The Romance of Atlantis (8 page)

Noticing all this, Salustra smiled to herself, looking to an early end of Tyrhia’s phase of the party.

“Thou wilt remain?” she insisted in that low and languid voice.

Mahius gave a troubled sigh. “Will it displease thy Majesty if I should refuse? I am very tired of late. I have a premonition of approaching disaster. I am not superstitious, but there is something in the air, something sinister. No, no! No human foe, no human danger, not this time. Forgive my drive-lings, great Salustra. The forewarnings of those artful astrologers have always aroused in me the deepest ridicule. No, no! It is something else, something most awful …”

Salustra looked at him with incredulous eyes. Her bosom rose, as though with suppressed laughter. “With what childish fear we cower in the shelter of the known, hiding from the cold winds of the unknown! A thousand legions could not disturb thy iron equanimity, Mahius, but the first breath from the black and icy cavern of superstition freezes the very marrow in thy bones! Bah! I have a most efficacious powder which my physician hath given me. It is a splendid laxative; it stirs up the bowels like the lash of a whip. Religion and her twin, superstition, are naught but the phantoms of a sluggish liver, Mahius!”

Mahius winced but made no reply.

She touched his arm lightly. “There are three times in a man’s life when he believes in the gods, Mahius. When he is a child, when well fed, and when he is old. Thou art old, dear friend. Thy blood no longer runs swift and hot; thy eye no longer wanders to virginal bosoms and young lips. Music fails to stir thee; thou wouldst return to thy books and to the grave contemplation of thy gods. The man who tells himself that he is old is old, no matter how few his years: the white-haired grandsire who assures himself that he is young is truly young.”

Mahius looked at her almost sadly. “I am old, Majesty,” he said quietly, “and thou are eternally young. Perhaps it is because I am old that I am afraid, that I feel something insidious in the air. Age is always apprehensive, I know. But when I look at thee, I am affrighted. It is as though I see a huge shadow over thee. Thou knowest how I love thee, and how I loved thy father, and thou canst judge how thought of danger to thee fills me with dread and confusion. Fear! I, who have never felt fear before, fear now, and its icy wind causes my teeth to chatter and my heart to chill.” So earnest, so urgent was his voice that the quiet smile faded from Salustra’s lips.

She reacted defiantly, affected more than she would admit. “Fear!” she said contemptuously. “Sati, I believe, can find it possible to forgive the fool, the adulterer, the liar and the traitor. She may even find extenuating circumstances for the hypocrite, for where is there one of us but is forced to dissemble in some manner? But I doubt that she can forgive the coward, who fills the dim and lofty halls of heaven with his pusillanimous cries and disturbs the most high Herself with his craven bleatings. And I, have I ever feared? Nay, fear hath never touched me with her shriveling hand. I come not of the blood of cowards, my Mahius!”

She touched her minister upon the cheek with the back of her hand, and then, as her mood swiftly changed, she experienced a sudden wave of melancholy. “This city, I loathe it, and I am weary. Dost know why those barbarian envoys of Signar’s have requested a special audience tomorrow?”

Mahius’ gray brows contracted in deep thought.

Salustra spread out her hands with a careless gesture. “I would like thee to come to my apartments for a few moments. These children will not miss us.”

She would have risen had not her eye suddenly been caught by another’s. A young man, of twenty-seven or eight, perhaps a trifle younger than herself, was peering at her intently over the brim of a goblet, from the far end of the table. She had never seen him before. As their eyes held, she saw a finely molded head and sensitive blue eyes. As she gazed at him, he put down the goblet slowly, revealing a straight, sculptured nose and a strong, yet delicate mouth. Her eye quickly took in the sturdy throat, wide shoulders, bare, sinewy arms and artistic hands. She studied him with a sense of growing excitement, and he returned her gaze breathlessly, yet with an air of confidence. She looked again at his face, and he smiled, inclining his head respectfully. He had an air of distinction so different from the youth of Lamora.

Mahius had been watching this little drama with a sense of weariness. He looked at the young man and frowned.

Salustra leaned back in her chair. A faint smile touched her lips. Her breast rose quickly with quickened breath. She was herself again.

“That, radiant Majesty, is a cousin of Cicio, King of Dimtri,” anticipated Mahius in a dry voice. “He beseeched me only this morning to request an interview for him. He is a poet of great renown in his country, and he seeks thy patronage, knowing thou art a devotee of the arts. His name is Erato.”

Salustra nodded slowly, keeping her eyes on the poet, who was now smiling quizzically. He lifted his goblet to his lips again, and on his hand a great ruby, like a ribald eye, winked brightly at her. Salustra smiled. “He must remain for the later banquet, Mahius. We are always willing to serve Poetry, especially when she hath so gallant and handsome an advocate.”

Salustra now rose, and the startled guests rose with her. She made a gesture with her jeweled hand. “We shall return,” she said and glided from the chamber, followed by the old minister. The poet smiled, and nervously drummed on the table with his fingers.

6

Far below lay the city. The streets were veiled in a yellowish gloom through which the lofty domes and tall pillars gleamed grotesquely in the obscure moonlight. It was a city of illusion, its distant confines hidden by the thick curtain that hung over the city like a pall. The air was hot, motionless, languid, causing men to breathe laboriously in a depressed atmosphere and the animal life to scurry about in aimless apprehension.

Mahius, wondering at this sudden conference, glanced furtively at the Empress. Her profile held the eye with its pride and strength. She began to speak uncertainly, in a low voice, as though in a dream. “Wert thou ever afflicted with this strange emotion, Mahius? I am not a fanciful woman, or a morbid one. But I feel an awful sense of fatality upon me; the world has receded into unreality and illusion. I am a shadow moving amongst shadows.”

Mahius was silent for a moment, and then he replied quietly: “I have felt so often myself. Life fluctuates, flows, ebbs, comes from the shadows and returns to them. Only the gods remain, ever present and eternal.”

Salustra gave a weary gesture. “Bah! Gods! To think that in this world today, this ribald, jeering and cynical world, there should be some that believe that the great Unknown has cognizance of us! Only the frail, the feeble, the cowardly can have such faith. Faith is the trademark of the pusillanimous. Unable to fight life adequately, they feel the need of a supernatural ally, compelled to encase themselves in armor against a predatory world; otherwise raw and violent life would be unendurable. Some armor themselves with faith, and hide behind the shadowy image of the gods. Some encase themselves in philosophy, and look with a tranquil eye upon the combat, disdaining, however, to take part in it. Some arm themselves with cynicism and refuse to believe anything, even that they do not believe anything. Some saturate themselves with sentiment and observe life through deliciously maudlin tears. Some arm themselves with the stern ax of a self-inflicted duty, and call themselves brave when they are merely acquiescent. Nearly all justify life in terms of empty platitudes. If man did not lie to himself he could not live.”

Mahius looked at her kindly. “Thou art so young to have reached so final a conclusion, Salustra. But when thou art older thou wilt no longer feel so keenly. Thou wilt accept life tranquilly, without fear and without hope. The small child and the old man are the wisest philosophers.”

Salustra shrugged. “We need no armor against life, no philosophy,” she said somewhat sullenly. Then she laughed shortly. “We need truth. But what is true and what is false? What is brave and what is cowardly? What is vice, and what virtue? All we know is that we are here, and that tomorrow we shall be gone. From whence we came, and whither we go, no man can tell. Like shadows we come, like shadows we go, and the familiar places know us no more. When man speaks of the gods, he babbles like a monkey at the moon.”

Mahius bowed and relapsed into silence. But his eyes were sad. Salustra began her pacing on the colonnade. She halted abruptly and spoke in her usual imperative manner. “Tomorrow the ambassadors of Althrustri speak confidentially with me. I already know their errand, though I did not let on before. They bring a suit from their Emperor, seeking my hand in marriage. If it would save Atlantis, I would accept, much as I shudder at the thought of contact with that barbarian. But it would not save her. He would be Emperor of both nations.”

Mahius looked at her in mute distress. She lifted her hand as though to prevent him from speaking. “He is thinking of his sons, yet unborn,” she went on. “He covets Atlantis for their heritage. Even the most ambitious men are mere tools in the grip of biological forces. And, indeed, I admire him for it. It is inevitable that the blood of Signar be in the veins of the man who will one day sit upon the throne of my country. I am content; I hold no grudge against him. The sun sets; tomorrow a new sun rises in the east. It is natural and inevitable, and who am I to quarrel with nature?”

Mahius was plainly puzzled by this new turn of events.

“I repeat, he desires Atlantis for his sons, as well as himself,” went on the Empress calmly. “They shall have it, but only when I am dead. While I live, Atlantis is mine. But how shall I prevent war that would wipe out our world? Simple, my friend! I shall give Signar my sister Tyrhia in marriage. Their oldest son shall inherit Atlantis, provided that I have Signals solemn oath that the two empires be not combined during my lifetime.”

She looked up and saw Mahius regarding her with narrowed eyes. She tapped him lightly on the arm. “Come, thou hast something to say, dear friend and teacher. Fear not. What is it?”

The minister spoke in a low but urgent voice. “I too, have my spies. They tell me that Signar desires one thing even above Atlantis.”

“And what may that be?”

He wet his lips, and then said simply, “Thee.”

Salustra’s face went rigid with indignation, then broke into a jeering smile. “Thou poor old man!” she exclaimed. “Thy senility is indeed upon thee! He desires me only because I am Empress of Atlantis, and through me he hopes to conquer painlessly. I, too, have my spies. They tell me how Signar makes jest of me, and they speak of the ribald stories he enjoys about me.” She shrugged. “I tell thee, dear old foolish friend, that he desires only Atlantis. And when he sees my innocent and virginal Tyrhia, he will be only too glad to take her.”

Mahius’ air of not being convinced irritated Salustra. “I have never seen him, but I loathe him! Althrustri is a fierce and backward land. And Signar is fit Emperor of it. But it is a virile land. I shall be glad that the son of Signar shall inherit Atlantis peacefully.” She leaned over the marble balustrade and her eyes grew soft for a moment.“My country!” she murmured. “My splendid and decaying heritage! I shall rest in my grave, secure in the knowledge that thy corruption is preserved, that thy incontinence shall continue.”

She sighed. “My father told me that when a nation reaches a certain stage of gilded rottenness it is afflicted with all the depraved appetites of a morally and mentally perverted man. And at that time it is feverish for new sensations. Thus, some look to an alien leader like Signar, others prattle of a freedom they label democracy. Bah! The very name democracy is a denial in terms. Men are never fundamentally democratic. Nature herself makes them unequal. A republic is the most autocratic form of government. One monarch is preferable to a multiple monarchy of rapacious men, who, having but a short time in office, rob and ravage with feverish dexterity and without scruple. Atlantis has reached the stage where she is beginning to think of a republic out of boredom. Loud is the expression of love for me, but let the wind blow strongly enough in the direction of republicanism, they would spill my blood with the same cheerfulness with which they now hail me. Signar is not as patient as I. He will give these democrats short shrift.”

Mahius began to speak gently, hoping to penetrate Salustra’s shell. “Didst thou say thou wilt never marry, Salustra?”

She shook her head impatiently. “There is no season for marriage even if I willed it. If I should marry a prince of Dimtri, Nahi, Madura, Antilla or Letus, my children would become the Emperors of Atlantis. And Signar would not endure that. He wants what he wants now. Besides, I have no desire to marry. Why should I?”

“And thou hast no desire for love, Majesty? Only in love do we approach the gods. Love explains all things, interprets all things, is the keystone of all things. Love is life. I would not have thee miss that!”

Salustra laughed with genuine enjoyment. She tapped the old man playfully. “Poor Mahius!” she exclaimed. “What hast thou now? A delicious slave girl from the Island of Lusi? And has thou found in her arms what thou hast not found in the arms of thy old wife? Go to! When a man speaks of love, he is not thinking of his lawful spouse!” Her laughter ceased suddenly and her lip curled. “Love is the greatest force in the world, so say the sentimentally ignorant. Nay, I say that hatred is omnipotent—hatred, the ruler of all destiny, vigorous, fiery, gratifying. Love is death; hatred is life. When a nation begins to drool of love, she is in her dotage. Love is parasitic; all hatred enterprising, ambitious. Hatred builds new empires. Love, by weakening the logic, destroys them. Hatred is the conquering warrior; love, the camp follower. If I could do so, I would raise a temple to hatred. When nations loudly prate of their love for each other, they are secretly sharpening their swords. When men and women speak together of love, they are merely attiring naked lust in becoming modesty.”

Mahius kept his eyes on the floor throughout this tirade, until Salustra finally began to speak of other things. “The day after tomorrow, the National Assembly meets,” said the Empress. “It will be a wearisome day. Those old Senators, quarrelsome and petty! They all have a personal ax to sharpen, and a private coffer to fill, and they talk of patriotism and a desire to serve the people. Why cannot they be honest?”