at one point.
“Could you pass me the olive bowl?” Daaruk asked Akenon.
Akenon took the bowl and stretched his arm across the table. When Daaruk took it, he thanked him, maintaining eye contact. It seemed to Akenon as if Daaruk’s eyes, as black as his hair, were conveying a message to him, though his dark face only smiled affably, revealing white teeth behind full, motionless lips. Akenon thought he could hear a voice in his head: I know why you’re here. I hope I can help you. He averted his gaze in consternation, wondering if what had just happened had been only a figment of his imagination.
The experience did not repeat itself when he looked at Daaruk again. The disciple limited himself to conversing with his colleagues. The only thing that intrigued Akenon was a fleeting gesture of superiority made by Daaruk toward the man seated across from him: Orestes.
Since Pythagoras had introduced the disciples, Orestes had been the most polite toward Akenon. They were all circumspect and their controlled behavior made it difficult to read them, but Orestes had proved to be particularly attentive. Despite not sitting next to him, he had been the one to most frequently offer Akenon water and pass him the various dishes of food. Each time he did so, his eyes betrayed a sudden glint…almost a plea. The reason why Pythagoras had invited Akenon was common knowledge, even if it wasn’t mentioned, and Orestes seemed anxious to proclaim his innocence. In principle, that was a sign of guilt, which Akenon had learned to bear in mind when he worked in the police force.
But I don’t think he’s guilty.
He was used to dealing with innocent people who, when confronted by the authorities, showed all the signs of guilt. The cause was a persistent feeling of guiltiness suffered by some people with low self-esteem. A simple look was enough to make them blush and start babbling, proclaiming their innocence. Many had been executed on the basis of that character flaw.
Though I mustn’t forget that the weak of character also commit crimes, Akenon thought, observing Orestes.
He needed to guard against making hasty judgments, especially when surrounded by these masters of human nature. He frowned, feeling uncomfortable and unusually insecure, aware that all his impressions might be subtly induced without him realizing that he was being manipulated.
The last of the masters, seated to Akenon’s right, was Hippocreon. After Pythagoras, he most resembled the idea Akenon had of a venerable sage. Almost as lean as Aristomachus, his hair was thinning and white, shot through with a few silvery strands. Akenon didn’t see him smile throughout the entire meal, nor did he speak more than two or three sentences. When someone else was speaking, Hippocreon listened attentively, then nodded slowly, as if methodically pondering everything that was being said.
In the company of the grand masters, Akenon passed the evening almost with no surprises until close to the end.
In the women’s communal dining hall, young Helena of Syracuse finished reading aloud a passage by Doctor Euriphon. Theano then stood up, immediately attracting the attention of all the female disciples.
After dinner, it was customary for one of the youngest girls to read aloud from a book, which one of the female masters would then comment. When Theano spoke, everyone listened with redoubled attention since the commentary then became a master class. In this case it was particularly true, because Theano and Damo had recently bested Doctor Euriphon in a public debate on the development of the fetus. All the women in the community were very proud of them.
Ariadne, sitting a few yards away, observed Theano with a melancholy smile. Her mother was aging so well. How beautiful and elegant she was, with no adornment other than a white ribbon binding her chestnut hair, the same light color as Ariadne’s. She loved her mother deeply, but they had not been able to avoid growing apart. When that had happened to her, her mother had tried repeatedly to reach out to her, but Ariadne, incapable of acting differently, had pushed her away every time. What her mother didn’t know was that her presence alone was of great solace to Ariadne, even though she wouldn’t reveal her inner turmoil. In the end, her mother saw that she had withdrawn into her father’s world of ideas, and distanced herself definitively. Ariadne missed her with all her heart and felt lonelier than ever.
Theano was discoursing on her renowned theory about the parallel between the human body and the universe. Ariadne watched with affection the open-mouthed awe on the youngest girls’ faces, those who were hearing it for the first time. She envied their innocence. There had probably been a time when she was like that, but she couldn’t remember it. Now she shielded herself with cynicism, keeping others at a safe distance with her ironic comments. On the other hand, it was sometimes a good thing to have the ability to put someone who was too sure of himself in his place. Her smile broadened and she quickly brought her hand to her mouth to hide it. It had been really amusing sending Akenon to relieve himself in the middle of the woods so he could cool off a little.
She stopped thinking about what was going on in the dining hall and began to relive the scene of the previous day.
A mischievous glint fluttered in her eyes.
Pythagoras didn’t bring up the subject of the murder during dinner, as though Akenon were a guest who had nothing to do with the investigation. Instead, he spent the evening explaining in general terms some of the teachings of his brotherhood.
“Each of us has a divine, eternal, and immortal soul.” His words seemed to remain etched in the devout atmosphere of the small room. “The soul is enclosed in the body, trapped in this mortal casing,” he said, pointing to himself, “but it is reincarnated each time the flesh is extinguished. Depending on our behavior during our lives, our souls will reincarnate as higher beings, growing closer to the divine, or they will descend the scale of living beings.”
By now, Akenon was no longer paying attention to Pythagoras’ disciples. The master’s explanations had engaged him completely. In Egypt, the dominant belief was that after death, the ka—part of our life force—lived on in the realm of the dead. For that to happen, the body needed to be preserved—hence the frequency of embalming. In Carthage, however, many considered the tomb the eternal dwelling place of the deceased. Cremation was also common, as a practical consequence of not believing in a life after death. Akenon had lost his religious beliefs long ago, and now felt only prudent respect. That didn’t prevent him from finding Pythagoras’ theories fascinating.
“Do you mean that a criminal could be reincarnated as an animal?”
“Certainly,” the master affirmed with total confidence. “The soul can travel to any living being, from plants to men, and among men, from the humblest to those who are only separated from the divine by a thin veil. I myself recognized in a dog’s bark the pitch of a deceased friend’s voice.”
Akenon saw from the corner of his eye that Evander was nodding in silence, as if he had witnessed the event. Pythagoras continued explaining, the flowing quality of his voice grave and comforting.
“Our souls were free, but they committed a serious offense. Due to that past error, they must now pass through a series of lives until they demonstrate that they are once again ready to be united with the divine essence. In the community, we purify the body and the mind so that our next r
eincarnation may occupy a higher position on the wheel of reincarnations. When you work in a disciplined, knowledgeable way, the path toward the divine is faster, and one can even master abilities that transcend what is usually considered possible in a human being.”
Akenon was captivated by the master’s words. Hearing him, it was impossible to think they might be anything other than the Truth.
“For example?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“By achieving a sublime harmony between body and soul one can remember events from past lives, and help others to remember them. One can read men’s minds, control the forces of nature…”
Pythagoras smiled warmly at him, and Akenon realized he was leaning forward with his mouth open, his eyes like saucers. He sat back, embarrassed because all the masters were looking at him. Even so, he did not stop asking questions.
“And what is it that allows one to obtain such abilities?” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Could I achieve any of them?”
Pythagoras looked silently into his eyes.
“Akenon, it is good to be ambitious about our personal development, but we also need to be patient. Many who knock on our door are rejected because they’re not motivated by the right reasons. Nor do we allow people to join our School who don’t have the appropriate abilities or temperament. Of those who are accepted, most are initiated only in the external part of the doctrine, the part focused on physical care and moral codes. Almost all of them live outside the communities. On the other hand, those who are accepted as resident disciples must spend at least three years as apprentice disciples: three years of silence, devoted to listening to their masters, studying the basic tenets of our teachings, and meditating.”
Akenon nodded, remembering the two silent men who had accompanied Ariadne when she went to Sybaris in search of him.
Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) Page 8
