The Lost ContinentHyne, Charles John Cutcliffe Wright
Science
The Lost Continent
Hyne, Charles John Cutcliffe Wright
Atlantis (Legendary place) -- Fiction; Fantasy fiction; Lost continents -- Fiction; Science fiction
“It is to be hoped he understands his work,” said the Empress. “That
pretty Nais knows the pyramid better than most, and it may be he will
be sent to the tormentors for putting her in a cell which had a secret
outlet. You would feel pleasure if the girl escaped, Deucalion?”
“Assuredly,” said I, knowing how useless it would be to make a secret of
the matter. “I have no enmity against Nais.”
“But I have,” said she viciously, “and I am still minded to lock your
faith to me by that wedding gift you know of.”
“The thing shall be done,” I said. “Before all, the Empress of
Atlantis.”
“Poof! Deucalion, you are too stiff and formal. You ought to be mightily
honoured that I condescend to be jealous of your favours. Your hand,
sir, please, to help me into the litter. And now come in beside me,
and keep me warm against the night air. Ho! you guards there with the
torches! Keep farther back against the street walls. The perfume you are
burning stifles me.”
Again there was a feast that night in the royal banqueting-hall; again I
sat beside Phorenice on the raised dais which stands beneath the symbols
of the snake and the out-stretched hand. What had been taken for granted
before about our forthcoming relationship was this time proclaimed
openly; the Empress herself acknowledged me as her husband that was to
be; and all that curled and jewelled throng of courtiers hailed me as
greater than themselves, by reason of this woman’s choice. There was
method, too, in their salutation. Some rumour must have got about of my
preference for the older and simpler habits, and there was no drinking
wine to my health after the new and (as I considered) impertinent
manner. Decorously, each lord and lady there came forward, and each in
turn spilt a goblet at my feet; and when I called any up, whether man
or woman, to receive tit-bits from my platter, it was eaten simply and
thankfully, and not kissed or pocketed with any extravagant gesture.
The flaring jets of earth-breath showed me, too, so I thought, a plainer
habit of dress, and a more sober mien amongst this thoughtless mob
of banqueters. And, indeed, it must have been plain to notice, for
Phorenice, leaning over till the ruddy curls on her shoulder brushed
my face, chided me in a playful whisper as having usurped her high
authority already.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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