The Romance of Atlantis (23 page)

He fixed intent eyes upon the girl, and a coldness passed over him. “Little fool!” he cried. “What art thou about?”

She stared at him, startled. “The Senator Divona …” she began.

“Dost thou trifle with those who would ruin the Empress?” he interrupted wrathfuly. “Tell me what he said to thee.”

She began to tremble, her teeth chattering. “Nothing else,” she faltered, beginning to weep again.

Erato fell into dark thought. The Empress must know, but how to protect this ridiculous child?

And then, as a winding road suddenly opens up, disclosing unexpected vistas beyond, so did Erato suddenly see the bend in the road that took him inescapably to Signar.

He glanced about wildly, then clapped his hands. Slaves immediately appeared. He ordered his sword and cloak, and when they were brought to him, he would have rushed from the chamber had not Tyrhia clutched his arm.

“Where art thou going?” she asked tremulously.

He fought off an impulse to seize her little throat and strangle her. Instead, he forced a smile. “I will first take thee home, child,” he said more calmly. “And now promise thou wilt never speak again to that traitor Divona.”

The girl sobbed with relief. “Yes, I promise thee. We can find another way.”

27

Signar’s flagship,
Postia
, was alive with the signs of a gala evening. Lights glittered from every pole. Music drifted out over the water, above the gay laughter of the milling guests.

Salustra had never looked more beautiful or alluring. All eyes turned to her with mingled envy and admiration as she came aboard with the inevitable Creto. She was met by an attentive Signar and ceremoniously conducted below decks to a throne beside his own. She settled herself comfortably, her eyes picking out familiar faces. The present guests included the Senators Contani, Divona, Tilus, Patios, Vilio, Contalio, Sicilo and Toliti, with their gaily attired wives and mistresses. Of the philosophers, Zetan, Morti and Talius were the only ones represented. Among the industrial giants she noticed Ratulio, the great steel-maker; Hanlio, manufacturer of fine silks and linens; Ducius, the builder; graybeard Seneco, with his newly acquired young wife, defiantly ablaze with gems. Icio, the inventor, was also present. But most of the guests were from Signar’s own court.

Salustra gave her host a pleasant smile. “I regret, Sire, that thy betrothed, the Princess Tyrhia, was indisposed.”

He shrugged indifferently. “With thee present, Majesty, who would note the absence of other women or even children?”

Salustra kept her eyes half-averted. She seemed hardly a part of the company. Abstracted, she barely touched her lips to the wine.

“Thou art not drinking, Salustra!” exclaimed Signar. “I swear to thee that it is not poisoned.”

Salustra started and the color receded from her cheeks. Her brows came truculently together. For a moment the two rulers held each other’s gaze, and then, very deliberately, Salustra lifted the goblet to her lips and drained the contents.

Signar’s amusement increased. “Who is sadder,” said Signar, “than the sober in a company of drunkards?”

“A wise man in a company of fools!” retorted the Empress warmly.

Signar laughed and clapped his hands. His look took in the assembled revelers. “It is true they are on their way to being drunk, but surely thou art no Brittulia.”

Salustra smiled disdainfully. “I am a hater of nothing that contributes to pleasure. But pleasure lies in doing the thing one desires to do. I do not wish to drink, therefore drinking is no pleasure to me.”

Signar filled her goblet again. “Sad, that my entertainment is lost upon thee.” His face had become flushed with wine. He moved closer to Salustra, his breath on her cheek. “I have an enemy,” he whispered.

“Who would hurt thee, Sire?” she asked mockingly.

He leaned toward her, lifted her hand, and inspected the rings on her fingers, closing over the signet. She looked down at the crown of his bent head, and closed her eyes, as if to blot out the reality of her own emotions.

“Nevertheless, I have an enemy,” he continued, examining the rings closely. “This enemy is ruthless, insatiable, hating and hated. This enemy is myself. I can pit my strength against others. But there is one I cannot defeat, one that devours my spirit, and darkens my brain, myself. I might lay waste empires, and breathe life into a thousand legions, cause great vessels to move at my slightest whim. But my own bitter thoughts numb my hand, turn my wine to gall and my food to dross.”

He released her hand, fixed his eyes upon her, and spoke slowly, as though measuring the effect of his words. “I am lost,” he said, “vanquished by an enemy which is my own executioner.”

She smiled sardonically. “Thy digestion is disordered, Sire. Allow me to send my physician here tomorrow.”

The mood of this remarkable man suddenly changed and he laughed over the crowd, slapping his knee as he did so. “And what will he prescribe for the relief of my inner demands, Salustra? What will quench my restless yearnings, my alternating hopes and despair?”

She refused to take him seriously. “I am convinced that thou hast been feasting too generously and exercising too parsimoniously, Sire.”

He leaned toward her again and began to toy with the jewel at her throat. “I have always before known the gaiety of adventure, the lust of conquest.” He held her hand tightly. “What, thou dost not ask why?”

Easily, almost perfunctorily, she replied, “I am convinced that under no circumstances wouldst thou give me the right answer.”

He shook his head with undisguised mirth. “I will tell thee later. But now let us go to the banquet I have arranged.” He rose and gave his hand to the Empress. Together, they led the way to a still lower level, followed by the laughing guests.

Salustra ate little and drank less. The noise, the heat, the confusion, all wearied her. She rested an elbow on the table and looked around her with a passionate longing for silence.

Animals, she thought. Where is there a man who loves a woman except for her flesh?

Feeling neglected, Signar reacted as a jealous man would. He conspicuously ignored the Empress now, transferring his attention to the wife of Morti, at his left. As befitted a philosopher’s wife, she was young, stupid and shamelessly lewd. It had been a bitter pill for the Empress when her favorite philosopher had married this ignorant, boorish female.

Signar was not to be outdone in the area of entertainment. With a blare of trumpets, a handsome young man leapt on stage. Save for a garland of poppies about his loins, he was naked. As the music soared, several nude and shapely dancers tripped out in quick succession. These were the Virtues, seven in number, from Chastity and Charity, to Modesty and Truth. They screamed, shrank, veiled themselves and gathered before the divan of Sati. The goddess was sleeping, her lips parted in sweet slumber, her golden hair rippling about her and falling to the floor. The music became wilder, gayer, more sensual, more insidious. All present recognized in the dancing youth the personification of Tatio, Sati’s first lover.

The youth circled merrily about the divan, seeking to dart between the ranks of the Virtues, who interposed themselves between him and the object of his desires.

“Love’s eternal pursuit of beauty,” said Signar, turning back at last to Salustra, who was watching the scene with indifference.

“Nay, say, rather, the eternal pursuit of lust for chastity.”

Signar stared at her in assumed surprise. “May I credit my ears!” he exclaimed. “Surely thou, an admitted authority upon the subject of love, art not speaking so? Perhaps it is thou who shouldst consult the physician thou didst recommend to me?”

She looked at the ribaldry beginning to take form about her. Had debauchery ever really pleased her, or had she been merely endeavoring to escape from her own intellectual isolation? She was conscious of a curious malaise. Tatio had moved closer to the Virtues, and then, to a clash of cymbals, he broke through their ranks, flung himself on his knees be side Sati’s divan. He caught the sleeping goddess’ hands, covered them with kisses; kissed her throat, breast and finally her lips. She awoke, saw beyond him the frightened Virtues and then, with an infinitely lazy smile, entwined her arms about his neck. At this the Virtues, led by Chastity, fled, weeping, into the darkness.

Disgusted, ineffably bored, Salustra turned from Signar and got up abruptly. Before the others could rise with her, every light in the room suddenly went out. Under cover of darkness, she fled, as the Virtues had, up the stairway, holding her amethystine robes closely about her. The upper deck was deserted. It was silent, except for the sea, which was growling ominously. Even the gulls were strangely absent.

She had fled the banquet in a tizzy that a young virgin might well have felt. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Am I a schoolgirl,” she asked herself, “to languish for love of a man I must destroy?”

Drinking in the rather fetid night air, she turned to stroll the deck and found herself face to face with Signar.

He was standing in silence, watching her. “Is my poor entertainment so worthless that thou must flee?” he asked. He took her hands as she began to tremble. “Why didst thou break that old crone’s crystal?” he whispered.

“I break it!” she exclaimed. “It was an accident, as you saw.”

“Have it thy own way.” And then before she could move a finger he caught her in his arms, pulled her to him, and with a sweep of his arm, ripped her gown off to the waist, and began to rain kisses fiercely on her body.

She struggled furiously, but Signar laughed as he parried her blows, seeming to know that she was resisting only because she was angry.

“For this,” she cried, “thou shalt die!”

“Nay, for this I was born!” he exclaimed, pressing his mouth to her exposed breast.

“May the gods strike thee down,” she cried. At this, as though her outcry had been a signal, the ocean suddenly gave a great heave and the ship was struck by a mountainous wave. It reared with a sickening lurch on its side. There was the roar of a second crashing wave, and the prow of the ship pointed almost vertically to the sky. Salustra and Signar, desperately clinging to one another, were thrown sprawling to the deck and almost washed overboard. As the ship straightened out with a sigh and a groan, they could dimly hear the crashing of overturned furniture and the cries of panic from guests as they began to pour up the stairways. Signar sprang to his feet and pulled Salustra after him. From the crest of the mountain of water on which the ship was momentarily poised, he could see other peaks, glimmering with a strange and ghastly light. Remarkably, not a breath of air was stirring. The dark sky above was serene, and through the mist the few lights of Lamora twinkled tranquilly on shore.

Salustra and Signar stared in awe at the towering waves that tossed the ship like a feather, drenching them and a scattering of gibbering half-nude courtiers in a flood of seawater.

“What in the world is it?” growled Signar, as he put a protective arm about Salustra.

“An earthquake,” she muttered, the deck sliding under her feet.

“We shall be drowned,” cried Signar, over the howling of the sea.

But even as he spoke, the great crests of water suddenly leveled, and the surface was again in a moment miraculously calm and smooth. The ship wallowed for a moment, swayed slightly, then settled grudgingly to its anchor.

All stared in stupefaction at each other and the silent sea.

“A miracle!” cried Signar. He turned to Salustra, who was staring somberly at the ocean, as though listening to a secret voice. Showing an extraordinary resilience, he was quick to jest and laugh. “When Sati writhes in unwelcome arms, the very ocean turns with her.”

She looked at him, without smiling. “Jest not of Sati,” she said. “She jesteth not.”

28

The strange disturbance had not touched Lamora’s shores. Nevertheless, marking the unprecedented waves, the populace was struck with panic. As usual, the scientists had a ready answer. Geologists explained the phenomenon casually. “Shifting strata in the ocean bed,” they announced. “Nothing to cause alarm.” But the people’s fears were not so easily assuaged. Ancient prophecies relative to Atlantis were darkly dredged up. Had it not been prophesied that one day Atlantis would be swallowed by the sea, and life would know her name no more? And why else, ran the argument, would Atlantis be destroyed, if not for her sins? Vainly the geologists preached that nature was entirely indifferent to sin or virtue.

The priests seized upon the opportunity to regain lost prestige. Had they not warned repeatedly that the gods would punish the people for their corruption and godlessness? This was but a foretaste of what would take place if the people of Atlantis did not return to Sati. Fear was a prompt spur. The coffers of the temples resounded with the rich clank of gold. The altars were buried with floral offerings and animal sacrifices. The pews were solidly packed with a fearful tide of humanity as Jupia rejoiced.

Salustra, though spared by a miracle, did not visit the temples. She thought, by this example, to convince the people that nothing supernatural had taken place. Incensed, they felt she was defying the gods, who might further avenge themselves upon the people because of their Empress’ impiety.

“Baboons!” she cried to herself. Undeterred, she proceeded with her private plans against Signar, while suppressing a growing inclination to abandon the project.

A few days after the rising of the ocean, the Empress, attended only by Creto and his guards, came unannounced to the house of Jupia. So insolent had the High Priestess become since the day of the miracle at sea that she kept Salustra waiting in her antechamber.

The old crone is riding the tide, thought the Empress with a smile. Well, after today, I shall soon be finished with her. The sea can reclaim her.

When finally admitted, she showed no sign of impatience. “Ah, Jupia,” she said urbanely, “I regret if my coming hath caused thee inconvenience.”

Jupia’s face was blank. “The appearance of Sati herself could be no more welcome, Majesty,” she replied.