The Romance of Atlantis (27 page)

But her sun had not quite receded. She prepared to use her one last day of power swiftly.

In the morning, after a restless night, she laid her hand on Creto’s bowed head. “Thou lovest me still, Creto? Then do my last will. I bow to the inevitable. But private betrayal calls for private vengeance.” She paused, fixing him with piercing eyes. “The one I loved most turned on me. Signar would still have overcome. But it is the desire that I cannot forgive. Dost thou understand, Creto?”

The Prefect looked at her steadily. “Thou dost mean thy sister, the Princess Tyrhia, Majesty?”

She moved her head slightly, noncommittally. “There are others as well. But first, thou knowest that Signar hath accorded me full power for this day.” She withdrew a vial from her robe, a vial not quite full of a sparkling red fluid. “Thou wilt take this at once to Jupia, my High Priestess, with my compliments. And thou wilt remain with Jupia until she hath drunk of this vial.”

She gave Creto a roll of parchment. “In it Signar decrees that all my commands be obeyed this day.”

The Prefect took the vial from her hand, rose, and saluted. “For thee to command is for me to obey,” he said quietly.

Salustra flashed her old, languid smile. “And thou wilt return immediately,” she said.

When Creto had gone, she fell into a reflective silence. There were none of the accustomed callers, no courtiers, friends, clients, Senators, Nobles. Today the great dim halls yawned emptily, except for the soldiers under orders from Signar to watch the Empress closely.

But she was not to enjoy her unaccustomed solitude for long. The curtains parted, and Signar entered, unexpected and unannounced. At his appearance, Salustra rose, swaying a little from strain and weakness. She was no longer wearing Lazar’s pendant, as if she had no further use of it. She caught the arm of her chair, then recovered quickly.

“Nay, Salustra,” said Signar. “Thou art still the Empress today, rise not for me.” He gave her his hand and assisted her into her seat.

A humorous smile touched her pale lips. “I have been thinking, Sire, that thou must ask my pardon for a breach of hospitality.”

“And thou—” he smiled “—for attempting to send me to my ancestors.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. He had the impression that she was not laughing at his remark but at her own thoughts. “Thou dost not ask what are my intentions toward thee, lady,” he said, after a moment.

“I am not interested,” she said with a shrug.

“But I am,” he said firmly. Again silence fell between them. “Are thy commands being obeyed implicitly?” he asked at last.

She inclined her head.

“Believe me, lady,” he said, taking her hand, “I feel naught but compassion for thee—”

She snatched her hand from his. “Thou hast everything, my lord?”

He nodded silently. “Thou art satisfied?”

“I am, Salustra.”

“Then, my lord, spare me thy pity.”

She turned from him and fell once more into a detached silence. Signar sat for a few minutes, then with a shrug of his shoulders retired awkwardly without saying anything more. My presence, he thought bitterly, is like the grave to her, and yet I want only to see her alive and happy—at my side.

She sat thus for an hour, until Creto, his face flushed, stood before her with a nervous glitter in his eye. “It is done, Majesty,” he cried. “She resisted the suggestion but I made the alternative seem less pleasant, and so she finally drank, cursing thee with her last foul breath.”

She laid her hand on the Prefect’s arm and fixed her hypnotic eyes upon his face. “And now,” she said, “go thou, Creto, to the Princess Tyrhia’s apartments. Thou hast the decree of Signar. Gain admission without delay. And then,” dropping her voice to a whisper, “thou wilt bring her to me.” The Prefect trembled and his face turned the color of new parchment.

“Majesty—” his voice faltered “—I implore thee …” Salustra smiled wanly. “It is not what thou thinkest. Go to, Creto.”

32

The slaying of Jupia jarred the city to its sanctimonious core.

Ganto and Siton reported the savage humor of the people to the Emperor. Strongly, they counseled that Signar deliver up Salustra to the justice of the city. “Who knows but that the people may refuse to accept thee if thou dost condone this blasphemy?” said Ganto. “Deliver her to her own people and they will love thee for it.”

Signar glumly sent his guards for Salustra. She entered calmly. Her quiet glance disdainfully passed over the group standing behind the Emperor. He did not rise as she stood before him.

“Thou hast murdered thy religious leader,” he said accusingly.

“I murdered the treacherous exploiter of my people,” she answered evenly.

“Her death cries out for vengeance,” he said.

She smiled. “Kill me then.”

Signar stirred in his seat impatiently. “Thou mightest have murdered a thousand others and no hand would have been raised against thee. But the murder of a High Priestess, a representative of the gods, it is indefensible.” As she made no answer, he looked at her with increasing sternness. “The people cry for thy death. But I shall declare that Jupia was murdered without thy knowledge by Creto, who wished only to defend thee.”

She smiled faintly. “And I shall deny it, Sire.”

He rose with an oath. “And I shall declare thee mad, and by the gods, I believe thou art mad!” Still smiling, she bowed her head. His frowning eyes commanded hers. “If I turn thee over to thy people they will inflict the vilest shame upon thee before they allow thee to die in torment. Does the prospect please thee?”

She recoiled the least bit. The soul that could endure death with equanimity could not endure shame.

“Grant me a swift and speedy death now, my lord,” she whispered.

He thrust her from him angrily, and at that gesture her old pride came back and her figure stiffened.

“Send for the woman who may watch over her,” Signar said aloud to Siton. The general left the chamber and soon returned with a weeping Brittulia. “Take thy mistress to her apartments, woman,” said the Emperor, “and see that she does herself no mischief.”

Salustra looked at him defiantly. “I still have thy word that my wish shall be command for twenty-four hours, and twelve hours still remain by my timepiece.”

Signar flushed. “What new horrors dost thou contemplate?”

“Let me keep Creto yet awhile.”

“He must pay for thy misdeed.”

Salustra threw back her head. “A king’s promise, Sire, is only as good as he.”

He scowled darkly, and then his face cleared. “But know that one moment thereafter thou art at my disposal.”

Before he could say any more she turned and left the chamber. There was no faltering in her step and her face was serene. She looked every bit a queen, and Signar’s eyes followed her in rapt silence.

“See the way the wind blows!” whispered the minister, Ganto, to the general, Siton. “I shall hasten to pay my most humble and royal court to that beautiful vixen.”

Siton frowned. “And I, too.”

Upon returning to her apartments, Salustra had a surprise awaiting her. Her anteroom was crowded, no Senators, no courtiers were they, nor the Nobles who had formerly fawned upon her. They were the philosophers, Yonis, Talius, Everus, Zetan, Lodiso, Morti, and a group of scientists.

They hastened to greet her and kissed her hands with reverence. “Ah, sirs,” she said in a shaken voice, “I little expected that you would remember me.”

“How could we forget our noblest friend, our most understanding patron, our kindest benefactress?” cried Zetan. “Thou dost give us little credit, Majesty, for ordinary gratitude.”

“Gratitude?” she echoed bitterly. “I have always said: ‘Dost thou desire an enemy? Then, assist thy friend!’” Nevertheless, it was evident that she was moved by their loyalty.

“The agonies of today are the jests of tomorrow,” said Morti. “Only by indifference and humor can we defeat the gods.”

She hesitated, watching them keenly. “Have you heard, sirs, that I put the High Priestess to death?”

“Yes, Majesty,” replied Everus quietly.

“And you are not horrified?”

Morti took her hand. “Nay, Majesty. What horrifies us is the treachery that made such an act necessary.”

Salustra’s eyes dimmed. “I have but one thing further to say to you, sirs. It is dangerous to love me and to be my friend. Attempt to see me no more. The Empress of Atlantis is dead.”

After dismissing them she turned to Brittulia, who was again weeping. “Thy work is done, Brittulia,” she said. “The virtuous always find consolation for their virtue when the unvirtuous are brought to ruin.”

Brittulia knelt and tearfully kissed the hem of Salustra’s garments. “Majesty,” she said, “grant me one prayer.”

“It is granted, Brittulia,” she said, laying her hand on the woman’s head.

“Then, Majesty, permit me to remain with thee. I came to care for a slip of a girl but learned to care for thee instead. Thou hast more of virtue in thee than any virgin.”

The Empress raised Brittulia to her feet and kissed the pale forehead. “Do not shame me with thy virtue,” she said. “I have already borne more than the unvirtuous can stand. Find Tyrhia for me.”

Brittulia did not wince as usual at the Empress’ touch. “Thou still hast enemies, Majesty, the Senator Divona, for one.”

She laughed hollowly. “What mischief, pray, can Divona and his ilk do me now? In any event, he is on the good Creto’s list, though I am sure his new master would otherwise make short work of him. A traitor is much like a man who cheats on his wife; he can be counted upon to repeat his duplicity with his new partner. The habit remains, only the names change.”

33

Signar had proclaimed officially that Salustra was not responsible for Jupia’s death. The High Priestess, he explained, had been slain in madness by the young Prefect, Creto, who would pay with his life for the unspeakable crime.

Divona, the Senator, sought the Emperor’s protection. The Emperor listened coldly as the Senator referred to past favors.

“Salustra is helpless now,” he said. “She cannot harm thee.”

Divona shook his head. “She is an evil woman, Sire. Not until she is dead shall I feel safe.”

“Then,” said Signar, “thou shalt not feel safe for some time.” He looked at the Senator cynically, “And was it not thou, Divona, who didst once ask for Salustra as thy reward for thy betrayal of her?”

“I have changed my mind,” the Senator stammered. “I would as soon have a hungry tigress in my bed.”

Signar regarded him scornfully. “Go whilst thou can,” he said.

Divona blanched and slunk out of the room.

There was no place in Lamora he could hide. It did not take Creto long to find him. The cynical Senator, devoted to a life of deviousness, found that the last to respect a traitor is he who employs him.

“Wouldst thou kill me,” he said to the simple Creto, “when I can make thee a rich man with everything thou ever dreamt of, great estates, slaves, women to do thy bidding?”

Creto could not forgo a triumphant moment. “How canst thou help me, traitor, when thou canst not help thyself?”

And with this he plunged his sword deep into the bowels of a man consumed by his own hatred.

The Empress had impatiently awaited Creto’s return. One look, as he strode in, was all she needed to know.

“Had this deed been done long ago, Creto, Atlantis might not be helpless today.”

The Prefect knelt and kissed the hem of her robe. “What more, Majesty, before I die?”

She shook her head sadly. “I would gladly trade Signar my life for thine.”

“Thou hast little room for sentiment, Majesty,” the man of action reminded her.

“Thou must still fetch my sister. I have one more duty to perform.” She reflected a moment. “Take a guard to Brittulia’s house. The little fool may well be hidden there, while Brittulia seeks her in the Palace.”

The Prefect hesitated, and a look of misgiving came to his eye.

“What is it, Creto?” she demanded.

“I pray, Majesty, that my last act is an honorable one.”

Salustra’s face was illuminated by a quick smile. “Fear not, I intend this foolish girl no harm. The vengeance I consider is of another sort.”

No sooner had he clanked out of the room than Brittulia arrived with a message from the poet Erato, pleading for an audience.

“I will see him in the garden in an hour,” said the Empress agreeably, much to Brittulia’s surprise. “Now tell me, what hast thou done with the Princess Tyrhia?”

Brittulia’s face was full of contrition. “She has disappeared, Majesty, as from the face of the earth, perhaps fearing that Signar may exercise his claim on her.”

“She is indeed a fool,” said the Empress. “She reminds me more of Lahia, her mother, each day. Signar knows not, nor cares, whether she is alive, and never intended to marry her. It was but a ploy on his part.” She paused a moment. “Now make haste, Brittulia, to thy own home and meet Creto there.” With shining eyes, the virgin Brittulia bent and kissed her hand. Salustra gazed at her pityingly. “Go now,” she said kindly. “Thou poor thing.”

The hour was fast approaching when Salustra would lose her borrowed authority. She sat calmly, reviewing in her mind without regret the recent flow of events. She cared not for astrologers and their predictions but she could not view the gray sky, smell the sickening atmosphere, or contemplate the cessation of electrical energy without considering these as fateful steps toward a more sinister drama yet to be revealed.

“Signar’s coming,” she told Mahius, who had just entered, “is another spoke in Atlantis’ ruin, brought on, as those bearded fanatics have warned, by her own lack of moral purpose. What reason is there for Atlantis to exist? It has seen and done everything noble, everything rotten and degraded, until it has become a sink of iniquity. Its people would rather be fed by a paternalistic government than work, and prefer dissipation to contribution. They are not worth saving, and this the gods must surely know as they shake the earth.”

Mahius permitted himself a smile. “Signar’s reckless use of the atom-splitter has, I am sure, contributed to the recent behavior of the elements.”