The Romance of Atlantis (13 page)

Salustra frowned and motioned her to go on.

“I can still hear his voice. It sounded like a voice coming through a thick wall, but every word was recognizable. ‘Jupia,’ he said, T have tried to talk to my beloved daughter, Salustra, but she hears me not. But she feels my presence, the urging of my voice, the touch of my hand. I have talked to her soul; it hears my voice but still cannot accept my presence. That is why she hath been distracted, weary and sad for many days.’”

Salustra raised herself upon her elbow. The smile had gone from her face. She looked at Jupia suspiciously.

The High Priestess did not flinch. “Because he could not make thee hear, he came to me. And he hath a message for thee. As he spoke, he held out his sword, and lo, it was broken off but a few inches below the hilt. And then I looked at his crown, and it was no longer a crown. It was a wreath of roses, and they dripped blood. Tell Salustra that such is Atlantis,’ he said. Tell her that its sword is broken and its crown a faded wreath. Tell her that its hour draws near, and that already the halls of Loti open for it.’”

Salustra’s face for a moment revealed something akin to dread. But she said nothing.

Jupia smiled to herself. “He would save thee, he said. But he could tell thee nothing but this: ‘When destruction comes from the north, flee east or west.’”

Salustra quickly recovered. She threw back her head and laughed. “Go to! Dost think, Jupia, thou canst frighten me with thy dreams? Tell thy prophecies to the mooning crowds in the temple; frighten them into bringing greater sacrifices to the altar. I wager after such a story thy coffers will ring again.”

As though stung, Jupia quickly sprang up. Her tall, gaunt body quivered like a barren tree in a storm. She lifted her hand in a compelling gesture. “I have given thee warning,” she said coldly. “I can do no more. My duty is done. Thy fate is with the gods.” Without the customary obeisance, she turned abruptly and stalked from the chamber, followed closely by her virgins.

Salustra gave her a scornful glance. “Perfume the air!”

she cried to her slaves. “The old crone hath left a stench of death in it!”

True, she had felt the presence of her father at times, but put it down to an active imagination induced by his dying suggestion. She wished for his love, strength and counsel. And so she saw his familiar face and form. It was no more. Drulla, Crystu, Litia—they were all of one’s own making.

Salustra had more compelling things to think about. An hour after Jupia’s departure, she sat in secret council with the ambassadors from the court of Althrustri. Her ennui was evident in her every look and gesture. And even her trusted councillor, Mahius, appeared to reflect this weariness with diplomatic deviousness.

Tellan, the ambassador-in-chief, was accompanied by his aide, the wily and crafty Zoni. Salustra, watching the pair, smiled faintly. Her hand played with the gem at her throat, and it flashed with a ruby-red glow. The ambassador held a golden casket in his hand, which he extended reverently as he spoke.

Salustra ignored the casket. “Surely the great Signar did not have thee ask for a private interview for the purpose of giving me presents, Tellan. Out with it! What hast thou to say to me?”

Tellan glanced at Zoni, who lifted his brows, then with a bow extended the golden casket to the Empress.

“Our Emperor begs that thou wilt accept this humble gift, which, radiant though it is, cannot approach thy radiance.”

“A pretty speech,” said Salustra carelessly. “I’ll wager Signar did not compose that himself.”

She opened the casket and brought out a dazzling collar made of gems. It was composed of hundreds of magnificent stones, perfectly cut, splendidly matched. She lifted the collar and weighed it abstractedly, admiring its rainbow glow. Tellan and Zoni exchanged secret smiles of satisfaction.

“I am incapable of expressing my pleasure at such a gift,” she said slowly. She lifted her eyes sardonically. “What does Signar expect for this, my lords?”

Her frankness momentarily disconcerted the ambassadors.

Tellan bowed again, his head dropping to Salustra’s shining slipper. “Thy Majesty doth ask an honest question,” he murmured. “And it deserves an honest answer.” He stood erect and looked at the Empress admiringly. “Thou dost ask what our lord desires, Majesty. He desires thee.”

Salustra was silent for a second, remembering now what Mahius had said, then gave a cold and mirthless laugh of contempt. “Thou dost mean he desires Atlantis,” she said with a withering look.

“Nay, great Majesty,” broke in Zoni eagerly, “he desires only thee. He did say to us, T want the beautiful Salustra for my bride; to be my Empress and the mother of my children.’”

Salustra laughed again in derision. “I am only an appendage to the Empire he covets. If I were to offer him Atlantis alone, he would seize it with never a glance for me. Go to! Let us be frank. He is willing to be reasonable and to try a peaceful conquest. But what if I should send him this reply: ‘Salustra is flattered and overcome by the honor Signar doth pay her, but she must decline it’? What then, Tellan?”

Tellan smiled coldly, but made no reply.

Salustra toyed languidly with Signar’s gift. “And if I should send Signar that reply, it would be war?”

“Did I say so, Majesty?” Tellan asked in a mocking voice.

“No, thou didst merely imply it, Tellan. But come, we made a bargain to be frank. I have known for some time that Signar covets Atlantis, and that it is inevitable that he attempt conquest. He has stolen our atom-breaker, and does not hesitate to use it, thinking we are too civilized to strike first. But can he be sure I might not give the signal that would destroy millions? So he decides upon a peaceful method of gaining the same end. He will marry Salustra! Atlantis intact, not a smoldering ruin to be avoided because of dangerous radiation, will then be his. For such a prize he can even endure the Virgin Empress!”

Tellan’s mouth twitched. He looked at Zoni, whose face reflected his own discomfiture.

Salustra saw their concern, and amusement lurked in her eyes. “I should have your heads,” she said with a mocking smile.

The silent Mahius gave the envoys a reassuring glance.

“Signar’s ambitions are worthy of him,” said Salustra, enjoying their surprise. She toyed with the glittering collar on her knee. “He is of the bold blood that makes empires. I could wish no better than that a son of his should sit upon the throne of Atlantis. And so I intend it.”

Tellan stared at her incredulously; Zoni’s mouth fell open.

The Empress smiled enigmatically. “But I shall not marry him,” she continued. “What! Look not so dismayed, my lords!” She leaned forward in her chair. “This is the message you may take to him: The Empress Salustra declines his hand, feeling herself unworthy of the honor. But Salustra offers instead, in marriage, the lovely and gentle Tyrhia. There is a bride worthy of him, a chaste and virginal princess, who will bring no dishonor upon him. Tell him that Salustra will never marry; that no son of hers will wield the scepter over Atlantis; and that she will keep her Empire safe for the son of Signar and Tyrhia.”

The ambassadors looked at each other in stupefaction.

Salustra slid back in her chair, and waited with a faint smile.

“That is thy decision, great Empress?” finally cried a baffled Tellan.

Salustra inclined her head. “Let Signar consider my offer well. If he declines, then let it be war. I know that his legions will be mobilized, and the flag of war unfurled.”

Zoni raised a protesting hand. “Our lord,” he said passionately, “does not desire war with Atlantis. Thou hast been frank; we will be so too. It had been his dream, frankly, as that of his father, to annex Atlantis to Althrustri. He felt the day was inevitable when the two nations would come to a death grapple. He awaited that day. But now Atlantis is no longer his prior desire. Above his desire for conquest, above the joining of the two great nations, he desires thee and thee alone.”

Salustra rose impatiently. “Absurd!” she exclaimed. “How doth he know that he desires me? He hath never seen me! Go to!” She would have stepped down from her dais, but Tellan lifted a restraining hand.

“He hath many accounts of thee,” he said. “And they have made him desire thee, above all other things, as a regal figure uniquely to his liking.”

“The accounts lie,” said Salustra contemptuously. “Had they been truthful, he would not desire me.”

She would have withdrawn but Tellan’s eyes stopped her. “Thy Majesty’s decision is final?”

Salustra nodded shortly.

“We have but one thing to add, Majesty,” said Tellan. “A messenger arrived today in Lamora to announce the Emperor will arrive three days hence. He will take his answer himself.”

Salustra’s blandness suddenly deserted her. The color drained from her face, and she brushed past the envoys without a word. Mahius trailed after her. “He is on the way to Atlantis now, Mahius,” she said fiercely. “It is war!”

12

The day before Signar’s arrival, Lamora hummed with speculation. A few looked with troubled eyes at the Palace gleaming proudly on its eminence. Who was to blame, they asked, for this calamity about to befall them? The heat was intense, the sky brazen, the sea swelling uncertainly, the mountain tops aswim in a molten yellow mist. The streets sent up rank odors from every dark alley and court. Already unnerved by the ceaseless fog and the power breakdown, crowds jostled each other uneasily in the main thoroughfares, ignoring the cries of vendors and street entertainers and the whine of beggars, in their single-minded reaction to the press of events. Slaves were forced to beat their way through the wedged masses of sweating humanity to make a passage for their languid lords. Everywhere, the restless river of life constantly moved and flowed from one thoroughfare to the other—tall and sturdy men from Althrustri with the barbarian’s direct eye and swinging step; the small and scrambling men from Antilla, Letus, Nahi and Modura, with darting black eyes, curling dark hair, and the stamp of roguery upon every feature. They were interspersed here and there with giant blond natives of Gonelid, a far Arctic province subject to Althrustri, a land of six months’ night and six months’ sun. The shops blazed with light and color. Floated to market on barges, heaps of fruit—peaches, plums, grapes, oranges, lemons, apples, raisins, bananas, all kinds of melons—glowed in their stalls, attracting swarms of flies. Here, another shop displayed small, hand-woven rugs, still another dealt in cheap jewelry; others attracted throngs with cheap wine and unsweetened cakes, displayed sandals and knives and saddles and belts studded with brass nailheads, or sold sweetmeats and pastries and cuts of juicy meat fresh from open ovens. Some featured dolls for children, and other playthings. The largest crowd had gathered around a vendor who shouted of the vast sexual benefit to be obtained from a certain potion. Everywhere, there was noise, dust, heat, confusion. Lean dogs and cats sniffed at the heels of the mob. But these familiar pets were the only animals in sight, for all the feathered creatures, except those in cages, and all other wild life, from the wolves and jackals in the outlying forests to the mountain lions and bears, had already mysteriously disappeared in recent days.

Although Lamora’s welfare benefits were notoriously liberal, beggars in droves, some blind and crippled, added their plaintive cries to those of the hawkers of goods. They angrily jostled a timid girl with a pinched pale face, meekly offering bunches of fresh wild flowers to the indifferent throngs, chiding her for not begging like themselves.

This sea of life surged about the impassive walls of the Palace amid rumors that its royal occupant was in a bad humor. It was whispered she had refused to see anyone that day. Messengers from the Nobles came and went without seeing anybody but her guards; Mahius himself could not gain an audience.

Toward sundown, as the milling throngs moved homeward for the evening meal, the western gate of the Palace, rarely used by the Empress, swung open, and a detachment of burly guards appeared with a heavily curtained litter.

In a short time, so rapidly did they move, they were at the portals of the Temple of Sati, in the shadow of a giant dome supported by a colonnade of great pillars, two hundred feet in height, with elaborately carved symbols of Atlantis’ history decorating their surfaces. Before bronze doors, fully fifty feet high, stood two enormous lions of Atlantis, so huge six men could sit side by side on each massive head.

Inside the temple, in the very center of the circular vastness, stood the altar with its eternal fire of Sati, attended by relays of silent, expressionless blue-clad vestals. So vast was the interior that men and women appeared like dolls under the arching gloom of the lofty dome. The altar fire gave off a spiral of thin blue smoke that heightened the senses.

As the great bronze doors opened noiselessly, a woman entered. For a moment, she hesitated, looking about her. The temple was empty, as usual at sunset, save for the guardians of the flame, for then Sati went to her rest. After that momentary hesitation, the visitor moved slowly to the altar. The vestals, visibly startled, made obeisance, then returned mechanically to their duties.

As Salustra knelt before the altar, her cloak fell from her and lay like a pool of blood upon the marble floor. At the altar, two virgins stood immobile, hands folded like pale lilies across their breasts, their eyes downcast, the pristine pallor of their faces the color of white stone. The altar flame rose like a restless serpent in a spiral of pungent smoke.

Salustra knelt, motionless. Why had she come here? She had no faith, no prayer to make to those in whom she professed not to believe. Was it because her heart ached with a nameless longing, and in her loneliness she had reverted to the comforting patterns of childhood? Or was it because only here could she find the quiet of the grave and the peace that passeth understanding?

She sighed, half-mockingly. The pious might say that my sins are consuming me, she thought, smiling a little. But I am conscious of no guilt. So why have I come?

She was aware in that instant of a sudden pang in her breast. She clenched her hands so tightly that the nails dug into the flesh. She was aware, too, of an instant’s sickness of soul, a sort of deadly disgust and loathing of everything, including herself. The attack was so intense that it dried her lips and filled her mouth with the taste of ashes; it was profound, prostrating. Her heart thudded against her chest. She raised her eyes to the altar flame. Ah, could I but rise above the world’s lusts, passions, lies and hypocrisies, she thought passionately. But I am chained like others to the flesh. I am a prisoner in my own body. And while I am such a prisoner I must partake of the fare of my prison, and propitiate my jailers!