“You don’t want me to go to Sybaris until you return?” Akenon couldn’t help sounding aggrieved.
“I must ask you to stay in the community after my departure, but a few days will be enough. I have the feeling our enemies are waiting for the opportunity to strike again. Probably the most critical moment will be when they find out I’m away from the community.
Akenon nodded and leaned back in his chair.
Very well, I’ll wait a few days. He looked away. In fact, without Pythagoras here I’ll feel less awkward about asking Ariadne to come to Sybaris with me.
An hour later, Pythagoras left the community under radiant sunshine.
Evander and Hippocreon rode on their donkeys next to the venerable master. Two servants, responsible for the luggage, traveled with them, in addition to twenty élite soldiers. At the gates of the community, a large group headed by Orestes assembled to bid them goodbye, amid a mood of mixed sadness and happiness. They would be without their leader for a while, but thanks to his journeys the doctrine was spreading among mankind.
A few steps behind the large group, half hidden behind the statue of Hermes, Aristomachus watched his master with tears in his eyes. He had concealed himself behind the statue when he realized he couldn’t maintain his composure during Pythagoras’ departure.
Aristomachus passed a hand over his thinning hair in an attempt to improve his appearance, but his trembling fingers only managed to make it more unruly. He leaned against the pedestal. The breeze carried the murmur of laughter and good wishes for the travelers to him, but he was far from sharing that joy. Even without Pythagoras’ foresight, he had a strong feeling that the peace of the last few weeks was about to be shattered.
CHAPTER 52
June 3rd, 510 B.C.
Soldiers!
The hooded man shrank into himself, trying to escape their notice.
He was in a seedy tavern on the outskirts of Croton. For a long time he’d been sitting in the most dimly lit corner, an untouched glass of wine on the table before him. The relative calm of the tavern had just been broken by a group of hoplites bursting in. From their staggering gait and boisterous laughter, he could tell it wasn’t the first fleapit they’d visited that night. In their intoxicated merriment, they barely noticed their surroundings, unlike the mysterious figure who scrutinized them from the shadows.
Piercing and contemptuous, the hooded man’s eyes moved from face to face, observing in disgust their noses reddened by alcohol, their glassy, vacuous eyes, their slobbering, bragging mouths shouting about their recent visit to some brothel.
“I gave her half a drachma,” brayed a short hoplite whose eyes were too close together, “but she was so happy you’d think I’d paid her a hundred talents!”
“I’m not surprised, you were probably her only client,” answered his companion, slapping him on the shoulder. “She was so hairy I’d have mistaken her for a bear!”
The group roared with laughter. A few steps away, the hooded man lowered his head, concealing himself further in the folds of his cape. He was carrying a sharp knife, and entertained himself with the thought of slitting one of their throats. Maybe when one of them goes out to take a piss. He could approach from behind, pull the head back by its long hair, and slit the man’s neck like a pig’s. He smiled, then made himself take a deep breath in spite of the sour smell of sweat and spilt wine. There was no direct risk involved in daydreaming, but it was a distraction he couldn’t allow himself.
One of the soldiers looked around the saloon. Even though he was drunk, he noticed the hooded figure hiding in the shadows.
Why is that man wearing a hood inside the tavern? he wondered unsteadily. For a few seconds, his dazed eyes fixed on the man. He gave him a strange feeling. He couldn’t see his eyes, but he knew he was watching him.
He decided to approach him.
The hidden man sensed the threat, but remained perfectly calm. The hoplite took a shaky step toward him, and then another.
If he tries to pull off my hood I’ll have to kill him.
He watched the enemy advance. Thanks to his exceptional faculties, he would be able to catch the soldier’s eyes and hold his gaze, paralyzing him. Then he could knife him with ease. The problem is his companions would jump on me a second later.
Under his tunic, he slowly moved his right hand and gripped the handle of the knife. He was calm. In an instant his precise mind had devised the best plan of attack and identified all the possible escape routes, depending on the outcome of the attack. The element of surprise gave him a significant advantage. He was certain he could kill two of the soldiers and make it to the door. After that, reaching his horse would depend on the state of intoxication of the remaining hoplites, and on whether or not he encountered new obstacles in the street.
The soldier stopped at his table and blinked a few times before speaking, trying to clear his vision.
He’ll be dead before he hits the ground. The hooded man visualized the trajectory his knife would follow. With a quick slash, he’d penetrate the hoplite’s double chin and continue up through his head, cutting that alcohol-soaked brain in two. The hoplite’s imminent death satisfied him, though he regretted the subsequent implications. His entire project was about to come crashing down because of this return to Croton.
I knew this could happen, but I had to take the risk.
The soldier’s calloused hand moved slowly toward the man’s hood. His wine-stained lips spluttered something unintelligible. The hooded man couldn’t wait any longer or he’d lose the element of surprise. He tensed his legs, ready to leap to the attack like a scorpion’s tail.
Suddenly, there was a loud shout.
The soldier’s hand froze an inch or two from the hood, then retreated. He turned his head, looking blearily at his companions, who were vociferously celebrating the arrival of the drinks. Forgetting what he had been about to do, the hoplite turned around with a shout and ran to his goblet before someone else got his hands on it.
Without taking his eyes off the group of soldiers, the hooded man, hidden in the shadows, slipped along the wall, gripping his knife under his garments. He made it outside without incident and walked away, keeping his head down, but soon stopped to examine his surroundings. The dirty, winding streets of that poverty-stricken district had plenty of corners where one could discreetly hide. He squatted in one of them, as if he were a beggar or a drunk, and from his hiding place kept watch over the entrance to the tavern.
For several nights he had gone to Croton with one goal in mind.
He was confident he’d achieve it that very night.
CHAPTER 53
June 8th, 510 B.C.
Ariadne filled her lungs with air, enjoying the feeling of freedom she always experienced when she left the community. Riding on the mare, she closed her eyes, lifted her face, and let the sun’s rays warm her skin while her mount obediently followed the rest of the group.
As they passed the gymnasium, several athletes took a break from their exercises to watch them. The party Ariadne was traveling with comprised nine other riders: Akenon on a magnificent horse he had bought himself, six hoplites, and two servants.
Five days had elapsed since Pythagoras’ departure. His boat should arrive in Neapolis today or tomorrow, Ariadne estimated.
Her eyes still closed, she enjoyed the rhythmic swaying. She smiled, remembering the moment Akenon had asked her to travel with him to Sybaris. It was the day after her father had left for Neapolis. They had been talking about something else, but very gradually, Akenon started talking about his upcoming journey to the city of the Sybarites.
“Apart from sounding Glaucus out,” said Akenon, “I want to search for some trace of the hooded man. It’s possible that the soldiers who investigated in Sybaris and at the inn might have missed something.”
Ariadne nodded, waiting for him to continue. Akenon hesitated a moment, as if choosing his words. His vacillation betrayed the casual tone he was trying to convey.
She had accepted, adopting the same casual tone as Akenon, and then had to turn away to hide a smile.
Now she was riding a few yards behind him, with a strange knot in her stomach. She opened her eyes and observed him for a while. Feeling increasingly anxious, she spurred the mare to catch up with Akenon’s horse.
Shortly after passing Croton, the group stretched out due to the narrowness of the path. At the front trotted three hoplites, with Ariadne and Akenon behind them, leaving sufficient space between them so they could talk in private. Twenty paces behind them, the two servants and the remaining three soldiers brought up the rear.
Unlike the last time they had taken that route, when they had gone in pursuit of Atma, now there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The sun sparkled off the foam made by the waves as they crashed against the bottom of the cliffs.
“I’ve been out of the community many times,” Ariadne was saying. “In fact, any chance I get, since I feel confined whenever I haven’t traveled for a couple of months, but I’ve never been outside Magna Graecia.”
“Does that mean you’ve never traveled on a boat?” Akenon had to lean toward her when he spoke, since his horse was a hand taller than Ariadne’s mare.
“Never,” she replied. “What do you feel when you’re surrounded by water and can’t see land anywhere?”
Akenon looked out to sea apprehensively before answering.
“Horrible anxiety and seasickness. I’d do anything to be able to return to Carthage by land.”
Ariadne stared at him for a second, surprised. When she realized he was only half joking, she burst out laughing.
“Oh, gods, you’re serious. Fate is cruel. I’d give anything to be able to devote my life to traveling around the world like my father.” Her smile was contagious. “I know you’re Egyptian, you live in Carthage, and now you’re in Magna Graecia. Where else have you traveled?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you. I’ve only been to the places you’ve just mentioned. There was only one other occasion when I had the misfortune to travel by ship and lose sight of the coast—when I went to carry out an investigation in Syracuse, which is also part of Magna Graecia.” He sighed before continuing, a tinge of melancholy veiling his eyes. “I was born in Egypt and lived there until I was twenty-nine. I traveled through much of the country while I was working for Pharaoh Ahmose II. After the Pharaoh’s death, I had to leave Egypt because his son, Psammetichus III, allied himself with his father’s old enemies who were after my head.”
Ariadne listened, fascinated, and Akenon continued.
“From Egypt I went to Cyrene, the Greek colony that lies halfway between my country and Carthage. A few months later, the Persians, under the command of Cambyses II, advanced toward the west and invaded Egypt. So I decided to move further away.”
Akenon abruptly sank into a pensive silence, preferring not to mention one of the main reasons he had left Cyrene. He hadn’t wanted to remain among the Greeks because the invasion of Egypt had been possible thanks to the treason of a Greek who was a long-time ally of the Egyptians: the tyrant Polycrates of Samos. Moreover, the island of Samos was Ariadne’s father’s birthplace, another reason not to bring up those old resentments.
Ariadne tried to coax him out of his silence.
“Was that when you went to live in Carthage?”
Akenon’s expression relaxed.
“That’s right. Luckily, years earlier I had met an influential Phoenician from Carthage who took me in when I arrived in the city. His name is Eshdek, he’s a merchant and a great man. He helped me set myself up as an investigator, and a few years later I began to work exclusively for him. His parents had emigrated from Tyre just before it was besieged by Nebuchadnezzar II of Babylon. Eshdek has known how to take advantage of the ongoing boom in Carthage, which ceased to be merely a colony of Tyre a long time ago. Today, Carthage is a flourishing empire and, in my opinion, an excellent place to live.”
Ariadne envied Akenon. She wished she had an excellent place to live. Suddenly, she remembered something about Carthage and frowned, hesitant about whether to mention it to Akenon. She made sure they were out of earshot of the soldiers and then turned to her travel companion.
“Akenon, is what I’ve heard about Carthaginians eating dogs true?”
“Well…yes. Why wouldn’t they?”
Ariadne had another, much more awkward question.
“And, is it true…” She paused, unsure. “Is it true that in Carthage they sacrifice human babies?”
Akenon’s expression darkened. The image of fifty charred babies rose before his eyes with painful clarity.
“Yes,” he answered in a whisper. For a while, he nodded silently, remembering, and then continued in the same somber tone. “In exceptional circumstances they try to please their gods by sacrificing babies.”
The mood had become strained, and Ariadne regretted asking the question.
“I’m sorry, please don’t think my words were intended as criticism. My father has spoken to me about other people’s customs that are very different from ours, but he has also taught me not to judge others for their traditions and beliefs.”
“Don’t worry, I find it as unpleasant as you do. My living in Carthage doesn’t mean I like all their rituals. Fortunately, human sacrifice has only taken place once since I’ve lived there.”
“And tell me,” resumed Ariadne in a brighter tone, “which of our customs has surprised you the most?”
Akenon smiled.
“To be honest, I expected to find more incomprehensible practices or rules. Your brotherhood seems odd from a distance, but everything seems to make sense when you experience it from the inside. For example, I remember that on the ship that brought me here from Carthage there was an Athenian who told whoever would listen that Pythagoras and his followers were a bunch of lunatics governed by absurd rules. He mentioned, among other things, that you weren’t allowed to step over scales, and you didn’t let swallows nest in your roofs.”
Ariadne nodded in amusement.
“My father often uses parables or metaphors when he talks. Sometimes he does it to explain complex ideas in a simple way, and other times to reserve the meaning of his teachings only for the initiates. When he says you mustn’t step over a scale, he means you should be wary of ambitious impulses and content yourself with your due. As for the swallows, with that story he’s recommending you don’t welcome people into your home who can’t hold their tongues.”
Akenon watched Ariadne as she talked. Her tone of voice and her attitude held a slightly inappropriate hint of intimacy. He smiled without saying anything, and his gaze lingered on her as he wondered what had brought about this change. Perhaps distancing herself from the shadow of her father and the community? In any case, he preferred it to her irony and acerbity. He had long since stopped thinking about the possibility that something could happen between them, but now…
Ariadne felt that Akenon’s gaze was making her blush and looked straight ahead. Her chest rose and fell more quickly than usual, and she tried to calm her breathing. It wasn’t easy. Akenon was wearing a short, Greek-style tunic, and his muscular leg was only a few inches away from her hand.
She watched him from the corner of her eye. What she wanted wasn’t to calm down but to caress that dusky skin.
Sundown was still two hours away when they caught sight of the inn in the distance. As he rode, Akenon absentmindedly slipped his hand inside his tunic and ran his fingers over Daaruk’s ring. He had given it to Pythagoras so it could be buried with the murdered disciple’s remains, but Pythagoras had returned it to him with an unsettling recommendation.
“Keep it, Akenon. This ring contains the symbol of the pentacle.” His golden gaze lit up for a moment. “It’s a powerful talisman that will guide and protect you.”
Remembering those words, Akenon took out the ring and examined the symbol. He already knew that the five-pointed star was called a pentacle, and that it was often depicted inside a pentagon. That was the raised figure on the solid gold ring.
He scrutinized every line of it.
“Are you analyzing the pentacle?”
Ariadne’s voice startled him.
“Yes… I was wondering why you attach such importance to this shape. I understand it’s a symbol by which you recognize each other, and it’s also interesting as a regular geometrical shape, but I think it’s much more than that to the brotherhood.”
Ariadne nodded, taking time to answer.
“As you know, there are higher levels of knowledge my father has developed which are protected by our oath of secrecy. Several of those secrets derive from the pentacle. I can’t tell you much more than that, or you know what would happen to me.
Although the punishment had never been enforced, the rule was that whoever broke the oath must die. That was what was solemnly pledged at the oath ceremony. It was the most radical of all the measures that existed to prevent the highest knowledge from falling into secular hands.
“I prefer to remain ignorant rather than be the cause of something bad happening to you.” Akenon’s tone made his words slightly flirtatious.
Ariadne laughed, a little nervously. She was used to answering people who spoke to her like that with severity. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to be cutting, but if she didn’t shield herself behind acrimony and cynicism she felt vulnerable, as if she were naked. The silence that followed Akenon’s words increased her feeling of insecurity, and she hastened to keep talking.
“Since you studied geometry, I’ll tell you something else.” She noticed her voice was a bit hurried and tried to continue at a calmer pace. “Look at where the lines of the pentacle intersect.” Akenon brought the ring close to his face and examined it again. “The intersections divide each line into segments, and we can consider each segment as a section of the larger one.”
Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) Page 24
