To barter power was deemed a sudden freak of madness. Seldom was the mood so turned, but if, perchance, this did occur the one so smitten with greed and vile deceit was cast from chamber of the council, stripped of robe and beaten as a slave in sight of all the populace, then sent afar.
Trading power was seen as an act of sheer insanity. Rarely did someone's mindset shift so drastically, but if it happened, the person overcome by greed and treachery was expelled from the council chamber, stripped of their robes, and publicly flogged like a slave. Afterward, they were banished from the community.
But one such case in many hundred years occurred, and none did know of the intention or deceit till fell a tragedy that woke the horror of the island people—held their indignation long. And yet we do admit, unwillingly, that great events, or race of people, knowledge of new countries, spring from crimes of men—from wrong to kind.
Only one such case occurred in many hundreds of years. No one knew of the intention or the deceit until a tragedy struck. It woke the horror of the island people and held their indignation for a long time. And yet we admit, unwillingly, that great events, or a race of people, or knowledge of new countries, spring from the crimes of men, from wrong done to their own kind.
And such events occurred when fair Atlantis reared her head above the sea: a wondrous land with power over many lands afar which she did people from her exiles. Peopled she the wastes and forests deep which lay full many thousand miles away.
Such marvels happened when the magnificent Atlantis rose from the ocean: a remarkable nation wielding influence over distant lands, which it populated with its exiles. Atlantis sent its people to settle remote wilderness and deep forests thousands of miles away.
The story of the violation of the laws of Government was on the tablets graven long before the island sank, yet in its infancy the tale seemed but a prophecy, which none saw fulfilled, the peopling of vast hills and wastes by one—an outcast and his victim—bride yet not a bride.
The story of the violation of the laws of Government was engraved on the tablets long before the island sank. Yet in its infancy the tale seemed only a prophecy, which no one saw fulfilled. That prophecy was the peopling of vast hills and wastelands by one outcast and his victim, a bride and yet not a bride.
She—the victim, too, of Fate and Falsity whose offspring filled tents upon the hills nor sought the plains where dwelt a fairer race until, grown strong, they swept in might one day and conquered. Set their mark in later day on temple wall and carven gods, so massive that a wonder of the world men later did behold in viewing what the hands of their descendants wrought. And this the graven tablets told:
She too was a victim, of Fate and Falsehood. Her offspring filled tents on the hills and did not seek the plains where a fairer race lived. Then one day, grown strong, they swept down in might and conquered. In a later day they set their mark on temple walls and carved gods. These were so massive that men later beheld a wonder of the world in viewing what the hands of their descendants made. And this is what the engraved tablets told:
"There once dwelt in Atlantis a maiden whom they called "the Fair" for beauty was her dower. And she was bartered for a seat of power in the great Council Chamber, where the king upheld the law by signing with a word each edict passed that met his favor.
In ancient Atlantis lived a young woman known as "the Fair," renowned for her exceptional beauty. She was traded away in a political marriage, exchanged for a position of influence in the grand Council Chamber. There, the king enforced laws by approving favored decrees with a mere word.
He—the husband—who so wily won the maid, was not in his first youth nor yet his second. Hair of snowy hue clung round a brow no length of knowledge stamped, and eyes were dulled with wine, and form, which God made perfect to contain a soul, was warped with foul excess.
The husband, who had cunningly won the young woman's hand, was no longer in the prime of his life. His snow-white hair framed a forehead that bore no sign of wisdom. His eyes were clouded from too much drink, and his body, once perfectly crafted by God to house a soul, had been twisted by years of overindulgence.
Him they called "The great and rich Bahanan El." And sons had he and daughters that the state had named, and others who bore no rank or name save that their mothers—outcasts from the pure—gave unto them.
People called him "The great and wealthy Bahanan El." He had children recognized by the state, as well as others who held no official status or name except those given by their mothers—women who were shunned by society.
One son—Batisis—looked upon his father's wife—the lily pale and dark eyed Attoline—and swore he would espouse her at his father's death. "For," spake he. "Matter not her age when she is freed from that foul lord who brought to life the atom whence I sprang, I still shall love, and thus she shall be mine."
One son, Batisis, fell in love with his father's wife, the pale and dark-eyed Attoline. He vowed to marry her after his father's death. "It doesn't matter how old she'll be when she's free from that awful man who fathered me," he said. "I'll still love her, and she'll be mine."
Alas for Attoline who drooped and sighed with dread of that gross presence which they "husband" called and, anger’d, looked not on her father's face when he appeared at feast or in the hall, and on her mother's neck did weep, and moan and pray that death would come and bring her quick relief.
Poor Attoline, who wilted and sighed with fear of the loathsome presence they called "husband." Angry, she avoided her father's gaze when he appeared at feasts or in the hall. She wept on her mother's shoulder, moaning and praying for death to bring swift relief.
One day she wandered where the sands met sea and chanced to face the youth who swore she should be his by law of Right. And, seeing Attoline, did read the creed of love and so forgot that wives have not the right to love, save him who giveth shelter, name and gold and state, as law of man proscribeth.
One day she strolled along the beach where the sand met the sea. There, she happened to encounter the young man who had vowed she would be his by right. Upon seeing Attoline, he was overcome with love, forgetting that wives are not free to love anyone except the man who provides them with shelter, a name, wealth, and status, as dictated by man's law.
Law of God forbids the soul to sully with material gifts its heritage of peace.
God's law prohibits the soul from tarnishing its peaceful legacy with worldly possessions.
Thus spake the youth: "I long have known thy face as one that angels stamped with perfect law, but thy sweet voice, alas; I ne’er have heard. Speak but one word! Thy slave shall drink the tone long after he is banished from thy sight."
The young man said: "I've always seen your face as one of angelic perfection, but sadly, I've never heard your voice. Please, say just one word! I'll cherish the sound of it long after you're gone from my sight."
"Speak not!" she cried, in voice her slaves might hear. Then lower: "Speak not of thy departure, for the sun will hide its face when thou shalt pass from view!"
"Don't speak!" she shouted, loud enough for her servants to hear. Then, lowering her voice, she whispered, "Don't talk about leaving. The sun itself will darken when you're gone!"
He spoke: "Attoline, I have loved thee long and well. Speak but the word and at thy feet I lie like spaniel fawning for a loving look—a creature trodden on yet still alive to one kind word from lips that hold the power to doom to death!"
He said, "Attoline, I've loved you deeply for a long time. Just say the word, and I'll be at your feet like a devoted dog begging for affection—beaten down but still clinging to hope for a single kind word from you, whose lips have the power to decide my fate."
One glance she gave from eyes whose fire was hid by fringe of jetty lash, and rose his heart with courage.
Her eyes flashed with hidden fire beneath dark lashes, and with one glance, she ignited courage in his heart.
"Speak, sweet. Shall we depart unto that friendly shore where none may know thy state, or wealth, or past, and humbly live with love our guiding star?"
"My love, should we leave for that welcoming place? There, no one would know your status, riches, or history. We could live simply, with love as our compass."
She spake: "I go. For life is black indeed within the palace where the low-browed lord doth rule and seek to win to his gross soul the love I would withhold for one more noble. Him I know in thee."
She said, "I'm leaving. Life is unbearable in the palace where that brutish lord rules. He tries to win my love for his crude self, but I'm saving it for someone more worthy. I see that noble person in you."
"Farewell," breathed he, "for but one hour! and we again shall meet beside the water. Seek thou this spot marked by yon boulder huge and grey. But dead it seems yet it holds in its heart a secret chamber where the torch burns that lighteth me upon the water when by night I roam abroad in galley seeking prey of sea.
"Goodbye," he whispered, "but only for an hour! We'll meet again by the water. Look for the spot marked by that huge grey boulder. Though it seems lifeless, it hides a secret chamber where a torch burns. That light guides me on the water when I sail at night in my ship, searching for prey at sea."
"For I am of the people who must wrest from men more blest the bread to nourish life, the goods to cover, gems to deck for fête and gifts to buy the god's approval. Thus I speak that thou mayest know I make no boast of goods, of name or state that men of earth do prize; yet in my breast my heart beats high with hope and Courage calleth me her son indeed!"
"For I am one of those people who must take by force, from men more fortunate, the bread that sustains life, the goods to clothe us, gems to adorn us for festivals, and gifts to buy the god's approval. I tell you this so you may know I make no boast of wealth, of name, or of rank, which men of earth prize. Yet my heart beats high with hope in my breast, and Courage calls me her son indeed!"
"And I," she faltered. "Well thou knowest my state; yet will I toil in cot, as toil the kind who envy me, ere I return to his embrace—the foul-souled one who bartered fortune's smiles to him—my father, for my form, my life, my hopes, for all thou namest as gifts the gods do send.
"And I," she faltered. "You know my state well. Yet I will toil in a cottage, as the people who envy me toil, before I return to his embrace. He is the foul-souled one who traded fortune's favors to my father in exchange for my body, my life, my hopes, for all that you name as gifts the gods send.
"Oft have I thrust my hands to heaven and cried unto the gods, and offered gifts the poor would fortunes call, yet not one hope gave they of my release save what thou swearest. Hark! my maids speak: He cometh! Lost indeed is hope and happiness!"
Many times I've raised my hands to the sky, begging the gods for help. I've offered them gifts that even the poor would consider fortunes. Yet they gave me no hope of freedom, except for what you promised. Listen! My servants are saying he's coming! All hope and happiness are truly gone now!
The dark rock closed around him. Magic art it seemed to that fond soul whom love had found; and to her maids, who vied in giving service to the one who ever held them equal in the best, she turned.
The shadowy cavern enclosed him. To her love-struck heart, it seemed like sorcery. She turned to her handmaidens, who eagerly served the mistress who always treated them as equals, with utmost respect.
Bahanan came with anger on his brow, "To whom speakest thou, my wife?" and she replied: "I spake no word. I looked reproof on him who called my name, as thy wife, honored of the people, should."
Bahanan approached, his face filled with anger. "Who were you talking to, wife?" he demanded. She replied calmly, "I didn't say anything. I merely gave a disapproving look to the man who called out my name. As your wife, respected by our people, that's how I should behave."
Her grace of form, her glance of tenderness, so rare, disarmed suspicion and so stilled the demon of the jealous god within his breast, he spake: "I trust thee fully. Take thy way," and, turning, left her, for affairs did call.
Her graceful form and tender gaze, so uncommon, eased his doubts and calmed his jealousy. He said, "I trust you completely. Go ahead," and left to attend to his duties.
The gay throng passed and laughter filled the ear.
The cheerful crowd moved by, their laughter echoing all around.
The gay throng heeded not the lover's meeting where the shadow fell from tall, oared, galley, nor the veiled form that melted to the clasp of one bold water-messenger or chief. Afar they sped ere that dread day of wrath had swept Atlantis from the world's great chart. Afar in safety, for the port was gained ere sea was swept by waves of mountain height.
The lively crowd paid no attention to the lovers' rendezvous in the shadow of the towering ship, nor to the cloaked figure embracing a daring sailor or captain. They had fled long before that fateful day of destruction erased Atlantis from the world map. They reached safety in time, arriving at the harbor before massive waves engulfed the sea.
And she—the beautiful, the fond, the happy at the last, bore sons and daughters to her loved lord, and did become ancestress of that great race which called Assyria home.
She—beautiful, devoted, and ultimately content—bore sons and daughters to her beloved husband, becoming the matriarch of the great lineage that would call Assyria home.