The Romance of Atlantis (24 page)

Salustra laughed lightly, seating herself. “I realize that thou art most assiduously employed allaying the tremors of my frightened people.”

“They have returned to their gods,” replied the Priestess grimly, “heeding the threat of destruction, which is the result of their vices.”

Salustra laughed again. “Had it not been for fools who made so much of a wave, none would have known of it in Lamora.” She leaned toward Jupia and smiled. “But I am not concerned. I know that my good Jupia will tenderly soothe their qualms.” Jupia was silent as Salustra continued to smile. “Thank the gods, Jupia,” she went on. “They have been good to thee. The coffers in the temples are full to overflowing.”

Salustra studied the Priestess with contemptuous eyes, her fingers playing, as they so often did, with the gem at her throat. “I am here to ask something of thee, something of a private nature. Is this understood?”

The High Priestess inclined her head in silence.

Salustra lowered her voice. “Thou art famous for thy wondrous poisons, Jupia. In fact, so famous art thou that many mysterious deaths have been imputed to thee, of some of which, no doubt, thou art innocent.”

Jupia started and her face became the color of chalk.

Salustra stifled a yawn. “But have no fear,” she said genially. “There are so many fools in the world that a few less are truly a public benefaction.”

Jupia’s hands clenched convulsively under her robe.

“Moreover,” continued the Empress, “it hath come to my ears that with the crafty Senator Divona thou art fomenting revolt against me and hast been whispering to the people that the gods are dissatisfied with my administration.” She paused for an ironic glance. “But I could not credit reports that spoke of such ingratitude. Nay, I said, Jupia is my most loyal friend, devoted to my interests.” Salustra’s eyes were like the tips of swords.

Jupia watched her silently with a baleful eye.

“I have come to thee for assistance,” Salustra went on equably. “I will not cavil with thee. I desire thy strongest, swiftest, least distinguishable poison. I wish a poison tasteless, odorless, easily administered, that will kill without delay and without pain, making death seem most natural.”

Jupia sucked in her breath. “Is this a command, Majesty?”

Salustra’s face hardened, “Unless thou wouldst take the potion thyself.”

Without another word, Jupia summoned a slave, whispered in his ear, and, folding her arms upon her breast, sank into silence, her gaze bent upon the floor. In a few moments the slave returned with a small golden casket. Jupia opened the casket and drew from it a tiny crystal vial. It was filled with a sparkling red fluid.

She held up the vial for Salustra’s inspection. It had the hue of blood and seemed to be alive. It moved, sparkled, frothed, cast little red spears of light into the dimness of the chamber. Salustra leaned forward and stared at the poison without breathing.

“This is absolutely tasteless,” said Jupia somberly. “It is to be administered in wine, where its color will not be detected. Hours after drinking the wine, the victim will fall to the floor, dead before he strikes it. It will appear to be a massive heart attack, and in reality that is what it will be.”

Salustra stretched out her hand for the vial. “Your gods brew powerful medicine.” She paused, and added with a lowered brow, “No word of this on thy life.”

Without another glance for her High Priestess, Salustra stalked out of the house and entered her litter.

Salustra had barely left the High Priestess when Jupia dispatched a message to the Senator Divona. He arrived soon thereafter. Without preamble, but without concealing her anger, Jupia told him of the Empress’ visit.

“I would have given her a harmless potion,” she said bitterly, “but know she will try it upon an animal. Thou dost know for whom the poison is intended?”

“Most certainly,” said the Senator. “It is destined for the Emperor. That is quite to be expected. It will be necessary to warn him not to partake of any wine without precaution. Of course, he hath his taster with him on public occasions. Her only opportunity will be to administer it to him in private.” Consistent in his treachery, Divona hurried to the Palace, but found Signar ostensibly indisposed. Vainly he protested that he carried information of the gravest import. Cool-eyed aides suggested that the message be given them for delivery to Signar. But wishing full credit for his treachery, Divona drew back. And then he had an inspiring thought. Summoning a slave, he sent him to Tyrhia, requesting an interview. Waiting near her apartments, he spied the poet Erato, who had been hoping for an audience with Salustra.

Erato’s eyes fell upon Divona and filled with contempt. He took the Senator by the arm. “What art thou doing here?” he demanded fiercely.

Divona shook off the poet angrily. “That is no concern of thine, boy,” he said loftily.

At this point Erato’s slave appeared to announce that the Empress had left but an hour before for the Chamber of Law. Erato retreated, crestfallen, as Divona’s own slave now returned to conduct him to Tyrhia’s apartments.

He found the young Princess in an emotional state. “It is madness for thee to come here, Divona,” she said sharply. “So hasten and tell me what thou wilt.”

Divona’s uneasiness increased. “Why, lady?” he asked. “Who knows of this but thee and myself?”

As she kept silent, he approached her softly. “The hour hath come for thy release. A little courage on thy part will bring thee freedom and power.”

Tyrhia continued to regard him darkly.

“The Empress obtained poison but two hours since. She intends it for Signar. He must be warned at once. Think what it will mean to be the one to save him!”

Tyrhia uttered a stifled cry. “Poison! How absurd.”

Divona nodded portentously. “Not so, for only with such a poison will the death appear natural. There must be no delay. Thou must go to him at once.”

Tyrhia thought of her sister’s wrath and trembled. “I am afraid,” she whispered. “What if he tells Salustra the source of his information?”

“He will not if thou dost request it.”

She pressed her cold hand against her cheeks, and resentment overcame fear. “I will do it,” she said at last.

“Thou wilt tell him from whence thou didst secure this knowledge, lady?” Divona’s tone was wheedling in its persuasiveness.

“I will tell him,” she said impatiently. She unceremoniously showed Divona out and then hastened to Signar’s apartments. The guards saluted her respectfully. After what seemed an incredible length of time, she was taken to the Emperor’s chamber.

He indeed appeared indisposed, his eyes shadowed with dark circles, his face unshaven. He received her with an air of abruptness.

“I will remain but a moment, my lord,” she said through dry lips. “I have come to warn three.”

He raised his brows without speaking.

“I have received information from the Senator Divona that the Empress this morning obtained poison intended for thee.”

Signar hardly moved a muscle. His eyes were all that seemed alive in his face. They burned into the girl’s eyes until she found herself quaking inwardly. Finally he moved away from her and contemplated the sea through the white columns. At length he took Tyrhia’s hand and studied her curiously. “What made thee bring me this information? It is not love, I know.”

Tyrhia was silent a moment, then in a tantrum cried, “Salustra betrothed me to thee, knowing I loved another.”

Signar looked amused. “And who is the fortunate youth that thou dost love?”

“He is Erato, cousin to the King of Dimtri.”

“Erato!” exclaimed Signar, bursting into a gale of laughter.

Tyrhia looked at him in suppressed anger.

“And doth he love thee, lady?”

“So I believe.” Another thought suddenly assailed her. “Thou wilt not tell Salustra, my lord, that I warned thee?”

Signar shook off her hand roughly. “I will see that she doth not harm thee,” he said indifferently.

He turned his back to Tyrhia as an aide showed her the door. He stood in silence for a long time, his head bowed in thought, his fingers slowly clenching and unclenching themselves. “There is no love in this land,” he finally said between his teeth.

29

Salustra, returning from an extended session in the Chamber of Law, found a message waiting from Signar. “Majesty, thou hast denied me the radiance of thy presence for several days. Can it be because thou art mortally offended? Canst thou not pardon a poor brain stupid with wine?”

Salustra crushed the parchment between her fingers, then rapidly wrote a reply and sent a slave. After the slave had departed, she laid her head upon the table and sighed bitterly.

Opening the message, Signar read eagerly: “Sire, thy actions on thy vessel I can readily forgive. Thy apology I cannot. Wilt thou not join me in my apartment tonight for a private supper after the outdoor theater?”

So it hath come, he thought. Tonight, she poisons me. He felt strangely depressed. “Fool that I am to have imagined that her cheek flushed with love at my appearance, that her hand trembled in mine.” As his mind was darkly considering the various courses open to him his generals, headed by the irrepressible Siton, entered. “Salustra’s forces everywhere have joined with ours,” they triumphantly announced. “The empire is thine, Sire, for the taking.”

Instead of becoming elated, he felt his melancholy deepen. I have never loved before, he thought as they handed him an empire. How ironical that I should now love a woman who plots my death and whose empire is virtually given to me.

He had little time for self-indulgence. His lieutenants were looking expectantly to him for leadership and so he gave orders quickly, curtly, for the military takeover. Then, as his aides departed on their errands, he prepared to join Salustra with his principal advisers. He felt an almost savage desire to know the truth for himself.

She was awaiting him, with Tyrhia, Brittulia and Mahius. She watched as he came through the marble portal with his general and minister. He was, she decided reluctantly, an Emperor not only by birth but by qualification. Despite his barbaric dress and a lavish display of gems, there was an air of nobility in his face and demeanor which distinguished him from other men. To him, watching her covertly, she seemed to be pale and shaken. Nevertheless, she greeted him pleasantly. “Ah, my lord, it is my hope thou wilt enjoy this day. It is the first day of the National Games, which the Empress always attends.”

He kissed her hand. “To accompany thee, lady, will be sufficient pleasure.” He looked beyond her to Tyrhia. As his eye touched hers the young Princess shrank fearfully behind her sister.

The Lamora amphitheater was just beyond the city proper, near the Great First Road. All avenues to the amphitheater were swarming with horses, carts and pedestrians, all apparently oblivious of the deadly heat and the heavy mist that hovered over the city like a gray blanket.

Already the thousands of seats in the oval arena were jammed with a restless, eager multitude. The whole theater hummed like a vast beehive. Here and there a protective awning of green or scarlet cloth struck the eye with its patch of color. The air was like that from a burning furnace, dry and parching.

The bronze doors at the top of the amphitheater suddenly swung open. As the blare of trumpets announced the arrival of the Empress and her party, an almost mechanical roar came from thousands of throats.

The Empress moved slowly to the imperial box, followed by a retinue of Senators, ladies, Nobles and Jupia, the High Priestess, as was the custom for the opening of the games. Beside Salustra, in royal scarlet and gold, moved Signar and his aides. The Empress responded to the ovation with an uplifted hand and an inclination of head.

“It is obvious that they love thee,” said Signar with a smile.

“Nay, they are merely good-natured today.” She shrugged indifferently. “They are grateful for the entertainment, to distract them from their fears and boredom.”

“True,” he said, “the favor of the mob is fickle.”

Her whole body suddenly seemed to droop.

“Thou art tired,” he said gently.

“I am always tired of late. There seems to be a heaviness in the air, a menace.” She frowned, then smiled almost gaily with amusement. “I was called up to judge a most extraordinary case this morning. Thou must know I do not encourage new religions in Atlantis. The gods know, the old religion is bad enough. Moreover, I agree with my father that an old and depraved nation cannot afford new faiths. It seems, though, that a new religion hath appeared in Lamora, sponsored by a group of fierce, dark-eyed men with barbaric manners. I do grant freedom of worship in Atlantis. All I ask is that new religions create no disturbance and seek no converts. But this one band of aliens has been haranguing the people loudly, preaching of some vague wrath to come. They declare that their God, whom they name Jehovah, is weary of the sins of the world and intends to submerge all creation in a vast flood and wipe mankind from the face of the earth. However, so they say, his hand may be stayed by proper repentance. This would be laughable if it were not that my people are thus reminded of the old Atlantean prophecies. Have not their own gods so warned them? So they listen, fearfully, and become converts to this abominable religion.”

Signar received all this with surprising seriousness. “And what are the tenets of this new faith?” he asked.

“They acknowledge but one God, which is an improvement. Moreover, they declare this God is a loving but just father, all-seeing, omnipotent, wise, merciful. And strange to relate, this God hath no mistresses. A stern and austere God, is it not? He is concerned, so say these savages, only with the making of all men righteous, preparatory to giving them eternal peace. He is, so they say, angered by the sins of this present generation because of their idolatry and superstition. With this I agree. However, He is also an enemy of joy, feasting and pleasure. This I do not agree with. Indeed, I would like to discuss the matter with Him, and I might well lead Him to repent His obvious obtuseness.”

Signar laughed appreciatively. “I am amazed that these men can secure converts to such a spoilsport God.”