The Romance of Atlantis (30 page)

The earth and sky darkened steadily, but only she was aware of it. The people were testing the strength of the soldiers, and their cries shook the air. In their excitement they did not notice a tremor which, though faint, seemed to come from the bowels of the earth.

The guards formed a circle about her and began a solemn procession to the Senate Chamber. Salustra’s face held a faintly sardonic smile, which seemed to have fixed itself permanently on her pale lips. Her head was slightly bent, as though she communed with herself.

The Senate was already assembled. The day had so steadily darkened that generator lamps had been lit and they shone fitfully. As the bronze doors flew open, the Guard promptly closed them in the face of the surging throng. Other than Senators, only priests and a few Nobles were admitted. As Salustra stepped through the door the Senate involuntarily rose with its customary salute. But seeing Salustra’s satirical smile, they sat down again, utterly disconcerted.

The guards led her to a high and narrow platform facing the Assembly, and there she stood motionless, like a statue.

Gatus, the prosecutor, stood before the Senate body with a roll of parchment in his hands. His eyes fixed themselves for a moment on that quiet figure standing with such aloof dignity before her accusers. Then he began to read:

“We, the People, through our Senate do accuse thee, the deposed Empress of Atlantis, of infamous crimes, among them treason against us, by reason of commands to the military recently issued independent of the Senate. We further accuse thee of the murder of the noble Senator Divona and of the High Priestess Jupia, murders foul in the extreme, and which call to the gods for vengeance. And of a similar foul attempt on the life of the Emperor Signar.

“We further accuse thee of continual insults to the gods, which, though not punishable under the laws of Atlantis, still affront the piety of the people.”

Gatus fixed his crafty eyes upon the silent Empress. “To these accusations thou hast the privilege of replying.” Under her even glance his eyes dropped.

The habits of a lifetime were ingrained in one bred to rule with justice.

“Where are my accusers, Gatus?” she asked in a clear, resonant voice.

Gatus raised his hand, and Mento, the black-robed priest, a familiar of Jupia, rose with his pallid face twisted with hatred. He pointed a trembling finger at Salustra. “Blasphemer!” he cried, his dark eyes flashing fanatically.

“Thy crimes have scandalized the gods too long! Thou dost demand proof and witnesses! Whatsoever proof may be offered, thou dost stand convicted in the blood which flows about thee like the sea. Thou hast endeavored from the very hour thou didst ascend to the throne of Atlantis to cast odium on the gods! For thy lack of reverence it is a wonder that these walls do not fall upon thee and crush thee!”

The Empress interrupted with a laugh. “My lords, I have been accused of many things. Again I ask: Where are my accusers? You say I violated the law that the sovereign may not take military action without Senate consent. I did take such a step but for the sole purpose of rescuing Atlantis from Althrustri. Had I convened the Senate there would have been panic, delay, disorganization. Signar would have known of the matter immediately, as he did—” she sighed “—in any case. Therefore, I took the responsibility myself for the sake of Atlantis. My only regret is that I failed.”

Her voice trailed off into silence; she bowed her head, as if to withdraw again within herself. The Senators whispered together, glancing uncomfortably the while at their Empress.

Gatus, after this whispered consultation, rose and faced Salustra again. “And thou dost deny these things of which thou art accused?” he demanded.

“Where are the witnesses?” she repeated. There was both pride and scorn in her manner. “Well I know, sirs, that this trial is merely an excuse to offer me as a sop to a confused, frightened people. And because you lack courage to express your own grievances you seek virtuous reasons for your conduct.” She raised her hand imperiously and spoke in a ringing voice, with her eyes veiled as if describing a vision.

“There hath been a savior prophesied for many ages. It hath been said that he will be the living truth. Let him beware! Whatever message he hath to give an evil generation will be drenched in his own blood. He will be betrayed, his memory defamed, dust will be cast upon his footsteps. His very existence will be doubted by the generations that come after him. Mankind will so confuse the clear beauty of his words that his countless followers will be persecuted to their deaths.

“He will carry a torch into the universal darkness. He will succor the exploited, the sick, the ignorant and the sad. He will attempt in his misguided love to release man from the chains of oppression. He will open the doors of intellectual freedom and point man to the shining dawn of enlightenment. For this he will suffer a cruel death.

“Such has been, is, and shall be the fate of all those who attempt to free the people from their oppressors. All who have pierced the veil of pompous lies, pious hypocrisies, priestly tyranny and enslavement by the powerful have been murdered and forgotten. But the passion that flames in the saviors of the world can never be quenched; they pass on the light with their dying hands.”

She seemed to gather strength as she went on. “I have attempted to free my people from their exploiters, from their cunning priesthood, from the preceptors of unquestioning obedience. I have opened to them the doors of science that they might be freed from superstition. I hoped to free them from the shackles of a man-made religion. And for this crime, of course, I am condemned and cursed.

“All these things of which you accuse me are nothing to you. I might have slain a thousand more and all would have been decorous silence had I been reverent to the gods and subservient to the priests.”

So cutting had been her words that the Senate had listened, impressed, despite themselves.

As Gatus paused uncertainly, his colleague, Toliti, regarded Salustra with a judicial eye. “What thou hast to say, Majesty, may be true. But for us to oppose the gods now would mean utter chaos and ruin.”

As he spoke there was a tremendous crash of thunder, which shook the walls of the chamber. The massive bronze doors burst open and revealed a wild-eyed multitude. They were caught in a new cloudburst, which made it seem again as if earth and heaven were dissolving into one turbulent sea of water.

The priest Mento, frothing while Salustra spoke, now leaped to his feet and gestured to the panic-stricken strongs surging into the chamber. “This woman hath been blaspheming the gods again, oh people of Atlantis! And in wrath at your tolerance they have again afflicted the earth!”

An animal roar broke from thousand of throats. And with one accord the human tide rolled toward the platform on which Salustra stood with a smile of cool disdain. A moment more and she would have been hauled from the platform and trampled underfoot. But at that instant, slashing their way forward, came a strong force of the elite Guard of the Emperor Signar. Signar’s commander, Siton, reached her first. He sprang up beside her, caught her in his burly arms and gave a defiant cry that rang out clearly over the noise and turmoil of the mob.

37

Almost in a swoon from fatigue and strain, Salustra was half-conscious of being borne through a welter of humanity in a pelting downpour. She felt herself tossed in a small boat and heard the swirl of angry water about her. She peered through a wall of water and that instant saw the gleaming side of a huge ship, its superstructure all encased by a glistening dome. She became aware of being lifted up the side of that ship, and then complete darkness blissfully enveloped her.

This is death, she thought, and before oblivion came she seemed to hear a voice saying, as though from a great distance:

“The fountains of the great deep were all broken up, and the windows of heaven were opened, and the rain was upon the earth forty days and forty nights. The water increased greatly upon the earth, and the highest hills under heaven were covered. Fifteen cubits upward did the waters prevail and the mountains were covered.”

And then the voice faded, and she knew no more.

Salustra’s first impression was of warm light upon her face. She was lying on a soft couch, and a silken breeze blew across her face. As she rose to the surface of consciousness, she heard voices, faint, far-off, murmuring. These voices seemed to approach, to be at her bedside. A hand touched her forehead, caressingly, pulling back a lock of hair. She sighed, moved her head a little, and prepared to sleep again.

“She is awakening!” a woman’s voice said eagerly.

“It is true,” responded a man’s deeper tones. They leaned over her, as she tried to blot out the reality of another person, whoever it was. She tried to slip back into the darkness. But a beam of sunlight pressed her lids open and she was looking up into the faces of a young woman she had never seen before and the familiar Siton. The couch on which she lay was swaying gently. As her eyes opened still wider, she saw that the sunlight came through a narrow window, and that beyond, through a small circular opening, was the gliding surface of a tranquil sea.

Siton bent over her, smiling, his white teeth flashing against his dark beard. “Thou hast slept long with thy fever, Majesty,” he said. “Forty days have passed.”

“Forty days,” echoed Salustra. Her voice was weak and her tongue felt thick and clumsy. At the sound of her voice the horror of her last recall flashed over her face.

Siton took her hand soothingly. “It hath passed,” he said. “And many things have happened while thou hast slept. But thou must sleep more and when thou dost awaken, refreshed, we will tell thee all.”

Salustra looked about her, dazed. “I am on a ship,” she said feebly. “Are we in the harbor?”

Siton turned his head, and the bright sunlight revealed his pallor.

Slowly Salustra’s memory returned. “The Princess Tyrhia,” she cried, “where is she? And Signar?” she cried again, almost frantically.

Siton could only shrug expressively at the first question. Tyrhia was among the millions missing or dead. He had more reassuring news about the Emperor. “Safe and well, Majesty,” he said gently. “And when thy strength hath returned, he will come and tell thee all that has happened.”

A faint color swept over the Empress’ face. She would have spoken again but the young woman laid her hand over her eyes and sleep quickly came.

Salustra was eventually awakened by the cold night air flowing over her. Through the open windows she could see the arching dome of the sky and then the endless expanse of ocean. She got up shakily and stumbled weakly to a window and looked out. She could see nothing but water. A sense of utter doom oppressed her. What terrible catastrophe had befallen the world? Where was Atlantis, where Lamora? What had happened in the forty days that she had lain in a stupor at sea?

She looked about curiously at the silk-walled chamber dimly lit with golden lamps, the hallmark of Signar’s flagship. Her first thought was: That barbarian hath abducted me and is carrying me off to Althrustri. But even as this thought occurred to her some inner instinct told her this was not the truth. She who had not feared death was overcome by uncertainty. She let out a cry. A door opened and two maidens entered with Siton. They found the Empress sitting dazed upon her couch. “In the name of the gods tell me what hath happened!” she cried.

The women attempted to soothe her. She brushed them aside with her old imperiousness, her eyes fixed on the soldier. “What hath happened?” she repeated.

Siton filled a goblet with wine. “Drink, Majesty,” he commanded, “and then I will tell thee.”

She drank automatically, her eyes fixed upon him over the brim of the goblet. And then in a low voice, as though the very telling horrified him, he began to fill in the gap for her. “We saw thee arrested, Majesty. We were in a quandary. Our lord lay ill, but we knew that we must save thee.

“The people were aroused, demanding thy death. And we were still but a handful. Who knew but what our lord might be done to death? He was barely conscious when we went to him. ‘Lord,’ we said, ‘a great flood is about to descend upon the city again. The people are wild, unrestrained. Let us flee to thy ship before the waters inundate all.’

“Though still weak, he laughed at us, not knowing of your danger, for the physician Cino insisted we not upset him. He had been given drugs to quiet his pain. We decided upon a bold move. When he fell into a drugged sleep we carried him through the deserted streets to the harbor. We summoned all our people and commanded that they hasten to the flagship. We carried quantities of goods and wines to the vessel. We did not take water, for the very heavens were pouring down. Our plan was to rescue thee and put out from Lamora. When all was ready, I took the Guard of Five Hundred to the Senate chamber and cut through the cowardly crowd to carry thee off.”

As he fell silent, Salustra laid her hand upon his arm and shook him slightly for him to continue.

“When we had carried thee to the ship through torrents,” he resumed, “we put out to sea in a veritable wall of water. For a time we despaired, for the storm was great and the vessel rolled first on one side and then on the other, without our being able to see more than a few feet ahead. And then, after we had been knocked about for hours, a calm suddenly prevailed and we saw we had moved but a few miles from the coast. The waves were frightening, like toppling mountains. A great noise rent the air, which came from neither the earth nor the heavens nor the sea. And then, awesomely, we were borne aloft on a wave higher than any other. We looked toward the shore in dread; we would surely be broken upon it in a few moments. We were hurled forward at a fearful speed. The mountains seemed to leap toward us and we could discern, very clearly, the spires of the city. No rain was falling but the air was heavy with a noxious sulfurous miasma issuing from Mount Atla, which threatened to suffocate us.

“The ship was groaning, yet our vessel seemed to skim like a bird over the waters. The city loomed closer, we could even discern the waterlogged streets. And then, just when it seemed that the ship must crash upon Atla itself, a fearful thing happened. The land seemed to heave, to breathe deeply, and then, without a sound, without a warning, it sank gently beneath the waters! Where Lamora stood there was a vast maelstrom, and we were hurtled forward as though in pursuit of the devil. Had there been a sound, a cry, the fleeing of multitudes, it would have been less appalling, but the city collapsed like a canoe breaking against the shoals. Our speed was incredible, as though we possessed wings; our flight was the flight of birds, always in pursuit of the sinking land. Daily, millions perished without a sound, without a gesture, without an opportunity to offer a prayer to the gods. Some few, cast adrift in the sea, we were able to pick up and resuscitate. But then the heavens opened again and because of the wall of water, we could see no more. Profound darkness spread upon the face of the ocean and we had a terrible feeling of being alone.”