Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015)

by Marcos Chicot

  Milo withdrew another few steps, holding the shield against his shoulder, and ran into the room, charging at the wall at full speed.

  The impact was colossal.

  For a few seconds, Milo lay on the ground, unsure of what had happened. He had a cut across his forehead and another over his right ear. The masters helped him up. He was on the other side of the wall, surrounded by debris. He took up the shield and someone handed him his sword. It was Arquipo, who was helping Pythagoras move forward.

  “Run.” Milo pointed ahead of them, still dazed. Twenty steps away, the forest was a wall of thick brambles, but in front of them lay a trail about three feet wide.

  Lysis was still inside the house, helping to widen the irregularly-shaped hole in the wall for the oldest masters. Milo looked right and left. That side of the house was unguarded, and the building itself hid them from the army posted on the other side.

  His hope vanished in an instant.

  Two soldiers on horseback appeared at one end, and quickly approached. Both recognized Pythagoras and rode directly toward him, raising their swords. The masked man had offered a reward of five hundred gold coins to anyone who brought him the philosopher’s head.

  Arquipo and Pythagoras were making painfully slow progress. They had only covered half the distance separating them from the trail.

  They won’t make it. Milo clenched his teeth and ran, placing himself in front of Pythagoras. The riders were forced to change their target at the last moment. They rode toward Milo, one on each side, leaning forward, swords at the ready. Milo whirled his sword in the air, caught it by the tip, and flung it with all his might at the rider on his right. The sword entered his mouth, breaking his teeth and piercing his head from palate to crown.

  An intense feeling of alarm warned Milo he had let his guard down when he flung his sword, but he had no time to react. The second rider’s blade entered his flesh between his left shoulder and his neck, breaking his collar bone and tearing his muscle.

  Milo fell to the ground, rolled over, and tried to get up, but a lacerating pain kept him on all fours. Touching the new wound, he could feel pieces of bone and the disturbing depth of the gash. He tried moving his left arm. The pain was almost unbearable, but he managed to raise his shield.

  Near him lay the rider, who had fallen face up on the ground. Milo pulled himself to his feet, staggered over to him and hastily pulled his sword out of the dead man’s head. On his feet again, he saw that Arquipo had grabbed the reins of the dead soldier’s horse, and had managed to control it. Now he was heading toward Pythagoras, who had collapsed to the ground the moment he was left on his own.

  Behind them, the second rider turned, dug his heels into his horse, and galloped after the philosopher once more.

  Arquipo reached Pythagoras and helped him stand up. They had their backs to the rider, unaware of his approach. In an effort to come between them again, Milo tried to run, but fell to his knees, weakened by the loss of blood. He dragged himself up, his face strained, and watched the tragic scene. He realized he couldn’t even shout. He took his sword by the tip again and squinted to focus his vision. The soldier realized his intentions and held his shield up to protect himself without slowing his advance on Pythagoras. Milo pulled his arm back and hurled his weapon in a superhuman effort.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to hit the soldier.

  His sword whirled through the air and lodged in the horse’s chest. Its front legs buckled, the animal collapsed and rolled over, pinning the soldier’s body beneath it.

  Milo lurched forward to recover his sword. The soldier made a pitiful effort to get up, then lay motionless. Arquipo and Pythagoras had managed to mount the horse, and shouted something at Milo he didn’t catch. He gestured toward the trail. Arquipo spurred the mount, and they disappeared.

  The sword came out easily. The horse whinnied and shook itself, but couldn’t get up. It was drowning in its own blood.

  You were my last chance, thought Milo. Before hurling his sword, he had realized that the only way he’d escape alive was to get on that horse. It hadn’t changed his decision, but it had been a bitter thought. About a mile along the forest trail was a beach with a fishermen’s hut. They were friends of the brotherhood, and had two small boats. They could help a dozen men escape.

  Salvation is one mile away…

  Milo couldn’t even walk a hundred yards.

  He stumbled to the beginning of the trail. Inside the forest, he could still glimpse Lysis helping a limping master. The rest had disappeared from sight. He stopped at the trailhead and looked behind him. Twenty steps away, the first hoplites were emerging through the hole in the wall of his villa.

  They’ve killed Evander, he thought sadly.

  The opening in the wall only allowed one soldier through at a time. As they emerged, they advanced toward him, but cautiously, looking over their shoulders to make sure others were following. The commander-in-chief they were betraying, the glorious Milo of Croton, stood facing them, blocking the entrance to a trail in the forest. It must be the escape route taken by the few Pythagoreans who had survived the slaughter in the courtyard. They would have to follow them, but first, they’d have to confront the most fearful of all Crotonians.

  Covered in blood, Milo looked even more imposing. There was almost no trace of the original white anywhere on his linen tunic. Some of his wounds were mortal, but he stood tall, holding his shield and sword in front of him.

  The soldiers didn’t realize Milo could no longer see what was coming at him. All he could make out were blurred outlines that slowly advanced toward him. He concentrated all his energy on remaining upright. Every second he could endure increased the likelihood that some of the masters would make it to the beach.

  Overriding the pain and exhaustion he felt pride. His final strategy had worked. In the face of unimaginable odds, he had succeeded in saving several men. A smile spread over his face. Cylon and the masked man were probably still thinking all of them had perished. Very soon, they would learn that Pythagoras and some other masters had escaped by making a hole through a wall no one had been guarding.

  Fools, he thought with contempt.

  The edges of his tunic dripped blood as his vision went dark. He wasn’t sure if he was still standing or if he had fallen, but he used his last bit of strength to hold up his shield and sword.

  He barely felt a twinge when the first swords ran him through.

  CHAPTER 129

  July 29th, 510 B.C.

  Ariadne felt absolutely powerless.

  The arm imprisoning her against Boreas’ chest didn’t budge when she tried to escape. The only thing she could move were her legs, which she kicked frantically to prevent the giant’s paw from immobilizing her completely. Even so, she kept feeling those enormous fingers slithering between her thighs like worms.

  Boreas wanted to rape her while he held her up in the air.

  Ariadne thought of trying to dissuade him by telling him she was pregnant, but immediately discarded the idea. It would achieve nothing, and she didn’t want that monster to know anything intimate about her.

  He can defile my body, but not my mind.

  She could feel his loathsome flesh against the inside of her thigh, and clenched her legs. Boreas panted louder into her ear and puffed out his chest, forcing her into the position he needed. With her knees bent, Ariadne felt her feet brush against the wall. She propped them against it, and straightened her legs out as forcefully as she could. The sudden push caught Boreas by surprise. He stumbled, falling backwards as he took a few steps back, then tried to straighten up, but the ceiling was too low for him and he continued stumbling. Suddenly, something got tangled in his legs. It was the chair where Ariadne had been sitting. Boreas preferred to fall on his back rather than let go of her to regain his balance.

  As Ariadne fell, pressed against the giant, she heard his guttural laugh again. A wave of rage coursed through her when she saw that her resistance only increased the monst
er’s pleasure. They crashed to the ground, knocking the breath out of her. The giant’s body had buffered the impact, but his arm had squeezed the pit of her stomach as if someone had punched her hard.

  It was a few seconds before she realized that pressure had lessened.

  Is this another trick to amuse himself at my expense?

  Ariadne pushed the giant’s arm off with both hands and rolled across his chest until she fell on the ground. She crawled away, hysterical, sure every instant that Boreas’ hand would grip her ankles. Finally, she stood up and began to run for the door.

  Boreas’ grunt made her hair stand on end. Without stopping, she turned her head.

  What’s he doing? she wondered, unsure whether this was a new game. Boreas remained supine, his arms stretched out along his body, staring at the ceiling.

  Ariadne reached the door, put a hand on the door frame, and looked back again. She felt her chest about to explode, and her instincts screamed at her to keep running, but she forced herself to look at Boreas more carefully.

  Suddenly, she saw it.

  Under Boreas’ head was the board with which she had tried to hit him. It had fallen with the sharp nail protruding upwards, and the giant had skewered the nape of his neck on it when he fell. Ariadne could see it had only penetrated one or two inches, but it was enough to paralyze him.

  This is your chance to escape! shouted a voice in her head.

  Ariadne kept holding onto the door frame, paralyzed between freedom and the room where she had spent two days fearing torture and death. She couldn’t take her eyes off Boreas. The giant emitted a weak grunt, and the muscles in his face twitched.

  I can’t keep running away.

  She stepped back from the door and walked cautiously toward Boreas. The fears that had dominated her life became more intense with every step, but she didn’t stop.

  Boreas’ head was tilted slightly toward his chest due to the six inches of metal protruding from the nape of his neck. Ariadne stopped next to him, watching him nervously. Suddenly, Boreas fixed his eyes on her with an expression of infinite hatred and Ariadne shivered. She had never felt so much evil. She had no doubt that if Boreas regained his mobility, he wouldn’t play with her anymore. He’d focus on causing her the most intense pain possible for as long as he could keep her alive.

  Ariadne moved even closer to the giant and forced herself to stare back at him.

  “Now I’m in control,” she whispered.

  Boreas grunted, violently contracting his facial muscles. He was trying to get free. Ariadne felt a burning urge to hit him, but she knew her kicks and punches wouldn’t harm him. Worse, they might even help him free himself.

  She looked around with mounting concern. The chair was upturned and broken at the giant’s feet. Ariadne picked it up. The back and one of the rear legs was gone, but it was still very heavy because of the thickness of the seat.

  She stood behind Boreas’ head with the chair.

  “Look at me.”

  A terrifying threat burned in the giant’s eyes, but Ariadne kept her eyes on him. She wanted him to be aware of her determination, her confidence. She wanted him to see that she was in control of the situation, to know she was going to punish him for what he had done to Akenon, and what he had wanted to do to her.

  “Look at me well, because I’m the last thing you’ll see in your life.”

  She held the chair by its front legs and slammed the edge of the seat into the giant’s forehead. It sounded as if it had hit a rock. Boreas continued to look at her, but now his eyes were wide open. He had felt the thick nail sinking further into his head. He grunted, baring his teeth like a rabid dog, then opened his tongueless mouth and let out such a powerful roar, Ariadne jumped back. She stepped forward immediately and looked down at Boreas’ enormous head.

  The giant wore an expression of horrifying ferocity, his stare emanating hatred. He began to howl and foam at the mouth.

  “Die once and for all, accursed monster!”

  Ariadne raised the heavy chair over her head and leaned backwards. She paused for an instant, her muscles tight as a bowstring, then, with a howl of pent-up rage, delivered a massive blow.

  Eight inches of rusty iron ruptured Boreas’ brain.

  CHAPTER 130

  July 29th, 510 B.C.

  The time has come to destroy the community.

  The masked man had just returned to the Council after the attack on Milo’s house. He observed the hall from the dais. Seven hundred strained faces were turned toward him, and there was a large empty space on the left tier of seats, where the three hundred Pythagoreans had formerly sat.

  From the black mask a hoarse, fervent whisper issued, startling the councilors.

  “We’ve beheaded the serpent, but we must do the same thing Heracles did with Hydra: make sure no new heads appear.” The masked man leaned toward them and continued with greater intensity. “Or do you want the brotherhood, the monster that kept you subjugated, to turn the city of Croton and this Council back into its flock of sheep?”

  “No!” roared the seven hundred councilors in unison.

  The masked man nodded with satisfaction. The councilors were drunk on resentment and violence. They’d do anything he asked. He had to try and keep them in that state long enough to destroy everything related to Pythagoras.

  He raised his arms, and continued his diatribe without hiding the delight in his voice.

  “Then let us use our strength, our army, to raze the compound. There must not be one stone left atop another in that warren whose inhabitants have manipulated and dishonored Croton for decades!”

  The councilors applauded him enthusiastically. He continued to incite them though he was impatient to act. Cylon had insisted it was necessary to go through the Council, and he had had to admit he was right. He needed legal support to use the army…at least for now.

  Soon, I’ll get rid of the Council and become the sole ruler of Croton.

  From his seat, Cylon watched the masked man, fascinated by his absolute control over the Council. He was fully aware that this man had used him to gain this position, but he wasn’t going to make the mistake of fighting against him.

  The most intelligent thing is to try and continue being his right-hand man.

  The masked man had said they had “beheaded the serpent,” but the truth was Pythagoras had escaped. Both he and the masked man had witnessed it. After stepping over Milo’s slashed body, they had ridden along a narrow trail that ended at a beach. When they arrived, there was a small boat some fifty yards offshore, and another had just put out to sea. In the furthest vessel, they could make out Pythagoras. Their soldiers had hastily ridden into the water and hurled their lances after the nearest boat without success. There were no other boats with which to pursue them, so all they could do was resign themselves to watching them escape.

  We’ll catch him, Cylon said to himself, not entirely convinced.

  At least it was certain they had delivered a blow to the brotherhood from which it would be difficult to recover. By attacking the Pythagorean summit, they had killed most of the grand masters and regional leaders. Cylon had walked among the bodies strewn in the courtyard in Milo’s villa and identified several of the most prominent Pythagoreans, such as grand master Evander.

  And now we’re going after the main community, he thought with a shiver of pleasure.

  A quarter of the army obeyed the officers they had bribed. Besides, since Milo was dead, there was no one left capable of organizing the rest of the troops in time to avoid the next attack. They would surround the compound with thousands of soldiers and end the lives of all the Pythagoreans in a matter of minutes.

  Except for the ones we take as slaves, he corrected himself with a smile.

  Cylon didn’t know the masked man had trapped Ariadne. He imagined she would be in the compound and dreamed about the moment she would fall into his hands. His mouth watered as he fantasized about two soldiers holding her down while he raped here t
hen and there.

  I’ve had to wait fifteen years to savor her, he thought, remembering when he had ordered her kidnapping. Then, Pythagoras had managed to rescue her before Cylon had had time to enjoy her. Now, there was no one left to help her.

  He also planned on making a slave of Damo, Pythagoras’ other daughter, now Milo’s widow. And maybe Theano, Pythagoras’ wife, though she would be sent to the kitchens. Older women didn’t appeal to him.

  He closed his eyes to recreate more vividly the moment he had relived throughout his life. Pythagoras appeared before him in a scene from thirty years ago, humiliating him in front of the community, declaring publicly that he didn’t have the qualities necessary to enter his School.

  Cylon’s face lit up when he imagined the devastation that was about to occur at the scene of his humiliation.

  Ariadne galloped through the city’s northern gate.

  She continued through the streets of Croton without slowing down. At her approach the frightened Crotonians pressed themselves against the walls of the houses. Ariadne was riding Boreas’ enormous horse, the only steed she had found when she left the underground room where the giant’s dead body now lay.

  All her muscles tensed when she caught sight of the Council building. There were more soldiers than usual standing guard at the open doors. She knew the guards never allowed anyone in while a session was in progress.

  But I need them to listen to me immediately.

  One of the soldiers noticed that striking image: a fair-haired woman riding a huge horse, galloping toward the Council at breakneck speed. The guard descended the three steps in front of the portico and waited in surprise for the young woman to arrive. It looked like she was dressed in a ripped tunic tied together with cords.