The Romance of Atlantis (18 page)

After forty-eight uneasy hours, Salustra had had no word from her nearby fleet and legions. Out from the capital rolled waves of command; only silence or, at the most, evasive replies returned.

“What has happened, Mahius?” she asked her councillor anxiously.

The old man tried to reassure her and himself. “Thou must remember, Majesty, that it is not as though we were moving openly, and thus, all things must be shrouded and vague.”

Nevertheless, he had a foreboding of treachery. In the restless need to do something, Salustra sent for Creto, the Prefect of the Royal Guard. He arrived swiftly.

“Thou hast doubled the Palace Guard, Creto,” she said abruptly. “Treble it.” He made a profound obeisance, and the rigidity of her face softened. “Dost thou love me, Creto?” she asked sadly.

“Thou knowest, lady,” he replied.

“Thou hast five hundred picked men, Creto, besides the Guard. Are all loyal to me?”

“They would gladly die for thee, Majesty.”

Salustra hesitated, glanced at Mahius. “I trust thee, Creto,” she said. In a lowered voice, she told the Prefect of her plans for Signar and his men. “No one at court but thee, and Mahius, knows of this.”

The Prefect met the grave eyes of Mahius with an anxious frown. “No one knoweth, Majesty, but Mahius?” he said. “What of the Senate? The Senate hath authority to veto thy orders, Majesty, to disperse both the legions and the fleet. What of that?”

“I had no time,” said Salustra. “When all is ready, I shall so inform the Senate. They would have quibbled, doubted, delayed, and Signar could not but learn of it.”

The Prefect was filled with gloom. “There are no secrets for long in Atlantis. And when they hear, as they may have already, they will react by countermanding thy orders, Majesty. Who knows but what the veto hath already been given?”

Mahius nodded somberly. “So I fear.”

Salustra angrily turned to Creto. “If I give the order, wilt thou put these cravens to death?”

He gave a gesture of obedience.

“If thou betrayest me, Creto, my last order to thee will be the sword. Thou wilt do that for me?”

“There is nothing thou couldst ask that I would not do, Majesty!” he cried.

In truth there were no secrets in Atlantis. First the Senate and then the barbarians had learned of Salustra’s dilemma.

Signar soon heard of the constitutional crisis.

“The Senate,” chortled Ganto, “is disaffected. Even those who held no hatred for Salustra are affronted by the constitutional breach. They have not only repudiated her orders but in secret session voted her death to a man.”

“Jackals!” exclaimed Signar with contempt. “What care they about the constitution? The lioness is wounded, so they claw over the remains. They leave an evil taste in my mouth! It will be well to annihilate every one of them when our hour arrives.”

His aides gazed at each other in consternation. “That wanton hath bewitched him,” whispered Siton to Ganto.

“So they approved her death, eh?” mused Signar aloud, pacing the spacious chamber Salustra had made his. “Is that to curry favor with me?”

“Partly, lord,” said Siton, “but this is a constitutional monarchy. Salustra’s recent commands without the approval of the Senate are judged acts of treason. At thy word they would order her execution.”

Signar twisted his lip thoughtfully between his fingers. “Let her own Senate condemn her if they will. Her blood will not be upon me.” His brow cleared. “And the legions? What of them? Thou sayest, Ganto, that her legions have withdrawn from the border, and their fleet hath merged into mine?”

“Yes, so sayeth Divona. Meanwhile, our spies are moving among her legions, and their desertion to us is only a matter of hours.”

“Yes, the lioness is trapped,” reflected Signar, “doomed because she is the living conscience of a decadent people who hate her for the demands she makes on their wasted natures.”

He emptied a flagon of wine and then, with a mercurial change of mood, relapsed into gloom.

The envoys, Tellan and Zoni, were now announced. They were eager to proclaim the success of their plotting. “We have Atlantis, lord!” exclaimed Tellan. “Thou canst move with safety whensoever thou desirest.”

Signar tried not to show his contempt for Atlantean turncoats. “What of this Creto, who I hear was once her lover?”

“He was her love, ‘tis rumored, and loyal to her. But we have bribed the Guard, and they will turn on him.”

Zoni unrolled a flap of parchment. “All in her court have been won over except her senile minister, and this Creto, and one other, the insignificant poet Erato.”

Signar uttered an oath. “He must die, this Erato. Mahius is a harmless old man. We might be induced to spare him. I would shed as little blood as possible. I need the good will of Atlantis to rule it.”

“And the Empress,” said Tellan, “thou wilt deliver her to the Senate?”

Signar rose abruptly and was about to speak when the curtain moved and a guard entered with a warning gesture. “The Empress!” he announced.

She stood against the crimson curtain like a moon goddess, her smiling eyes moving impishly over the surprised conclave. “I am not intruding, my lord?” she said softly.

“Thy radiance, like the sun’s, is more welcome for being so long absent,” he said gallantly.

She glanced significantly at the others. Signar made an abrupt gesture of dismissal. For long moments the two regarded each other in silence. Then she moved closer with a step full of grace. She laid her hand lightly upon his arm. “The cares of empire are ever with us, is it not so, my lord? There are times when I wish I were the veriest slave girl.”

“Thou art a great Empress,” said Signar, moved in spite of himself.

“Greatness!” she murmured. “What is it? A passing salute on the lips of a dying people! That which they acclaim today they will rend tomorrow. Fame is as evanescent as the fog. It drifts in, unbidden, and is dissipated by the strange suns of new events.”

He knew she had not come to discuss philosophy, but he could well afford to sit back and philosophize with her. “What dost thou consider true fame, Salustra?” he asked in earnest.

She toyed thoughtfully with her necklace. “War, conquest, what are they? Conquerors write their names in blood, and the red river shifts, and the name is no more. But the poet and the sculptor and their brethren glow with increasing brightness above the ever changing tide of human events.”

“As thou dost say,” Signar rejoined, “death swallows us all, and we are all molten metal again, ready to be poured into new shapes. Today, I am myself. What shall I be tomorrow? Will it matter to me whether I was poet or king, peasant or slave? If I were a singer of songs, or a hewer of marble, and am born again, will I recognize that which I have created in the past? Thou dost see, even enduring fame is worthless.”

She had not realized before that this facile mind had seriously contemplated the prospect of reincarnation. He was not the barbarian she had thought. She found herself tilting wits with him and enjoying it, though she still resented his excessive ardor at the dinner table as an act of pure intoxication.

“By his efforts,” she said, “the artist builds a house of beauty in which we forget for a time the ugliness of life and its terrible futility. We can wander through its columns and inhale the sweet scent of the fragrant flowers that dead hands have placed there for our refreshment. This is what the poet, the composer and the artist leave of fame behind them.”

He shrugged, his face glum. “Ah, well, there is little in life even for the fortunate. Drinking what is offered, we find it does not quench our thirst.”

“We are truly fools,” said Salustra, laughing at her own folly. “Yet we must confess that we would not be other than what we are. Is it not so?”

Signar smiled. “Philosophy is a splendid exercise for the fattening mind,” he said. “But it is a passing stimulant and leaves the spirit unsatisfied.”

They regarded each other in friendly fashion, notwithstanding that each understood that the other was bent on an opposing course.

“I did thee an injustice, Sire,” said the Empress. “I thought thee a total barbarian, without subtlety or sophistication. But I find thee a wise man, or, rather, I consider thee wise because thy philosophy doth coincide with mine.” Her laughter was genuinely gay.

Signar took her hand and kissed it. “I value thy good opinion more than the fairest face.”

A faint flush rose to Salustra’s pale cheek. “I came, my lord, to ask thee if thou wouldst like to accompany me through places of interest in Lamora. We have many wonders here which may not as yet have gained fame in Althrustri: the Temple of Sati, the solar centers, the Temple Beautiful, the College of Total Knowledge.”

“Ah, the Temple Beautiful, the rejuvenation center.” He smiled. “Why dost thou not try its wonders on old Mahius?”

She laughed. “He had one such experience and wants no more.”

As Signar pressed her hand, an electric current seemed to pass between them. Their eyes held, and Salustra’s pulse quickened. He again bent and kissed her hand and then his lips traveled to hers and clung for a long moment.

Salustra quivered ecstatically. He must die! she told herself fiercely.

She must die! thought Signar glumly.

22

Tyrhia had just emerged from her bath and was a healthy rosy hue under the gently massaging hands of her slaves. Brittulia held up several robes for her approval and Tyrhia was so absorbed in a choice that she did not even look up as the Empress entered.

“Lazy maid!” said the Empress. “The sun hath reached its zenith, and thou art but rising.”

Tyrhia shrugged without answering. She cried out as the slave girl accidentally pulled one of her curls, and slapped the girl sharply. Salustra frowned, with a glance at Brittulia, who raised her eyebrows.

The Empress approached Brittulia and laid a kindly hand on her shoulder. Brittulia winced as though contaminated. Understanding, Salustra withdrew her hand. “How dost thou like the Palace, Brittulia?” she asked.

“It is as I expected, Majesty,” she answered quietly.

Salustra regarded her thoughtfully. “And dost thou wish to be relieved of thy position?”

Salustra’s face was pale and strained. She appeared drained. Pity is generally alien to the pure in body. But Brittulia for once was moved to compassion.

She caught the Empress’ hand impulsively and kissed it. “I am at thy command, Majesty,” she said, to her own amazement.

“Nay, it would please me if thou wouldst stay, but I put no command upon thee.” She turned to her sister. “Tyrhia, I am taking thy betrothed about the city. It is my wish that thou shouldst accompany us.”

As Tyrhia remained sullenly silent, Salustra recalled the girl’s mother, the treacherous and pretty Lahia, and it seemed to her that the second wife of Lazar stood before her again. She wondered, as she noted the girl’s expression, why the resemblance had not struck her before.

“I would rather remain here,” the girl pouted.

Salustra laughed mockingly. “What! Is not Signar agreeable to thee, little maid?”

“I am afraid of him!” cried Tyrhia. “His eye is unpleasant. Were I a slave girl, he could notice me no different. He is an animal.” She stamped her foot.

“Thou wilt have an animal for a mate then,” Salustra said dryly.

She decided that her sister would only be an impediment in her desire to impress Signar with the solid substance that was still Atlantis. “Ah, well, Tyrhia, if thou dost not care to come with us thou mayest remain here.”

Alone with Brittulia, Tyrhia began to weep with fury. When Brittulia attempted to console her, she pushed the older woman aside and resumed her toilet. When this was completed at last, she went into the gardens, accompanied by Brittulia and two slave girls. All the while, she maintained her sullen silence, walking slightly ahead of Brittulia, whom she was beginning to resent as an unwelcome encumbrance.

Suddenly Tyrhia paused, with a low cry. At a distance, before a sparkling fountain, Erato was sitting on a marble bench, pondering the dancing waters with an air of complete desolation. Tyrhia’s young breast rose and fell with a new emotion. She turned abruptly to Brittulia.

“Return thou with the slaves, Brittulia,” she said in a tense voice.

Brittulia hesitated. “I would rather remain with thee, lady. Thy sister might not like it.”

Tyrhia stamped her foot. “What! Darest thou disobey me, Brittulia?”

Brittulia lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. She called the slaves and reluctantly returned to the Palace.

Tyrhia waited until they were well out of sight. Then, with a soft step, she approached the poet. He started to his feet as his eye fell upon her and bowed perfunctorily.

Tyrhia, smiling warmly, came close to him and laid her hand upon his arm. “Thou dost appear dejected, Erato,” she said softly.

“I am no longer, lady,” he answered with abstracted courtesy.

Tyrhia seated herself on the bench and motioned him to sit beside her. She saw that his face was pale and his eyes heavy, as though he had slept little. “What! Can it be that thou art in love, Erato?” she asked, not realizing the truth.

He smiled indulgently as one might smile at a lovable child. “Who knows, lady?” He studied her face, trying to find a trace of Salustra. Yes, in the movement of the head, in the curve of the throat, there was a suggestion of his beloved. He was heartsick enough to take solace in this resemblance, and his expression lightened.

“I, too, am in love,” said Tyrhia softly.

“Thou hast a mighty lover, lady,” he said gravely. “There is no greater figure than Signar.”

Tyrhia cried out pettishly, “I loathe him! He makes me think of a ravenous wolf, with his wicked eyes and avaricious mouth!”

Erato glanced about nervously.

“I would rather die than marry him,” continued Tyrhia warmly. “I would rather marry a slave than him. I shiver when he touches me.”

Because he loved Salustra, Erato was conscious of a sympathy for this lovely child. He took her hand and fondly kissed it.

Obsessed with her own passion, she was now convinced that Erato returned her feeling. “Why cannot Salustra marry him?” she murmured. “It is she that he desires. Do I not see it? He devours her with his eyes.”