The Lost Continent by C. J. Cutcliffe Hyne (best desktop ebook reader TXT) 📕

The port-captain was roving his eye over the group of us who stood on the afterdeck. “I fear me, captain, that you’ll have but a dangerous reception. I do not see my Lord Deucalion. Or does he come with some other navy? Gods, captain, if you have let him get killed whilst under your charge, the Empress will have the skin torn slowly off you living.”

“What with Phorenice and Tatho both so curious for his welfare,” said Tob, “my Lord Deucalion seems but a dangerous passenger. But I shall save my hide this voyage.” He jerked at me with his thumb. “He’s there to put in a word for me himself.”

The port-captain stared for a moment, as if unbelieving, and then, as though satisfied, made obeisance like a fellow well used to ceremonial. “I trust my lord, in his infinite strength, will pardon my sin in not knowing him by his nobleness before. But truth to tell, I had looked to see my lord more suitably apparelled.”

“Pish,” I said; “if I choose to dress simply, I cannot object to being mistaken for a simple man. It is not my pleasure to advertise my quality by the gauds on my garb. If you think amends are due to me, I pray of your charity that this inquisition may end.”

The fellow was all bows and obsequiousness. “I am the humblest of my lord’s servants,” he said. “It will be my exceeding honour to pilot my lord’s galley into the berth appointed in harbour.”

The boat shot ahead, and our galley-slaves swung into stroke again. Tob watched me with a dry smile as he stood directing the men at the helms.

“Well,” I said, humouring his whim, “what is it?”

“I’m thinking,” said Tob, “that my Lord Deucalion will remember me only as a very rude fellow when he steps ashore amongst all this fine gentility.”

“You don’t think,” said I, “anything of the kind.”

“Then I must prove my refinement,” said Tob, “and not contradict.” He picked up my hand in his huge, hard fist, and pressed it. “By the Gods, Deucalion, you may be a great prince, but I’ve only known you as a man. You’re the finest fighter of beasts and men that walks this world today, and I love you for it. That spear-stroke of yours on the lizard is a thing the singers in the taverns shall make chaunts about.”

We drew rapidly into the harbour, the soldiers in the entrance castle blowing their trumpets in welcome as we passed between them. The captain of the port had run up my banner to the masthead of his boat, having been provided with one apparently for this purpose of announcement, and from the quays, across the vast basin of the harbour, there presently came to us the noises of musicians, and the pale glow of welcoming fires, dancing under the sunlight. I was almost awed to think that an Empress of Atlantis had come to such straits as to feel an interest like this in any mere returning subject.

It was clear that nothing was to be done by halves. The port-captain’s boat led, and we had no choice but to follow. Our galley was run up alongside the royal quay and moored to its posts and rings of gold, all of which are sacred to the reigning house.

“If Dason could only have foreseen this honour,” said Tob, with grisly jest, “I’m sure he’d have laid in a silken warp to make fast on the bollards instead of mere plebeian hemp. I’m sure there’d be a frown on Dason’s head this minute, if the sun hadn’t scorched it stiff. My Lord Deucalion, will you pick your way with niceness over this common ship and tread on the genteel carpet they’ve spread for you on the quay yonder?”

The port-captain heard Tob’s rude banter and looked up with a face of horror, and I remembered, with a small sigh, that colonial freedom would have no place here in Atlantis. Once more I must prepare myself for all the dignity of rank, and make ready to tread the formalities of vast and gorgeous ceremonial.

But, be these things how they may, a self-respecting man must preserve his individuality also, and though I consented to enter a pavilion of crimson cloth, specially erected to shelter me till the Empress should deign to arrive, there my complaisance ended. Again the matter of clothes was harped upon. The three gorgeously caparisoned chamberlains, who had inducted me to the shelter, laid before me changes of raiment bedecked with every imaginable kind of frippery, and would have me transform myself into a popinjay in fashion like their own.

Curtly enough, I refused to alter my garb, and when one of them stammeringly referred to the Empress’s tastes I asked him with plainness if he had got any definite commands on this paltry matter from her mightiness.

Of course, he had to confess that there were none.

Upon which I retorted that Phorenice had commanded Deucalion, the man, to attend before her, and had sent no word of her pleasure as to his outer casing.

“This dress,” I said, “suits my temper well. It shields my poor body from the heat and the wind, and, moreover, it is clean. It seems to me, sirs,” I added, “that your interfering savours somewhat of an impertinence.”

With one accord the chamberlains drew their swords and pushed the hilts towards me.

“It would be a favour,” said their spokesman, “if the great Lord Deucalion would take his vengeance now, instead of delivering us to the tormentors hereafter.”

“Poof,” I said, “the matter is forgotten. You make too much of a little.”

Nevertheless, their action gave me some enlightenment. They were perfectly in earnest in offering me the swords, and I recognised that this was a different Atlantis that I had come home to, where a man had dread of the torture for a mere difference concerning the cut of a coat.

There was a bath in the pavilion, and in that