The Romance of Atlantis (9 page)

“If they were honest, they would not trust themselves,” said Mahius dryly.

“My father used to say: ‘Art thou honest? If thou dost answer yes, I will call thee a liar!’” She smiled. “If we were entirely honest, we would find life insupportable. We need a delicately colored mist to soften the hard and naked crags of truth.”

A laughing murmur was heard below in the gardens. Litters were arriving for the young guests. The two were suddenly aware that time had passed rapidly. Still Salustra lingered. She looked at the heavens. Mahius’ eyes followed hers. Even as they watched, an ominous cloud, shaped like an enormous hand with hooked fingers, approached the hazy moon. So like a human hand was the cloud that Salustra and Mahius were involuntarily startled. They watched, almost breathlessly. Slowly the cloud-hand lifted, reached upward; and before their astonished eyes, the fingers curled, the wrist twisted, and the fingers stretched like rapacious talons. A moment later it had clutched the pale outline of the moon, and the moon vanished completely behind its curtain of mist. A chilling breath of air caused them to shiver momentarily. A dark shadow, in the shape of an enormous hooked hand, passed over the city.

Salustra tried to smile, to force a gay word past her lips. But no sound came from them.

Silently, preoccupied with their own dark thoughts, they went into the Palace. In the marble corridor stood her Prefect of the Guards, that handsome and vigorous young man who, it was rumored, had served the Empress well during the dark lonely hours. Abstracted, she favored him with the same glance she would a useful piece of furniture, and moved on with an absorbed air. She arrived in time to bid farewell to the youthful guests. Tyrhia was frankly weary, the white flowers looking wilted on her touseled head. Meanwhile, additional guests were already arriving, Senators, Nobles and others from the idle aristocracy of Lamora. Salustra bade her sister a perfunctory good-night and then looked for the young poet, Erato. As her eyes found his, Mahius again begged permission to retire, and Salustra carelessly gave her consent. There were fifty men already present, including some earlier guests and the young poet who had been especially bidden to remain.

Wreaths of red roses, fresh with the evening dew, were placed in fun upon the heads of the guests. Salustra’s shrewd eye traveled over each face. They all said something to her. Fat Senators, with lascivious mouths and puffy eyes, exchanged obscene quips and looked boldly about them. The semi-nude slaves had been replaced by a crew of totally nude nymphets of surpassing beauty, their fair hands appearing almost too delicate for their task of filling and refilling the goblets of shimmering wine. There were as many of these slim, rosy-skinned sirens as there were guests, and they blushed occasionally at the unmistakable attentions of these lecherous elders.

There was something forced about the festal mood, for there were none there, not even the plotting Senator Divona, who could lift themselves totally out of the depression that the stifling mist seemed to lay over the city. They had been flung into confusion by the sudden disruption of electrical facilities and were increasingly concerned by the dark forecasts of the astrologers.

But now all took their cue from the Empress. For though many secretly hated her, she was still the hub around which all revolved. They saw that she was apparently unconcerned, immersed in a new admirer, and they took heart. Salustra was very conscious of all this. By her command the poet Erato sat at the right hand of the Empress. At her other hand sat Pellanius, ambassador-in-chief to Althrustri. Erato’s hand trembled as he lifted his goblet to his lips, his eyes never leaving Salustra.

Salustra had thrown off her golden robe; she was now revealed to be almost nude, except for breast plates of delicate gold filigree and a scanty golden garment about her hips. Her body glistened like marble under the changing lights from an overhead crystal. Her headdress with its twelve points glowed radiantly. There was no nymphet in the room, however young and beautiful, whose face or form could rival the Empress! She was a perfect expression of seductive femininity, appearing suddenly unattainable in her regal splendor.

The air became heavy with perfume and the aroma of food and drink. The laughter of the guests became louder. Some men sprawled on divans, ogling the passing nymphets, their wreaths awry over sweating foreheads. Occasionally, a beautiful slave sprayed them with fragrant perfumes, which lent an additional heaviness to the humid air.

Salustra had, as yet, exchanged but few words with Erato, but she leaned toward him from time to time, and smiled to see how he quivered as her bare thigh brushed against his hand.

The Noble Gatus was speaking, his mouth twisted with humor, his eyes dancing. “Listen to this!” he shouted. “I vouch on my word of honor that it is true.”

Salustra laughed. “Art thou certain thou hast a word of honor, Gatus? Thou wert willing to sell thy province today, if I remember rightly.”

Gatus scowled, then quickly regained his gaiety. “I have heard this story from one in a position to know. It seems that Seneco, that old swindler of a jeweler, became much enamored of the beautiful young bride of a noble in Lamora.

She shall be nameless, of course. Her husband is very devoted, but somewhat abstracted at times. No! Ask me not who she is! It seems that one day she was in Seneco’s shop, and he displayed an entrancing diamond anklet for her delectation. She was immediately fascinated. She slipped it on a delicate ankle, and Seneco assured her that it was designed with such an ankle in view. At last, with a sigh, she confessed that she could not buy it; her husband had told her that she had sufficient jewels for any woman.”

A gray-haired man with his wreath dropped over one eye stood up drunkenly. “What cruelty!” exclaimed Pellanius. “Whisper the name of the lady to me, and I shall buy the anklet for her. Youth should be adorned with jewels.”

Pellanius sat down to shouts of silence and Gatus was urged to continue. “The poor girl was indeed grief-stricken,” Gatus went on, smiling. “She wept in Seneco’s arms, and allowed him to manually explore the supple softness of her body. At length he told her how tenderly he adored her. He importuned her to allow him to bring the anklet to her home the next day, when her husband was absent on business. The girl hesitated coyly. She murmured something about virtue and matronly chastity; Seneco convinced her that diamonds had greater permanence than chastity.”

There was another interruption. “Bah! No woman is worth a diamond,” said the Senator Divona, who had once aspired to the Empress and, having been rejected, never lost an opportunity to deride her sex in her presence. “A bit of crystal, a delicate turquoise, perhaps, but not a diamond. Women are too easy to come by.”

Salustra smiled indolently. She laid her hand negligently on Erato’s shoulder, and he kissed it solemnly. She brought her goblet to his lips, bade him drink, then drank herself. The young man shivered with delight. Salustra motioned for Gatus to get on with his story.

“Finally,” Gatus continued, “the young matron consented that old Seneco might visit her the next day. He came, full of love and wine, bearing the anklet. An hour later he left, minus the anklet, and some of his ardor.” He chuckled. “That night, the husband returned home. The lady had discreetly hidden the bauble. However, looking at her sharply, the husband asked if Seneco had visited her that afternoon and had left an anklet for her. She confessed the visit, full of terror, not knowing how he had guessed her secret. She would have thrown herself at his feet and begged for mercy but was paralyzed with fright. Not seeing this, however, the husband explained with smiles and caresses that he himself had bought the anklet for her the day before, and that Seneco had promised to deliver it to the lady in person today!”

The gale of laughter that ensued caused the overhead lamps to vibrate. The Empress joined in gaily, enjoying the story more than most because it confirmed her belief that treachery was a popular commodity. “These women!” shouted Pellanius. “But it is not often that we can trick them that way! I’ll wager the lady does not often wear the anklet in public.”

Other stories followed, becoming more ribald as the wine circulated. Some guests had captured the slave girls, and playfully held them prisoner on the silken divans, kissing them awkwardly as they twisted in their captors’ arms. Great laughter followed when a doughty young girl, resisting certain liberties, deliberately poured a goblet of wine over the old Senator Contani. The wine dripped over his sodden face, and he shook his head like an old boar to clear his glazed eyes.

“Spit him!” shouted Patios, the youngest Senator. “We shall then have pork in the Palace tomorrow!” The party progressed. A singer, a man of effeminate beauty, emerged from an alcove and began to sing an obscene lyric. When the singer retired to considerable applause, Patios stepped forward to take his place. But upon being drenched in turn with a bowl of wine, he retired with drunken dignity to a fountain in the center of the room. Amid shouts of laughter, he solemnly stepped into the pool, ardently embracing one of the marble statues.

“He thinks she is his wife,” remarked Divona in a scornful voice.

“The statue is more responsive than she,” muttered Noble Glarus aloud.

In the midst of this revelry, the Prefect of the Guard appeared suddenly at the side of the Empress. He held a roll of parchment in his hand and was apparently ill at ease. “I am sorry to disturb thy Majesty,” he said in an undertone. “But this was left with urgent supplications that it be delivered at once.”

With a frown, Salustra unrolled the paper. She gave a sharp exclamation. It was from the disgraced Lustri.

“When thou dost read this, illustrious Salustra, thy poor Lustri will be dead. When thou didst dismiss him from thee, thou didst dismiss him from life. I have chosen the wiser part; to live without thy smile is worse than death. Memory would be torment. I leave thee now. Perhaps thou wilt have one last thought of kindness for me.”

The hand that held the message was steady and strong. “Lustri is dead, the fool!” she exclaimed.

A pall suddenly fell over the gathering. The guests looked at each other uneasily, avoiding the Empress’ gaze.

Gatus, kinsman to Lustri, rose at last, his face white and his eyes flashing. “Thou wilt allow me to retire, Majesty?” he said, his voice trembling. “Lustri was my bride’s brother.”

The uneasiness deepened. Only Salustra appeared amused. She allowed Gatus to stand for several moments before she replied. “Go if thou likest,” she said carelessly. The others suddenly sobered, looked about uncertainly.

“Thou wilt permit him a public funeral?” said the Noble Glarus hesitantly.

She fixed Glarus with a frown. “Why should I deny him a public funeral? Dost think I fear the mob of Lamora? I prefer their open enmity to sly whispers that I ordered a private funeral because I feared them. Go to, Glarus!”

The chill that had fallen over the festivities lifted.

“At dawn, thou shalt whisper thy poems to me in secret,” murmured Salustra to Erato.

Lustri was already forgotten, and the malicious gossip continued.

“Has anyone seen the house Consilini is building for his mistress in the suburb of Conla?” demanded the Senator Sicilo. “It is a villa of extreme delicacy, and he is lavishing his fortune upon it. They say Galo is furnishing the statues, and Stanti the frescoes. The gardens are little gems of beauty. I asked him today why he lavished all that on one woman, and he replied that his wife objects to his maintaining his mistresses in the city, so to oblige her he is building the villa as temporary residence for his various loves. They say he is tired of Guhliana, and is looking for a likely successor. Brittulia perhaps.”

Noisy laughter and obscene comments greeted this sly reference. Brittulia was a notorious virgin, a beautiful young woman of Salustra’s age. She was said to shudder at the approach of a man. Her house was a tomb in which she moved among her women slaves. No male was allowed upon the premises. Some wags declared that she ate meat only from female animals. “I have heard that she will eat only vegetables whose female sex can be proved,” said Utanlio, the Noble from the Third Province.

“I heard she discards garments that have brushed against men in public places,” said Glarus. “She cannot even endure eunuchs, and sold the one her mother had left to her.”

“She is a female eunuch,” grunted Divona.

“How canst thou prove that?” demanded Patios. He had removed his wet tunic, and now lay naked on the pink breast of a nude girl.

“She is a beautiful woman,” said Pellanius thoughtfully.

“But she turns pale at the sight of a man. I have seen that myself. It is not affectation.”

“Perhaps she dare not trust herself,” said Salustra. “I have invited her to my feasts, and she begged me upon her knees not to insist upon her presence. I rallied her a little, telling her she would never taste full delight until she slept in a man’s arms. She fainted away.”

“Poor soul,” said Erato, bidding for Salustra’s approval. “She has suppressed her inner and secret fires until they are consuming her.”

All seemed to enjoy ridiculing the poor virgin for a lack of virtue. “Women like that are fearful and unbridled courtesans at heart,” said Patios. “They are afraid of themselves. They can maintain their virtue only by strict seclusion. If they could ever be induced to surrender their chastity, their appetites would slay them.”

“Sometime I shall invite her to the Palace and trick her into a walled and soundless chamber with an ardent young man,” said Salustra. “And then let the men of Lamora beware afterward!”

They laughed uproariously. The name of the chaste Brittulia continued to be bandied about for some little time.

“We must not call to her attention that she herself is not the result of spontaneous conception. Otherwise, she will commit suicide,” said the Noble Utanlio.

“Perhaps she believes she is air-born, like Nehlia,” said Erato, referring to the chaste female deity of his country.

Salustra shrugged. “There is nothing viler than a deliberately chaste woman,” she said. “Their spiritual unchastity is revolting.”