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CHAPTER 1
The emperor was two hundred years old, and even with the rejuvenation chamber few lived more than two hundred years in Atlantis. His fierce eyes were dimmed, lines of pain threaded the tired face. His forehead was beaded with sweat, which a dusky eunuch wiped at intervals with a silk cloth banded in gold. Around the Emperor's throat was a chain of gold, fastened in front with a crystalline seven-colored gem, which gave renewed energy to the weary. His hands, once powerful, were folded in resignation on his breast. A solemn-looking physician stood behind the Emperor's great bed, registering just the right note of concern. The Emperor had already sent for his two daughters. Salustra, the elder, was in the glorious dawn of ripening womanhood; Tyrhia was yet a child with a boy's figure. The father's fevered eyes turned to them with passionate intensity. Salustra! Was there anything more magnificent than this girl? She was not unlike her mother, thank the eternal gods! For her mother, the incomparable Maxima, had been an aristocrat to her impenetrable core. Salustra was tall for a woman, and her figure was such as to give the imagination pause. She had the Emperor's eyes, flashing with vitality. Her skin was pale and clear, with a birthmark high on the cheekbone which turned scarlet when she was aroused. Her mouth, though proud, was warm and inviting. Her tawny hair, reaching to her knees, glistened with a luster that seemed to catch the highlights of the sun. The white column of her throat, rising proudly from her marble shoulders, was strong and supple, giving her the carriage of a queen.
The dying Emperor sensed instinctively the feminine glory Salustra would soon know. He noted the sinuous curve of her thigh and calf and, with satisfaction, the strength in the line of her jaw and the blue steel of her eyes. Perhaps she walked too confidently, too arrogantly for a woman, but the muscles under the shimmering skin were as sinewy as those of a man. Lazar smiled as he saw in Salustra his own indomitable will. As he looked at Tyrhia, the smile faded. Though actually but a few years younger than Salustra, she was still unformed, with a vapid, unclouded countenance. A circlet of gold dangling from her arm matched the yellow curls that framed her pretty face. Her hands were fluttering and white and somewhat helpless.
She was like her mother, the base-born Lahia. Seeing the child, the Emperor remembered the mother. She had been a slave of surpasssing beauty, a tribute from the petty kingdom of Mantius, to which he had granted independence, taking only the beautiful Lahia as a victor's spoils. Lahia had been weak, often vicious, constantly conniving. Nevertheless, Lazar, succumbing to the tyranny of the weak over the strong, loved her until his betrayal. Not until she carried his child did he discover that the Empress had plotted with an envoy from powerful Althrustri to poison his wine. Tyrhia was about due, and Lazar, who yearned for a son, had refrained from one word of rebuke. However, the Empress had guessed from his averted eyes that he knew, and she had literally died of fear after the child was born. Lazar had had her entombed with ceremony, and the world, aside from the Althrustri regime, was none the wiser. He had not thought about any of this for years. Now he held out a wavering hand to his children. Tyrhia, with the easy tears of the emotionally unstable, kneeled beside him, curling herself in the hollow of his wasted arm. Salustra stood looking at her father gravely, and waited. She was very white, and though her pale lips were set, they trembled slightly at the corners.
She bent closer to her father. At the touch of her fingers, it was as though under the smooth skin he had felt the sinew of steel. His eye notably brightened, and any misgivings he had vanished.
"My children," he said wistfully, "I am dying. But it is a natural and peaceful thing; where I go, you too will go one day. I am merely taking the path before you. I am accepting death as naturally as I have accepted life. It is but a phase of the human drama."
Tyrhia's sobs rent the air, causing the doctor to look at her reprovingly. Unheeding of her sister, Salustra gazed at her father, her dark eyes still and watchful.
"Salustra, my daughter." He motioned to her. She took the cloth from the eunuch and wiped the perspiration from the dying man's forehead. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes as though willing his departing soul to halt its flight for a grudging moment.
"Salustra," he said, his voice hoarse with the effort of speaking, "in thy hands I leave my empire. Dost thou understand, girl?" He looked up into her face, and something he saw there gave him joy. "My time is near, Salustra," he said, "but what I have to say must be said. My empire is thine. Think of it! From east to west it extends three thousand miles sea to sea! From north to south, four thousand miles from icy glaciers to the tropic sands! A glorious heritage for him who merits it."
Salustra said nothing, but her eyes had begun to glitter. The sun, gleaming through the pillars, cast a golden glow over her features. A pulse leaped in the hollow of her throat. She fingered the chain on her father's neck and he nodded feebly for her to take it.
The Emperor groaned, and his head moved agonizingly on the silken pillows. Salustra laid a steady hand on his forehead. "Rest, my lord," she said quietly.
He turned his head slowly toward her and, his gaze again meeting that serene eye, his face brightened. His hand clutched hers. "Thou art only a girl," he gasped. "But thou hast the wisdom of many wise men. Thou hast sat with me in the courts, and heard my judgments. Thou hast heard me attacked, and seen me fawned upon. As I hate a lie, so thou dost hate it. As I loathe injustice, so thou dost loathe it. Thou hast the vision which detects falsehood and dissimulation. Such vision normally is a curse; it bars one from even the semblance of friendship. But a ruler should have no friends. Friends lull one to false security. Hold thyself aloof, Salustra." He heaved a great sigh. "I need not speak to thee of the dull procedure of government which thou hast learnt at my knee, I speak to thee now of greater things, of the soul of government, of the heart of a people. Dost thou understand?"
Salustra inclined her head slightly.
"Once I yearned for a son! But no son could be more capable than thee. But thou art still a woman. Thy, hands are soft and white, for all the steel underneath. Thou hast far more need of courage and wisdom than hath a male sovereign. But I feel the people will accept thee." His voice took on an almost prophetic note. "Approaching death is removing the veil from my vision. Listen well to these words, for they come as from beyond the grave. A ruler may make laws that are marvels of mechanical precision and justice, but he will still fail if he heeds not the hearts of those he rules. A fool, loved by his subjects, hath them always. A wise man, unloved, is met with stone ears."
His breath was labored, but he struggled on tenaciously. "How, thou wouldst ask, do I keep the love of my people? Not by loving them, my daughter. This incontinent people, decadent in their sophistry, can only be ruled by understanding their vices, insolences and ambitions. This is a nation in decay. We have reached the height of scientific achievement, but old morals, standards, codes and restraints have passed.
"The greater part of humanity is composed of greedy souls, disguising their lust in family love, hiding their lascivious lips under pious smiles, loving their neighbors outwardly but hating them in their hearts; shocked at vice but absorbed surreptitiously in lewdness.
"Take care, Salustra! Do not expect too much of these animals, who, though they no longer swing by their tails, feed their vanity even more than their mouths, and they will love and acclaim thee."
He looked at her intently to make sure she understood. The intelligent light in her eye reassured him. Tyrhia still sobbed against his breast. The physician bent down and touched the pulse of the dying man.
"Religion hath lost the power to hold them," went on the Emperor "They scoff at all things; they treasure the national religion, however, for it is a reassuring symbol of tradition. They deck the temples, and build great altars. They maintain a corrupt priesthood, seasoned in vice and licentiousness. They celebrate the birth of the goddess Sati, daughter of Chaos and Strife. But they perform their religious duties tongue in cheek. Not believing, yet they are intolerant of those honest enough to confess they do not believe. They laugh at the gods but would rend the first man to suggest abolishing them.
"I would advise thee, Salustra, to maintain the national religion. Young nations can survive the eruptive violence of new ideas; a fat and bloated nation, on the verge of disintegration, cannot withstand the constant jars of a virile assault on its crumbling institutions. This nation is much too old for new things.
"Pale thought doth ever numb the arm of ruddy action but the day of action has passed for this land. Do not use the atom-splitter in any way, lest it be used against you by a bolder enemy. Our people will capitulate rather than meet such a threat. We have grown too civilized with thought, too rich with conquest; too much success carries with it the very seed of destruction for that which nourished it. It is too late to turn back the clock. The damage is done; thou wilt be carried along with the tide." With a groan, he raised himself to an elbow. His eyes took on a prophetic gleam. "If the people should at any time demand thy abdication, if thou art of the opinion that thou hast been wise and courageous, hold fast to thy scepter and fight for it. The virus of democracy infects the very lifeblood of an imperial people. Whenever a nation is tired of self-restraint and discipline, it demands so-called liberation as a means of slipping the bonds of authority. Discourage democracy; it is thy foe, and the foe of thy people."
"And what of the external foe?" she asked intensely.
He sighed. "Look to the north, daughter. The Althrustri are a mighty nation, young and adventurous. Althrustri hath the spirit and enterprise we once owned. The Emperor Notar, I hated; he was crafty and cruel. He is dead, thank the gods! But beware the wolf's cub, the resourceful Signal. Watch him! I have sent him conciliatory messages, but he has not replied except to sow disloyalty in our ranks with his gold and promises."
He rested for a minute before going on. "At one time I thought to give him one of my daughters in marriage, but flinched from the thought of delivering any child of mine to such a savage.
"And now, thy dear self, my daughter, my beloved! Whatever thou dost, forswear the rejuvenation chamber. It is enough for man to live the natural span of seventy-five years. There are too many memories to live with when Life is prolonged beyond what nature intended. We become jaded with the things that pleasured once, until we yearn for nothing but endless oblivion. Come not to that, dear daughter."
For a long time he lay in silence, his lidded eyes sunken in his gray face. Tyrhia sobbed afresh, but none heeded her. The physician shook his head, and moistened the dry lips with a wet cloth.
The Emperor was not through. He held up a finger. "But be jealous in how thou guardest the rejuvenation chamber. Hold it up as a constant reward for loyalty and achievement, but grant it only once in a lifetime, else in the experiencing it will lose its enchantment, and thou wilt no longer have this inducement to dangle before the ignorant."
Lazar stirred faintly. "My daughter," he went on, "thou mayest desire to marry. But think long before thou takest on so burdensome an anchor. Yet I would not advise a dull life of continence. Have thy lovers. Have thy lovers, indeed, but be judicious. Take only those thy equal in intelligence. To take less would be to court boredom and self-contempt. But marriage — ah, my daughter, I would not advise that for thee."
He fumbled for his younger daughter's hand. "Thy sister, my poor little Tyrhia, into thy hands I commend her, knowing thou wilt love her as I do.
"And now, Salustra, I have some hard-won philosophy to whisper to thee. Thou mayest scoff at it, but I have found it true after a double lifetime of power. Better to appreciate a sunset than to be lord of a thousand conquered cities. The man that can be moved by music is happier than he whose acclaim is shouted from the hilltops. The soul grows not by material things, but only by thought. If a man thinketh not, even though he sitteth upon a throne, his soul is still in embryo." He seemed to have come to the end of his valedictory. His breath rattled in his throat. She bent low to catch his last feeble word. "To thee, Salustra, I commend my people. If I know consciousness beyond that dark gulf yawning between us, I shall make every effort to see thee and to guide thy hand. For these are troubled times for our dear Atlantis."
With a sigh that was almost a groan, he fell back.
The doctor picked up the Emperor's limp wrist. He shook his head with an expression of grief. "The Emperor is no more," he said. "Long live the Empress."
It was not until the Emperor had died that Salustra wept. And then she threw her body over her father's and sobbed until it was time to carry him away. It was well that she did this, for it was the last time for years she was to know the luxury of tears. As she stood there, she knew not whether she mourned more her father's passing or the terrible responsibility that was now hers.
She had pleaded with her father to visit the rejuvenating Temple Beautiful once again, but he had explained it would be to no purpose. "The gods allow no man to live more than two centures. And it is well, for the gods know more than man." He had smiled thinly, as she recalled, saying, "When your time comes, daughter, you will better know what I mean." He had gestured to the heavens. "Who knows but what there is something better on the dark side of the sky, something that gives meaning to our empty pursuit of happiness?"
She had been too young to grasp the full portent of his words, and saw no reason why life's benefits should not be expanded indefinitely. As it was, only a favored few among the elite were even considered for Temple Beautiful and the special rays which reactivated the cells and restored the endocrine balance of the glands. Wrinkles disappeared, hair was restored, muscles and circulation renewed, and the years miraculously shorn away, except for what remained in the heart and mind. Lazar had received the rejuvenating rays first when he was seventy-five, and again at one hundred and forty. The second time, he was already tired of life and would have preferred the Unknown. But as yet then he had no heir.
No woman had ever achieved the Temple Beautiful, for none, until Salustra mounted the throne, had the opportunity to merit this reward. Salustra herself knew of nobody deserving this distinction, except old Mahius, her father's First Minister, and he soon pleaded for her not to prolong a life already freighted with one rejuvenation experience.
With tears in his eyes, he had appealed to her better nature. "I deserve better at your hands, Majesty."
"Where can I find another like you?" she had rejoined sadly. "Who but you will stand firm with me when the hordes descend from the north?"
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Romance of Atlantis"
by .
Copyright © 1975 Taylor Caldwell and Jess Stearn.
Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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