Fanfic: A Beautiful Impact (Part 3)
“Were we ever that young?” Jason asks, standing in the window and looking out at the young men in the courtyard below.
The day is very hot but a slight breeze from the sea ripples the light curtains at the window, making them dance. Pythagoras looks up from his work with a faint smile.
“Younger, I think,” he says with humour, moving to join his friend.
He never had managed to get to Athens, but Croton suits him well enough. The weather is good and the school he ended up founding here is flourishing (as evidenced by the young men milling around the courtyard; gathering in little groups to debate and discuss or studying alone).
“I received a letter from Ariadne this morning,” he adds, glancing sideways at Jason. “She writes that Athene is to be married before the summer is out.”
Jason grunts.
“Yes,” he answers. “To a Prince of Aegina no less.”
“You do not approve?” Pythagoras asks. “Surely Athene cannot marry without permission?”
“There is no reason to withhold permission,” Jason growls. “Apparently it is a very suitable match and the young man seems pleasant enough. Athene seems keen.” He sighs. “I think it’s more that he’s from Aegina that I have a problem with. I can’t help remembering Telemon…”
“Hmm,” Pythagoras agrees. “And perhaps a small part of you thinks that no man will ever be good enough for her?” he suggests gently, looking at Jason from the corner of his eyes.
“Maybe,” Jason acknowledges. He sighs again. “When I think of Athene, I don’t think of her as a grown woman,” he admits. “I think of the little four-year-old girl with braided hair, climbing up onto Hercules’ lap and demanding another story.”
“As far as I have been told, that is one of the downsides to being a father,” Pythagoras says. “That no matter how old your daughter gets - or you get for that matter - you will always see her as your little girl.”
Jason chuckles and turns to look at Pythagoras.
“You might well be right,” he says ruefully. “I can never get my head around the fact that all three of the children are grown up. It seems like yesterday since they were being born… hell, it only seems like yesterday that we were on Argo.”
“That was more than twenty years ago,” Pythagoras points out with a wry smile. “Not that anyone who met you would know it. You only look a few years older than you did then. How is it that you don’t seem to age the same way the rest of us do?”
Jason shrugs awkwardly, clearly embarrassed and Pythagoras wishes he hadn’t brought the subject up. What he said was true though. He knows that Jason is around the same age as he is but does not look it these days. Pythagoras is rapidly approaching his fiftieth year and knows that he looks his age, but his friend could easily pass for ten - fifteen - years younger than that. Far from looking in his late forties, Jason still looks as though he is in the early half of his thirties (too young to have children who are all but grown); his hair is still dark with no sign of grey and there are no real lines on his face.
“Are you happy here?” Jason asks suddenly, trying to change the subject.
“Yes,” Pythagoras answers without hesitation. “The young men who come to study with me are all very keen and I find myself content. It is not the same as my life in Atlantis was - when you shared the house with Hercules and I - when Icarus was alive… but I have found peace.”
He watches the young men in the courtyard for a moment or two. When he speaks again his voice is very soft but very serious.
“Jason, what are you doing here?” he asks.
“Don’t you want me here?” Jason retorts with a chuckle.
It is a familiar exchange (one that they have repeated many times over the years) but Pythagoras still rolls his eyes at Jason’s evasiveness.
“Of course I do,” he replies. “But with your daughter getting married soon, should you not be in Atlantis? I would have thought that there was much to do and much to prepare.”
“Ariadne has the wedding under control,” Jason answers. “There really wasn’t anything I could do. She didn’t need me there… Besides, can’t I visit an old friend? I can leave if you want.”
“Do not be ridiculous,” Pythagoras says sharply. “You know that you are always welcome here whenever you want.”
Jason smiles and crosses from the window to the table, pours some wine into the only cup there and takes a long sip. For some reason the sight jars Pythagoras but he can’t explain why even to himself. There are droplets of deep red wine clinging to his friend’s lower lip and just for a second it looks almost like blood. Then Jason licks it away and the moment (whatever it was) is gone.
Jason spots him staring and returns the gaze quizzically.
“What?” he asks.
Pythagoras flounders for an explanation for a moment (even though there really isn’t one - he can’t explain the cold, empty feeling that swept over him). Then the door slams open and a young man rushes in. A welcome interruption.
“Master Pythagoras,” the boy says breathlessly. “I think I have found it!”
He is red in the face and panting hard; for a second, Pythagoras is afraid he will pass out.
“Slowly, Burrhus,” he says gently, pushing the boy down onto a stool. “Take a few deep breaths and then tell me.”
Burrhus rolls his eyes impatiently but does as he’s told, knowing that Pythagoras will not allow him to talk until he is satisfied the boy has his breath back.
Finally the mathematician nods.
“There you are,” he says. “Now you are less likely to end up on the floor, what was it you were so desperate to tell me?”
Burrhus looks up at him with shining eyes, his excitement written on his face. He reaches out to grab Pythagoras’ wrist.
“You remember what I was working on, Master Pythagoras?” he says. “Well I think I have worked out the answer.”
Pythagoras smiles encouragingly. Burrhus is not the brightest of his students but is far from unintelligent. The thing he lacks most is self-confidence, so Pythagoras is pleased to see him so excited and certain.
“That is good, Burrhus,” he says kindly.
“Come and see what I have done,” the boy says urgently, giving a little tug at Pythagoras’ wrist. “I think you will be proud of me Master Pythagoras.”
He is on his feet and tugging Pythagoras towards the door before the mathematician can respond. In his excitement to show his discovery to his teacher, he seems to have completely missed the fact that Pythagoras has company. Pythagoras hears Jason chuckle gently and looks up to see his friend grinning openly. Idly he wonders if this is what he was like as a young man whenever he came up with a new theory. Was he this enthusiastic? Yes, he thinks, he probably was (and still gets that way at times if truth be told). For now, though, he decides he doesn’t really want his wrist pulled apart by an over-enthusiastic boy.
“Gently,” he admonishes. “I am not a rope and you are not on a helkustinda team.”
In the long-lost days of his adolescence, he remembers his brother, Arcas, taking part in helkustinda. He remembers Arcas’ pride when he had taken his place in the team. The rules had been simple: two teams each taking the end of a rope and attempting to pull each other past a marker on the ground. It was supposed to be a good test of strength - a way of building up the strength needed for battle in full armour. Pythagoras had not been asked to take part (nor had he wanted to); he had always been seen as too skinny - too weak.
Burrhus looks instantly ashamed and drops his wrist as though he has been burned.
“Forgive me,” he says. “I did not mean to hurt you.”
“And you have not,” Pythagoras reassures him.
“Will you not come to look?” Burrhus asks anxiously.
He hesitates for a moment, biting his lip nervously (it is a habit Pythagoras has been trying to break him of).
“I am not certain that all my calculations are correct,” he confesses. “Will you check them for me?”
“Of course,” Pythagoras replies softly.
He glances at Jason again (who is still being ignored by the boy). Jason nods gently and inclines his head towards the door - indicating that Pythagoras should go. Pythagoras half smiles in acknowledgement, glad that his friend understands, and leaves with his excited pupil.
The sun rises and the sun sets; the stars making their eternal way across the heavens, following their set course. Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and months turn into years. They are happy years (mostly); filled with fulfilment. There was, of course, a period of turmoil when the school in Croton had ended up being burned to the ground, but Pythagoras had simply moved to Metapontum and his new school has been established here for many years now.
He has grown old (older than he ever thought he would be) and feels his years a little more each day; it is in the aches that plague him when he rises in the morning; the breathlessness when he walks too far; the stick that he needs to lean on; the fact that he needs to rest after climbing the stairs. His sight is beginning to fail him and more often than not he has to ask one of his students to read to him when he finds the candlelight strains his eyes.
He feels the cold more than he used to and has the fire lit more often - even if it does make the room a little stuffy at times.
So it is that he rises early one morning (he still rises before the sun - the habit of a time long past) and prepares himself for the day, sitting down in the window seat as the sun rises with the duel purpose of eating his breakfast and using the golden rays of the sun to warm him. He is tired (he is always tired) and suspects that his time is growing short; there will not be many more days when he can enjoy the sunshine and the company of friends.
The young man who comes in with a letter (newly arrived on a ship from Atlantis) is one of Pythagoras’ favourite pupils (even if he is terribly young). Pythagoras bids the young man to read it to him (he is too comfortable to want to move right now). The news it contains is saddening but not entirely unexpected; Cassandra, Oracle of Poseidon (forever a young girl in Pythagoras’ memory), has passed away peacefully and her successor named. Her health has been failing for some time now and Pythagoras has half feared the arrival of this letter for months.
“Forgive me Master Pythagoras,” the young man, Duris, says, “but why would this be something you were interested in?” He gestures to the letter he’s reading. “I understand that an oracle is an important person, but Atlantis is far from here and I cannot see that she could be connected to your work.”
Pythagoras closes his eyes and sighs, reminding himself that this boy is still young and knows nothing of the mathematician’s former life.
“I have not always lived in Metapontum,” he says. “For the greater part of my life I lived in Atlantis… and I once called the Oracle a friend.”
“A friend?” Duris asks incredulously. “How can this be? Forgive me… I do not wish to seem as though I do not believe you but the priests and priestesses who serve the Gods rarely have anything to do with ordinary men.” He flushes as he realises what he has said. “Not that I mean that you are ordinary, Master Pythagoras,” he says, flustered. “It is just…”
“Do not be concerned, Duris,” Pythagoras replies. “I am not offended. Poseidon’s Oracle and I travelled together for some time when I was young… that was how our friendship began.”
Duris looks at him sceptically.
“Now I know you are teasing me,” he declares. “All the world knows that the oracles do not leave the temples of the Gods they are dedicated to unless it is to perform specific rites.”
“I am not teasing you,” Pythagoras assures him. “Cassandra… Poseidon’s Oracle was one of my companions aboard the Argo.”
“The Argo?” Duris exclaims in surprise. “I have heard of that great ship and of the journey of the heroes who travelled on it… and you were among them?”
Much as he has great respect for Pythagoras, he has (until now at least) always thought of him as a gentle and harmless (albeit remarkably clever) old man.
“I was indeed,” Pythagoras replies. “They were my friends. Jason - the leader of our voyage - had shared a house with Hercules and myself in happier times.”
“The Hercules?” Duris demands, sounding deeply impressed. “You shared a house with Hercules? Was he as strong and heroic as the stories say? I have heard that he was the son of Zeus himself!”
Pythagoras nearly laughs; Hercules would be delighted to hear the stories that are obviously being told about him.
“Stronger, I suspect,” he answers, seeing no real harm in adding a little to the legend that clearly surrounds his old friend. “He once wrestled the Nemean lion, you know.”
Duris looks almost awestruck and it’s all Pythagoras can do to keep a straight face.
“He was also the smelliest man in all Atlantis and spent most of his time gambling in the tavern,” he adds, feeling the need to add a grain of truth. “But he was my friend and I could not have asked for a better one. He was loyal and true… and would have given his life to save mine.”
“You speak as though he is no longer in the land of the living,” Duris begins hesitantly.
“He isn’t,” Pythagoras agrees, his tone becoming a little melancholy. “Hercules was not a young man when I met him. He was old enough to be my father. I suppose that ours was a strange friendship… but we were family and we loved one another.”
“And what about the others on the Argo?” Duris asks, entranced. “What were they like?”
“Well there was Cassandra - the Oracle of Poseidon - she was just a young girl back then,” Pythagoras reminisces. “She had only just been named as Oracle and she was very innocent. Her gift meant that she could never lie… which could be inconvenient when we were trying to conceal what we were doing… but she was a good friend and a good companion.” He pauses to remember the girl he had known and the woman she had become; his sorrow at her recent death threatening briefly to overcome him.
“I’m sorry,” Duris says. “If you do not wish to talk about this…”
“Nonsense,” Pythagoras declares as brightly as he can manage. “It does me good to be able to talk of my friends… to remember them.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Ariadne was Queen of Atlantis,” he says. “She was as beautiful as the moon and stars… and as kind as she was lovely. You did not cross her though. She had a wicked aim with a bow… although even her skill paled into insignificance next to Atalanta. Atalanta was… well I don’t actually know what she was to be honest… she was a servant of Artemis, that much is certain, and she had certain… well… magical abilities… she could heal wounds for instance. She could run as fast as any man and I have never seen her like as an archer.”
He looks out of the window for a moment and then turns back to his young companion. Duris has come over to sit at his feet to listen to his reminiscences.
“Then there was Icarus.” He pauses again, swallowing hard (it is still painful to remember what happened to Icarus even after all these years). “Icarus and I were… intimate.”
“You were close friends?”
“No,” Pythagoras replies calmly. “We were lovers.” He looks at the stunned expression on Duris’ face and cannot help laughing. “I have shocked you,” he says.
“No!” Duris exclaims rapidly. “No… I was just… not expecting you to say that, that is all.” He looks Pythagoras in the face. “What happened?” he asks.
“I don’t understand,” Pythagoras says.
“You said that you and this Icarus were lovers… which means that you are not now… so I wondered… forgive me, I am being rude. Asking questions that I should not; being nosy. My mother is always telling me off for that.”
“Never be ashamed of having an inquiring mind,” Pythagoras states firmly. “As for Icarus… well… after our voyage on the Argo we spent several very happy years together. Then he was lost at sea, testing an invention of his father’s… and I never fully forgave Daedalus for that. I still find it painful to talk about Icarus even after all these years. That is not your doing though… it is simply the way things are.”
He pauses again, lost in memories - both good and bad.
“The journey on the Argo were the most terrifying, dreadful and wonderful days that I ever spent… and my companions were the best friends a man could ever hope for,” he says. “They were the best and worst of times… and I would not exchange a moment of it.”
Duris nods thoughtfully.
“A few minutes ago, you mentioned the leader of your journey… Jason,” he murmurs. “I have heard stories of him… What was he like?”
Pythagoras huffs a laugh (it’s more of a wheeze than he would like but he supposes that that is only to be expected really).
“When I first met Jason, I do not think anyone could have predicted what he would become,” he says. “He was just another ordinary young man; a boy of no real consequence to anyone. He burst into our lives so unexpectedly… and I never did find out where he came from. He was sunny natured and always ready to share a joke or a smile. We often joined forces to tease Hercules. Later on, when we had learned that he was actually the true heir to the throne and all the cares and worries pressed upon him, he became very solemn; very serious… but at first he was fun.”
“And was he as great a warrior as the stories say?” Duris asks, hanging on Pythagoras’ every word.
“I have never known a better man with a sword,” Pythagoras says. “Oh, not at first… at first he couldn’t fight with it at all… but once he learned to wield it properly, he was brilliant… although, I suppose it was only natural, given that Jason was touched by the Gods at birth. When I first met him, no man that I had ever met could run faster - he ran like the wind itself - and he could flip and twist better than any acrobat I have ever seen. He was different; special.” He smiles softly. “From the start, I rapidly became aware that he was without doubt the stubbornest person I had ever known and when he got an idea in his head - when he thought that what he was doing was right - there was no shaking him from it. He could be hot-tempered, pig headed and wilful… but he was, without doubt, one of the kindest and noblest men you could ever meet. He married Ariadne before we ever travelled on the Argo and when we got back to Atlantis, he was named King. Then the children were born. Three of them. Athene was first and then the twins came along four years later. They were good times. We were as close as brothers once.”
Duris fiddles with the hem of his tunic, pulling at a loose thread he finds there. Finally, he looks up at Pythagoras.
“If you were as close as brothers, why has he never visited you?” he asks. “If he had, one of the others would have mentioned it even if it was before my time here. I mean… the stories of the Argo are told often enough that if one of the Argonauts had come here it would have been talked about.”
“I was an Argonaut in a way,” Pythagoras points out. He sighs and closes his eyes briefly. “There was another journey,” he says. “Years after Argo. It did not end well.”
“What happened?” Duris demands.
Pythagoras doesn’t speak for a long minute - so long, in fact, that his young companion doesn’t think he’s going to respond and starts to ready his apologies in case he has offended him.
“There was another kingdom who had long been antagonistic towards Atlantis,” Pythagoras says at length. “They sent emissaries indicating that they wished to draw up a peace treaty. The negotiations were long but finally they were concluded, and it was decided that the treaty would be signed at a point along the border between the kingdoms. Ariadne could not go herself. The twins were only young and Jason decided it would be too dangerous for both him and Ariadne to go. He didn’t want to risk it if anything went wrong. They had a blazing row about it actually. Anyway, since the negotiations were secret and needed to be kept so until the treaty had been signed, it was decided that only a small group of us would go; that we would not take a large contingent of guards. Jason did not like being surrounded by guards at the best of times; did not like fuss and it was not as if he needed protecting most of the time. He could see off most threats all on his own.” He pauses for a moment and swallows hard. “We got there and, for once, everything went according to plan. Jason signed the treaty and we set off for home again in high spirits. We were just three days from Atlantis and we set up camp for the night. We were in an area that was supposed to be safe; there hadn’t been bandits there for years. Only, there were bandits. They were drawn to our camp fire and attacked from out of the dark. The first we knew of them was when an arrow hit Jason high in the chest. He would normally have been protected by his breastplate but he had loosened the ties on one side to adjust his tunic underneath. The bandits… well let’s just say that between Hercules and the two guards that were with us, they did not live very long. The wound itself looked ghastly but I still believed it to be treatable. I removed the arrow and stemmed the bleeding… packed the wound as best I could… but we decided - Jason too - that it would be best to make for home; that I could treat him better in Atlantis. There was only so much that I could do for him out in the middle of nowhere.”
Pythagoras swallows hard again and looks out of the window, lost in the past. A gentle touch on his hand startles him back to reality and he looks down to see Duris offering him a cup of water. It seems that the boy had stood up and slipped across the room to fetch it for him without him even noticing. He nods his thanks and attempts to smile at the lad before taking a long sip.
“I had tended to all their wounds so many times before,” Pythagoras says quietly. “I had always been very interested in anatomy and somewhere along the way I had become the healer for our group.” He pauses and half smiles to himself. “It was generally Jason that I was patching up… he seemed to attract injuries, but he always healed from them well and quickly… so I had no reason to believe that this time would be any different.”
“But it was?” Duris asks.
“Yes,” Pythagoras replies. “None of us got much sleep that night and we set out again before dawn. At first everything seemed fine. Our pace was slower than usual but that was only to be expected… I did not feel that it was prudent to move the horses at anything more than a walk; I did not want to risk reopening the wound and causing greater bleeding by riding too fast and jostling it. Still, he seemed to be tolerating the journey well. Oh, I knew he had to be in pain - and probably a great deal of it - but I think they must have had Jason in mind when they came up with the word stoic. He would cry out when any injury first happened and whimper softly as I treated him - I used to think that sound was worse than if he had been screaming - but afterwards he would sort of retreat into himself; would suffer in silence so as not be a bother. This time was no different. He even attempted to joke with Hercules and Icarus, but I could tell it was an effort. As the day went on, Jason slumped more in the saddle and grew quieter as he grew more tired. He was paler than I liked too but even then I still believed that it was just a normal injury that he would recover from quickly.” He takes another sip of the water. “Only it was not. You see I did not know that the arrow had touched his heart and pierced his lung. He was bleeding inside and I did not realise… and I should have! I should have been more aware. I could not have changed what happened in the end… but I should still have known!”
He swallows convulsively and stares out of the window for a long moment. Something is moving out on the hillside but it is too far away for him to make out what it is anymore. Some days he curses his failing eyesight; one of the consequences of getting old he supposes.
“We set up camp for the night,” he says. “We had supper when we stopped - although I do not believe any of us had much of an appetite… even Hercules - and if you had known him you would know just how unusual that really was. I was tired and both Hercules and Icarus encouraged me to rest. Hercules decided that he and the two guards were going to check the area to make sure there were no more bandits anywhere nearby; nothing that could attack us in the night. He persuaded Icarus to go and fetch more firewood, so it was just Jason and I left in camp.” He pauses and swallows convulsively again. “We had laid out our blankets near the fire. He looked so tired… so world weary… and I… I think I knew that something was not right - although I am not sure that I could have explained why. There was something in his expression... I asked Jason to promise that he would not leave us. I told him that I needed him to stay… And I knew - I knew that that was a promise that he could not make; that he might not be able to keep - yet I still asked it of him. When he told me that he would stay if he could, I told him that that was not good enough… and so he gave in and told me what I wanted to hear. He was tired and I told him to sleep. I must have fallen asleep myself because the next thing I remember was Hercules shaking me awake, shouting at me to do something. Jason was coughing, curled in on himself… and as soon as I saw the blood on his lips I knew… I knew he must be bleeding inside - that he had been bleeding inside all day - that the arrow must have touched his heart… and I knew there was nothing I could do to fix it.” He pauses and takes a long sip of the water Duris brought for him. “It was peaceful in the end,” he admits. “Hercules was desolate and raging but even he knew there was nothing that could be done. The hardest part was returning to Atlantis and telling Ariadne that her husband was not going to be returning home.”
Duris looks up at him with large, sad eyes.
“I am sorry, Master Pythagoras,” he says. “I did not mean to stir up bad memories or to make you sad.”
Pythagoras is surprised to realise that his cheeks are wet (had no idea that he had started crying at some point). He wipes his eyes almost impatiently and rests one thin hand on the boy’s head.
“Gracious child, you have not made me sad,” he says with false brightness. “I simply have some dust in my eye.”
Duris looks at him sceptically, and for a moment Pythagoras is reminded of a conversation he once had with Hercules by a campfire when the burly wrestler had claimed not to be crying (and it seems like a lifetime ago now).
“Do not worry,” the elderly mathematician attempts to reassure his young companion, “nothing you have done has or could upset me. It was more than forty years ago now; a lifetime by anyone’s standards.”
He moves his hand from the curly head by his knee to pat the boy’s shoulder.
“Now,” he says. “I have spent enough time dwelling on the past. Tell me, what are you working on at the moment?”
“I have been following your theory of ratios in tuning musical instruments,” Duris answers promptly. “I am testing the theory to provide empirical proofs.”
He goes into a lengthy explanation of his work, which Pythagoras listens to patiently, making the right encouraging noises at the right times. Finally, having suggested several new lines of study for Duris, he sends the young man off to carry on with his studies alone.
He is gripped by the sudden desire to see the view from the hill (although it is a year or two now since he made the trek up there), so he slowly pushes himself to his feet (and, Gods, what he would give to go a day without feeling so stiff and tired) and reaches for his stick.
The path to the hill seems longer than he remembers and the climb steeper. Halfway there a sharp pain starts to grow in his chest - nothing like his usual aches and pains. Pythagoras pauses, breathing hard before carrying on, determined to get to the top.
The hilltop opens out into a sunlit olive grove. Pythagoras makes his way over to the nearest tree and sits down slowly and painfully, still gasping for breath. Hercules would have loved it here, he decides. His old friend was always complaining that the misadventures the three of them embarked on all too often ended up in a dark cave or an overgrown forest; places of dark magic and mystery. Pythagoras could remember the burly wrestler plaintively demanding to know why they couldn’t end up in a sunlit olive grove for once.
A wave of pain catches him again (it feels almost like his chest is being crushed) and he hunches in on himself, vaguely aware of someone sitting down beside him as he does. It is no real surprise when a familiar hand begins to rub up and down his spine comfortingly.
“Why are you here?” he manages to gasp out.
“You need me,” Jason replies gently. “Even after all these years.”
“Yes,” Pythagoras agrees. “Gods help me, I do.”
He turns his head to look at his friend sharply. Jason looks as solid and real as he does himself (if a lot younger, he acknowledges with a frown).
“All these years,” he says. “Have you ever really been here? Are you a spirit or just a figment of my imagination?”
Jason shrugs.
“Does it really matter?” he asks.
Pythagoras snorts and looks away.
“I suppose not,” he says, “but I would like to know.”
The pain in his chest has eased and he is finally managing to catch his breath.
“I made you a promise,” Jason replies with a soft half-smile. “I promised that I wouldn’t leave you.”
“I meant you to stay with us physically, not like this,” Pythagoras retorts sharply.
“I know,” Jason says. “But that wasn’t… I couldn’t…”
Pythagoras finds himself almost in tears once more.
“I am sorry,” he all but whispers. “I should not have made you promise that. I knew it was a promise that you would not be able to keep.”
“It’s alright,” Jason answers, looking off into the distance. “I didn’t want to leave.”
“I think you must be a figment of my imagination,” Pythagoras replies at length. “I have never heard of a spirit that returns to comfort and speak with someone… especially over so many years.”
Jason looks amused.
“When have I ever followed the rules?” he points out.
He reaches out and pinches Pythagoras gently.
“Does that feel imaginary?” he adds.
“Ow!” Pythagoras protests (although it has to be said that the pinch was feather light and didn’t really hurt), slapping his friend on the arm.
Jason feels as solid and real as he looks.
“I suppose that if anyone were to be able to do this, it would be you,” Pythagoras acknowledges. “You never did know how to give in.”
He looks away, gazing at the view from the hilltop (it is the reason that he struggled to get up here after all). From here he can see the sea; the bright morning sun dancing across the rippling waves. It occurs to him that in all his long life, he has never lived anywhere that wasn’t near the sea.
“The thing I do not understand,” he says at length, “is that, if I accept that you are not a figment of my imagination, why you are the only one who ever came back to me? Not that I have not enjoyed our conversations over the years, but I was friends with Hercules for longer and Icarus was the love of my life… why did neither one of them ever return?”
Jason sighs.
“I can’t really say,” he admits. “Maybe it’s because I’m the one that promised you I wouldn’t leave. Icarus is waiting for you though… they all are.”
“I would have thought that once Ariadne… well, I would have thought that you would have wanted to be with her so much that you would not have time for me anymore,” Pythagoras says mildly.
There isn’t even the hint of accusation in his voice; he knows how much Jason loves his wife after all.
Jason smiles softly.
“We’ve waited this long to be together,” he points out, “I hardly think a little while longer matters in the grand scheme of things.”
“I miss her,” Pythagoras confesses. “Now that Cassandra is gone too, I am the last of us; the last one who remembers; the last one who can tell the true story of what happened… some of the stories I hear about Argo are rather fantastical.”
Jason grins.
“Really?” he says.
“Yes,” Pythagoras answers. “There is a rumour, for instance, that Hercules was a demi-god.”
Jason gives a surprised and incredulous laugh.
“Seriously?” he asks.
“Seriously,” Pythagoras replies with a smile. “He would have loved it. All he ever wanted to be was famous; a hero worthy of legends.”
They lapse into friendly silence for a moment.
“Part of me wishes Ariadne had remarried,” Jason observes at length. “I would have liked her to have been happier than she was.”
He looks at Pythagoras and, although he is smiling, his eyes are slightly sad.
“I used to watch her… even if she wasn’t able to see me. When she was alone, she always looked a little sad.”
“I don’t think she ever stopped missing you,” Pythagoras says softly.
“Which is why I would have liked her to have found someone who could have made her happy,” Jason replies. “It hardly seems fair somehow that after everything that we went through, Ariadne didn’t get to be happy.”
“She was happy,” Pythagoras murmurs, “and life has never been all that fair. Besides… I think one epic love story was enough to last her a lifetime.”
Jason snorts.
“Epic love story?” he says wryly. “Are you getting poetic in your old age?”
Pythagoras raises an eyebrow.
“Well what else would you call it?” he asks. His voice is wheezier than ever, and he can’t seem to catch his breath properly. “The heir to the throne and a peasant fall in love. They risk everything for each other - even their lives. They go through many hardships both before and after the princess becomes queen. She risks her life and her throne to become betrothed to him and then to save him. He risks his life to save her in return. They marry while they are on the run and it turns out that he is not the peasant everyone believed; he is the true heir to the throne… if that is not the stuff of legends then I do not know what is!”
“Well when you put it like that, it does rather sound like a fairy story doesn’t it?” Jason replies.
Pythagoras frowns in confusion. In spite of the years they have known one another, Jason can still disconcert him by using strange words and phrases.
“What is a fairy story?” he asks.
“A story for children,” Jason answers. “A bedtime story.”
“Ah,” Pythagoras responds.
Jason looks speculatively at the old mathematician.
“Do you still believe that we can be reborn after we die?” he asks.
“In the transmigration of the soul?” Pythagoras replies. “Yes… more than ever. I simply cannot believe that there is no point to our lives. For us to be reborn into new lives makes far more sense to me than the traditional view of the underworld.”
“Fair enough,” Jason says.
“I believe… I hope… that we meet those we love again in our next lives,” Pythagoras continues. “I hope to see Icarus once more - to have the life together that we were denied in this one - and not just as cold spirits in Hades.”
Jason smiles softly.
Pythagoras frowns, eyes narrowing.
“You must know what happens,” he says. “After all you are…”
He breaks off. In spite of the many conversations he has had with Jason (or with what he supposes to be Jason’s spirit) over the years, they have never directly discussed what happened before.
“You can say it,” Jason replies mildly. “I won’t instantly vanish if you do.”
Pythagoras shoots him a look that can only be described as exasperated.
“I know that,” he snaps. “I am a man of reason after all.” He sighs. “It is just that… well… I do not really think of you as being…”
“Dead?” Jason offers. He huffs a humourless laugh. “Trust me, it’s not something that I’m particularly happy about… but it did happen.”
“I know,” Pythagoras admits. “I have always known. I did not wish to acknowledge it… but I always knew the truth.”
Jason laughs and nudges his old friend with his shoulder.
“Do you remember the first time I came to see you after,” he says. “I’m not sure which one of us was more shocked… I didn’t expect you to be able to see me - no-one else could.”
“I thought I was going mad,” Pythagoras confesses. “And I certainly think that Hercules believed I was… I tried to tell him, you know. He… well… let us just say that it is perhaps for the best that he had rather too much to drink that evening and could not remember the precise details of our conversation… otherwise I fear that he might have locked me up for my own good.”
“You still spoke to me though,” Jason points out. “After the first couple of times, it was just like it always was.”
“Yes,” Pythagoras says. “I had missed you more than I like to think… and even if I did not know how it was possible that you could be there… I still relished our conversations.”
“Nothing lasts forever though.”
“No,” Pythagoras agrees. “I suppose it does not.”
“I’m going to miss this,” Jason says looking at the view.
Pythagoras frowns. The pain in his chest is back, even worse than it was before.
“Miss what?” he manages to gasp out.
“Greece,” Jason replies. “The sunshine; the heat. Where I grew up was always colder than this.”
“I will not see you again, will I?” Pythagoras replies sadly.
He cannot help whimpering as the pain reaches agonising levels, blackness encroaching on the edges of his vision; dark spots dancing in front of his eyes as the world closes in. He feels Jason easing him down until he is lying, hand stroking his hair gently but firmly.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Jason says softly. “I’m pretty sure we’ll see each other again. Don’t worry about it right at this moment. Rest now… just rest.”
It is growing harder for Pythagoras to breathe and his sight is all but gone, but he knows his friend is still there with him (as he has always been). He is so very tired but, although there is still pain, he feels peace creeping over him.
“I’ll see you in our next lives,” he hears Jason murmur. “I can’t wait to see what we’ll both do then.”