Mention My Name in Atlantis Page 6

  From the screened music gallery, some court functionary cried out:

  "Abase thyselves! Abase thyselves all before the Light of the Middle Sea—His Exaltedness—Geriasticus X!"

  Conax, Aphrodisia, Babylos, and your servant stood shoulder to shoulder in the yawning doorway. Each performed the abasement with varying degrees of alacrity, I being the first to fall on my knees and knock my forehead on the cracked stones. Lest you think this mere cowardice, inspired by the presence of quite a few heavily armed soldiers directly behind us, I must report the truth of the matter. I merely wished to survey the throne room from a safe vantage point.

  Thus, with my nose flat to the floor, I peered through my eyebrows—no mean feat!—and tried to ascertain who was present, in order that I might estimate who would be favorable to our cause, and who not.

  One glance and my spirits sank. I had a few acquaintances in the chamber, but no one I could truly call a friend.

  Aphrodisia abased herself immediately after I did. But Babylos was slow. He received a thwack in the pate from a soldier.

  "You heard him—abase!"

  Babylos did, albeit muttering the while.

  I might have counted on the Chimerical one to show foolish resistance.

  "A king of the north country abases himself before no one. By Crok, I refuse to—oww!"

  Several spear-butts, lavishly applied to his head, sent the contentious fellow to his knees. There, he proceeded to bark, paw the air, and make other threatening noises. The soldiers stayed out of his way.

  In truth, I was beginning to feel a sort of unbidden sympathy for the big lout. The instincts of his pulsing thews were forever being checked by this or that authoritarian decree. Perhaps on the treeless steppes from which he hailed, merely biting or maiming anyone who disagreed would serve to remove the obstacle. But here in fair Atlantis, other, more artful means of opposition were called for. And he understood them not.

  At a command of the hidden voice, we began to crawl forward into the throne room. If you have ever planned a strategy while scraping your forehead over some ill-fitting stones, you know the plight of Hoptor the Vintner just then!

  Around the vast hall, a few courtiers lolled on couches, divans, and cushions. For the most part, they seemed intoxicated out of their wits by the wine which rouged page boys dispensed at a snap of a ringed finger. Among the nobles I did recognize several who had ordered vintages from me. But even if the fellows were sober, I knew they'd never acknowledge doing business. Not in the presence of the depraved coterie around the throne!

  Highest of all in his carven chair was the wearer of the purple, Geriasticus X. He was ninety if he was an hour.

  An old skin-and-bones with a pathetic wisp of chin-beard, Geriasticus X had long ago lost his natural teeth. He had been fitted with a set of ivory replacements—flawless, I might note! —which lent his face a touch of grotesque glee. Several bare-bosomed courtesans clustered near his footstool, attempting to lave his feet in bowls of steaming, flower-scented water. Due to his palsy, the carpets, not to mention the courtesans, were constantly being splashed.

  Below him on the tiered dais, I shuddered to see my nemesis, General Pytho. Sans armor, he swilled wine and grinned ghoulishly.

  At Pytho's feet lounged Captain Num, seemingly content to stare into space and have his curled locks toyed with. Perhaps old Babylos had indeed rung the gong when he ranted of courtly depravity!

  To my consternation, the queen. Lady Voluptua, was nowhere present. Off amusing herself with a member of her legion of lovers, no doubt! Her absence immediately aborted one of my survival schemes.

  Not that it would have been guaranteed to succeed; a sidelong glance showed me Conax still crawling along muttering oaths, as if the spear-blows had affected his mind. Hardly a prepossessing specimen!

  When we reached the foot of the dais, Geriasticus X raised a ringed hand. Due to his advanced years, the act required several minutes to complete.

  When he addressed us, he took an intolerable time just uttering a single word; for the sake of clarity and swiftness of narrative, I shall editorially abridge his gasps, groans, and other vocal interpolations.

  "All may rise and face Our Exaltedness. What, pray, are the charges?"

  A functionary carrying several rolled scrolls rushed to the dais and knocked his head. I recognized Writtus, of the legal profession. Shamelessly flattering the old king in the hope of being appointed a Judge, you may be sure!

  Writtus had a wife and many children. But he frequently availed himself of my vintages, at hired rooms on Rotten Row. Of course he didn't know me from an incense burner this afternoon!

  "There are separate and individual charges against each, Your Exaltedness," Writtus said. He proffered an unrolled scroll, which Geriasticus pretended to be able to read.

  "We desire to spare ourselves the burden of dealing with such lowly offenders," said the king, again with clicks of his ivory mouth-ware, and gasps far too numerous to indicate. "We only received these prisoners at the request of our military commander. Our esteemed General Pytho has informed us that they're all malcontents. He charges that, in their various ways, they have disturbed the order and tranquility of fair Atlantis!"

  Pytho's pug face was wreathed in pleasure. His fine hand in arranging this charade was certainly not hidden!

  Geriasticus remained pettish about the whole affair, though. He didn't care for using what remained of his mind to make judicial pronouncements. It was much easier to simply lie about and have one's toes laved with scented water!

  "Therefore, learned Writtus," the king said, "you may inform us of the offenses—but briefly!"

  Strutting self-consciously, the lawyer said, "First we have the matter of treasonous speech, uttered on several occasions by yonder Babylos."

  "Babylos, Babylos—" The king rolled his eyes and squinted.

  "Pray inform us—which one is he?" He seemed to be studying Aphrodisia's thighs.

  "On the left, Your Exaltedness."

  "Oh yes, indeed," said Geriasticus X, swiveling his head toward Conax.

  "No, no," exclaimed Writtus, "the left!"

  General Pytho jumped to his feet, hurling his winecup away. "Are you inferring that His Exaltedness is not familiar with the separateness of right and left, you hair-splitting scum?"

  Writtus blanched, while Num tittered behind manicured nails. General Pytho's behavior was both obvious and reprehensible. He would literally stop at nothing to advance himself; and his tactics included humiliation of anyone who might gain even a moment's favor with the monarch.

  To his credit, Writtus made a bold defense.

  "I meant, naturally, the left of His Exaltedness, rather than the left of the line of prisoners as viewed from their own vantage point. Forgive my opaque phraseology, Exaltedness!" he added, falling on his knees and knocking his head several times.

  "Don't let it happen again," the king remarked, causing Pytho to fall back in his chair, smirking.

  At length, Geriasticus X focused upon Babylos. The old scholar kept his chin high, his glance unflinching. Not my style, certainly! But if he wished to cast his life away in an empty gesture, that was his affair.

  "Babylos," mused the king. "A name once highly honored in our Island Kingdom—"

  "But now he spews out all manner of poison against the throne," Pytho barked. "Unfounded claims—mad accusations—"

  "That's what comes of too much reading," was the king's considered opinion.

  "Then take my head for it!" said Babylos. "I will go to my death affirming that I have seen signs!"

  "What?" Geriasticus X cried. "You not only speak against us, but post inflammatory circulars?"

  "Signs in the heavens! This very afternoon, for example. From the prison roof, I sighted shining lights—glowing discs flying overhead at great speed. Surely an indication of the mounting displeasure of the gods!"

  "What twaddle is this of lights?" Pytho thundered, on his feet again. "Were any of you soldiers at
the prison when this alleged sighting took place?"

  "Yes, General," chorused the phalanx behind us.

  "And did any of you lay eyes on these so-called heavenly gleams?"

  "No, General," they shouted, to a man.

  "You see, Your Exaltedness? Revolutionary lies!"

  I observed Conax glowering in astonishment just then. Plainly, he was about to blurt that he had seen the illuminated portents. But he didn't, though his mouth remained open. At last, something had shocked him to silence! Namely, a sample of royal card-stacking!

  I swallowed a hen's egg in my throat, and wiped my palms upon my cloak. My mind still raced, seeking a way to offset the dire direction the interview was taking. Babylos, however, would not be stopped.

  "Let me rot in prison forever—!" Why was he constantly inviting these harmful consequences? "But I will not recant. Doom is ordained for fair Atlantis, unless our government reforms at once!"

  "High treason," Geriasticus clacked. "Next case."

  While Babylos snorted scornfully, Writtus examined his scroll.

  His eye fell upon me. You might have thought I was some loathsome sea-imp!

  "A civil matter, Your Exaltedness. Pandering. The guilty party is the portly fellow, Hoptor the Vintner."

  "Hoptor, Hoptor," mumbled the king. "One of our more popular citizens, if memory serves."

  "Yes, Your Exaltedness, that's true!" I said. "Hoptor the Vintner strives to be a friend to all. Furthermore, he is a vigorous supporter of the throne and all its policies."

  Determined to lower the menacing tone of the audience, I rushed on, heedless of Babylos' obvious outrage:

  "Yes, never let it be said that Hoptor the Vintner is not in full support of the wise, just, and statesmanlike decrees which emanate from your august personage. In fact, I was remarking to dinner party guests just last night that I knew of no age in the history of Atlantis in which such peace, such prosperity, such enlightened rule has prevailed."

  "Is that a fact?" replied the king. "How many guests heard you say that, Hoptor? We are always anxious to discover the extent of our popularity."

  On the point of replying—concern for the welfare of my fellow prisoners uppermost in my mind!—I was prevented by an outburst from that scarred schemer, Pytho:

  "No guests, Your Exaltedness. There was no dinner party."

  "Then did our ears deceive us, General?"

  "No, but slop-guts is trying to. There was no dinner party because there couldn't have been. At the dinner hour yesterday, Hoptor the Vintner was accompanying that red-haired baggage to a hired assignation. I personally apprehended him, and I have an objective witness to verify my statement."

  He nudged Captain Num, who promptly announced, "Yes, Your Exaltedness, that's one hundred and ten percent right. We caught Hoptor on his way to sell that—girl—for a night of lechery. Ooo, it's disgusting!" he concluded, tucking the general's hand against his cheek.

  "For shame, Vintner!" Geriasticus said. "Attempting to deceive our royal self!"

  "Perhaps I did make an error, Your Exaltedness. The dinner party was the night before last. Fully thirty guests at my villa heard me proclaim my unswerving—"

  "Pandering," Geriasticus intoned. "It carries a heavy penalty. Next case."

  "The female is his consort in crime," Writtus told him. "Aphrodisia is her name. She has been condemned to a gutter life by Hoptor's unwholesome direction."

  Pytho nodded weightily, and at once I smelled more trouble. Pytho said, "This case need not trouble you overlong, Exaltedness. I personally will see to the young lady's moral correction. She has already become my property, in fact. When I am convinced that she has sloughed off the Vintner's depraved influence—an influence no doubt reinforced by drugs, hypnotism, and arcane spells!—I will return her to a useful role in society. I merely wished her summoned to your presence in order that you might endorse my protective custody."

  At that Captain Num couldn't conceal a scathing glance at Aphrodisia. She, with blue eyes blazing, sprang to her own defense.

  "Protective custody indeed! Your Exaltedness, the general wishes to turn a profit off my predicament. He has taken over my keep in order to sell me in the slave mart and pocket the zebs. Only this morning, I was up on the block, shivering and being subjected to obscene stares—"

  "Oh, a tissue of lies, a tissue of lies!" Pytho proclaimed with extravagant gestures.

  "It is no such thing!"

  Pytho pulled a maudlin face. "Poor helpless child. Obviously still in the Vintner's power. Oh well. A week of my moral instruction and she'll be free of the vapors beclouding her mind."

  "Hoptor?" Aphrodisia said, wheeling. She was obviously beside herself with fear and unhappiness. "If you care for me, support my story!"

  "Well, ah, actually—now that I reconstruct—the head count at my dinner party was fifty at least. Fifty leading citizens, each of whom heard me swear my loyalty and eternal devotion—"

  "Oh, you're impossible!" she wailed, stamping her pretty little sandaled foot as tears coursed down both cheeks.

  It availed nothing for me to dart glances at her; the misinformed minx believed I was trying to save my own hide. Which proves again how shortsighted and impractical women are. She would continue to offend the court at our peril—and offend it she did, by marching—uninvited—to the foot of the dais.

  Sycophants all around the hall gasped in shock. Through her weeping, Aphrodisia exclaimed:

  "Perhaps Babylos is right. This Island Kingdom has become a sink of inconvenient illegalities. Honest, common folk have no chance to plead the truth—"

  "Have a care!" Writtus warned. "Get back in your place, or you'll be subject to the same penalties as your paramour, the generosity and reformative measures of General Pytho notwithstanding!"

  But the unwise child would not leave off.

  "Answer me one question, lawyer. If I were married to Hoptor the Vintner—"

  Num said, "Ooo, what a repulsive thought!"

  Writtus fumed. "What possible connection can the connubial state have with—?'

  "You answer me!" she countered, with such fire that Writtus let his scroll roll up with a snap. "If I were married to Hoptor, could I be punished by this tribunal?"

  Geriasticus clicked his ivory teeth, saying, "We cannot see where this inquiry is leading, Writtus. But you are permitted to answer the girl's question."

  Writtus scowled, then stated:

  "Under the statutes of the Island Kingdom, young woman, no more than one member of a family may stand in legal jeopardy at a given time. Therefore, if you were married, you could not be sentenced on the same occasion as your husband. But I am not aware that you are matrimonially linked with this Hoptor—"

  "No, I am not. But it's clear I wouldn't be in this fix if I were!"

  And, stamping back to her place in line, she fixed me with a tearful, accusing stare.

  Leave it to a woman to reprimand a man at the most unlikely moment! In typically feminine fashion, Aphrodisia could think of nothing except my failure to honor my various promises of matrimony. She wanted that clearly on the record.

  Well, there is simply no accounting for the aberrations of the opposite sex. But is it any wonder that we men cavil at admitting members of her gender to the hardheaded world of commerce and industry?

  "Next case, next case!" exclaimed Geriasticus, beginning to look exceedingly impatient.

  Writtus reopened his scroll.

  "Least serious of all, but nevertheless demanding royal disposition, is the matter of the large, semi-nude gentleman standing before Your Exaltedness clad only in assorted animal pelts and metal trinkets. His other chief item of apparel—a highly dangerous broadsword which he carries thonged at his waist without sheath—is in custody of the commander of the prison. This fellow states that he was shipwrecked and cast up on the shore of Atlantis. He has been making the rounds of the inns, causing turmoil wherever he goes. Further, he claims that in his native land, Chimeria—"

&n
bsp; Geriasticus interrupted, "We have no knowledge of that principality."

  "No, it isn't even on any of the maps," Writtus acknowledged.

  "Pox on your map-makers!" screamed Conax. "Can I help it if those feeble-eyed fops are ignorant? I'd invite them to visit, but the thin-blooded villains would surely freeze their privates the minute they crossed the borders of my noble northern nation!"

  "He has a florid rhetoric," observed General Pytho. "Rather like the purple phrasing of the tellers of adventure tales, who swap their narratives for a tenth of a zeb a word in the scroll mart."

  "But note those big, handsome muscles. General," said Num, flushing prettily. "Why don't we take him into protective custody too?"

  "To continue," Writtus said officiously, "I personally find this foreigner guilty of no great crime. He only needs to settle the various due bills presented by the owners of inns whose fixtures he has destroyed at the slightest pretext. However, the disposition of his case falls within the purview of Your Exaltedness because, as I started to say a while ago, he purports to be of royal lineage in his native land."

  Conax shouted, "I understand little of this puling palaver. I'm a king, that's all—a king!" He emphasized it with several thumps of his fully-muscled chest. "Furthermore, I expect to be treated as one, else you'll rue it when my reavers rescue me!"

  Fretting at the clamor, Geriasticus said, "We recognize no sovereign states more northerly than the duchies of Espaniozo. Therefore we can accord you no special treatment. Your case will be handled as a routine civil matter. Now, if the court will excuse us, we have other matters demanding our attention—"

  And, upsetting one of the bowls of scented water at his feet, Geriasticus X attempted to leave the dais.

  The king's answer wasn't good enough for Conax, however.

  "Just one moment, shingle-shanks!"

  Gasps of horror rose from the courtiers. Even General Pytho paled visibly.

  "Are you saying that Conax the Chimerical speaks to you with a tongue with a fork in it? By Crok, my nose tells me it's you whose veracity smells!"

  Geriasticus X became positively rigid. General Pytho popped up and pulled a dirk. Not to be cowed, Conax stamped forward.