“I have heard others as stubborn,” she said, “but they were converted.”
She shook out the ruddy bunches of her hair, and stood so that the light
of the burning earth-breath might fall on the loveliness of her face and
form. “I have found it as easy to convert the stubborn as to burn them.
Indeed, there has been little talk of burning. They have all rushed to
conversion, whether I would or no. But it seems that my poor looks and
tongue are wanting in charm to-day.”
“Phorenice is Empress,” I said stolidly, “and I am her servant.
To-morrow, if she gives me leave, I will clear away this rabble which
clamours outside the walls. I must begin to prove my uses.”
“I am told you are a pretty fighter,” said she. “Well, I hold some small
skill in arms myself, and have a conceit that I am something of a judge.
To-morrow we will take a taste of battle together. But to-day I
must carry through the honourable reception I have planned for you,
Deucalion. The feast will be set ready soon, and you will wish to make
ready for the feast. There are chambers here selected for your use, and
stored with what is needful. Ylga will show you their places.”
We waited, the fan-girl and I, till Phorenice had passed out of the glow
of the light-jet, and had left the hall of waiting through a doorway
amongst the shadows of its farther angle, and then (the girl taking a
lamp and leading) we also threaded our way through the narrow mazes of
the pyramid.
Everywhere the air was full of perfumes, and everywhere the passages
turned and twisted and doubled through the solid stone of the pyramid,
so that strangers might have spent hours--yes, or days--in search before
they came to the chamber they desired. There was a fine cunningness
about those forgotten builders who set up this royal pyramid. They had
no mind that kings should fall by the hand of vulgar assassins who might
come in suddenly from outside. And it is said also that the king of the
time, to make doubly sure, killed all that had built the pyramid, or
seen even the lay of its inner stones.
But the fan-girl led the way with the lamp swinging in her hand, as one
accustomed to the mazes. Here she doubled, there she turned, and here
she stopped in the middle of a blank wall to push a stone, which swung
to let us pass. And once she pressed at the corner of a flagstone on the
floor, which reared up to the thrust of her foot, and showed us a stair
steep and narrow. That we descended, coming to the foot of an inclined
way which led us upward again; and so by degrees we came unto the
chamber which had been given for my use.
“There is raiment in all these chests which stand by the walls,”
said the girl, “and jewels and gauds in that bronze coffer. They are
Phorenice’s first presents, she bid me say, and but a small earnest of
what is to come. My Lord Deucalion can drop his simplicity now, and fig
himself out in finery to suit the fashion.”
“Girl,” I said sharply, “be more decorous with your tongue, and spare me
such small advice.”
“If my Lord Deucalion thinks this a rudeness, he can give a word to
Phorenice, and I shall be whipped. If he asks it, I can be stripped and
scourged before him. The Empress will do much for Deucalion just now.”
“Girl,” I said, “you are nearer to that whipping than you think for.”
“I have got a name,” she retorted, looking at me sullenly from under her
black brows. “They call me Ylga. You might have heard that as we rode
here on the mammoth, had you not been so wrapped up in Phorenice.”
I gazed at her curiously. “You have never seen me before,” I said, “and
the first words you utter are those that might well bring trouble to
yourself. There is some object in all this.”
She went and pushed to the massive stone that swung in the doorway of
the chamber. Then she put her little jewelled fingers on my garment and
drew me carefully away from the airshaft into the farther corner. “I am
the daughter of Zaemon,” she said, “whom you knew.”
“You bring me some message from him?”
“How could I? He lives in the priests’ dwellings on the Mountain you did
obeisance to. I have not put eyes on him these two years. But when I
saw you first step out from that red pavilion they had pitched at the
harbour side, I--I felt a pity for you, Deucalion. I remembered you were
my father’s, Zaemon’s, friend, and I knew what Phorenice had in store.
She has been plotting it all these two months.”
“I cannot hear words against the Empress.”
“And yet--”
“What?”
She stamped her sandal upon the stone of the floor. “You must be a very
blind man, Deucalion, or a very daring one. But I shall not interfere
further; at least not now. Still, I shall watch, and if at any time you
seem to want a friend I will try and serve you.”
“I thank you for your friendship.”
“You seem to take it lightly enough. Why, sir, even now I do not believe
you know my power, any more than you guess my motive. You may be first
man in this kingdom, but let me tell you I rank as second lady. And
remember, women stand high in Atlantis now. Believe me, my friendship is
a commodity that has been sought with frequence and industry.”
“And as I say, I am grateful for it. You seem to think little enough of
my gratitude, Ylga; but, credit me, I never have bestowed it on a woman
before, and so you should treasure it for its rarity.”
“Well,” she said, “my lord, there is an education before you.” She left
me then, showing me how to call slaves when I wished for their help, and
for a full minute I stood wondering at the words I had spoken to her.
Who was the daughter of Zaemon that she should induce me to change the
habit of a lifetime?
The slaves came at my bidding, and showed themselves anxious to deck
me with a thousand foolishnesses in the matter of robes and gauds, and
(what seemed to be the modern fashion of their class) holding out the
virtues of a score of perfumes and unguents. Their manner irritated
me. Clean I was already, and shaved; my hair was trim, and my robe was
unsoiled; and, considering these pressing attentions of theirs something
of an impertinence, I set them to beat one another as a punishment,
promising that if they did not do it with thoroughness, I would hand
them on to the brander to be marked with stripes which would endure.
It is strange, but a common menial can often surpass even a rebellious
general in power of ruffling one.
I had seen many strange sights that day, and undergone many new
sensations; but of all the things which came to my notice, Phorenice’s
manner of summoning the guests to her feast surprised me most. Nay, it
did more; it shocked me profoundly; and I cannot say whether amazement
at her profanity, or wonder at her power, was for the moment strongest
in my breast. I sat in my chamber awaiting the summons, when gradually,
growing out of nothing, a sound fell upon my ear which increased in
volume with infinitely small graduations, till at last it became a
clanging din which hurt the ear with its fierceness; and then (I guessed
what was coming) the whole massive fabric of the pyramid trembled and
groaned and shook, as though it had been merely a child’s wooden toy
brushed about by a strong man’s sandal.
It was the portent served out yearly by the chiefs of the Priests’ Clan
on the Sacred Mountain, when they bade all the world take count of their
sins. It was the sacred reminder that from roaring, raging fire, and
from the agony of monstrous earth-tremors, man had been born, and that
by these same agencies he would eventually be swallowed up--he and
the sins within his breast. And here the Empress was prostituting its
solemnities into a mere call to gluttony, and sign for ribald laughter
and sensuous display.
But how had she acquired the authority to do this thing? Who was she
that she should tamper with those dimly understood powers, the forces
that dwell within the liquid heart of our mother earth? Had there been
treachery? Had some member of the Priests’ Clan forgotten his sacred
vows, and babbled to this woman matters concerning the holy mysteries?
Or had Phorenice discovered a key to these mysteries with her own agile
brain?
If that last was the case, I could continue to serve her with silent
conscience. Though she might be none of my making, at least she was
Empress, and it was my duty to give her obedience. But if she had
suborned some weaker member of the Clan on the Sacred Mount, that would
be a different matter. For be it remembered that it was one of the
elements of our constitution to preserve our secrets and mysteries
inviolate, and to pursue with undying hatred both the man who had dared
to betray them, and the unhappy recipient of his confidence.
It was with very undecided feelings, then, that I obeyed the summons of
the earth-shaking, and bade the slaves lead me through the windings of
the pyramid to the great banqueting-hall. The scene there was dazzling.
The majestic chamber with its marvellous carvings was filled with a
company decked out with all the gauds and colours that fancy could
conceive. Little recked they of the solemn portent which had summoned
them to the meal, of the death and misery that stalked openly through
the city wards without, of the rebels which lay in leaguer beyond the
walls, of the neglected Gods and their clan of priests on the Sacred
Mountain. They were all gluttonous for the passions of the moment; it
was their fashion and conceit to look at nothing beyond.
Flaming jets of earth-breath lit the great hall to the brightness of
midday; and when I stepped out upon the pavement, trumpets blared, so
that all might know of my coming. But there was no roar of welcome.
“Deucalion,” they lisped with mincing voices, bowing themselves
ridiculously to the ground so that all their ornaments and silks might
jangle and swish. Indeed, when Phorenice herself appeared, and all
sent up their cries and made lawful obeisance, there was the same
artificiality in the welcome. They meant well enough, it is true;
but this was the new fashion. Heartiness had come to be accounted a
barbarism by this new culture.
A pair of posturing, smirking chamberlains took me in charge, and
ushered me with their flimsy golden wands to the dais at the farther
end. It appeared that I was to sit on Phorenice’s divan, and eat my meat
out of her dish.
“There is no stint to the honour the Empress puts upon me,” I said, as I
knelt down and took my seat.
She gave me one of her queer, sidelong looks. “Deucalion may have more
beside, if he asks for it prettily. He may have what all the other men
in the known world have sighed for, and what none of them will ever
get. But I have given enough of my own accord; he must ask me warmly for
those further favours.”
“I ask,” I said, “first, that I may sweep the boundaries clear of this
rabble which is clamouring against the city walls.”
“Pah,” she said, and frowned. “Have you appetite only for the sterner
pleasures of life? My good Deucalion, they must have been rustic folk
in that colony of yours. Well, you shall give me news now of the
toothsomeness of this feast.”
Dishes and goblets were placed before us, and we began to eat, though I
had little enough appetite for victual so broken and so highly spiced.
But if this finicking cookery and these luscious wines did not appeal
to me, the other diners in that gorgeous hall appreciated it all to the
full. They sat about in groups on the pavement beneath the light-jets
like a tangle of rainbows for colour, and according to the new custom
they went into raptures and ecstasies over their enjoyment. Women and
men both, they lingered over each titillation of the palate as though it
were a caress of the Gods.
Phorenice, with her quick, bright eyes, looked on, and occasionally
flung one or another a few words between her talk with me, and now and
again called some favoured creature up to receive a scrap of viand
from the royal dish. This the honoured one would eat with extravagant
gesture, or (as happened twice) would put it away in the folds of his
clothes as a treasure too dear to be profaned by human lips.
To me, this flattery appeared gross and disgustful, but Phorenice,
through use, perhaps, seemed to take it as merely her due. There was,
one had to suppose, a weakness in her somewhere, though truly to the
outward seeing none was apparent. Her face was strong enough, and it was
subtle also, and, moreover, it was wondrous comely. All the courtiers in
the banqueting-hall raved about Phorenice’s face and the other beauties
of her body and limbs, and though not given to appreciation in these
matters, I could not but see that here at least they had a groundwork
for their admiration, for surely the Gods have never favoured mortal
woman more highly. Yet lovely though she might be, for myself I
preferred to look upon Ylga, the girl, who, because of her rank, was
privileged to sit on the divan behind us as immediate attendant. There
was an honesty in Ylga’s face which Phorenice’s lacked.
They did not eat to nutrify their bodies, these feasters in the
banqueting-hall of the royal pyramid, but they all ate to cloy
themselves, and they strutted forth new usages with every platter and
bowl that the slaves brought. To me some of their manners were
closely touching on disrespect. At the halfway of the meal, a gorgeous
popinjay--he was a governor of an out-province driven into the capital
by a rebellion in his own lands--this gorgeous fop, I say, walked up
between the groups of feasters with flushed face and unsteady gait, and
did obeisance before the divan. “Most astounding Empress,” cried he,
“fairest among the Goddesses, Queen regnant of my adoring heart, hail!”
Phorenice with a smile stretched him out her cup. I looked to see him
pour respectful libation, but no such thing. He set the drink to his
lips and drained it to the final drop. “May all your troubles,” he
cried, “pass from you as easily, and leave as pleasant a flavour.”
The Empress turned to me with one of her quick looks. “You do not like
this new habit?”
To which I replied bluntly enough that to pour out liquor at a person’s
feet had grown through custom to be a mark of respect, but that drinking
it seemed to me mere self-indulgence, which might be practised anywhere.
“You still keep to the old austere teachings,” she said. “Our newer code
bids us enjoy life first, and order other things so as not to meddle
with our more immediate pleasure.”
And so the feast went on, the guests practising their gluttonies and
their absurdities, and the guards standing to their arms round the
circuit of the walls as motionless and as stern as the statues carven
in the white stone beyond them. But a term was put to the orgy with
something of suddenness. There was a stir at the farther doorway of the
banqueting-hall, and a clash, as two of the guards joined their spears
across the entrance. But the man they tried to stop--or perhaps it was
to pin--passed them unharmed, and walked up over the pavement between
the lights, and the groups of feasters. All looked round at him; a few
threw him ribald words; but none ventured to stop his progress. A few,
women chiefly, I could see, shuddered as he passed them by, as though a
wintry chill had come over them; and in the end he walked up and stood
in front of Phorenice’s divan, and gazed fixedly on her, but without
making obeisance.
He was a frail old man, with white hair tumbling on his shoulders, and
ragged white beard. The mud of wayfaring hung in clots on his feet and
legs. His wizened body was bare save for a single cloth wound about
his shoulders and his loins, and he carried in his hand a wand with the
symbol of our Lord the Sun glowing at its tip. That wand went to show
his caste, but in no other way could I recognize him.
I took him for one of those ascetics of the Priests’ Clan, who had
forsworn the steady nurtured life of the Sacred Mountain, and who lived
out in the dangerous lands amongst the burning hills, where there is
daily peril from falling rocks, from fire streams, from evil vapours,
from sudden fissuring of the ground, and from other movements of those
unstable territories, and from the greater lizards and other monstrous
beasts which haunt them. These keep constant in the memory the might of
the Holy Gods, and the insecurity of this frail earth on which we have
our resting-place, and so the sojourners there become chastened in the
spirit, and gain power over mysteries which even the most studious and
learned of other men can never hope to attain.
A silence filled the room when the old man came to his halt, and
Phorenice was the first to break it. “Those two guards,” she said, in
her clear, carrying voice, “who held the door, are not equal to their
work. I cannot have imperfect servants; remove them.”
The soldiers next in the rank lifted their spears and drove them home,
and the two fellows who had admitted the old man fell to the ground. One
shrieked once, the other gave no sound: they were clever thrusts both.
The old man found his voice, thin, and high, and broken. “Another crime
added to your tally, Phorenice. Not half your army could have hindered
my entrance had I wished to come, and let me tell you that I am here to
bring you your last warning. The Gods have shown you much favour; they
gave you merit by which you could rise above your fellows, till at last
only the throne stood above you. It was seen good by those on the Sacred
Mountain to let you have this last ambition, and sit on this throne
that has as long and honourably been filled by the ancient kings of
Atlantis.”
The Empress sat back on the divan smiling. “I seemed to get these things
as I chose, and in spite of your friends’ teeth. I may owe to you, old
man, a small parcel of thanks, though that I offered to repay; but for
my lords the priests, their permission was of small enough value when
it came. I would have you remember that I was as firm on the throne of
Atlantis as this pyramid stands upon its base when your worn-out priests
came up to give their tottering benediction.”
The old man waved aside her interruption. “Hear me out,” he said. “I am
here with no trivial message. There is nothing paltry about the threat
I can throw at you, Phorenice. With your fire-tubes, your handling of
troops, and your other fiendish clevernesses, you may not be easy to
overthrow by mere human means, though, forsooth, these poor rebels who
yap against your city walls have contrived to hold their ground for long
enough now. It may be that you are becoming enervated; I do not know.
It may be that you are too wrapped up in your feastings, your dressings,
your pomps, and your debaucheries, to find leisure to turn to the art
of war. It may be that the man’s spirit has gone out from your arm and
brain, and you are a woman once more--weak, and pleasure-loving; again I
do not know.
“But this must happen: You must undo the evil you have done; you must
give bread to the people who are starving, even if you take it from
these gluttons in this hall; you must restore Atlantis to the state in
which it was entrusted to you: or else you must be removed. It cannot
be permitted that the country should sink back into the lawlessness
and barbarism from which its ancient kings have digged it. You hear,
Phorenice. Now give me true answer.”
“Speak him fair. Oh! For the sake of your fortune, speak him fair,” came
Ylga’s voice in a hurried whisper from behind us. But the Empress took
no notice of it. She leaned forward on the cushions of the divan with a
knit brow.
“Do you dare to threaten me, old man, knowing what I am?”
“I know your origin,” he said gravely, “as well as you know it yourself.
As for my daring, that is a small matter. He need be but a timid man who
dares to say words that the High Gods put on his lips.”
“I shall rule this kingdom as I choose. I shall brook interference from
no creature on this earth, or beneath it, or in the sky above. The Gods
have chosen me to be Their regent in Atlantis, and They do not depose me
through such creatures as you. Go away, old man, and play the fanatic in
another court. It is well that I have an ancient kindliness for you, or
you would not leave this place unharmed.”
“Now, indeed, you are lost,” I heard Ylga murmur from behind, and the
old man in front of us did not move a step. Instead, he lifted up the
Symbol of our Lord the Sun, and launched his curse. “Your blasphemy
gives the reply I asked for. Hear me now make declaration of war on
behalf of Those against whom you have thrown your insults. You shall be
overthrown and sent to the nether Gods. At whatever cost the land shall
be purged of you and yours, and all the evil that has been done to it
whilst you have sullied the throne of its ancient kings. You will not
amend, neither will you yield tamely. You vaunt that you sit as firm on
your throne as this pyramid reposes on its base. See how little you
know of what the future carries. I say to you that, whilst you are yet
Empress, you shall see this royal pyramid which you have polluted
with your debaucheries torn tier from tier, and stone from stone, and
scattered as feathers spread before a wind.”
“You may wreck the pyramid,” said Phorenice contemptuously. “I myself
have some knowledge of the earth forces, as I have shown this night. But
though you crumble every stone above us now and grind it into grit and
dust, I shall still be Empress. What force can you crazy priests bring
against me that I cannot throw back and destroy?”
“We have a weapon that was forged in no mortal smithy,” shrilled the
old man, “whereof the key is now lodged in the Ark of the Mysteries. But
that weapon can be used only as a last resource. The nature of it even
is too awful to be told in words. Our other powers will be launched
against you first, and for this poor country’s sake I pray that they may
cause you to wince. Yet rest assured, Phorenice, that we shall not step
aside once we have put a hand to this matter. We shall carry it through,
even though the cost be a universal burning and destruction. For know
this, daughter of the swineherd, it is agreed amongst the most High Gods
that you are too full of sin to continue unchecked.”
“Speak him fairly,” Ylga urged from behind. “He has a power at which you
cannot even guess.”
The Empress made to rise, but Ylga clung to her skirt. “For the sake of
your fame,” she urged, “for the sake of your life, do not defy him.” But
Phorenice struck her fiercely aside, and faced the old man in a tumult
of passion. “You dare call me a blasphemer, who blaspheme yourself? You
dare cast slurs upon my birth, who am come direct from the most high
Heaven? Old man, your craziness protects you in part, but not in all.
You shall be whipped. Do you hear me? I say, whipped. The lean flesh
shall be scourged from your scraggy bones, and you shall totter away
from this place as a red and bleeding example for those who would dare
traduce their Empress. Here, some of you, I say, take that man, and let
him be whipped where he stands.”
Her cry went out clearly enough. But not a soul amongst those glittering
feasters stirred in his place. Not a soldier amongst the guards stepped
from his rank. The place was hung in a terrible silence. It seemed as
though no one within the hall dared so much as to draw a breath. All
felt that the very air was big with fate.
Phorenice, with her head crouched forward, looked from one group to
another. Her face was working. “Have I no true servants,” she asked,
“amongst all you pretty lip-servers?”
Still no one moved. They stood, or sat, or crouched like people
fascinated. For myself, with the first words he had uttered, I had
recognized the old man by his voice. It was Zaemon, the weak governor
who had given the Empress her first step towards power; that earnest
searcher into the mysteries, who knew more of their powers, and more
about the hidden forces, than any other dweller on the Sacred Mountain,
even at that time when I left for my colony. And now, during his strange
hermit life, how much more might he not have learned? I was torn by
warring duties. I owed much to the Priests’ Clan, by reason of my oath
and membership; it seemed I owed no less to Phorenice. And, again, was
Zaemon the truly accredited envoy of the high council of the priests of
the Sacred Mountain? And was the Empress of a truth deposed by the High
Gods above, or was she still Empress, and still the commander of my
duty? I could not tell, and so I sat in my seat awaiting what the event
would sow.
Phorenice’s fury was growing. “Do I stand alone here?” she cried. “Have
I pampered you creatures out of all touch with gratitude? It seems that
at last I want a new chief to my guards. Ho! Who will be chief of the
guards of the Empress?”
There was a shifting of eyes, a hesitation. Then a great burly form
strode up from the farther end of the hall, and a perceptible shudder
went up from all the others as they watched him.
“So, Tarca, you prefer to take the risks, and remain chief of the guard
yourself?” she said with an angry scoff. “Truly there did not seem to be
many thrusting forward to strip you of the office. I shall have a fine
sorting up of places in payment for this night’s work. But for the
present, Tarca, do your duty.”
The man came up, obviously timorous. He was a solidly made fellow, but
not altogether unmartial, and though but little of his cheek showed
above his decorated beard, I could see that he paled as he came near
to the priest. “My lord,” he said quietly, “I must ask you to come with
me.”
“Stand aside,” said the old man, thrusting out the Symbol in front of
him. I could see his eyes gather on the soldier and his brows knit with
a strain of will.
Tarca saw this too, and I thought he would have fallen, but with an
effort he kept his manhood, and doggedly repeated his summons. “I must
obey the command of my mistress, and I would have you remember, my lord,
that I am but a servant. You must come with me to the whip.”
“I warn you!” cried the old man. “Stand from out of my path, you!”
It must have been with the courage of desperation that the soldier dared
to use force. But the hand he stretched out dropped limply back to his
side the moment it touched the old man’s bare shoulder, as though it had
been struck by some shock. He seemed almost to have expected some such
repulse; yet when he picked up that hand with the other, and looked
at it, and saw its whiteness, he let out of him a yell like a wounded
beast. “Oh, Gods!” he cried. “Not that. Spare me!”
But Zaemon was glowering at him still. A twitching seized the man’s
face, and he put up his sound hand to it and plucked at his beard,
which was curled and plaited after the new fashion of the day. A woman
standing near screamed as the half of the beard came off in his fingers.
Beneath was silver whiteness over half his face. Zaemon had smitten him
with a sudden leprosy that was past cure.
Yet the punishment was not ended even then. Other twitchings took him
on other parts of the body, and he tore off his armour and his foppish
clothes, and always where the bare flesh showed, there had the horrid
plague written its white mark; and in the end, being able to endure no
more, the man fell to the pavement and lay there writhing.
Zaemon said no further word. He lifted the Symbol before him, set
his eyes on the farther door of the banqueting-hall and walked for
it directly, all those in his path shrinking away from him with open
shudders. And through the valves of the door he passed out of our sight,
still wordless, still unchecked.
I glanced up at Phorenice. The loveliness of her face was drawn and
haggard. It was the first great reverse, this, she had met with in
all her life, and the shock of it, and the vision of what might follow
after, dazed her. Alas, if she could only have guessed at a tenth of the
terrors which the future had in its womb, Atlantis might have been saved
even then.