The Treasure of Atlantis - J. Allan Dunn (finding audrey .TXT) 📗

Kiron pointed to another door of paneled wood.

“There is your bath,” he said. “When you have bathed, will you join me in the pool?”

Morse gazed in astonishment at the lavatory fittings.

“Hot and cold water!” he exclaimed. “Silver fittings, ivory combs! And a mirror, no less!”

He surveyed himself disconsolately in a tall plate of polished metal.

“A nice pair of scarecrows we are!” he said. “Fine visitors for a palace. Look at this luxury, Laidlaw. You take it as if you had registered at the Ritz.”

“I expected it,” said Laidlaw. “The Cretans were fully our equals in sanitary science. Thank the Lord for a bathtub. I wonder when we eat?”

“You’re impossible,” laughed Morse. “What do you think they’ll serve us? Peacock and mullet, I suppose. I’m hungry myself.”

A series of light knocks sounded on the door.

“Come in,” called Laidlaw.

A pair of bronzed youths entered. One bore a ewer of gold in a deep bowl in which snow was closely packed with two goblets inserted bowl downward in the cool crystals. The other carried linen cloths and a cake of what might have been soap. They retired without uttering a word.

“Kiron’s silent system,” commented Laidlaw. “I wish this soap-weed cake were edible.”

“What’s in the pitcher?” asked Morse.

“Try it.” Laidlaw poured the silver cups full of a ruby-colored liquor that smelled of spices and grapes. It was sweet, cloying to their palates, but nonetheless invigorating. After a hot bath, they crossed the main apartment to where Kiron awaited them.

Without a word, the three moved simultaneously, diving into the inviting, emerald water and racing for the far end of the marble tank, a hundred feet away. Just as the fingers of Morse and Kiron were outstretched to touch its side, Laidlaw, with a mighty surge, forged in ahead of them, the winner of the undeclared race. More youths awaited them as they emerged, dripping, clad them in loose linen wraps, and escorted them to couches. There they were massaged with sweet

scented oils. A servant brought a pile of garments, dividing them into three groups. The youths assisted Morse and Laidlaw to invest themselves in the strange attire, after one had passed a comb through Laidlaw’s tawny hair and beard, to his passive disgust. Kiron and Morse were shaved quickly and smoothly by attendants with wedge-shaped razors that were as well-tempered as any American product.

Laidlaw was garbed in a pleated skirt of dull red that fell to his insteps and was bordered with a fringe of gold. His misshapen dwarf legs were well concealed. A golden girdle, scaled and flexible as a snake’s skin, held it in place. Above was a tunic of fine wool, purple in hue, the left arm short-sleeved and the right bare, showing Laidlaw’s Herculean proportions to their full advantage. Gilded sandals, bound with thongs of soft leather, and a fillet of the same material about his brows completed the costume.

Like some lord of ancient Assyria, he walked the length of the pool, squaring his shoulders before the critical eyes of Kiron.

Morse wore a double chiton of white wool, sleeveless, caught at the shoulders with gold fibulae brooches, and belted with vermilion leather incrusted with gold filigree set with pale-green olivines. The skirt of this singular garment touched his knees, and its cloth was bordered with golden brocade. His sandals were scarlet, his garb almost a duplicate of Kiron’s.

Morse enjoyed the freedom and coolness of the costume, and his naturalness brought an exclamation from Laidlaw.

“You look like an Atlantean to me, Morse.”

The discarded clothing lay on one of the couches of the main apartment when they entered. Kiron showed them a space in the wall, masked so cunningly by a part of the design that the uninitiated eye would never suspect its existence. In it they stowed their goods, and Kiron revealed the secret of its opening by pressing the paneled eye of a big cat creeping over ivy-covered rocks and about to spring upon a pheasant-like bird.

“Now,” said the Atlantean, “let us eat. We have an hour before the middle day.”

Laidlaw did not try to suppress a sigh of pleasure.

In the courtyard, a trestle table and seats had been arranged. Glossy leaves bearing red waxen flowers were entwined between goblets and platters of gold on a white cloth. The peacocks of Morse’s imagination did not make an appearance, but the mullets were typified by a lake fish of delicate flesh, served in a sauce of thyme and cucumber. This was followed by a pudding of meal, surrounded by a number of enormous frogs’ legs. A sweet pudding filled with chopped fruits ended the repast, at which time even Laidlaw attempted to loosen the links of his girdle.

There were litters in attendance, and the three were borne from the palace behind silken curtains. When they halted in a paved alley between high walls, Kiron dismissed the bearers and led the way to an entrance barely the height of Morse. The Atlantean struck his foot upon a disk of metal that protruded slightly from the threshold, and the bronze gateway slid into the wall. Fifty steps stretched down to a corridor leading to a blank wall. A flower of bronze, hollow-centered, projected from a stone slab.

Kiron advanced and spoke into the petals. Immediately there was a light sound of clicking. A section of the wall descended into the floor. Kiron turned his head to Laidlaw.

“We, too, have our inventions,” he said proudly as they passed through the opening. “This is a hidden entrance to the temple.”

A long incline appeared before them, rising to the antechamber of a great hall, and ending in a high screen woven from golden threads into a weird design of foliage and fruit. The workmanship was so fine that the light pierced it, and through it came the sound of a high, querulous voice.

“That is Ru,” said Kiron, anger rising in him.

A blare of trumpets followed; a burst of voices in a swelling harmony. A strange incense penetrated the antechamber. A woman’s deep contralto, ineffably sweet and alluring, reached them.

“Re has removed the veil from his face and smiles once more. Great is Re. The blossoms are invested with his breath and speak of golden fruit. The land sends up incense. The hearts of youth listen to the mating

cries of the birds and are glad. Atlantis smiles beneath the glory of Re that now descends upon us.”

And now a chant sounded:

“His glory descending

Our hearts fill with pleasure

Our voices ascending In manifold measure

Proclaim adoration,

The joy of a nation

To greet thee, O Re!

Re! Re!

Giver of Light and Life!

Our hearts with joy are rife

Hear us, O Re!”

Beyond the screen, the hall was suddenly flooded with a golden glow. Presently the woman’s voice broke the silence.

“The golden flower opens! Lo, our prayers are acceptable! Gladness shall come to Atlantis, and fertility. Yet there is a shadow upon the radiance that showers down. Kiron, our king, beloved of Re, is missing from the festival, absent from this gathering.”

A cry arose of “Kiron! Kiron!”

But Kiron did not move, and a sardonic smile crossed his face.

“Wait! Rana has not yet ended.”

“You call for Kiron, and he answers not,” said the queen. “Some grave misfortune must have befallen him. The oracles are silent, though Ru, your spirit lord, has besought them. The holy fires smoldered sullenly at his questioning.”

“Kiron! Where is Kiron?” called a voice, quaveringly. “Has he lost favor with the gods?”

“I cannot answer you, my people,” said Rana. “Like you, I can only ask: ‘Where is Kiron?’”

“Here!”

Beckoning Morse and Laidlaw to follow, Kiron strode around the screen. Bearded priests in flowing robes encircled a platform. A slender woman stood before a throne of gold that glittered with gems. Beside it, a second royal chair was empty. The emblem of the

double ax, gleaming blades on ebony staffs, loomed between them. From an opening in the roof, a shaft of sunshine poured in. Beyond it the Americans vaguely glimpsed a multitude of shifting forms.

“Here!” repeated Kiron, one arm upraised, advancing until he stood in the center of the dancing motes of sunray. “Kiron is here, and unto Re the Sun God gives his salutation.”

A cheer from a thousand throats echoed from roofs and walls.

Morse saw Rana shrink back, terror in her eyes. A priest whose robes were heavy with brocade down which his long beard broke in a silver shower stepped to her side and whispered. She straightened her slim length and advanced to the edge of the dais. Her eyes were transformed into crimson orbs of hate, which she quickly masked with lowered eyelids.

“Zeus be praised!” she said. “Kiron, chosen of Re, Rana the queen rejoices with our people.”

She extended a hand that was like a white flower. Kiron chose to ignore it and ascended the platform as the people roared their approval.

“People of Atlantis,” he began, “I bring to you my brothers, strangers who are not strange, visitors who bring tidings from the remote past, of Minos, king of kings, bearers of great news. See, Re shines on them and hails them as his own!”

The shifting shaft of sunbeam had enveloped Morse and Laidlaw where they stood.

“Disperse to the feasting and the dance,” said Kiron. “Presently Ru, high priest of Minos and of Re, shall address you. We would be alone with our new brothers.”

Morse and Laidlaw felt the challenge of keen glances. Morse found the gaze of Rana directed at him with an admiration that she made no attempt to hide. Laidlaw’s amber eyes encountered another kind of look. For there was both challenge and threat centered in the narrow look of Ru.

As the crowd departed, Kiron addressed himself to Rana. “The vultures feed on the carrion you sent to give them daintier food. Are you not glad to greet me, cousin?”

“You speak in strange riddles, Kiron,” she answered softly in a voice that held the magic of united strings. “Truthfully, I am glad to see you. Present me to your brothers.”