Ariadne cast a quick eye over the documents on the table, with little hope of finding what she was looking for there. Then she began to pull parchments from under the bed. There were also rolls of papyrus wound around wooden rods, with knobs at each end. She took them to the window and unrolled them to examine them.
One by one, she discarded them.
I have to find it, she thought, agitated. I’m sure she has it here.
When she had gone through all the documents, she put them under the bed again. Placing her hands on her hips, she bit her bottom lip as she scanned the room.
The only place left is the chest.
She rushed to the container, hurriedly opened the lid, and looked inside. At first glance there were only clothes. She rummaged around, pushing garments aside until she reached the bottom. There, she thought she could feel the texture of parchment. She carefully pulled two documents out.
She ran to the window. The first was a treatise on the golden section. Her eyes flew to the second one. She was nervous because she had already spent more time there than she intended.
Eureka!
The document was exactly what she had been hoping to find.
Her enthusiasm vanished in an instant. Now the consequences must be faced, she thought, tightening her jaw. She replaced the treatise on the golden section in the chest, leaving everything else as she thought she had found it, and stealthily left the room.
The parchment hidden under her clothing would clarify an important question.
CHAPTER 84
July 5th, 510 B.C.
“There’s another one. Do you recognize him?” whispered Akenon.
Ariadne leaned forward and squinted, straining her eyes. They were on the second floor of Hyperion’s home. Hyperion, the late Cleomenides’ father, was the member of the Council of Three Hundred who lived closest to Cylon, in the wealthiest district of Croton. He had willingly accepted their request to allow them to watch Cylon from a window in his residence.
“That’s Hippodamus,” replied Ariadne, identifying the man who had just come out of the Crotonian politician’s mansion. “He’s always been a supporter of Cylon’s.”
Akenon nodded, and they continued to keep watch in silence.
When they had left Sybaris two days earlier, Glaucus had given them a copy of the method for calculating the approximation to the quotient. When Pythagoras analyzed the method, he confirmed it would have been impossible for Cylon to have discovered it. Even so, Akenon had decided to intensify his vigilance of the Crotonian politician. Maybe Cylon wasn’t the masked enemy but, thanks to the coins taken from the Council secretary, they knew Glaucus’ gold was behind the proliferation of bribes the politician was paying.
Cylon is paying bribes with the gold the masked man received from Glaucus. The politician had a direct relationship with the masked man, and could therefore be the best way to reach him.
The door to Cylon’s mansion opened again.
“I can’t see their faces,” whispered Ariadne.
From the partially opened door, two hooded figures had emerged. Heads bowed, they set off rapidly into the dark streets together.
Maybe they’re new converts, thought Ariadne. Cylon’s old allies didn’t hide their faces, unconcerned about others seeing them meeting the influential politician. However, the councilors who had recently entered Cylon’s orbit preferred to hide. Cylon was still in the minority, a rebel against the established regime. Besides, it was an open secret that the new recruits had offered him their loyalty in exchange for bags full of gold. Criticism of those who jumped on his bandwagon was scathing…which did nothing to prevent the trickle of conversions from continuing at a steady pace.
Ariadne stopped thinking about that when she remembered the parchment she had taken from her mother’s house the previous day. She couldn’t help thinking of it constantly.
Maybe I should share it with Akenon…
She looked at him and hesitated, as she’d been doing since she read it. Finally, she decided not to reveal the secret yet.
But I won’t be able to keep it hidden much longer, she worried.
Just forty yards away from Akenon and Ariadne, sitting in the main room of Cylon’s mansion, the masked man watched the last few councilors leave. He closed his eyes and reflected on the meeting that had ended a few moments ago.
We now have another two councilors, but the progress we’re making is too slow.
He was a little frustrated. In spite of the amount of gold he’d spent, the pace at which politicians were joining his side had slowed too much. He converted everyone he spent time with alone, but he depended on Cylon to make contact with new councilors. Cylon’s ability to attract politicians to his house was dwindling, and it was still too soon for him to appear in public.
The time had come to take a different course of action. The work with Cylon was indispensable and would continue to develop, but he needed more, much more.
He opened his eyes and smiled with resolve.
Tomorrow I’ll focus on something completely different.
Akenon was watching Cylon’s mansion with a frown. He stood a step away from the window, hidden among the shadows. He could sense Ariadne behind him. After the last trip to Sybaris, he had thought something might yet develop between them. The signs that she was ready to open up again had seemed obvious: a look held a moment longer than necessary, a silent smile, the warm tone in her voice…
I was wrong, he thought, slowly shaking his head.
The previous day, when he’d been trying to find the right moment to start a more personal conversation, he noticed there had been another change. She had become cold again, her eyes elusive, and she said very little, avoiding his attempts to converse.
I suppose she figured out my intentions.
He had been too optimistic. Every time he tried to get closer to Ariadne, she withdrew.
He shook his head again as he watched. After a minute, another person came out of the mansion.
“Is that Kallo?” he whispered, turning slightly toward Ariadne.
She was startled and looked toward Cylon’s house. Kallo had just exited and was leaving with two bodyguards.
“Yes, that’s him.”
The street became empty again. Almost everyone must have come out by then.
Ariadne stayed a step behind Akenon, from where she could shift her gaze slightly and observe him without being noticed. She could run her eyes over his strong, serious profile, his straight nose, those dark, desirable lips that had kissed her entire body…
She clenched her teeth and looked away.
Akenon must think I’ve become distant with him again as a reaction to his efforts to get closer.
There was no way he could know that the reason she was so withdrawn was because of her mother’s parchment. That was now her main worry. And this time I can’t even talk to my father about it.
She took a step back in the darkness of the room. Now she could only see Akenon’s back, his impressive silhouette outlined against the window frame.
She had never felt so alone.
CHAPTER 85
July 7th, 510 B.C.
Crisipo finished his speech and held his breath.
One second later, he was inundated with a round of enthusiastic applause and cheering in the auditorium.
By Ares, that was a terrible experience!
He breathed a sigh of relief and noticed that the tension in his muscles was easing. Speaking in public was a nightmare for him, but it was part of his new duties. On the other hand, he was proud to be a key player in his masked master’s grandiose plan.
A plan which will change the world, he said to himself, elated.
Everything had started three weeks earlier, when he had accompanied the masked man to Sybaris to claim Glaucus’ prize. As well as going to the Sybarite’s palace, the masked man and he had spent a few days covering the city on foot. They had visited inns, marketplaces, town squares…anywhere people gathered. The m
asked man observed everyone silently, signaling to Crisipo now and again.
“Him,” he’d whisper in his ear.
Crisipo would approach the person, tell him he was from out of town and needed certain information, and invite him for a drink in exchange for his time. Many were suspicious, but then Crisipo was quick to add a drachma to the offer, and that was enough for them to accompany him.
When they arrived at the nearest tavern, the masked man would already be sitting in a corner. From there, he would observe Crisipo’s conversation with the stranger. On the surface, their discussion was of no importance, but it contained key phrases. Depending on the stranger’s reaction to them, the masked man would either approach the table or not. Whenever he joined them, Crisipo would stop talking and the masked man would cast the spell of his whispered words over the stranger. Some minutes later, the man would leave the inn with a few coins tucked away and a mission: the next day he would meet them again, bringing with him whoever he thought would share the ideas they had spoken about.
By the time they set sail from Sybaris, they had spoken to more than a hundred people. As he said goodbye to each group, the masked man told them he’d be back in a few days.
His plans, however, were different.
“I have to concentrate on Croton, so it won’t be me going back to Sybaris, but you, Crisipo,” he told him when the ship left port.
“Me, master?” Crisipo was startled. “But… I wouldn’t know what to say to those men. I won’t be capable of convincing them, they won’t listen to me.”
“They’ll listen, Crisipo, they’ll listen,” the cavernous voice whispered.
He continued talking, very slowly, and his words etched themselves in Crisipo’s mind. An hour later, the ex-soldier from Croton felt more confident. Now he knew what he’d say to the men who would gather to listen to him and, above all, he knew how he’d say it. Besides, those men would flock to him because they agreed with the general idea behind what they were going to hear. The task was to kindle a flame that already burned deep inside them, and to make them see the masked man—temporarily through Crisipo—as the leader they needed.
When they had reached the new lair, after the monstrous Boreas had destroyed the ship’s crew, the masked man had handed Crisipo a small bag of gold coins. He was to give one coin to each group leader who, in turn, was to distribute the money among his men. Crisipo returned to Sybaris and spent a week holding small meetings. The attendees always reacted as the masked man had predicted. When he got back to the hideout, his master gave him another bag of gold with the same instructions to keep fanning the flames of his ideas.
The high point of that second week had been the clandestine meeting that had just ended. Crisipo had managed to gather more than a hundred people in a warehouse at the port, the highest attendance yet, and the reason he had been so nervous.
He observed his audience who after his speech had congregated in small groups to discuss the topic further, and smiled with satisfaction.
We’re making faster progress than my master expected.
The following day, he would return to the hideout, happy to be bringing good news. He imagined there would be another, similar task awaiting him.
What he didn’t know was that his master’s plan had just changed course radically.
CHAPTER 86
July 9th, 510 B.C.
The masked man had ordered Boreas not to disturb him for a few hours.
In front of him were the parchments containing his greatest achievement: the method for obtaining the approximation to the quotient. The content of those documents was so sublime that by simply absorbing himself in them for a while he was able to enter an intense mathematical trance. In that state of maximum relaxation and concentration, he saw everything with greater clarity, which he used to refine his worldly plans down to the last detail.
He had intended to spend those hours further elaborating his new strategy, but felt a compelling need to return to the purely mathematical. A fleeting intuition had unexpectedly crossed his mind, the feeling that perhaps there was something more there, just beyond the reach of his abilities: a reality that surpassed the limits of what was known. He concentrated harder. There was no doubt it was something related to the method for calculating the quotient, but it eluded him, his mind was having trouble seeing it.
He returned to the starting point for the third time and followed each step slowly, meticulously reviewing the concepts relating to the circle…to Pythagoras’ theorem…to the numerous and complex calculations he had had to make.
The key is here, I can tell. But where exactly?
Not even his herculean concentration, greater than any man was capable of, was enough. Maybe there’s nothing else to discover… Or maybe I need a change of focus, a totally different approach.
He mentally distanced himself from the circles and geometric shapes, the processes and symbols, and attempted to stop thinking, allowing himself to be guided by intuition alone. He tried not to develop concrete ideas, simply letting the basic concepts flow through him, impregnate him, become one with him. Truth was in mathematics. Mathematics was Truth itself. He knew nature was governed by laws written in the language of mathematics, the language of the gods, but he needed to go beyond that divine manifestation to the very essence from which everything emanated.
Intellectual exaltation pushed him beyond his own limits, endangering his life: his heart rate dropped to less than fifteen beats per minute.
His breathing became imperceptible.
He was nearing it.
Suddenly, he was pierced by a beam of strength, pure logic, and unfathomable concepts…
He was back in his lair, the parchments before him. He looked at them, disoriented. After a while, a smile appeared under the mask. Those documents might be the door to his greatest triumph yet, something far greater than the discovery of the quotient. He hadn’t succeeded in grasping the enormous mystery they hid this time, but he had glimpsed it. The masked man leaned back in his wooden chair. From now on, he would devote all his energies and abilities to making progress along the new path, searching for what he had fleetingly seen waiting for him on the other side.
If I manage to solve it, he thought in awe, the total destruction of Pythagoras will be within my power.
Despite Boreas’ enormous size, Crisipo didn’t notice him until he was less than twenty yards away. The giant was sitting, hidden among the vegetation surrounding the door to the underground storeroom where his master usually worked. He didn’t get up when Crisipo approached. Nevertheless, when Crisipo neared the door, Boreas issued a grunt of warning.
“I have to talk to him,” objected Crisipo. “He’s waiting for me.”
Boreas shook his head just once, then fixed him with a cold stare. Crisipo looked at the door and then at Boreas, then moved away and leaned against a tree to wait.
I’m not going to be the one to argue with the beast.
He still had nightmares in which Boreas appeared, destroying the ship’s crew. The image of the last unfortunate man whose head the slave had cracked open with a punch sent shivers down his spine.
And he’d have loved to do the same to me, he thought, remembering the look Boreas had given him during the slaughter.
Boreas was staring at him again now. Crisipo had to make an effort to look elsewhere to try and forget about the giant.
Almost an hour went by without either of them moving. Then a shrill metallic sound was heard. It was the sign that they could go in.
Boreas didn’t move. Crisipo walked past, keeping a watchful eye on him, opened the door, and went down the stairs. The masked man was waiting in his chair, a large pile of parchments spread on the table beside him. He seemed tired.
“What news do you bring me, Crisipo?” he whispered in his cracked voice.
“Everything went according to plan, master. Even better than I expected.” Crisipo bowed his head in reverence, happy to be bringing his master news that would please
him. “There were more than a hundred people at the last meeting, and each of them was representing at least five men. In total, I’d estimate we’ve reached more than a thousand men.”
The masked man nodded in satisfaction.
“I’ve also managed to identify one of their leaders who has been working along the same lines as us for some time. His name is Tellus. He’s very highly regarded among them. As soon as he starts talking, they all stop to listen.
Tellus…thought the masked man. In Croton I have Cylon and in Sybaris I’ll have Tellus…though his role will be very different.
There was a silence before Crisipo spoke again.
“Will I be going back to Sybaris, master? Do you want me to continue with the meetings?”
“You’ll go back to Sybaris, Crisipo, but before that I need you to deliver a message to Croton. Cylon must be informed that I won’t be able to meet him for a few days. Needless to say, you’ll give him a good amount of gold so he can continue his work.”
The masked man leaned forward to emphasize his next words.
“And when you return to Sybaris, Crisipo, you’ll also take gold with you, lots of gold.”
An investment that will soon yield a thousand times that much, he thought, exhilarated. Leaning back in his chair again, he continued.
“This time, your mission will be to organize a large clandestine meeting. Tellus should occupy a position of prominence and bring all the influential men he knows. Give him half the gold. You can use the other half as you see fit, but before the week is out I want to personally address all the leaders of Sybaris.”
To begin the definitive attack, he added to himself.
CHAPTER 87
Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) Page 38
