Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015)

by Marcos Chicot

  As soon as they were in the inner courtyard, Pelias looked at his master, his eyes wide.

  “We’ve discovered a betrayal, Eurybates. There’s a traitor among the grand masters!”

  Eurybates’ mind took a few seconds to respond after hearing Pelias’ words. When he managed to react, he looked around, frightened by the magnitude of what he had just heard. Pelias and the students stared at him. Not far away another three Pythagoreans were conversing and others were walking calmly to their bedrooms.

  A traitor among the grand masters! That was a terrible accusation. There must be some misunderstanding. They needed to clear it up as soon as possible without attracting attention.

  “How did such a far-fetched idea occur to you?” Eurybates drew closer to Pelias and spoke in a discreet whisper. “Explain yourself.”

  “There’s no doubt, master Eurybates. I saw it with my own eyes!” Pelias was breathing hard, unable to calm himself, but he tried to gather his thoughts. “This afternoon we went into a tavern for some refreshment. We ordered a pitcher of grape juice, and when I was going to pay I heard someone calling us from the corner of the dining room.

  “‘Pythagoreans!’

  “I turned around, a little offended at being addressed like that and at his insolent tone. The person calling us was a sailor who looked a little drunk. He was about forty and Greek, though not from around here. He spoke with an accent I couldn’t identify, possibly Corinthian. When I looked at him, he waved us over.

  “‘Come and celebrate with me, Pythagoreans,’ he shouted at us. ‘Today I’m happy to buy a round for all the Pythagoreans in the world.’

  “Both his words and his tone aroused my curiosity. He seemed to be hiding some ulterior motive, which I decided to uncover, so we went over and accepted the invitation to sit at his table.

  “‘You look like you might be a master, with all these fellows in tow,’ he said to me.

  “I went along, because from the way he was slurring his words, I figured it would be easy to find out quickly what he had in mind. He kept drinking wine, but he held it well, and continued repeating that he was a sailor who was about to leave port, and he was very grateful to the Pythagoreans. After an hour of putting up with his euphoric, drunken nonsense, just as I was considering leaving, he said something that left me rooted to my seat.

  “‘My friend and master Pelias,’—I had already told him my name—‘maybe you and I could come to a mutually beneficial agreement.’ He leaned in, so no one else could see, and showed me a heavy bag that looked like it was full of coins. Then he whispered in my ear: ‘You can go back to your community with a good amount of gold if you tell me some little secrets.’”

  Eurybates was listening with interest, but also with growing unease. Not just because of Pelias’ agitation and the turn his story was taking, but because more and more people were gathering to hear. Pelias’ fervor had made others approach out of curiosity, both those who had been in the courtyard when he began the story and others who were coming in from outside. There must have been around twenty people gathered already.

  “I told him prudently,” continued Pelias, “that we don’t have secrets worth paying for, and that in any case, you have to enter the brotherhood to have access to our doctrine.

  “The sailor laughed in my face, his breath reeking of alcohol.

  “‘Gold can overcome all obstacles, my naïve friend,’ he told me, still laughing.

  “I thought it was odd that a drunk would show so much interest in our doctrine. I tried to coax it out of him, but another half hour went by before he returned to the subject. He looked at my students, making sure they weren’t paying too much attention, and whispered, ‘I’m interested in circles, and I’ll pay you well if you explain some matters to me. I understand that these things…’ he tapped his chest with a finger, and I realized he was hiding documents under his clothes, ‘have their price, just as you must understand, Pelias, that if I don’t get it from you, I’ll get it from someone else.’

  “I couldn’t really get angry; he was so convinced it made my blood run cold. All I replied was that I didn’t think anyone would reveal anything to him.

  “‘Do you really believe so much in your oath of secrecy?’ he asked with disdain. Then he looked at me for a few seconds, as if deciding something, and finally began to reveal the terrible truth. ‘Right now,’ he said to me with drunken insolence, ‘I’m going to show you what your oath is worth.’

  “He took out the documents he’d been hiding, chose one, and unfolded it before me.

  “‘Do you recognize it?’ he asked me. ‘Do you recognize in this parchment the secret keys to the construction of a dodecahedron?’”

  Pelias’ last words provoked an exclamation of horror from the throats of his twenty listeners. Eurybates, as shocked as the rest of them, had a presentiment that tragedy was inevitable.

  Pythagoras had discovered that in the universe—which he called cosmos, meaning order—everything happened according to regular mathematical laws. He devoted his life to deciphering those laws, and had realized that movement and matter could be studied through geometry. Just as planets followed perfect curves as they moved, matter comprised very few elements, which were ultimately linked to the few known polyhedrons, or regular solids. The one the sailor had mentioned—the dodecahedron—was the most important to Pythagoras as it was the constitutive element of the universe. Eurybates knew full well that the secrets of its construction were known only to the ten or twelve most important members of the brotherhood.

  If Pelias’ story is true, one of them has broken the sacred oath of secrecy.

  Pelias continued his story amid the general uproar. He noted that although he hadn’t had access to the deepest secrets of the dodecahedron, he knew enough to be able to tell whether the documents the drunken sailor had in his possession contained those secrets. He was absolutely sure they did.

  “After he let me examine his documents,” he continued, almost shouting, “he opened his bag to prove it was full of coins. He took one out and put it in my hand. It was a gold daric, heavy and shiny, and he said he had paid twenty coins like that one to the person who had revealed to him the secrets of the dodecahedron, and that for the secrets of the circle he’d pay me two hundred. He alleged he would pay me much greater sums without anyone ever knowing about me, just as no one was going to know who had given him access to the dodecahedron.”

  The listeners’ expressions of horror were turning to indignation and growing rage. Some started shouting, attracting the attention of those who had already gone to bed, and who now came out of their rooms and joined the tumult, asking questions. Pelias seemed delighted that his audience was increasing and getting as heated as he was. He was talking to Eurybates, but half the time he directed himself feverishly to the growing crowd, inciting them with his energetic indignation.

  Though Eurybates was also furious, he was the disciple of most senior standing present, and knew he had to control the situation or it would degenerate into a riot that no one would be able to contain.

  “Listen to me, Pelias!” Eurybates had to shout to get the attention of his disciple, who was being questioned by everyone. “Are you absolutely sure of everything you’re saying?”

  “May I drop dead on the spot and vermin devour my body if I’ve changed any detail of what happened.”

  “Did you get the sailor to name the person who revealed the secrets of the dodecahedron?”

  “It was impossible. We stayed till dark in Croton because I spent hours trying to get the man to tell me, or at least to let something slip so I’d have a clue. He insisted that by keeping the name to himself he was proving he’d never reveal mine either. Right to the end he kept insisting I should tell him about the circles in exchange for gold.”

  Eurybates ruminated. There’s no doubt, the oath of secrecy has been broken. He shivered. When they entered the brotherhood, they swore on their lives they’d never reveal the secret knowledge of the Sch
ool. That oath was renewed and reinforced every time someone advanced to the next level. He had only heard of the oath being broken once, by a mathematics disciple who hadn’t even reached the level of master, and what he had revealed was of little importance. Even so, he had been expelled from the School, a tomb was erected for him, and from that moment on everyone behaved as if he had died—they didn’t address him or look at him. They said he was deader than the deceased because it was his soul that had died.

  But we’re not talking about something trivial now. This betrayal has revealed one of our most fundamental secrets.

  He raised his hands to call for attention. Almost fifty men had already gathered. They were agitated, like a pack of hunting dogs waiting for the signal to attack.

  “Calm yourselves.” He was as angry as they were—the crime was the most serious one possible—but he had to avoid any ill-conceived action stemming from a rash decision. “Although I share your anger, we don’t know who did it. It’s best to wait for Pythagoras to return and let him decide what’s to be done.”

  He looked around his audience. They seemed unsure. Suddenly, Pelias’ voice was heard again, sharp as a dagger.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t agree we should wait, master. We don’t have a name, but we know very well where to start looking.”

  That day, Orestes had attended his fourth session at the Council as Pythagoras’ highest representative.

  I’ve put Cylon in his place, he thought, unable to avoid a smile of proud satisfaction. At the first session, Cylon had been surprised to see him, and hadn’t intervened. Cunning as always, he preferred to conscientiously prepare the attack he launched at him during the second session. Bringing all his skill and treachery to bear, he exposed the crime Orestes had committed in his youth, when he had abused his role as a public servant to divert funds. It hadn’t been a large amount and, besides, he had already paid for that crime, but Cylon was successful in presenting it as something despicable. Nevertheless, Orestes had been counting on that attack. Anchoring himself in the trust Pythagoras had placed in him by making him his representative, he defended himself well, and at the next session managed to bring up the subject himself before Cylon spoke. He anticipated Cylon’s arguments, leaving the Crotonian politician with almost nothing to reply.

  At today’s session, the fourth, Cylon had shown good judgment in not revealing all his cards uselessly. Usually, he relied on the advantage that Pythagoras couldn’t attend all the Council meetings. That had enabled him to improve his position against the brotherhood, bolstered even more by the sensational deaths that had occurred in the community. Cylon couldn’t fight against Pythagoras, but he was superior to the rest of Croton’s politicians, and had expected to crush Orestes with his rhetoric. Things hadn’t gone according to plan, though. With his renewed self-esteem, Orestes was proving to be an exceptional orator. He had confronted Cylon as an equal, and had come out the winner.

  This has been my baptism of fire. My political rebirth.

  The noise outside interrupted his thoughts. There seemed to be an argument going on. He got up from the bed and went to the door. The room, a single, with a cot pushed against the wall opposite the door, was lit by a small oil lamp.

  Standing by the door, he took a deep breath. He had spent half his life feeling insecure, fleeing from disputes that were not purely theoretical, but now he was a new Orestes. Full of gravitas and authority, ready to mediate and intervene as if he were Pythagoras himself.

  He reached for the door and it suddenly burst open.

  The surprise stunned him for a moment, as did the large group jostling in front of him. Their faces were agitated and confused. He addressed the man who had so impetuously opened the door.

  “Pelias, brother, may I ask why you’ve barged in like this, shattering the peace of my room and of the whole compound at this hour of repose?”

  Pelias seemed to be the leader of that unruly group, and Orestes had been careful to address him in the same way Pythagoras would have. Reason and moral superiority weren’t demonstrated through clamor or demands, but through appropriate, measured behavior.

  “Excuse me, master Orestes, but serious matters oblige us to ask your permission to search your clothes, as well as your room.”

  Those words left Orestes so dumbfounded he was unable to respond. He felt the crushing weight of the accusation—they’re accusing me of theft?!—and his old fears and insecurities flooded back, filling him with shame. Nonetheless, a second later his newly found confidence transformed the shame to indignation.

  “And might I know,” he forced himself not to raise his voice, “what you’re looking for exactly?”

  “Gold,” replied Pelias, entering the room.

  Behind him, several men stormed in and, without a word, began searching his belongings. Orestes turned to them, but before he could speak, Pelias continued.

  “Master, I am truly sorry to have to do this, and I hope to be able to excuse myself in a minute.”

  Orestes saw something in Pelias’ eyes that contradicted his words. The impulsive youth was completely convinced of his guilt.

  “Do you think I’ve stolen gold from the community?” he asked, while Pelias and another young man searched him with little civility.

  Pelias didn’t answer. He finished his task without finding anything and joined the group that was inspecting the contents of a small chest, emptied onto the sand floor. Orestes peered outside the door. Among the men who remained at a distance, waiting for the results of the inspection, he spotted Eurybates. He was one of the most veteran masters, one of the members of the School who had reached the highest level. They had known each other for over twenty years.

  “Eurybates!” exclaimed Orestes in surprise.

  The man looked away, visibly uncomfortable. Orestes took a step toward him, but stopped when he heard an exclamation at his back.

  “The ground has been recently dug up!”

  As he turned around, Orestes saw they had turned his cot on its side and two men were digging in the sand. He swallowed, noticing that his heartbeat was racing beyond the control of his will.

  “There’s something here!”

  Orestes felt a stab of panic.

  He tried to get closer, but they held him by the shoulders. A young man kneeling on the ground pulled a brown leather bag from the sand and handed it to Pelias. He unfastened it and poured the contents into the palm of his hand.

  “Twenty gold darics,” he muttered to himself.

  The new coin of Darius of Persia was unmistakable, with a royal archer on one of its sides. Each coin was worth more than forty Crotonian silver drachmas. It had only been in circulation a short while, so it was still unusual to see it in Magna Graecia.

  Pelias raised his hand, showing everyone the coins and zealously proclaimed, “Twenty gold darics!”

  The men in the room turned into a snarling pack that threw itself on Orestes, insulting him and shoving him. They had listened to Pelias’ story and knew that was the amount the sailor from Croton had paid for the secret of the dodecahedron. No one had any doubt now that Orestes had betrayed the oath of secrecy, and everyone knew what that meant. The oath of secrecy was the only Pythagorean rule that, if broken, obligated the disciples to respond with violence.

  “It’s not mine!” Orestes realized he had lost control, both over the situation and over himself. “It’s not mine, I swear by the sacred tetraktys and by Pythagoras!”

  “Save your oaths,” muttered Pelias in his ear as he shoved him out of the room.

  Outside he was met with redoubled violence. He covered his head with his arms, trying to protect himself from the blows.

  “Stop! Calm down!”

  No matter how much he shouted, it was impossible to make himself heard. It wasn’t easy to think, either, between the blows and the panic that was growing within him. What’s going on? Why so much fury over a simple theft? Someone grabbed his hair and pulled it viciously. A hand wormed its way under his ar
ms and scratched his face. He felt a strong tug that ripped his tunic, then others that tore it off him.

  Pelias shouted instructions. Orestes couldn’t make out what he was saying, but the throng calmed down a little. It looked as if they were organizing themselves. Suddenly, several men caught hold of him and hoisted him in the air, then started walking purposefully. He looked around, frantic, and saw that a small group was heading toward the outer door of the communal building.

  He was relieved. They were going to hand him over to the soldiers who would take him to the authorities. At least he’d be safe from the violence of those crazed men. How was it possible they could have treated him like that? Especially considering there were masters among that pack of savages, including Eurybates. It was inconceivable.

  Orestes was hoping he could clear things up as soon as possible and single out those responsible, starting with Pelias. However sure they were that he had stolen the gold, the violence had been excessive. Besides, inside the School only Pythagoras could judge him. Maybe that was why they were going to hand him over to the city authorities. He’d have to face the same proceedings as in his youth, the difference being that now he was innocent. He would escape incarceration even if he had to endure it until Pythagoras returned. What wouldn’t be so easy to avoid would be the political impact on the School. Maybe that was the intention of whoever had set the trap. Cylon, perhaps? There was no question he had most to gain from this new internal scandal in the School.

  They were carrying him naked, face up on a sea of arms. Someone was shouting insistently at him from his left. He turned his head in that direction.

  It was Eurybates.

  “You betrayed the oath! You sold our secrets!”