Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (46 page)

CHAPTER 100

July 19
th
, 510 B.C.

Glaucus cautiously peered out from behind the door of the communal building. He looked both ways several times before making up his mind to go out into the open. He began walking quickly to the compound portico, hunching his shoulders in a vain attempt to make his voluminous body less noticeable.

The sun was already going down behind the hill at his back. He had arrived before dawn with a meager bag of gold, two servants, and four guards. That, plus their respective mounts and the parchments explaining the quotient, were all he had managed to save from the madness that had erupted so suddenly in Sybaris.

Around Glaucus, the community grounds were dotted with groups that gathered like hungry fish around each new arrival. They were all anxious for news from anyone coming from Croton as well as those who had recently escaped the slaughter in Sybaris.

There’s Akenon!

Between the statue of Hermes and the Temple of Apollo, a small group had formed, including Akenon and Ariadne, and was listening eagerly to a Sybarite’s story.

Glaucus ran to them.

“Akenon!” As he reached him, he doubled over and panted, trying to catch his breath. “Akenon, thanks to the gods I’ve found you.”

Akenon turned to Glaucus. He had heard he was among the refugees, but hadn’t seen him up to that moment.

The Sybarite gave him an ingratiating smile before speaking.

“The last time we were together was when you brought Crisipo to my palace.”

Akenon nodded, tight-lipped. If Glaucus was reminding him of that it meant he was about to ask for some favor. He had no desire to help him, but he’d listen at least.

Ariadne joined them and Glaucus moved away from the group so as not to be overheard.

“Ariadne, daughter of the great Pythagoras, I’m delighted to see you. I hope the parchments I gave you on your last visit were very useful.”

“Thank you, Glaucus,” she replied, more diplomatically than Akenon. “I’m sorry to see you in this situation. Is there anything else we can do to alleviate your suffering?”

They had taken Glaucus in as a refugee. He was a Pythagorean initiate, protected by the School’s laws on hospitality and fraternal solidarity. She would be polite to him, but she was conscious that among the traits of his double personality were violence and egotism. She would never forget he had ordered the murder of other human beings in cold blood, nor that he had been on the verge of killing her and Akenon.

“Thank you. Thank you very much, Ariadne. There is one thing you can do for me. I managed to bring a couple of servants and four guards with me, but they’ve been housed in the gymnasium on the way to Croton. I need them to be here with me, at least the guards. Will you give the order, please, will you do that?”

Glaucus kneeled down and Akenon watched him with contempt.

“I can’t do that,” answered Ariadne. “In the community, we’re receiving initiates of the School, and we’ve already run out of space, even in the stables. What’s more, there’s no way armed guards can come in here. Weapons are forbidden here, with the temporary exception of the soldiers assigned to our safety.”

Glaucus got up abruptly and a flash of anger lit his eyes.

“Then you’ll be responsible for my death.”

That surprised Akenon.

“Who’s going to attack you inside the compound?”

“My own fellow citizens. They are under the absurd impression that I’m responsible for what happened in our city.” He glanced around him, looking frightened again. “When the attack began, a group of rebels got too far ahead and were separated from the main bulk of their forces. They tried to raid a mansion on their own, but it was well protected, and they all ended up dead. The owner of the mansion ordered the rebels’ bodies piled in his courtyard to be searched. Apparently the head of the group was carrying some gold coins with my name on them.”

“From the gold you minted for the prize?” asked Ariadne.

“That’s right. It seems the revolt was financed with my gold, which points to the masked man to whom I gave it, but my compatriots think I’m the one behind the uprising. How can they be so stupid,” he asked furiously, “when they can see I’m in such abject misery?”

Ariadne and Akenon silently exchanged glances, reflecting on the surprising appearance of the masked man in the uprising. It did make some sense. After all, this was about the overthrow of a Pythagorean government…

“That’s not all,” added Glaucus bitterly. “Some of the people escaping from Sybaris saw Boreas enter the city, and many of them don’t know he’s not my slave any more. He was with a hooded person, I suppose it was the masked man, and they had several mules. They must have been going to load them with the gold I had to leave behind.” Without warning, he grabbed Akenon by the neck of his tunic. “You have to help me or I’ll be killed!”

Akenon gripped the Sybarite’s wrists forcefully and pushed him away while Ariadne answered.

“We can’t help you by allowing armed men in. If anything, we can ask for permission to house you in the gymnasium with your men.”

Glaucus looked at her doubtfully.

“Very well,” he finally replied. “At least there’ll be four swords protecting me there. I hope it’s enough until I find a way to resolve this situation.”

He turned and looked toward the gymnasium. It didn’t please him at all to have to walk out in the open, but it would only take a few minutes to get there. Just then, he saw Pythagoras entering the compound. He thought about approaching him, but was too stunned to move when he saw the philosopher’s appearance. Though less than a year had passed since they had last met, Pythagoras seemed to have aged fifteen. He was still tall and strong, but thinner, and he didn’t carry himself with his head held high any more. He walked with his eyes on the ground, without talking to the disciples who surrounded him.

Ariadne also watched her father’s progress with profound sorrow. For the first time, he looked frail to her, in need of protection. What she most wished for in the world was to relieve his suffering. The image of her father became blurred and Ariadne realized she was crying.

She wiped the tears discreetly with the back of her hand.

Being pregnant makes your eyes flood like a river.

She turned to Glaucus and Akenon once more. The attractive Egyptian was wearing a sleeveless ochre tunic. As he pointed toward Croton, explaining something to Glaucus, the strong muscles in his arms were outlined. Suddenly, Ariadne remembered vividly the warm, reassuring feeling she had had in the embrace of those arms. During that journey to Sybaris, even though it had only been for a few hours, she had felt completely safe with him.

Instantly, she reproached herself for her thoughts and moved away from Akenon.

CHAPTER 101

July 19
th
, 510 B.C.

“We must attack as soon as possible!”

From the dais, Milo could hear the shouts of the councilors. The session had been prolonged again until dawn, and exhaustion was making everyone more volatile.

“We have to fall on them before they can build up reinforcements!”

He shook his head, saying nothing. The debating had been disorganized for quite some time. Groups formed and argued among themselves without anyone making any progress. Neither had there been any significant change in the situation. That day, they had learned that the leader of the insurgents was named Tellus, and that they had probably received support from their masked enemy.

Milo estimated that, by now, the rebel camp must consist of more than a thousand horses and some ten thousand men.

But most of them have no experience in combat
, he told himself, nodding. They could still defeat them without too much trouble.

“They haven’t shown signs of aggression,” someone from the Three Hundred said. “We can’t attack people who haven’t even threatened us.”

An angry voice from the other side of the hall answered.

“Their presence at our city gates speaks for itself. It’s obvious their intentions are not peaceful. We’re talking about a movement against the aristocrats!”

“They’re three hours away on horseback, not at Croton’s gates,” someone else interjected. “Anyway, they’re Sybarites and will look after their city’s affairs. Or do you think they’re trying to do away with every government in Magna Graecia?”

Milo looked with concern at Cylon and the large group backing him. They had returned to the Council a few hours earlier and were acting strangely reserved. He then turned to Pythagoras. The master hadn’t spoken, though he was listening attentively to what was being said. Suddenly, as if reacting to his look, Pythagoras got up and walked to the dais. Milo began to descend, but the master gestured for him to stay where he was.

When he reached his side, Pythagoras motioned him closer and whispered, “I don’t know what Cylon is plotting, but I think it’s best if we make the first move.”

The hall went silent when it became clear that Pythagoras was preparing to speak. The philosopher had known for hours what he wanted to say, but had been waiting for the right moment. Now they were all so tired that what they wanted was someone to settle the debate so they could go home to bed. Pythagoras, too, lacked the energy for a debate or lengthy arguments, and was hoping for a quick agreement. He looked out at the audience, attempting to convey sufficient confidence, and began to speak.

“Councilors of Croton, I would like to submit two proposals for your consideration.”

Pythagoras’ voice was deep and resonant, but Milo detected a subtle fissure in its steadiness which he hoped no one else would perceive.

“The first proposal is to send a delegation at dawn to hold talks with Tellus. That way, we can garner more information about what he intends to do, as well as about his capabilities.” Pythagoras scanned his audience. They seemed in agreement, but wouldn’t commit themselves until he had finished. “The second proposal is that we mobilize our entire army and garrison them a few miles north of Croton. I am confident this demonstration of power will dissuade the Sybarites from advancing, and in any case, our army will then be strategically placed between our city and the Sybarite rebels.”

Pythagoras spoke for another five minutes. When he finished, Milo quickly intervened as commander-in-chief to add further weight to the philosopher’s words. He seconded the proposals and outlined some details about the deployment of the army. Among other things, it was necessary to station the army outside the city because with the reserves there wasn’t sufficient room in the barracks. Besides, under those circumstances the most prudent thing was to maintain readiness for battle.

As soon as he finished his arguments, the Three Hundred expressed their support. The remaining councilors debated among themselves in small groups, finally voting in favor as well. Cylon and his large group of followers abstained.

Two hours later, at dawn, a delegation left Croton for the Sybarite rebel camp, composed of three apprehensive councilors escorted by ten hoplites. During the first few minutes of their expedition they felt as if they were crossing a busy human anthill: the fifteen thousand soldiers of the Crotonian army were deploying along the north side of the city.

The troops stopped and watched the councilors go by with grave expressions. In the mind of every hoplite, accustomed to long years of peace, the same uneasy thought repeated itself.

If the delegation fails, we’ll have to fight
.

CHAPTER 102

July 22
nd
, 510 B.C.

Tellus received the delegation from Croton with civility.

Despite his good manners, the Sybarite leader didn’t consider it a good time to negotiate, so the Crotonian delegation returned empty-handed, having been unable to reach an agreement or even clarify the Sybarites’ intentions.

Two days later, Tellus organized his own delegation to present his conditions to the Crotonians.

“Isander, you have to insist on a reply today. Make it clear that any postponement will be unacceptable, and that we’ll interpret any delay as an emphatic refusal to meet our demands.”

His lieutenant nodded solemnly. He was proud to be heading the delegation. Up until three days ago, he had been a simple baker’s assistant, and now he was seen as nothing less than the right-hand man of the leader of the popular government of Sybaris.

“Don’t worry, Tellus, they will hear our requests loud and clear.”

The Sybarite leader placed a hand on his shoulder.

“If you leave now and return at sunset, they’ll have three or four hours to think about their response.”

Isander nodded again. Tellus came closer and looked at him intently.

“Isander, what we’re doing will be the model for other peoples for many generations to come.” He held Isander’s gaze for a few seconds and then embraced him. “May the gods be with you.”

His lieutenant returned the hug with a lump in his throat that prevented him from speaking. When they separated, he mounted his horse and headed south with five other men.

Standing at the edge of the camp, Tellus watched their figures grow smaller as they rode toward Croton. Then he turned and walked uphill along the riverbank among his men.

“Tellus, Tellus, Tellus!” the men shouted as he went by, waving their fists in the air. Tellus was beginning to get used to it.

They were camped along a mile of riverbed, from the mouth of the river to the foothills. Many days without rain had made the river easy to ford, something they had taken advantage of to cross men and animals to the other side and set up camp on the south bank, closest to Croton.

My men are euphoric
, he thought. It was to be expected. After all, they were in the middle of the biggest adventure of their lives, surrounded by an intoxicating atmosphere of freedom and justice. Besides, so far they had achieved resounding success. Tellus knew it was important to resolve the situation with Croton before his men’s ardor cooled. He returned their greetings, and all of them could see in his eyes the unswerving confidence that characterized him. However, under that steady façade, anxiety was welling up. He was competent and experienced at conspiracy, not at leading an army.

Made up of butchers, bakers, potters…

The enormous responsibility pressed on him, but he wasn’t completely alone in his labors. Among his men were two hundred mercenaries previously employed by the aristocrats whom they had persuaded—with a corresponding payment in gold—to defect to their side. A similar number of guards had also joined them. In total, four hundred men with military training, experts at handling weapons. It wasn’t many, but he had appointed them as his officer corps, and together with them he had organized the makeshift people’s army of Sybaris, making each new officer responsible for a group of inexperienced men. Additionally, he had selected the five best among them to form a permanent military council.

As he walked uphill amid the cheering, he thought about the masked man with curiosity and gratitude. He suspected that the reasons he had helped them went beyond sympathizing with the popular uprising against the aristocrats. The mysterious man had asked for the contents of Glaucus’ palace in compensation, but Tellus was sure there was something more than gold motivating him.

In any case, his help has been invaluable
.

The masked man had strengthened the movement while simultaneously reinforcing Tellus’ position. He always used just the right words and imbued them with his supernatural powers of persuasion. Moreover, he usually had a few gold coins ready to convince anyone who opposed or doubted him, and strengthen the convictions of those who were already persuaded. The fact that Glaucus had awarded him those coins for having solved an apparently unsolvable mathematical problem simply added another layer of mystery to his persona.

When he reached his tent, perched on a low ridge, Tellus turned to observe the northern road. The traffic was continuous, especially from Sybaris in their direction.

Our army keeps growing and increasing its supplies
, he thought, smiling confidently.

The revolt had been well planned and executed, but his plans had only extended to the pursuit of the aristocrats who had tried to escape. From that point on he had improvised. He would never have imagined they would travel so far from Sybaris, or that so many men would join the pursuit. By the time he realized it, they had spent the whole day pursuing the aristocrats and were closer to Croton than Sybaris.

A voice sounded beside him, bringing him back to the present.

“A beautiful sight.”

Tellus turned toward the man who had just arrived. It was Branco, the most valuable member of his military council. He was a Spartan of about forty with weathered skin, whose cynical smile contrasted disturbingly with his cold, calculating eyes. It was said he had fled Sparta at the age of twenty, after slitting the throat of a military superior who had humiliated him. He was one of the first mercenaries they had recruited. The rapid fall of the aristocratic quarter had been the result of his strategy and leadership during the fighting.

Branco was looking with satisfaction at the lower section of the camp, where the army’s two thousand horses were tethered.

“Are you sure they’ll be enough?” Tellus asked.

“Absolutely sure,” replied Branco without taking his eyes from the animals. “And if I’m sure, the military advisors on the Croton Council will be too.” He looked at Tellus. “We Greeks aren’t used to combat on horseback, but with a cavalry corps this size we wouldn’t need the rest of your men to crush the Crotonian army. As long as the cavalry are properly led, of course.”

Branco turned away again to survey the horses, and Tellus felt slightly bothered by his arrogance. He continually made that kind of comment, pointing out not only how grateful they should be to him, but how much they needed him.

The fact was that the position of strength they enjoyed was largely due to Branco, who had taken charge of their military council. He always seemed sure of what needed to be done. Camping by the river on the first night had been his suggestion, and he was the one who had insisted the following morning that they assemble their forces at that location and pressure the city of Croton to hand over the escaped aristocrats.

I agree completely with that
, thought Tellus.
It’s vital that we capture the ones who escaped.
His informers had told him there were some five hundred refugees in Croton. If they didn’t incarcerate them, a few months later those aristocrats would put together an army from among their powerful allies, and would try to reconquer Sybaris.

Tellus looked at Branco from the corner of his eye. He trusted his military competence, but not his loyalty. Fortunately, the men followed Tellus blindly, and Branco simply put his military skills into practice. After the first night, Tellus had appointed him quartermaster. Branco had set up a constant flow of messengers to and from Sybaris and asked the city to supply everything they would need to camp there for several days. He also changed the configuration of the camp to accommodate the additional men expected to arrive. That was when the delegation from Croton appeared. As soon as they left, Branco had intensified his requests for rapid reinforcements.

“It’s very possible the Crotonians might launch an immediate attack,” he insisted. “Their delegation has seen we’re growing, but we’re still weaker than them.”

They organized their defense and sent urgent messages to Sybaris to speed up the delivery of men and all horses possible. Fortunately, the Crotonians had shown their weakness, making the mistake of not attacking them. In just two days, the Sybarite camp had doubled in size. It now consisted of twenty-five thousand men and two thousand horses. Their spies had informed them that the Crotonian army, now deployed outside the city, comprised fifteen thousand men and five hundred horses. Despite the significant difference in numbers, Croton’s infantry was much more dangerous. It was made up of expert soldiers, protected by helmets, greaves, and cuirasses made from leather and even metal, and they carried swords, shields, and lances. Sybaris’ men were full of enthusiasm and led by mercenaries and guards, but they were civilians with no military training, and no cuirasses or weapons other than knives, sickles, and hammers.

Right now Croton’s infantry is superior, but two things guarantee our victory
, thought Tellus with satisfaction.

First, men and weapons kept arriving from Sybaris. In a day or two they’d have thirty thousand soldiers, albeit improvised, and would be better armed. The second and decisive factor was the advantage their cavalry gave them. They had two thousand horses compared to five hundred. Besides, the Sybarite horses were bigger and stronger. They had belonged to the aristocrats, and each horse had been attended by three or four servants responsible for its food, physical condition, and training for the equestrian performances the wealthy Sybarites enjoyed so much. Their horses could prance sideways and backwards, stand upright on their hind legs, and turn around like men dancing. Branco was in awe of those animals.

“Every Sybarite steed is worth three Crotonian horses,” he had told Tellus.

Even though it was true they didn’t have two thousand cavalrymen, they had assigned four hundred of the horses to the mercenaries and guards. The remainder had been divided among the strongest and best armed men. According to Branco, their cavalry would be enough to crush half the Crotonian army and send the other half running. All the Sybarite infantry would have to do would be finish off the wounded and go after those that fled.

Tellus thought of the delegation he had just sent to Croton, and sighed deeply. He was already responsible for many deaths he considered inevitable, but he didn’t enjoy seeing other human beings die. He hoped the Council of Croton would be reasonable and hand over the aristocratic refugees.

I don’t want to order another massacre, but I’ll do it if I’m left with no choice
.