The Romance of Atlantis (17 page)

“Would they be loyal to me, these hungry wolves that crept starving and gaunt from Althrustri to enjoy the plenitude of Atlantis, which hath sheltered them and fed them and allowed them to pursue their lives like free men?”

A low exclamation burst from Mahius. “But, Majesty, what dost thou care whether they be loyal to thee or not? Only in war dost thou need loyalty. And there is no war. Is not Signar betrothed to thy sister?”

Salustra stared incredulously and then burst into a loud and bitter laugh. She moved to the old man and, still laughing, struck him lightly upon the shoulder. “Fatuous old fool! Dost thou not know that Signar still nurses his original intention? But fortune loves the resourceful. I have a plan.”

She leaned upon the table and pointed to the map with a long white finger. She traced the northern outline of Atlantis. “Send a message in code to the northern solar stations, Mahius, so that none may know the message save the recipients,” she said in a low voice. “Call an alert along the border, quietly, secretly. Call the fleet home from all foreign stations and distribute it along our coast.”

Mahius regarded her with a shrug. “Thou forgettest that normal fleet movements and communications have stopped.” He looked at the map, which gave the disposition of all Atlantean forces. “We can send couriers to stations close by and perhaps achieve the same result.”

“But these forces,” she said, “are of foreign mixture and of uncertain loyalty.”

Again his shoulders moved. “We have no choice, Majesty.”

She came to a decision. “So be it, and in the meanwhile send agents through Lamora, and through the neighboring provinces, and find out the spirit of the people. Discover focuses of disaffection. And find for me if the Atlantean-born children of Althrustrians will be loyal to me.”

Concern spread over Mahius’ thin features, but he said nothing.

“And increase the guard about the Palace,” said Salustra. She stood upright, her face stony, her eyes shining with grim resolution.

Mahius laid his hand on Salustra’s arm. “And what of the Senate?” he asked. “Thou dost know that thou canst not legally move without their affirmative vote.”

Salustra lifted her head haughtily. “I am the Senate in this matter.”

“And Signar?” he whispered uneasily.

“I shall strike alone. Thus, if I fail, only I shall suffer. But I shall not fail. In the meanwhile, he is our dear brother, he shall be lulled into a sense of security. And then when he is totally disarmed—”

“Thou wouldst murder a guest?” said Mahius, shrinking involuntarily.

Salustra laid her hand upon his lips. “Hark, fool! Who knows what enemies are about us? Ask no further questions. Am I less than the child of my father?”

Before the day had passed, the Empress’ plans were proceeding. Masses of troops swung toward the northern borders, others ranged out to sea for the mighty ships being refitted for action along the densely populated coasts. And through the silent night sped messages in code. All persons entering the Palace to seek an audience with Signar were minutely scrutinized. Spies swarmed about them. The guard of courtesy about Signar was augmented for his own protection. And for every Althrustrian soldier billeted in Lamora, two fully armed Atlanteans were assigned to watch him.

19

It was twilight. Through one dusky crack in the clouds an evening star looked down bleakly upon mist-capped Mount Atla and an ominously quiet city.

In a mood as gray as the twilight, Salustra entered Tyrhia’s apartments. She found her sister, Signar and Brittulia together in a charming little court that commanded an unbroken view of the turbulent sea.

Tyrhia’s soft laugh quivered in the warm and perfumed air as she stood before a bird cage. With a finger, inserted through the bars, she prodded the bird gently, laughing joyously at its terror. Beside her stood Signar, his eyes moving speculatively over her pretty figure. Brittulia was stringing a broken necklace of Tyrhia’s on a golden chain, happily oblivious of the conflict going on around her.

Salustra moved toward her sister, and then a faint frown touched her forehead. “Thou art frightening the poor wretch, Tyrhia,” she said sharply. “Hast thou naught to do but torment the helpless?”

Tyrhia’s eyes flashed, and her pink lips pouted mutinously. Brittulia, her head lowered in an attitude of resignation, continued to string the shining beads.

“It is easy enough to imprison the weak, then make game of them,” said the Empress coldly. She glanced at Signar. He was regarding her intently, a faint smile on his lips. At that smile a chill passed over her. His strength, his magnetic eyes, his calm face stirred her unexpectedly. And he, in turn, studied her appreciatively. Here, in this perfumed silence, filled with the twittering of imprisoned birds, a man and a woman of the same stripe suddenly recognized each other for what they were.

To her consternation, Salustra began to tremble. She put her hand to her throat with her accustomed gesture and her fingers closed over the gem that clasped her father’s necklace.

Signar looked at the jewel flashing between her fingers. “A magnificent stone!” he said softly.

“It belonged to my father,” she answered abstractedly. Her hand tightened over the necklace, as though this alone gave her renewed strength.

“I have heard of thy father, Lazar, from mine,” he said in a low voice. “The great Lazar doth live again in his daughter.”

“He loved Atlantis,” she answered.

“And I…I love Althrustri,” said Signar, his voice hardening.

Salustra looked out at the sea and the rolling waves. Beyond those waves, thought Salustra, were riding the hopes of Atlantis, refitted ships plodding with reconverted engines toward the coast; and to the north, legions marching to the border. She drew away a little distance from the Princess and Brittulia, so she and Signar could speak alone. “What thinkest thou of my crippled empire, Sire?”

“There is none greater,” he answered, “even now.”

She touched him playfully on his bare arm. “What! Dost thou not consider Althrustri greater?”

“I am not a fool, lady.”

“Will it not make a splendid heritage for thy son, my lord?”

“Thou art too generous, lady,” he said ironically. “I am overcome. But what of thy son? Wilt thou leave him without an empire?”

She shrugged. “I shall have no son. I shall never marry.” She glanced at him sharply.

He was still smiling, again with that quietly superior smile that irritated her so. “What! Dost thou expect to live out thy life without love?”

“Is love synonymous with marriage?” she returned carelessly. “I have never loved.”

“Never loved!” he exclaimed, as though incredulous.

She smiled lightly. “Thou dost confuse love with passion.”

“Are they not one and the same? Only poets and fools, who are sometimes identical, believe in love. They rebel from the reality of lust and so dress it in delicate garments.”

In moving leisurely about the garden, they paused before a cage that held a large black bird with a flaming red crest. Signar casually poked a finger through the gilded bars and whistled at the creature. It paused, surveying him with bright and savage eyes, and then, without warning, flew at the finger and struck it cruelly with its flashing beak.

The Emperor gave an angry cry of pain and quickly withdrew his finger. It was bleeding profusely. Several red drops inadvertently fell upon Salustra’s white robe. She shrank visibly.

Seeing her gesture, Signar regarded her with suddenly dancing eyes. “Behold, Salustra, my blood is upon thee!” he mocked. “‘Tis a bad omen!”

She shuddered involuntarily.

Tyrhia and Brittulia, startled, came up to join them. The young Princess cried aloud and closed her eyes, but Brittulia calmly wiped the blood from Signar’s hand with her own kerchief. She examined the wound dispassionately. “It is nothing, my lord,” she said. “It will soon heal.”

The brightly plumaged bird was shrilling excitedly in its cage, and the Emperor laughingly shook his fist at it. “The captive creature can strike back savagely, lady,” he said, turning again to the Empress.

“Quite true,” she murmured. She gave Tyrhia and Signar a fleeting glance. “You would perhaps like to discuss the nuptials privately.”

“As you say, lady.” He gave her a low bow.

With a brief nod for the group, Salustra turned and went back into her chamber. She tossed her robe upon a divan, and the stains suddenly seemed to leap at her. She lifted the robe and stared at the dried blood somberly. A bad omen, he had said. He knew not, indeed, how bad an omen it was.

20

In the Palace apartments provided by his host, Signar sat in grave counsel with General Siton and Minister Ganto and several others of his entourage. Ganto had just finished speaking, and the Emperor sat in silence, his chin in his hand.

“I suspected that she might try some treachery,” he said thoughtfully. “But never so obviously. There, she betrays her sex. Her courage is equaled only by her naïveté. We have honeycombed her nation with traitors and no word of it has heretofore reached her ears. However, with but a small force of our own, we are in a precarious position until the hour arrives when we may safely strike. Until then, it is essential that we know her every move.” He turned to Siton. “Has she no political intimate, no man in her confidence, whom we may seduce?”

“There is Mahius,” the general said doubtfully.

Signar shook his head in disgust. “That fool is too old to be bought.”

Ganto spoke eagerly. “Lord, there is such a one close to her, the Senator Divona with whom we have already profitably dealt. We first approached him when we learned that she deprived him of a fortune which he had gained in a dubious manner, and spurned him in the bargain.”

Signar smiled, well pleased. “Since we already know what he is, all we need know is his price.”

He rose and began to pace the chamber, frowning. “And so, in this very hour, as her couriers seek to alert her legions, these legions will be met by friendly legions made up of our own Althrustrian stock, willing to treat with them on practical terms.” He paused, and his face darkened. “We must keep close guard upon her, lest she despair and take her life when she learns she has failed.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I am offended that she has underestimated my intelligence. But, still, I have other plans for her.”

Siton approached him, his large yellow teeth gleaming wolfishly. “Lord, why delay the hour? He who strikes first hath half the battle. Declare thyself the conqueror of Atlantis, and put this woman to death. While she lives, she is a rallying point for the Atlanteans still loyal to her line.”

Signar frowned and gazed toward the gray sea. “Slay her?” he said thoughtfully. “No, I will wait. And when I have Atlantis in my hand, I will deal with her myself. We must await advice as to how her legions received the proposals of our generals for greater bounty, fewer duties and early retirement. And whether my own fleet at sea circumvents hers. In a few days we shall know.”

“Lord,” said Siton, grinning with anticipation, “deliver her over to me. I waive all booty save this beautiful firebrand. Promise me, as my share, Salustra.”

Ganto frowned. “Nay, lord, have I not served thee well? And before thee thy father? I pray thee thou wilt give her to me.” He threw the general a contemptuous look. “Siton is a savage. He would gore her to death in one night.”

Before Signar’s dark scowl, the debate quickly subsided. “Remember well,” he said sternly, “that the lady is born a queen.”

He laid his hand on Siton’s burly shoulder and shook him slightly. “But, Siton, glower not so. Thou mayest have Tyrhia, that gentle little virgin. She is harmless. She is thine.” He turned to the offended Ganto. “And thou, thou mayest have thy pick of a thousand women. Take even the scrawny virgin Brittulia, if thou likest. They say that the meat closest to the bone is the sweetest. But remember, old friend, thou art valuable to me. Do thou be temperate!”

The two men’s spirits were soon restored, and the chamber rang with their coarse laughter.

Signar added a word of caution, “This dissolute and luxurious court is well hated by the common people of Atlantis. Limit your depredations to the women at court. The common people must be treated courteously and fairly. There are too many of them to offend.”

He dismissed his aides and stood in frowning silence for a while, then went out upon the colonnade for a breath of air. A heavy fog drifted in from the sea, which was now invisible. Only an ominous growl, like an animal at bay, gave evidence of its nearness. The garden below shivered in a cold, dank wind. He started back as he saw two women suddenly emerge in the gardens just beneath him. One was Brittulia, the other was Salustra.

Watching the Empress, Signar suddenly remembered her in his arms, her soft lips under his, her warm, pulsating body writhing wildly against his breast; he could almost hear again the rapid beat of her heart.

As though she had tuned to his thoughts, she turned toward the colonnade and lifted her face. She smiled as she saw him and raised her hand. He bowed mechanically. She resumed her pacing and finally disappeared with Brittulia into the shadow of the trees.

Signar returned to his chamber deeply troubled. His hands clenched and unclenched, as though he were enduring violent pain. “Salustra!” he whispered. And then burst into self-mocking laughter. He was no better than those louts Siton and Ganto.

21

The seduction of traitors was a comparatively easy matter. Divona was a clever, crafty man, his debauched face not without charm. He liked to think of himself as a figure of delicate elegance. Salustra had repudiated him and his morality. Therefore, he hated her. Toliti, the austere Senator, hated Salustra because he thought her immoral. He was dyspeptic and had no taste for banquets and debaucheries. He had long considered it the sacred duty of all virtuous men to oppose her. There were other traitors—for one, the grim Jupia, the High Priestess, an elderly virgin secretly envious of a younger, beautiful woman who frankly enjoyed what Jupia had so obviously denied herself.

There was also Gatus, rancorously resenting the suicide, prompted by rejection, of his wife’s brother, Lustri. And the Senator Sicilo, dogmatic, pompous, who never forgot that Salustra had baited him in public. There were the Senators Zutlian, Ludian, Consilini and countless others—cowardly, greedy, rapacious, ready to desert a sinking ship without a care for the captain who had brought them this far. On these Salustra wasted little thought. If things went her way they would pay for their disloyalty. Otherwise, they would feel the hard hand of the conqueror. Of that, she was sure.