The Romance of Atlantis

by Taylor Caldwell

  Salustra stretched out her hand with a gesture of command. Then her hand fell helplessly to her side. Slowly her gaze moved to Signar. Signar dropped his chin in his hand, and watched with an air of amused interest.

  “Is this the approved approach in Althrustri?” she asked in suppressed rage.

  Signar turned to her with assumed surprise. “Thou art displeased?” he exclaimed ironically.

  Salustra flushed. “Order thy savage to release that woman.”

  “It displeases thee?” he repeated, with a smile.

  She stared at him, the muscles twitching in her cheeks. “As do thee,” she said quietly.

  Signar waved at his general. “Siton!” he commanded sternly.

  The burly giant dropped his prey and started to his feet. Signar made a curt gesture, and the man, his face flushed with wine, obediently backed off and disappeared into the shadows.

  Salustra rose, and all Atlanteans rose with her. Signar continued to sit and smile as though at some private jest. Salustra gazed at him, and he returned her gaze evenly, his eyes dancing with unconcealed irony. She held up a hand. “The reception for our distinguished guest is ended. All are dismissed.”

  16

  Signar stood upon the terrace outside his apartments. A faint breeze stirred his hair. Here, in Atlantis, he found what he had always soberly sought: beauty, refinement, delicate glory. He thought of Althrustri and its bleak barrenness and felt secretly ashamed. The vital blood of his own country would pour through the decaying veins of Atlantis. Both would gain. There would be one mighty empire. From the marriage bed of barbarian Althrustri and dying Atlantis would arise a new world, full of vitality, beauty and dignity.

  His mind was alive with ideas. He laughed as a vision of Salustra drifted before his mental eye. Her courage and resourcefulness stirred his admiration, and her beauty formed a constant image in his mind. As he thought of the Empress, Signar began to pace quickly up and down the terrace. Though he was a man of heroic proportions, his step was light and springy. Some forty Althrustrian summers had taken their toll, but he had the animal vitality of the barbarian at an age when dissipated Atlanteans were already growing weary.

  He ceased his pacing abruptly. At the end of the terrace, where a broad marble staircase with wide steps and carved balustrades led down into the gardens, he had seen a white shadow move from the cloistered dimness of the palace and emerge upon the colonnade. He saw, by the pale and uncertain light, that it was a woman. Moreover, he saw that it was Salustra. She was in a transparent white gown, and her unbound hair cascaded in tawny waves to her knees.

  She seemed to hesitate. She approached the stairway, then leaned against a pillar. She stood in profile before Signar, and the cool wind, ending the oppressive heat of the day, lifted her hair and tumbled it about. Unconscious of any other presence, she stood with bowed head in an attitude of dejection. She fixed her gaze upon the livid sky and her lips moved as though she prayed.

  “Oh thou most terrible Sati, if thou art, hearken unto my prayer. To thee only would I confess that I am sore afraid. Last night I sat among my people and smiled in the face of ruin. I have hated many of them, but now I have felt their spirit upholding me, gallantly, because I am their queen.” She groaned, keeping her eyes to the sky. “Oh, thou great Unknown, to which man hath ever prayed, hearken unto me! Whatever thou art, be thou whatsoever thou mayest be, listen unto my first prayer to thee! Help me to save Atlantis!” She was silent a moment, then laughed bitterly. “Have I fallen so low that I must pray to a nebulous hypothesis for help?” She clenched her hands slowly, and her nostrils dilated. “Nay, as ever, Atlantis is my strength, and I hers. We need no other.”

  Hearing all this, Signar smiled. Having bent forward not to miss anything as Salustra moved, the Emperor now fell back into the shadows. She began to walk slowly down the stairway. At the foot of the stairs she paused and looked about her. Signar stared. For from the shadows emerged another figure, that of a young man. Signar, with a muttered oath, saw that it was Erato.

  The poet fell to his knees before the Empress and brought her hands to his lips, kissing them over and over. She bent and pressed her lips to his head. He cried out passionately. “Ah, Salustra, tell me thou art not angered with me!”

  As she sighed, Erato, taking courage, rose and took her in his arms. Signar stiffened and laid his hand upon his sword, but before he could make a move, the two, speaking softly, strolled arm in arm toward a cluster of trees and disappeared.

  Signar waited a moment, then leapt down the stairway after them. He slipped from tree to tree, straining his vision in the night. The trees emptied suddenly into a large clearing. Signar, stepping carefully, saw that Salustra was now sitting on a small marble seat. Erato was kneeling beside her in an attitude of supplication. “Salustra,” the young man was pleading. “Fly with me to Dimtri. My cousin, the King, will receive thee with reverence and respect.”

  Salustra ran her fingers through the young man’s tousled hair. “And knowest thou what would happen? If thy King gave me shelter, Signar would crush little Dimtri in the hollow of his hand.”

  The light faded from Erato’s face, and his head fell upon his breast.

  “Look not so despondent,” she said more lightly. “All is not lost. The strongest ship is helpless without its pilot.” She rose abruptly and shivered a little. Through the mists, as day broke, the white columns and domes of Lamora started to take shape and the earth awoke.

  Signar lurked behind the trees as Salustra and Erato, clasping each other’s waists, walked slowly past him.

  “Worry not about Signar,” she said. “His days are numbered.”

  Signar, concealed by the thick shrubs, had heard every word.

  17

  The Empress sat upon her throne in the Council Chamber, arrayed in her robes of state. Beside her sat Tyrhia, still shaken from the previous night’s experience. And behind Salustra stood Mahius, older and more bent over than ever.

  As the minutes passed, Salustra lightly conversed with her sister and her minister. They were waiting uneasily for Signar. Finally, there came the sudden high note of a trumpet. The great bronze doors swung open, and Signar entered with his general, Siton, and his minister, Ganto. He moved toward the Empress and, without kneeling, kissed the hand she extended.

  She regarded him in silence for some moments. “We need waste no time in elaborate and meaningless ceremony, my lord,” she said. “Let us be frank.”

  She casually lifted a roll of parchment and studied it with an air of great interest. “I have from thee, my lord, an offer of marriage. Is it not so?”

  Signar bowed again. His eyes gleamed as though he were inwardly amused.

  Salustra rerolled the parchment and gave it to Mahius.

  She leaned on the arm of her throne and regarded Signar with an air of candor. “It is unnecessary for me to express my surprise and gratitude,” she said quietly. “I am frankly overwhelmed.”

  Signar’s smile broadened. “In other words, lady, thou dost refuse.”

  “I am unworthy to be thy Empress,” said Salustra gently. “I am no longer young. Nigh on thirty summers have passed heavily over me. I am old in the ways of the world, and not untouched by it. There are fairer and nobler than I.”

  “We promised to be frank,” interrupted Signar softly. He came closer to the Empress, placed a foot on the lower step of the throne and rested his elbow upon his knee. He smiled up into Salustra’s eyes, and under his steady regard she flushed.

  “I am telling thee frankly my reasons for declining such an honor.”

  Signar continued to regard her intently. “Thou hast something beyond that.”

  Salustra gave Tyrhia her hand, and the two women rose. Tyrhia’s golden hair had been braided with pearls and lay upon her white neck in shining clusters. Her yellow lashes half hid eyes of the palest blue, and her robe modestly revealed the virginal swell of her bosom.

  “I offer thee my sister, the Princess Tyrhia, in marr
iage, my lord,” Salustra said simply.

  Signar turned and studied Tyrhia with the same interest with which he might have inspected a slave girl in a public marketplace. His glance moved from her small and lovely face to her throat and bosom, and lingered over the gentle swell of her hips, then moved slightly as though to obtain a better perspective. Tyrhia visibly shrank. The birthmark on the Empress’ cheek turned a dark crimson, but she showed no sign of emotion.

  “And what will be the dowry of the Princess?” asked Signar with a mocking air.

  Salustra inclined her head. “With her, in trust for her children, she will bring Atlantis.”

  “In trust?” he said doubtfully.

  “I will bequeath Atlantis to thy son, my lord. More, not even thou canst ask.” The flush had faded from Salustra’s face, leaving her pale.

  Signar clasped his hands lightly on his knee, then smiled and made a profound obeisance. “Lady, I understand thee well. Thou dost fear the absorption of Atlantis by Althrustri, and so refuse my offer for thyself. Is it not so?”

  Salustra’s lips parted, but before Signar’s mocking regard she fell into silence.

  Again his eyes subjected Tyrhia to a thorough inspection. Then he bowed again. “If I should refuse, what then, Majesty?”

  As Salustra shrugged her slim shoulders, Signar slowly and easily mounted the steps of the throne and took Tyrhia’s trembling hand. Salustra moved slightly, but in no other way betrayed a loss of composure. “I accept the Princess Tyrhia as my bride,” he said quietly.

  The blue gloom broke into scattered fragments of laughter and relief. Mahius leaned against Salustra’s throne. He saw Signar kiss Tyrhia’s pale cheek, saw Salustra’s smiling urbanity, heard her murmuring something. His own hand was seized by Ganto, who affected to be highly delighted. He watched Signar courteously lead Tyrhia from the chamber, followed by his minister and the general, and then he and Salustra were alone.

  The Empress sank into her seat again. She leaned her forehead upon the back of her hand and closed her eyes. Mahius knelt beside her and kissed one limp hand that lay upon her knee. “Thou hast won, Majesty,” he said.

  She lifted her hand. “I do not trust him,” she murmured. “He is too crafty. I followed his thoughts through dark caverns of guile. I shall never feel safe, not even if he marries Tyrhia.”

  “But he hath accepted the Princess,” said Mahius. “Is not that what thou didst desire? And in accepting her, he accepted thy conditions. Thou hast surely won.”

  She regarded him steadily, her face grim and very pale. “Nay,” she said simply. “I have lost.”

  18

  The festivities that marked the engagement of Signar and Tyrhia were unequaled in the history of Atlantis. The streets about the Palace were teeming with throngs anxious to catch a glimpse of the betrothed. The mist was forgotten.

  And in that Palace, amid all the gaiety, beyond all that noise and uproar, a man and woman smiled, moved about graciously and kept their thoughts to themselves.

  On the third day after the betrothal, Mahius was summoned by the Empress. It was a gray day. The great sea was liquid steel, heaving uneasily under a pale sky. The mountains were hidden in glowering banks of purple, the city shrouded in a stifling fog that seemed thicker by the day Mahius found Salustra alone in her chamber. She barely glanced up as the old man entered. She motioned him to approach the table and a huge map spread out before her. Never had she seemed so much like her father to the minister. Her manner was intent and sure, her hand steady. As he stood by the table, she moved a light forward so that he might better see the map.

  “Mahius,” she said abruptly, “how many of Althrustri lineage are there in Lamora, including those born in Atlantis?”

  “The population of Lamora is seven million,” he said gravely. “Of that number there are one million native Althustrians and children of Althrustrians born in Atlantis.”

  She pushed the map from her. “So now we reap the result of unrestricted immigration! One in seven! And does the same ratio extend throughout Atlantis?”

  He shook his head. “No, through the western and more southern provinces the population is almost purely Atlantean. It is only along the east coast, and in the thickly populated cities, that this dangerous ratio exists. Overall, I would estimate a nationwide ratio of ten percent.”

  “Ten percent,” she repeated sardonically. She rose and began a fevered pacing through the chamber, muttering to herself as she paced.

  “Would they be loyal to me, these hungry wolves that crept starving and gaunt from Althrustri to enjoy the plenitude of Atlantis, which hath sheltered them and fed them and allowed them to pursue their lives like free men?”

  A low exclamation burst from Mahius. “But, Majesty, what dost thou care whether they be loyal to thee or not? Only in war dost thou need loyalty. And there is no war. Is not Signar betrothed to thy sister?”

  Salustra stared incredulously and then burst into a loud and bitter laugh. She moved to the old man and, still laughing, struck him lightly upon the shoulder. “Fatuous old fool! Dost thou not know that Signar still nurses his original intention? But fortune loves the resourceful. I have a plan.”

  She leaned upon the table and pointed to the map with a long white finger. She traced the northern outline of Atlantis. “Send a message in code to the northern solar stations, Mahius, so that none may know the message save the recipients,” she said in a low voice. “Call an alert along the border, quietly, secretly. Call the fleet home from all foreign stations and distribute it along our coast.”

  Mahius regarded her with a shrug. “Thou forgettest that normal fleet movements and communications have stopped.” He looked at the map, which gave the disposition of all Atlantean forces. “We can send couriers to stations close by and perhaps achieve the same result.”

  “But these forces,” she said, “are of foreign mixture and of uncertain loyalty.”

  Again his shoulders moved. “We have no choice, Majesty.”

  She came to a decision. “So be it, and in the meanwhile send agents through Lamora, and through the neighboring provinces, and find out the spirit of the people. Discover focuses of disaffection. And find for me if the Atlantean-born children of Althrustrians will be loyal to me.”

  Concern spread over Mahius’ thin features, but he said nothing.

  “And increase the guard about the Palace,” said Salustra. She stood upright, her face stony, her eyes shining with grim resolution.

  Mahius laid his hand on Salustra’s arm. “And what of the Senate?” he asked. “Thou dost know that thou canst not legally move without their affirmative vote.”

  Salustra lifted her head haughtily. “I am the Senate in this matter.”

  “And Signar?” he whispered uneasily.

  “I shall strike alone. Thus, if I fail, only I shall suffer. But I shall not fail. In the meanwhile, he is our dear brother, he shall be lulled into a sense of security. And then when he is totally disarmed—”

  “Thou wouldst murder a guest?” said Mahius, shrinking involuntarily.

  Salustra laid her hand upon his lips. “Hark, fool! Who knows what enemies are about us? Ask no further questions. Am I less than the child of my father?”

  Before the day had passed, the Empress’ plans were proceeding. Masses of troops swung toward the northern borders, others ranged out to sea for the mighty ships being refitted for action along the densely populated coasts. And through the silent night sped messages in code. All persons entering the Palace to seek an audience with Signar were minutely scrutinized. Spies swarmed about them. The guard of courtesy about Signar was augmented for his own protection. And for every Althrustrian soldier billeted in Lamora, two fully armed Atlanteans were assigned to watch him.

  19

  It was twilight. Through one dusky crack in the clouds an evening star looked down bleakly upon mist-capped Mount Atla and an ominously quiet city.

  In a mood as gray as the twilight, Salustra entered Tyrhia’s apartment
s. She found her sister, Signar and Brittulia together in a charming little court that commanded an unbroken view of the turbulent sea.

  Tyrhia’s soft laugh quivered in the warm and perfumed air as she stood before a bird cage. With a finger, inserted through the bars, she prodded the bird gently, laughing joyously at its terror. Beside her stood Signar, his eyes moving speculatively over her pretty figure. Brittulia was stringing a broken necklace of Tyrhia’s on a golden chain, happily oblivious of the conflict going on around her.

  Salustra moved toward her sister, and then a faint frown touched her forehead. “Thou art frightening the poor wretch, Tyrhia,” she said sharply. “Hast thou naught to do but torment the helpless?”

  Tyrhia’s eyes flashed, and her pink lips pouted mutinously. Brittulia, her head lowered in an attitude of resignation, continued to string the shining beads.

  “It is easy enough to imprison the weak, then make game of them,” said the Empress coldly. She glanced at Signar. He was regarding her intently, a faint smile on his lips. At that smile a chill passed over her. His strength, his magnetic eyes, his calm face stirred her unexpectedly. And he, in turn, studied her appreciatively. Here, in this perfumed silence, filled with the twittering of imprisoned birds, a man and a woman of the same stripe suddenly recognized each other for what they were.

  To her consternation, Salustra began to tremble. She put her hand to her throat with her accustomed gesture and her fingers closed over the gem that clasped her father’s necklace.

  Signar looked at the jewel flashing between her fingers. “A magnificent stone!” he said softly.