Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (18 page)

Pentacle

…

A pentacle is the five-pointed star that results from joining the opposite corners of a pentagon.

It is also known as a
pentagram
and a
pentalpha
.

For thousands of years it has been thought to hold great secrets, among them the construction of the world. Its use has been documented in Mesopotamia around 2600 B.C. For the Babylonians it was a symbol of health and contained various symbolic relationships.

Throughout history it has been used frequently to represent human beings. It is also a very important symbol in magic, used with the point facing upwards in white magic and facing downwards in black magic.

The Pythagoreans sometimes depicted it with one letter of the word “health” (
υγεια
in Greek) at each of its corners.

They also used it as a secret sign by which to recognize each other.

…

Encyclopedia Mathematica.
Socram Ofisis. 1926.

CHAPTER 36

April 23
rd
, 510 B.C.

The funeral raft drifted slowly away, throwing dazzling reflections on the black surface of the water. Akenon watched it for a few seconds and then peered through the darkness around him, searching for Atma. With the clouds covering the moon, it was almost impossible to see anything. He strained his ears, but could not detect him that way either.

Ariadne was beside him, concentrating hard with her eyes closed. After a while she opened them and shook her head.

“He must have gone back,” she said, unconvinced.

They untied the reins and started walking along the river’s edge, following the lazy movement of the boat. After a few minutes, Akenon felt his eyelids drooping. The sight of the enormous bonfire in the midst of the darkness was hypnotic, and he hadn’t slept for two days.

He yawned hugely and rubbed his face, trying to wake up. Pythagoras had asked him to retrieve Daaruk’s ashes so they could be buried, but continuing while he was so tired wasn’t a good idea. Getting the ashes could mean a confrontation with Atma and, in view of his behavior over the past few hours, he might react with the violence of a cornered animal.

Besides, the situation has become more dangerous now that we’ve lost sight of him
. He looked around again as he walked along the sandy riverbank. The night was so dark Atma could come within three feet of them and they’d never see him.

The cool breeze from the river was refreshing but even so, Akenon soon felt his eyes closing again. There was no point waiting for the boat to run aground. It would eventually do that even if they weren’t following it…or it might reach the sea in a couple of hours, and then there would be no way of knowing where the currents would take it. It could be pushed to shore or swallowed up by the sea.

The community was not far. Akenon felt more and more tempted to go back. In little more than a half hour he could be asleep in a soft, snug bed. He could return to look for the boat at dawn.

His weariness made the idea impossible to resist.

“Let’s go back.”

When they reached the community, they agreed to meet at daybreak, and Ariadne went to the women’s quarters. Instead of going to his room, Akenon crossed the compound in the semi-darkness to Atma’s room. He wanted to talk to him before going to bed to try and extract from him his plans for the next day.

With any luck I’ll be able to recover Daaruk’s ashes without having an altercation with him.

The slave’s three roommates were already in bed, but one of them sat up on his mat when the door opened.

“Do you know where Atma is?” asked Akenon, pointing at the empty mat.

The man looked at Atma’s mat before replying.

“I haven’t seen him for several hours. Since he left with Daaruk’s body.”

Akenon shook his head slowly.

Where can he have gone, in the middle of the night, soaking wet?
Akenon had no way of knowing. Besides, drowsiness was making his brain as slow as cold honey. If he didn’t go to his room he’d end up falling asleep standing.

He went outside and tried to scan the compound. The darkness was so dense all he could see was the torches of the patrols along part of the perimeter. He dragged himself to his room and fell into bed, knowing he would be asleep in seconds.

A new thought hazily took shape in his head.

I should organize a search party right now.

Instead of listening to his intuition, Akenon allowed himself to slip under the waters of sleep.

He would regret it for the rest of his life.

CHAPTER 37

April 24
th
, 510 B.C.

A soft sprinkling of dew covered the vegetation and the greyish hues of dawn painted the landscape in a pale wash of color. Amid the stillness, a bush shook, creating a shower of tiny drops. Atma’s face appeared among the branches and surveyed his surroundings. When he was satisfied no one was near, he crawled from his refuge.

At last
, he mouthed, without making a sound.

It had been easy to slip away from Akenon and Ariadne the previous night. After pushing the funeral pyre into the current, he’d returned to the bank and run off into the night, keeping his feet in the water so as not to leave footprints. His visitors had been mesmerized by the pyre for a while before they started looking for him. By then, Atma was already well away from them. He’d scrambled upstream a few hundred yards, entered the forest, and hidden himself inside a thick clump of bushes. There he’d remained, wary of every sound for an hour, but lack of sleep, hard work, and the intense emotions of the day overcame him, and he’d fallen into a deep sleep.

Now he stretched to loosen up his body, unable to stop trembling. Though he was almost frozen, it had been worth it. Had he returned to the community, he might not have been free to come and go as he pleased that morning, and the time had come to carry out the next part of his plan. His hand slid under his tunic and pulled out the second document.

This is all I need
.

He put it back, close to his chest. The day before, he had buried it on the riverbank to protect it in case he was searched and to keep it from getting wet. Thanks to that, it had remained dry and was now helping to conserve his body heat as well as being essential to his future plan.

As he hopped from one leg to the other and rubbed his arms, he considered recent events. He shuddered when he recalled the image of Daaruk splayed on the ground like a broken doll, his face drenched in blood and that yellow foam from the poison. That had been the worst moment.

Also when I set fire to the pyre
.

Painful emotions began to surface again and his throat closed up, but something had changed. He began to feel that all that belonged in the past. He needed to focus on the future opening up before him.

At that moment his old life ended and a new, very different one began.

Soon the sun would be up. The best thing would be to go down to the river for a drink, and from there to Croton. There he would lose himself among the dockworkers. He had to remain hidden for a few hours.

Then I can use the document and disappear from Croton forever.

He touched his chest and felt the raised wax seal with the pentacle symbol on it. He stroked it through his tunic, his lips beginning to curve upwards, slowly at first, opening finally in a wide, euphoric smile.

Atma was so close to achieving his goal he felt like laughing out loud.

CHAPTER 38

April 24
th
, 510 B.C.

The ashes were damp with dew, which indicated they had been cold for a while. To make sure, Akenon dug a finger into the remains of the small fire. He pulled it out, cold and wet, and reflected as he looked around. This was where Atma had built the pyre. Akenon had decided to start his search here. From the state of the ashes, he could tell the fire hadn’t been stoked since he and Ariadne had left.

Atma must have spent the night elsewhere.

The river meandered eastward, where the first rays of sunlight touched the horizon. Akenon let them warm his face while he cleared his thoughts. He had left the community before dawn so that Ariadne wouldn’t go with him. The fact that Atma had fled meant he was hiding something, and was therefore likely to be dangerous. He might even be the murderer.

Akenon cursed himself for not having detained and questioned him when he had the chance, though he knew deep down there was no point in reproaching himself. Atma had been in Croton at the time of Daaruk’s murder and during the hours before it. It would have been impossible for him to poison the cake. There had been no reason to suspect him…until he’d disappeared.

He didn’t enjoy being alone out in the open, searching for a potential murderer who might even have accomplices, but he had no other option. There was still no sign of the hoplites, the heavy infantry soldiers Milo was going to supply him with. He couldn’t afford to give Atma further advantage by waiting in the community for the soldiers to arrive, not after the head start he had already given him by not going after him the night before, the minute he learned he hadn’t returned to the community. But Akenon had been so tired he wouldn’t have been able to stay alert. It would have been suicidal to go out alone in the middle of the night under those conditions, or with the help of harmless Pythagoreans, to pursue a man suspected of several murders.

I hope that delaying the search a few hours won’t have negative consequences.

He spent a few minutes inspecting the damp, sandy ground in the area. There was no clear trail he could follow. Probably Atma had kept his feet in the water as he ran away, in which case there would be no trace of him until the spot at which he’d left the river. And if he had chosen to wade out of the river in a rocky area, there would be no footprints. Akenon looked up and down the river, and began to walk along the bank toward the sea. If Atma had gone inland it would be almost impossible to find him. The best choice was to scour the ground where it would be easiest to spot his trail.

And in the process, I might find the remains of the funeral pyre
.

In one hand he held the reins of the only horse in the community. It was a chalky-white mare, with a grey mane and tail, older, but still strong. Akenon had chosen it instead of a donkey so he could go after Atma as quickly as possible in case he found any clues.

In a number of places, the river bent sharply. Each time, he hoped the boat might have gotten stuck there, but no luck. There was no trace of it. He kept riding, thinking of the candidates to the succession.

The four that remain of the original six
, he reminded himself bitterly. Pythagoras had only to finish Hippocreon’s analysis and then analyze Aristomachus to be able to eliminate them as suspects as well.

Suddenly he saw it.

The boat had drifted out of the central current when it hit against some rocks, and had run aground on roots very close to the riverbank. Akenon hastened his pace. What he saw was no longer the structure of the night before, which had risen six feet above water level. The part of the raft closest to the water hadn’t burned, but its edges had disappeared. Inside, from what Akenon could see, there was only a small pile of smoking ash.

Could the body have fallen into the water?

With growing unease, he quickly neared the boat, still watching the ground for signs that Atma had passed by there.

Maybe he came this way before me and took away Daaruk’s remains
.

He released the mare’s reins and craned his neck the last few yards, trying to discern the contents of the raft.

Ariadne was worried as she approached a group of men coming out of the community gardens.

“Evander, have you seen Akenon?”

The muscular master stopped, wiping perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. Every morning he led a group of disciples in exercise routines. They did Doric dances, which to them were sacred.

“No, I haven’t.” Evander scanned the grounds, looking for Akenon, and suddenly remembered something. “He must be retrieving Daaruk’s ashes. Your father asked him to do that yesterday.”

Ariadne forced a smile.

“Thank you, Evander.”

She continued toward the entrance to the community. Three men were patrolling outside the portico. Ariadne’s overriding thought was that an armed murderer would certainly not regard them as any type of obstacle.

“Greetings, brothers.”

“Greetings, Ariadne.”

“Have you seen Akenon?”

“He left on the mare, headed north, half an hour before dawn.”

Ariadne puzzled over this for a moment, then suddenly understood what had happened. She began to get angry.

“Do you know if Atma came back last night?”

“We’ve been patrolling since two hours before sunrise, and he hasn’t come through here on our watch.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

Ariadne turned around and rushed to Atma’s room. She was almost certain she’d discover he hadn’t spent the night in the community. Akenon must have found out before her.
That’s why he left without telling me.

She could understand Akenon wanting to go alone, but that didn’t stop her being furious with him.

The roots on which the boat had run aground were a couple of yards from the bank. As soon as he put his feet in the water, Akenon realized it was considerably deeper than he had anticipated. He stopped and looked for a way to get closer. In the end, he had to circle around the raft, avoiding the roots.

With the water at his waist, he put a hand on the burnt edge and leaned forward to look inside. Suddenly, he was overcome with intense nausea and had to plant his legs firmly in the riverbed so as not to fall. He held on to the edge of the boat with both hands and rested his forehead on one arm.
By Osiris, what’s wrong with me?
He shut his eyes tightly. His breathing came faster and his head filled with images in quick succession.

All he could do was watch them.

They were from his past, fourteen or fifteen years ago. Carthage was going through a long drought that was starting to wreak havoc among the people. In the past year and a half the population had been decimated, and almost half the domestic animals had died. As an extreme measure to end the drought, it was decided that the molk ritual should be performed: immolation in honor of the god Moloch.

Fifty babies under six months old would be sacrificed.

In order not to offend the god with an unjust act, or incite rebellion in some sectors of society, the infants were to be chosen at random from among the entire population. At once, the buying and selling of babies began. Wealthy families who had been selected to give up their offspring bought babies from the poor, and gave them to the priests instead of their own children. Even though it was illegal and sacrilegious, the necessary bribes were paid to make sure the operation would be successful. The first babies were exchanged for small fortunes, but word spread quickly, and some families who were dying of hunger sold their children for only a few coins.

Although the supply exceeded the demand for babies, there were several kidnappings. Some children were wrenched from their mother’s arms in broad daylight. Akenon was hired to find the only son of a small merchant family. Their son had been born four months earlier, after fourteen years of marriage, when the parents had given up hope of ever having children. They tried to protect the infant, keeping him inside the house at all times, but he was eventually kidnapped with the help of the cook, as Akenon discovered after questioning all the servants. Following that lead, he found the aristocratic family that had bought the child. He tried to talk to them, but they refused to receive him. He gathered more evidence and went to one of the magistrates who supervised the selection and transport of the babies. Only a few hours were left before the immolation. The magistrate listened to Akenon with interest and told him to be present that evening at the location where the great sacrifice was to take place.

At dusk, Akenon left the city and walked with hundreds of Carthaginians to a mammoth construction. It was rectangular, with high stone walls and no roof. Akenon had never been there. He went through one of its doors and saw, with horror, the inside of the enclosure consecrated to Moloch.

On a marble platform rose a bronze statue of the god. The fearsome Moloch was seated cross-legged on the platform. Even seated, he was five times taller than a man. Up to the neck, his body was human, but he had a ram’s head. Between his curved horns a gold crown glinted. His arms were pressed to his sides, with forearms extended and palms up. Moloch’s lower abdomen was open, like the hearth of an enormous fireplace. He had been fed for hours already, and there was a layer of glowing embers inside him more than three feet deep. Akenon saw two priests get as close to the statue as the infernal heat allowed. They threw a couple of baskets of aromatic herbs into the fire. Instantly, they caught fire, generating a thick smoke that rose up through the hollow body, escaping through the eyes and open jaws of the ram god.

Moloch was hungry.

In front of the god was the main altar, covered in pristine linen. Soon it would be stained with the blood of fifty infants. After slitting their throats, the priests would place the infants in Moloch’s eager hands. From the god’s back hung two thick chains that passed through the articulated elbows to the hands. When a baby was placed in them, several priests would pull the chains, making the god’s hands move to his open mouth.

The infants would fall into the blazing entrails of Moloch.

I hope I can leave before the immolation begins
, thought Akenon, averting his eyes.

He began pushing his way through the crowd. Hundreds of drums and trumpets produced a continuous din with the aim of drowning out the babies’ shrill cries. Most people appeared to be bewitched. Their eyes were glued to Moloch as they swayed to the rhythm of the drums.

The sweet smell of incense reached Akenon and he wrinkled his nose. Soon a very different smell would pervade the air.

In the front rows of the audience sat the parents who had donated their children for the good of Carthage. Some seemed calm while others did their best to hold back tears. Any sign of grief when giving a child to Moloch was considered an affront to the god. It was forbidden and the offender was subject to severe punishment.

Many Carthaginians looked hopeful. They prayed fervently, hands clasped and heads bowed, or stretched their arms toward the god and acclaimed him at the top of their lungs. The city had suffered greatly, and maybe Moloch would take pity on them in view of the devotion and sacrifice of his servants.

The magistrates were busy giving instructions. The babies began to pass from the hands of the public custodians to those of the priests, their small bodies writhing as if they knew what was about to befall them.

The ceremonial knife shone on the high altar.

Twenty yards away, barely visible amid the shadows of the western wall, Akenon caught sight of the magistrate who had heard his case. He was looking at him and signaled to him the moment they made eye contact, then disappeared behind some small wooden bleachers. Akenon followed. The moment he entered the shadows, he felt a strong blow to the back of his head, and collapsed. A second assailant crouched over his body and stabbed him in the back at the level of his heart.

That he was wearing a thick leather jacket, and the murderer wasn’t a professional were the two factors that saved his life. The leather counteracted some of the impact of the blow and the knife slipped down his ribs, managing only to slash the flesh on his back.

When he regained consciousness, he was drenched in sticky blood and was having trouble breathing. After several agonizing attempts, he managed to stand up and get out from under the bleachers. It was late, the sacrifice was over and there was no one left in the enclosure. The voracious god Moloch was digesting the fifty babies in solitude. One by one, their throats had been slit and their bodies flung into the red-hot abdomen, where their charred remains now smoldered.

Akenon moved forward in the darkness, dragging his feet. He climbed atop the platform, leaving a trail of blood. The smell made him retch. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to go closer, remembering that his clients were at home, eagerly waiting for him to appear with their son.

Up close, Moloch was colossal. He was still giving off a huge amount of heat. Akenon peered at the contents of the enormous bronze belly, but he was dazed and couldn’t focus properly. All he could make out was a hazy outline bathed in ghostly reddish waves. Gradually, his vision cleared and the indistinct lumps became little hands, legs, heads…