Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015)

by Marcos Chicot

  The conversation lasted no more than twenty minutes, but it changed his life. Or, more precisely, it changed him. The hooded man had filled his head with extraordinary ideas that took root in his mind as if they had a life of their own, unfolding throughout that sleepless night and all the next day. Without his knowing how, new thoughts and impulses appeared in his mind. His practical instincts attempted to ward them off, but every one of his sensible arguments was immediately refuted by some phrase that the masked man had etched in his mind. As the hours went by, he stopped trying to resist the new ideas, and finally accepted them as his own.

  It was like the birth of a new consciousness, intense and illuminating. As if he had suddenly realized that his attitude toward the Pythagoreans, which he would have previously said wavered between indifference and slight mistrust, had in fact always been one of repulsion and even marked hostility. His tempered and practical individualism had now become an overpowering self-interest which rendered him completely indifferent to others. Above all, his lack of devotion, at best a halfhearted belief in the gods of Olympus, had now transformed itself into a fervent certainty that the hooded man was a superior being, the only person who deserved to be his leader, a great mind which nature obeyed and that both men and governments should venerate as a god.

  He is my lord and master. He has revealed to me my true nature.

  The new Crisipo didn’t hesitate to accept the first task his master set him. Some days after their initial meeting, he received from him a leather bag with twenty gold darics. He carried it around with him for two days without finding the opportunity to complete his mission. Then a meeting was held at the compound, and no one was left in the residential buildings.

  Crisipo had been on patrol with Bayo at the door to the schoolhouse where Orestes was attending the gathering.

  “I’ll be back shortly,” he said with apparent indifference.

  He had walked away without looking back. Bayo glanced at him, then focused his attention again on the schoolhouse door. He assumed Crisipo had to relieve himself.

  Crisipo had entered a communal building, quickly crossed the large inner courtyard, and gone into Orestes’ room without a problem. He dropped his lance on the ground, took out the leather bag, and kneeled next to the cot. Pushing it to one side, he had frantically scratched the sand floor. It was harder than he had expected. He unsheathed his sword and using the tip, managed to make a small hole. He had hoped to make it deeper, but time was passing, and Bayo would suspect something if he delayed. He placed the bag at the bottom of the hole, covering it in such a way that it wouldn’t be noticeable at a glance. A detailed inspection, however, would reveal that something had recently been buried there.

  Before leaving the room, he took a quick look around and realized that in his nervous state he had nearly forgotten his lance. He picked it up and crossed the courtyard again, his heart in his mouth. There was no way he’d survive an interrogation by a Pythagorean grand master. The masked man had explained they were capable of penetrating every corner of his mind. He was sure that if he raised any suspicion, they’d discover his betrayal and execute him.

  He had slowed his pace as he approached Bayo, who barely looked at him when he took up his position beside him. It took half an hour to calm his agitated breathing, and for the rest of the day his muscles had tensed every time he heard a loud noise or someone calling his name. From that day on, he had remained constantly on the lookout for the sign to escape. It would be given by the sailor who worked for his master. The moment the Pythagoreans had taken the bait, the sailor made a discreet chalk mark beside the tavern door they had previously agreed on. As soon as Crisipo saw the mark, he took the kit bag he had prepared and fled Croton, headed for the mountain location where they had arranged to meet.

  When he’d arrived, he was worried to find only the sailor, but his master appeared immediately, his hood up. Enveloping him in the magnetism of his hidden stare, he congratulated Crisipo on a job well done, handed him a bag of silver drachmas, and issued new instructions. Crisipo obeyed, taking the sailor to Locri, a three-day walk along the southern coast. They’d traveled the roads at night and gone through the woods by day, avoiding all human contact. When they arrived in Locri, he had handed the bag of drachmas to the sailor and made sure he got on a ship to Athens, then returned at once to his master.

  Now he was waiting for the master to entrust him with new tasks. For the moment, he had to stay hidden and vigilant. If anyone approached, he was to advise the master with a signal they had agreed upon, and expel the intruders.

  Just then, he heard a sharp metallic sound.

  The master was calling him.

  He descended the stairs and stopped a couple of steps away, respectfully bowing his head. If he could have seen through the disturbing black metal that covered his master’s countenance, he would have seen an expression of ecstasy.

  Half an hour earlier, the masked man had completed the final stage of some crucial research. Just as he finished, at the precise moment all the pieces fell into place with surprising simplicity, he had experienced an indescribable, intellectual gratification. Though his spirit was still transported, there were urgent matters that needed to be attended to.

  The time has come to act again.

  He leaned back in his chair and stared at Crisipo. The key to such a satisfactory conversion had been the soldier’s prior emptiness, his lack of values, loyalty, or beliefs.

  It’s hard to find someone who puts up such little resistance.

  Crisipo maintained a martial stance while showing humility at the same time. He had discarded his military attire and was now dressed as a peasant, though his haircut and beard looked a bit odd, since he had cut them himself with his dagger during the journey to Locri. The masked man mentally compared him to Atma. The slave had also been completely devoted to him, perhaps even more so than Crisipo, because he had loved him in every way. The difference was that Atma had been a weakling, soft and too sensitive, while Crisipo was a veteran soldier, skillful, intelligent, and sure of himself. There was no doubt Atma’s services had been invaluable, but the most sensible thing had been to kill him. For Crisipo, however, the masked man had designed a very different destiny.

  He cleared his throat and spoke in a rough murmur.

  “Crisipo, listen carefully. Your next mission is fundamental to our plans.”

  CHAPTER 72

  June 23rd, 510 B.C.

  Pythagoras felt intense relief when he caught sight of his community in Croton.

  He wanted to dismount immediately. For the first time in his life he was beginning to feel like an old man. Nevertheless, the main reason for his relief wasn’t that he would soon be able to walk, but that the community was still standing.

  The second message he had received in Neapolis indicated that Orestes’ death had been the result of an expertly orchestrated plan. It also said that Cylon had learned the details and taken advantage of them to attack Pythagoreanism head-on. The philosopher had feared that in the week since the message was sent, Cylon might have succeeded in gaining control of both the Council and the army and demolished the community.

  The small retinue reached the portico, where it was received by hundreds of anxious disciples. Pythagoras sensed the community needed him, and made an effort to remain composed, but he couldn’t help appearing more somber than usual.

  When he reached Akenon, he placed his hands on his shoulders in greeting.

  “I’m going with Evander and Hippocreon to visit Orestes’ tomb.” Akenon thought Pythagoras had never looked so weary. “Afterwards, I’ll meditate for a while in the Temple of the Muses. In one hour we’ll meet at my house to analyze the situation.”

  Akenon nodded, and the philosopher’s eyes lingered on him a second longer.

  You’re still with us even though you’re not a member of the brotherhood, he thought with gratitude.

  Aristomachus was standing to his left.

  “Greetings, master,”
he whispered, looking at the ground.

  Pythagoras squeezed his shoulder affectionately until Aristomachus looked up.

  You have nothing to be ashamed of, he told him with his eyes. Aristomachus began to cry silently and lowered his head again. He had been torturing himself for two weeks over his inability to go to the Council and confront Cylon.

  Theano went up to Pythagoras, followed by her daughter, Damo, and both of them embraced him. The elderly master felt he had two strong pillars in them. They were perhaps the most solid members of the community.

  If Theano were a man, she could have gone to the Council, and I have no doubt she’d have kept Cylon in his place.

  Milo was behind them. He was clearly uneasy, wanting to explain.

  “Greetings, brother. Tell me what situation we find ourselves in.”

  “Master Pythagoras, I thank the gods for your return.” The colossus bowed his head respectfully before continuing. “Cylon is still winning supporters in the Council of a Thousand. Among the seven hundred he already has a majority, and the Three Hundred feel confused and lost. Some of them have even contacted Cylon secretly.”

  “Don’t worry, Milo, I’ve come to stay, and will attend all the Council sessions.”

  They needed to control the Council, but there was something even more important. Cylon’s next goal will be the army. Pythagoras knew that the devious politician needed the military in order to change the established order. General Milo’s prestige among his soldiers was so high Cylon knew he must at all costs either control Milo or do away with him.

  Milo is totally committed to the brotherhood. Cylon has no other option but to have him killed.

  Mulling this over, he turned to Ariadne. Her expression was sad but serene. Deep in her eyes, though, Pythagoras could see an intense pain, which took all her willpower to contain.

  My little one, I’m so sorry you have to suffer so much.

  His intuition told him something had happened between her and Akenon, and that must have stirred up memories of her terrible kidnapping. But there was something else behind the pain in her eyes…

  I’m sorry I can’t help you this time.

  Ariadne understood Pythagoras’ silent message and noticed that, with his presence, the pain eased a little.

  The master of masters exchanged a few words with some other people. Then he walked away along the hedge surrounding the community. Evander and Hippocreon followed him. The rest of the disciples slowly went back to their chores.

  The philosopher reached the little cemetery next to the compound. There, he kneeled beside Orestes’ grave to pay him the homage he hadn’t been able to in the presence of his mortal remains. Before closing his eyes, he looked at the neighboring graves. Next to Orestes was the grave containing Daaruk’s ashes, and slightly further away Cleomenides lay.

  Please all the gods, may it be a long time before we have to dig another grave.

  Half an hour later, in the solitude of the Temple of the Muses, Hestia’s eternal flame reflected in Pythagoras’ eyes, deep in concentration. The sacred fire seemed to penetrate his mind, mercilessly attacking his dreams for the future.

  Rome was within his grasp. Lucius Junius Brutus wanted them to participate in the birth of the Republic…but now Pythagoras couldn’t abandon Croton. He risked ruining the foundations of the building by focusing on adding another floor.

  Have I aimed too high?

  Even though his ideas now reigned throughout a large part of Magna Graecia, he considered this just an initial phase. Now he had to reach Rome, and then, led by his successors, they would expand into Carthage, Etruria, Persia…

  A community of nations.

  The thought made his soul quiver. The aim of his doctrine was to strengthen the links of friendship and respect among men and among governments. Pythagoras’ ultimate dream was a world where all peoples were treated equally and enjoyed equal rights regardless of their race or nationality. A world community based on the principles of brotherhood, spirituality, and justice.

  He also dreamed that the knowledge of the brotherhood would continue to grow. The laws of nature were within reach of the senses and the intellect. They had to continue deciphering them, tirelessly making new discoveries built on earlier ones. Knowledge was a path to enlightenment on which there was no turning back. The laws of nature were the language of the gods. They were fixed, exact laws that even the gods had to obey!

  He half-closed his eyes, envisioning the limits of his dreams.

  With his teachings, the soul was elevated to the divine through knowledge and practice, through the exercise of the mind, science, and meditation. Men could succeed in freeing themselves from their animal instincts forever, they could transcend their limitations, their conditioning…

  They could become gods.

  Pythagoras envisaged a world where men ascended to a divine state, the definitive apotheosis for humankind…

  …a dream that was now tottering.

  He felt he was losing strength, as if his vital energy were weakening. Without realizing it, his shoulders slumped forward and his back became stooped.

  Those dreams needed someone to spearhead them. Of the six candidates to my succession I had three months ago, half have been murdered. Maybe he should forget about dreams and concentrate on keeping alive what they already had. Although to sustain that, a leader was also required, someone at the helm.

  Since leaving Neapolis, he had been thinking about an idea: in view of what had happened, and to be ready for any new tragedy, possibly the best thing would be to appoint not one individual successor, but a group of successors, a committee. Aristomachus should be on the committee, as he was the best mathematician; Evander too, being the most talented at politics; Hippocreon and Theano would be councilors…and perhaps Milo, for his political and military weight.

  In any case, whatever the solution, it requires catching the murderer first.

  The murderer… Who could it be, by all the gods? Suddenly, a strange memory came to him, making it difficult for him to breathe. One night on the way back from Neapolis, he had had an intense dream in which the murderer had his own face, like a twin brother who was the incarnation of evil. Since that night, there had been times, like now, when he was seized by the inexplicable feeling that he was confronting himself.

  “In the days following Orestes’ murder,” Akenon was explaining to Pythagoras, “we questioned all the members of the community, as well as the soldiers assigned to internal security.” Milo looked away from Akenon and clenched his jaw, saying nothing. “No one else was implicated, which leads us to conclude that the hoplite Crisipo placed the coins under Orestes’ bed. It must have been a few days before the murder. Then, somehow, he was notified the night Pelias was deceived, which gave him time to escape before the investigation began.”

  Aristomachus kept his eyes on the table, feeling guilty. Of all those present at the meeting, he and Milo had been the only ones who had been in Croton the night of the crime.

  “To prevent new plots, bribes, or betrayals,” Akenon continued, “we’ve decided that the soldiers protecting the community, bodyguards and nocturnal patrols alike, should live in the compound and have no contact with anyone on the outside for the duration of their assignment.”

  “It’s being strictly implemented,” Milo was quick to confirm in his booming voice.

  “We’ve also taken measures to isolate the members of the community,” said Akenon, “disciples as well as servants. No one can leave the compound on their own. If they need to go out, they must do so in groups of at least three people.”

  “Do you fear there might be a repeat of Orestes’ incident?” asked Evander.

  “I’m quite sure our enemy will change his tack, but it seems we’re facing someone capable of controlling another person’s will in a short time. Someone with skills similar to those achieved at the highest levels of the School.” They all looked uneasily at each other. “Therefore, we have to avoid giving the murderer the
chance to be alone with any member of the community or any of our soldiers.”

  “As for the soldiers, they also have to enter the community buildings now. They must accompany the grand masters and you, Pythagoras, to your bedroom doors. In fact, they must inspect the room before you go in. They must also accompany you inside the schoolhouse, the stables, and even inside the temples.”

  Hippocreon grunted a protest. Pythagoras raised a hand in his direction and explained.

  “I understand Akenon does not mean there must be soldiers in our midst during our rituals or studies. It will be enough for the hoplites to check the temples before we go in, and they can then remain at a distance where they can’t hear our conversations, but would hear a call for help.”

  He looked at Akenon, who nodded in agreement before continuing.

  “Finally, in the event of something similar to Orestes’ murder happening again, any crimes committed by a member of the community will be judged exclusively by Pythagoras. If he is absent, the person will be incarcerated until Pythagoras returns.” He turned to Milo. “Given that our enemy seems to be a master at manipulation, this must apply equally to any civil or military offense deserving of physical punishment, exile, or capital punishment. I’m aware that wouldn’t go down well in the Council, so it must be kept secret. But it must be applied even if the Council finds out and opposes it, at least until Pythagoras has had time to evaluate the case. We’re not talking about going above the law, but about avoiding a tragic error if we’re victims of a new hoax.”

  “No one will touch a hair on one of our brothers,” pronounced Milo.

  Akenon indicated to Pythagoras that he had finished and sat back. There was another matter he hadn’t stopped turning over in his mind, but he wasn’t about to share it with the others: in the past few days he had thought a lot about Ariadne, and believed he understood her reasons for keeping her distance from him. Even though Ariadne had been able to enjoy making love, she hadn’t been able to overcome the trauma of being raped. The emotional wounds were too deep, and she was still too vulnerable. Akenon wanted the best for her and, unfortunately, this meant accepting there would be nothing more between them.