PLEASURE

by Miles Cavendish
First published in Great Britain in 2014

Copyright The Author 2014 The right of The Author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act of 1988 All rights reserved

Publishers & Reviewers:

miles_cavendish_author@gmx.co.uk

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CONTENTS

1. Voyage 2. Adrift 3. Lectikon 4. Marooned 5. Power 6. Love Island 7. Audience 8. Acrobat 9. Intruder 10. Priestess 11. Bonding 12. Wayward Priestess 13. Report 14. Ambitions 15. Induction 16. The Voyeur 17. Submission 18. Ottilia's Private Garden 19. Black Mirror
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1 16 26 42 47 54 58 62 69 73 85 91 94 99 103 110 119 126 135

20. Ride 21. Mythology 22. The Falconer 23. Indoctrination 24. Revival 25. Chakra Bond 26. The Second Order 27. Doubts 28. Apostasy 29. The Lover 30. Disfavour 31. Belief Gate 32. Cruelty 33. Indictment 34. Hubris 35. The Tunnel 36. Tradition 37. Masks 38. Garden of Arctoa 39. Conquest 40. The Immortals
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143 148 154 168 178 181 183 189 195 200 206 209 212 215 218 223 227 231 237 242 246

CHAPTER 1. THE VOYAGE

Hypatia leaned on the rail of the Xeno, gazing out at the ocean. The seventeen-year-old was conservatively dressed in a long white chiton robe. Her black hair was braided and pinned in a bun, a style typical of the Spartan middle-classes. Her oval face had a puppyish appeal, but the beauty was not bone-deep. It was the fleshy beauty of youth, which, her mother warned, would be gone by twenty. Her mother, Agatha, had closely resembled Hypatia in her prime, and her warning had no spite to it. Instead, she was keen for her daughter to marry whilst her charms were in full-bloom. And so Hypatia found herself on board a vessel bound for Neapolis, where suitable husbands had been arranged: both for herself and for her unruly elder sister, Eleni. Hypatias uncanny likeness to her mother was not unusual in the Petrakos family. Visitors sometimes joked that they kept a mould in the cellar, casting new family members in it. But when tall Eleni walked into the room, such jokes came to an abrupt halt. She did not conform to the Petrakos family type: or any other type, for that matter. At nineteen, Eleni had already made a name for herself as the best female athlete in Sparta. Her hair was blonde, bleached platinum by days under the sun. When she stood still, people stopped to admire her physique. But Eleni rarely stood still. Her life revolved around horse-riding and training on the local athletics ground. Occasionally she would wander off into the wilderness, sleeping in caves and hunting wild game. Long swims in the ocean or in broad rivers were not the least of her pleasures. The teenager scorned authority unless it was on the athletics ground, where she craved competition. Here, stripped to a short peplos tunic, which flaunted her long legs,
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she seemed temporarily at peace with the world. She strutted around, taunting opponents in the womens games, the Heraea. During competition, her face became a determined mask, the gaze alone seeming powerful enough to bring victory. All her female rivals were effortlessly beaten. Afterwards, men would race or wrestle with Eleni. Only the champions escaped humiliation. All around, crowds of men would gather to watch these unofficial contests. Their interest wasn't just sporting. Youths crowed their lust whilst hiding unease. Here was a girl who embodied the Spartan code of independence and toughness. They themselves were struggling to master these male virtues, at the cost of many sighs. Yet here stood a girl who, through some inborn gift, effortlessly surpassed them. Older men also found her threatening. She wouldnt fall into line, which they loved and hated. A poet compared her to a high cliff, luring divers to their doom. Eleni caused her father, Gennadios, much anxiety. He was a loving man but bound to tradition in all things. As his daughter grew older and athletics posed less of a challenge, her boundless energy became more of a threat. She started picking fights and causing trouble. Gennadios hoped to marry Eleni off as soon as possible, but she refused all the suitors he lined up for her. He eventually abandoned the formal path, putting his trust in the animal side of human nature. Surely a battle-scarred soldier would take a fancy to his coltish daughter, and have enough raw energy to tame her wild spirit? Some tried; none prevailed. She broke hearts and noses with the same casual indifference. Gennadioss well of hope was left half empty.

The arrangement of Hypatias marriage seemed easy in comparison. It was, in fact, a long, tiresome road; pot-holed with protocol. At the end of it stood a wealthy merchant in Neapolis. Gennadios had written several carefully-phrased letters. His skilled negotiation of her dowry purse would have impressed any merchant. These were the traditional hurdles, which he understood and patiently overcame. Given a hundred more daughters like Hypatia and a hundred more merchants in Neapolis, Gennadios could have arranged a hundred more respectable marriages. But, in the case of Eleni, his strategy failed. It was only his daughters wanderlust that saved Gennadios from ridicule at the hands of his neighbours. When news of Hypatias impending marriage reached Eleni, she became intrigued. The novelty of a sea voyage appealed, even if marriage didnt. She impulsively asked her father to arrange a similar match, which he was able to do. He shuddered to think how the marriage would play out, but at least the trouble would be shifted to another mans household. And, he reasoned, Eleni would make a good bodyguard for timid Hypatia, who might be vulnerable on such a long voyage. *** It was a week into the voyage, and Eleni was restless. She regarded her sister with a scathing glance. Why spend so long gazing at the sea? It passes the time. I think you need to spend some time with Socrates. Who? The philosopher? 'No! Socrates the sailor. He keeps strutting around the deck with his shirt off. Id prefer to meet the thinker. You havent seen his muscles! He didn't get those from reading books!
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Handsome too? Yes! 'All you think about is men! Hypatia laughed, but her sister glared back. 'I suppose your thoughts are far more interesting?' 'No.' 'Come on then, little sister. Spit it out. What are you thinking about?' 'Nothing.' 'Nothing? No wonder you look bored.' 'I'm not restless like you. I don't get bored'. Eleni bashed the rail with her right hand. Oh, dont you? Hypatias heart sank: shed insulted her sister, triggering one of her long, brutal attacks. Eleni's blood was quick to boil and slow to cool. She began dancing in a semi-circle round Hypatia, like a boxer. 'That's actually true, isn't it? You've spent seventeen years staying home like an old maid. But somehow you've never been bored... 'Yes,' lied Hypatia, 'I don't even know what boredom is'. Eleni laughed. 'Anyone else would be lying, but you are telling the truth. You will never be bored. Not even once in your tedious life. You have a strange immunity, like old men who no longer sleep.' 'I suppose you're right.' Eleni's eyes twinkled: 'Perhaps the secret is that you are boredom itself, personified.' 'Like a goddess, you mean?' 'No, that would be too glamorous.' 'What then?'
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'I don't know. But you can no more be made to yawn than a mighty ocean can be moistened by rain.' Meaning what, exactly?' 'Water is completely wet. Boredom is completely bored. These things are too pure to suffer further change.' So? You are pure boredom. All the boredom in the world put together. Like mud scraped from many sandals, and brushed together in a great heap. You know how to stretch an insult. Elenis shoulders dipped as her mood sank. 'Yes but is it an insult? Because I don't know whether to hate or envy you.' 'Why would you envy me?' 'Because there won't be any fun once we arrive in Neapolis. Only tedium. Your kind of pure tedium. I will go mad. 'You don't mean that.' 'Yes I do. I'm out of my mind with boredom right now. It's a good job they put Socrates on board to keep me entertained. Hypatia laughed at her elder sister: 'What would you do if you had no Socrates to look at?' 'If he wasn't on board? I'd break into the hold and start drinking the wine. And once I'd finished that, I'd start on the vinegar. A scorched gullet is better than spending weeks on end sober, with only your dull, puffy face to stare at. Hypatia winced. 'Do you really mean that about me, Eleni?' 'Quiet! I'm looking.'
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Eleni froze like a cat, intent on her prey. Hypatia followed her eyes to the other side of the deck, where she caught her first glimpse of Socrates. He was shirtless and tanned, pulling a thick hawser of rope. The cord descended from the sails before passing through a deck-fastened pulley. His shoulder muscles bunched tightly together as he pulled, then stretched as his efforts yielded some slack. Eleni licked her lips. 'Look how gracefully that animal moves. His rhythm reminds me of a stallion that I once watched screwing a mare,' Hypatia laughed nervously as her sister continued. ' he's like a horse because all his brains are in his balls. You're looking at the best kind of man: stupid but very virile. He's the exact opposite of the husbands awaiting us in Neapolis. So use this opportunity, sister, to take one good, long, last look.' Hypatia felt herself blush. She raised a hand in a bid to hide her face. Eleni slapped it away. 'You're not looking properly! If you don't look at him for at least a minute, I'll push you overboard.' The younger sister obeyed. Her nervous glances were rewarded with the sight of the best body she had ever seen. Delight mixed with dread in her heart as she uttered a silent prayer: Please don't let him notice. Just then, to her dismay, Socrates glanced over and their eyes met. Hypatia flinched away, stung by embarrassment. The young sailor grinned as he secured the rope to a brass ring on the deck. Then he casually strutted over, his face wreathed in smiles. 'Good day to you, ladies! You seem interested in my deck duties. If there's anything you want to know about the art of sailing, feel free to ask.' Eleni grinned. 'You've used those lines before, haven't you? 'No...'
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'And I know that ugly accent. You're a Corinthian, yes?' 'By birth. Now I make my home on the broad back of the sea. And you?' His eyes shunned Eleni, seeking out Hypatia's shy gaze. She answered in a soft, shy tone. 'We are maids of Sparta. Our father is a wealthy merchant and trade has drawn him to make contacts in Neapolis. We are to be married there. He regarded the mismatched pair of girls. 'Your father? Then you two are sisters?' Hypatia frowned: 'Yes, of course we are sisters. Socrates was silent, but Hypatia read his expression. You dont look remotely similar. Your mother might at least have chosen a dark-haired lover, before getting herself knocked-up. Eleni scowled. 'Take that stupid look off your face!' she snarled, 'Or I'll knock your brains out on the deck.' Socrates glanced nervously at Hypatia. 'Is she serious?' The girl nodded. 'She's a Spartan, isn't she? Don't you know that Spartan children are raised for war? That they're left to fend for themselves in forests, hunting and killing animals for food? That the girls wrestle with youths as equals, often beating them?' He smiled at Eleni, whose face was still red with anger. 'I always thought that was just a rumour spread by the Spartans - a way to sound tougher than all the rest of us. You are making me doubt my opinion. But your younger sister? A huntress and a wrestler?' 'No,' spat Eleni, 'shes not a real Spartan. She barely has enough courage to leave the house. Such a delicate flower! Mother decided she should grow up in a vase' Get back to work, you idle dog! The captains angry shout halted the conversation. His hob-nailed sandals stamped on sailor's feet as he pounded across the deck, nostrils flaring with anger. He glared at
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Socrates, before regarding the sisters. Was he disturbing you, ladies?' 'Not at all, said Hypatia, in an apologetic tone. Eleni smiled venomously. 'Well, perhaps he was disturbing us, just a little' The captain frowned. 'I don't know who to believe, but I know my duty. I am charged with your welfare throughout this voyage, and I can't let one foolish deckhand jeopardise that.' He dealt a harsh, backhanded blow to the younger man. 'Don't ever speak to them again! If you do, I won't pay you for this voyage! Do you understand me? 'Yes.' The sailor hurried back to work, and his captain followed, shouting and swearing. 'Are you satisfied?' asked Hypatia, her eyes narrowed by anger. Eleni laughed. 'Yes! It livened up a boring day, didn't it?' 'And now you can't talk to him for the rest of this voyage.' 'Who says I want to talk? I can still look and perhaps do other things. Things which need no words.' Hypatia turned her back as Eleni grinned. 'Ah, but perhaps it's you who'll miss speaking with him! You like him, don't you? Hypatia ignored the question. 'Yes, Hypatia, nice, quiet, sensitive little Hypatia, actually likes a man. I always thought you were a foundling, pushed to sea in a coracle from Lesbos. But maybe I was wrong? Hypatia glared at Eleni. 'What have I done to make you hate me so much?'
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'Nothing! You have done nothing! You're like a cave without an echo. I don't know the strength of your arms, because you never wrestle with me. I don't know the sting of your hate, because you never bother to argue. I try to move nearer to you, but you remain distant as the sky. Why must we stand apart, when you were born my sister?' 'Were just different.' 'Everyone's different, but some make an effort to close the gap. Look at Socrates! He's a Corinthian, but we spoke with him.' 'You wanted to bash his brains out!' 'I was just playing. My desires are frustrated.' 'Frustrated?' 'Yes. And when we get to Neapolis, we'll both be married off to rich, fat fools. Why should I turn my back on youths my own age and pretend to love one old lecher! But that shouldn't pose a problem for you now, should it? 'What do you mean?' 'I am being cheated out of love, because my heart is being weighed against a purse of gold. But you, having no heart in the first place, can suffer no loss in the deal!' 'So Im heartless now, am I?' 'Yes! Because you have no strong passions. You're like the shadow of a person, drawing in the light. I have strong anger and strong hatred, but my love is strong, as well! Your heart is feeble... no bad or good in it. An empty gourd.' 'One day Ill prove you wrong.' Eleni laughed scornfully. 'I doubt it.' *** That night Hypatia couldn't sleep. The sisters hadnt spoken since their argument, which was on constant replay in Hypatias head. She usually slept side-by-side with
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Eleni, but theyd abandoned this secure arrangement. Instead, the embittered pair had bedded-down separately, on opposite sides of the boat. Hypatia felt vulnerable without her bodyguard. All around were male strangers, coughing and snoring, scratching themselves and urinating over the rail. To make matters worse, the moon was unusually bright and full, illuminating the deck and casting eerie, jet-black shadows. The mast hovered like a falling spear in the night sky, split down the middle by light and shade. 'You can't sleep either, then,' came a male whisper. 'What the...' 'Shhh. It's me, Socrates. I enjoyed speaking with you earlier today. I'd like to continue our conversation in private. Would you like that too?' 'Yes, I mean maybe. But your captain wouldn't approve.' 'Forget him, he's fast asleep and he's very stupid. I, on the other hand, am incredibly clever.' 'Really?' 'Why do you think they call me Socrates? He was a wise man - a great philosopher. And I'm just like him. So you can believe it when I say that I've got a good plan.' Hypatia smiled. The sailor was full of it, but at least he was handsome. He was also offering the perfect opportunity to make Eleni eat her words. Youll lose your wages if we get caught.' Get caught doing what?' 'Talking.' 'It's only money. Besides, I have hidden assets.' Like what?' He winked. 'You'll see soon enough. Now, are you ready to hear my plan?'
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'Yes.' 'Good. Count to a hundred slowly, then sneak over to the cargo hold. The lads down there are drunk and fast asleep. Once you get past them, there's a lower hold, filled with barrels of olive oil. I've got a hidden place with silks and furs rolled out... we'll make ourselves very comfortable.' 'Whilst we talk?' 'A long, comfortable talk. No rude interruptions, this time.' 'I'll do it.' He smiled before furtively looking around the deck. 'You are a true Spartan girl, despite what your sister thinks. Youre very brave and very wise. You won't regret this.' As Socrates crept away, Hypatia began her silent count. But as the figure grew higher, her doubts multiplied. What was she getting herself into? A long talk? She wasn't born yesterday. She'd heard her mother gossiping with her group of scandal-mongering friends. What kind of welcome could she expect if she arrived in Neapolis with a broken hymen, or worse yet, pregnant? Who would marry her then? A sailor with a stupid nickname and some furs in a corner of the lower cargo hold? Your heart is feeble... no bad or good in it. Eleni's taunt echoed in Hypatias mind. Was she going to prove her sister right by playing it safe? No. But she wasn't about to be deflowered by some illiterate deckhand either. Instead, she would defy them all! Mother, sister and would-be seducer! Let this sailor make his sweet-talk! She would milk a thousand compliments from him, and give nothing in return. Maybe he would strip for her, and then shed see at first-hand what Eleni only dreamed about as she ogled him on the decks. Perhaps she would let him kiss her, just for a short time, to see what it felt like. He smelt good: she wanted to be surrounded by that smell... Enveloped by it, perhaps, and held in his
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strong arms. If only for a short while... Her count was finished. Hypatia began creeping across the decks, clinging to the deep shadows near the side of the boat. I should make up a cover-story in case I get caught, she thought. But there was no need. No-one noticed as she entered the cargo hold. The scene inside, of drunken, snoring sailors, was just as Socrates had described it. A trapdoor led to the lower cargo-hold, which was packed to the roof with barrels of expensive olive oil. 'Psst, over here! In the corner'. Hypatia followed the whisper. She found Socrates sitting in a hidden corner. Hed liberated furs and silks from cargo crates, laying them across the hard wooden planking of the floor. The scene was gently lit with a few tapers. The handsome deckhand slowly stood up, raising his head as high as the low ceiling would allow. Then he bowed. 'Cleopatra! So you have decided to grace me with your presence! Welcome to your pleasure barge! He gestured towards the silks, but Hypatia laughed scornfully. 'It isn't that impressive!' 'Oh no? Well what about this?' Socrates held out his palm with a courtly flourish. The flat of his hand supported an exquisite gold brooch in the likeness of a scarab beetle. The metal was a rich, buttery yellow, seen only in the purest, heaviest gold. Details were inlaid in lapis-lazuli, its colour as blue as heaven. The piece was designed to inspire awe in those who saw it. But Hypatia felt something else. In that instant, Hypatia felt pangs of nostalgia rise from deep in the centre of her heart. She suddenly yearned for something. It wasn't the scarab, and it wasn't Socrates. It wasn't her home or family. It was something else - something elusive, like a half-remembered dream. What was it?
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'You don't seem very impressed,' remarked Socrates. Hypatia smiled. 'I am. It's beautiful'. 'And its yours. A token of my affection for you.' Hypatia shook her head. 'I can't possibly take it.' 'Go on, accept it! After all, you are going to be my wife.' 'Wife? You want us to be married? Are you serious?' 'Of course! What did you think? That I was luring you down here for an easy ride? Hypatia ignored his question, eyeing the brooch suspiciously. 'It must be worth a fortune, where did you get it? Did you steal it from the cargo crates?' Socrates grinned wryly. 'You seem determined to think the worst of me in all circumstances. 'No I don't,' replied Hypatia, shaking her head. 'Yes, you do. But two can play at that game.' 'How do you mean?' 'Why are you here, if you think I'm a seducer and a thief? Do you want to make your sister jealous? To show her you can bed the only worthwhile man aboard this ship, leaving her in the shade for once?' Hypatia stepped back a few paces. 'I should leave...,' she said, turning away from the angry deckhand. Socrates looked horrified. 'No, don't go! I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn. It's hard for me to control my feelings when I like someone.' Hypatia regarded him cynically. 'Why didn't you invite Eleni down here? You and her would be kissing down on those furs by now?' 'Forget Eleni. This is only about you and me. Can't you see that? 'You and me? You barely know me...'
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'What's wrong with fast judgements? You glimpsed my brooch for a few seconds, but you saw it was precious. You saw it was one of a kind, that it was irreplaceable. Wouldn't you agree?' 'Yes.' 'And I, like you, recognise pure gold when I see it. And I see it in you.' 'I'm a person, not a piece of jewellery.' Socrates gazed deep into Hypatias eyes. 'You learn a lot about people, working on ships. I've been watching you for days. You act differently from all the other passengers. 'How so?' 'Consider the others and how they waste their time. Some of them drink, some of them play dice. Some of them tell stories, or boast, or pick fights. Some of them, like your sister, start trouble just to distract themselves from the blank mirrors of the sky and the ocean, which reflect the emptiness within their souls. But you....' His rapt expression deepened Hypatias cynicism. 'So come on then, tell me! What exactly do I do that's so different and special?' He smiled bashfully. 'You become the sea.' Hypatia frowned. 'Alright. Now I realise what this is all about. You aren't a seducer or a thief - you're a madman. And I really should be going.' Socrates gave her an earnest stare. 'When you gaze out at the ocean, I watch you. I always notice a transformation. You seem to lose yourself.' She seemed intrigued, and he continued. 'I need to know your secret. I want to do it myself: to gain the peace I've glimpsed in your eyes when you gaze out across the waves. How do you reach a state of total
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selflessness? Pure abandonment?' She shook her head. 'You're seeing something in me that doesn't exist. I was probably just bored or daydreaming. Now I'll be going...' 'Please... take the brooch first.' 'First tell me where you got it!' 'I didn't steal it - that much is true. But I can't disclose where it really came from. You wouldn't believe me.' 'Fine, say nothing! I won't take it. And Ive no intention of marrying you.' 'Just look at it then. Hold it in your hands. Love it as you won't love me. Acknowledge its beauty... its purity. Hypatia suddenly became drunk with curiosity. She snatched the brooch from his hands and held it in her own. It was the most beautiful thing shed ever seen: the intricate workmanship and heavy gold spoke decisively of royal origins. 'Where did you get this?' Suddenly there was a loud rumble, as if they stood inside a thunder cloud. The whole ship lurched and swooned. The pair were shaken violently, like eggs in a fallen basket. Then a disgusting, sulphurous stench filled the confined space of the lower cargo-hold. Hypatia felt herself slowly falling, arms flailing through the air as she blacked out.

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CHAPTER 2. ADRIFT

Wake up! Wake up now, you stupid girl! I'll not be held responsible for your death!' Hypatia found herself hurtling through a black tunnel. It funnelled her out into a jarring scene. A blurry thing filled her field of vision. She hated the noise it kept making, and mumbled for it to stop. Why wouldnt it just leave her in peace? 'Wake up! Wake up now! The girls hazy mind was focused by abrupt, stinging pain. Stop slapping me! she cried. The blurry thing came into focus, revealing itself as Eleni. She was crouching on the deck, slapping her younger sisters face in a desperate bid to revive her. Socrates knelt nearby. 'Hey, she's waking up, he said, stop hitting her!' They watched as Hypatias eyes flicked open. Her face remained white as a sheet. Then she turned her head and vomited on the deck, a disturbingly loud and violent process. Bilious fluid puddled round the girl, until the copious emissions subsided, giving way to dry heaves and croaking retches. Finally it was over. Socrates passed her a flask of water, and she drained it to the dregs. When she finally spoke, it was in a parched and feeble voice: 'My head hurts,' she croaked. 'Tell me about it,' said Eleni, 'I feel like a drunk who got kicked down some stairs.' 'What happened, asked Hypatia, are we in Hades?' Her sister grinned sardonically. 'No, but everyone else is. She gestured around the deck. It was strewn with corpses, frozen in contorted poses. Their hands were clasped to their mouths, as if they'd been choked or suffocated. Hypatia was stunned into silence. She huddled on the deck, wrapping her arms around her knees. When she finally spoke, her voice was trembling.

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'What happened? How can the ship be unscathed, and everybody dead? Was it poison?' Socrates smiled grimly. 'You don't remember that foul stink in the cargo hold, then? Eleni laughed. 'Of course she does! Corinthians always smell like that'. Hypatia ignored her sisters joke. She stood up, giving Socrates room to use his mop. The deckhand began clearing up her vomit, sluicing it away with buckets of brine. Then he looked at Hypatia, his eyes filled with concern. The colour was returning to her cheeks. When she replied, her voice sounded less feeble. 'Yes, of course. That horrible smell! What was it? The Corinthian glanced at the unfortunate sailors, whose bodies littered the deck. 'The crew of this boat were a morbid, superstitious bunch. They loved to talk about every kind of nautical disaster. They described whirlpools, storms, sirens: everything you could imagine. Most of their stories were nonsense. But an old sailor told me something once. It could explain what happened here. What did he tell you? asked Hypatia. He said there are poisonous vapours trapped in the bowels of the seabed. They usually pose no danger to sailing vessels. But every now and then a small earthquake shakes the seabed, cracking it open. Then the gas rises in a vast bubble, until it reaches the surface and bursts, tainting the air for miles around'. It certainly smelt like rotten bowels, agreed Hypatia. 'How did we survive?' Socrates glanced downwards. 'The cargo holds are well sealed. We only got a whiff of those vapours. Still, it was enough to knock us out for hours.' Hypatia looked at Eleni through puzzled eyes. 'So how did you survive Eleni, when you were up on deck?' Eleni grinned impishly. 'Who said I was up on deck?'
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'You followed me into the cargo hold? You watched us? You little...' Eleni jabbed her finger into Hypatias chest. 'You practically invited me! I heard every word of your stupid conversation on the deck. Half the ship must have known about your little scheme, but they let you get on with it, if only to get enough laughs to distract them from the tedium of the voyage.' 'They wont need any distraction now,' observed Socrates grimly. 'We should throw these bodies overboard, before they rot and attract pestilence.' Eleni glared at Socrates. 'Why dont we throw ourselves overboard whilst we're at it? There's no crew left to sail this boat. The next storm could capsize us. We're as good as dead!' Hypatia held out her right hand to protest. Its fingers were clamped around a small, hard object: the brooch. She relinquished it, but her hand hurt. Purple grooves had been imprinted on her palm by the sustained pressure of gold on flesh. 'The brooch!' smiled Socrates. 'You were holding it all this time. It's a sign!' 'A sign?' said Hypatia. Socrates nodded his head, his eyes bright with hope. 'Yes, because the scarab beetle is a symbol of eternal life. We survived, didn't we? It was the power of the scarab that purified the air in the cargo hold!' Eleni's eyes lit up as she saw the gold. 'So that's what you were gibbering on about down there. It's bigger than I imagined! Where on earth did you steal that trinket?' Socrates took offence. 'I didn't steal it,' he muttered. But Eleni laughed accusingly. 'Don't deny it : I'm impressed! I thought you were just a cheap womaniser. But now I see youre a master thief!' Socrates lost his composure, and started raising his voice. 'I don't want your approval, and I didn't steal that brooch,' he shouted. Eleni whistled and backed off. 'Alright, have it your way. I've still got a head-ache and
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liars make my head hurt.' Hypatia watched the pair in silence, shaking her head disapprovingly. 'Dont we have more important things to discuss? Like survival? Socrates nodded, before replying in a calmer tone. The good news is there's plenty of food and water. It was sealed in caulked barrels, and the gas wont have tainted it. Eleni grinned back at him sarcastically. 'And the bad news?' 'Ill struggle to sail the Xeno single-handed. Plus we've drifted way off course. 'How do you know?' 'I looked at the stars last night. Were far from the busy trade-routes. We cant reasonably hope to encounter another vessel.' Hypatia looked astounded. 'Stars? You've been awake that much longer than me? Socrates nodded. 'But only a matter of hours: dawn broke very recently. Eleni and I woke up around four oclock. We were beginning to think you were lost in your death-like sleep. 'You have a weaklings constitution,' hissed Eleni. Hypatia pouted at her sister. 'Don't insult me!' Eleni strutted around her defiant sibling. 'If it wasn't for my insults you'd have shied away from Socrates, and we'd both have died up here, on the deck. I insulted your coward's heart and made you take risks. You owe me your life.' 'Rubbish!' spat Hypatia. The Corinthian held out his palms, like a referee at a bout of sparring. 'Ladies, please! We have to work together to survive. Here! Take these long boat-hooks, and help me throw these bodies overboard.' Hypatia looked uneasy. 'Surely these people deserve a proper burial?'
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'And we deserve to live,' scoffed Eleni, 'so just do as you're told!' *** The days which followed were long and filled with toil, relieved only by constant arguments. Socrates sailed the Xeno around the clock, training Eleni all the while. If he slept for an hour she took over his duties, waking him if things went wrong. The pair struggled hard, but the odds were against them. The Xeno needed more crew. Socrates was a competent sailor, but the workload was more than he could bear. As fatigue pressed down on him, Socrates began making mistakes. These cost time and energy. Eleni was a fast learner, but she lacked experience. Hypatia, despite her best efforts, couldnt tie the simplest knot. The younger sister was therefore relegated to lookout duties, keeping watch from dawn till dusk and beyond. The teenager felt her head spin as the sun crawled tortuously across the sky. At nightfall she slept for an hour before resuming her watch, this time searching the black horizon for ships lanterns. Then she slept another hour. But these gruelling efforts were not in vain. Hypatias cry went out at dawn: 'Ship to stern! Socrates rushed to the rails to take a look. There it was, on the far horizon: a great trireme with red sails, the size of it dwarfing the Xeno. The wind had dropped, but the boat carried on relentlessly. Three rows of oars were pulling it across the waves. 'Have they seen us?' Hypatia spoke in a timid whisper, despite the vast distance between Xeno and the unknown vessel. Socrates shrugged. 'I don't know, but they seem to be heading this way. I've got a strange feeling that they know we're here.' Eleni shimmied down the mast, sprinting over to join them. 'Have you seen a ship that
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big before?' she asked him. 'No. It certainly isn't Greek, but it doesn't look Roman or Egyptian either.' 'Well, where on Earth did it come from, then? And what kind of ship has bright red sails?' 'One with nothing to fear from other vessels,' said Socrates. 'A pirate ship?' asked Hypatia. 'No,' replied Socrates, studying the shape of the craft, 'it's far too big and extravagant. It has to be part of an organised navy.' 'Were not going anywhere with this flat wind, said Eleni. Should we get ready for a fight?' 'Get ready to surrender, more like,' laughed Socrates grimly. 'A ship like that will ram us, then send in a boarding party of a hundred men. We won't stand a chance.' Eleni snorted aggressively. 'I won't be taken alive by stinking foreign sailors. I'd rather die fighting, and teach them the cost of Spartan blood.' 'We don't know for sure that they're hostile,' said Hypatia, in a bid to calm her sister. 'We should try talking to them, at least at first. If they want our cargo, theyre free to take it.' The three of them watched the vessel as it rapidly closed in. Socrates stroked his chin pensively. 'I think I know what that ship is,' he said, 'and where it came from'. 'So tell us then, you fool!' snapped Eleni. 'It's an Atlantean tribute vessel.' Hypatia laughed derisively. 'My father said Atlantis doesn't exist. Plato made it up. Socrates shook his head. 'Wrong. I met a pair of lovers who claimed to be refugees from Atlantis. I helped them out, and they told me wonderful things.' 'You mean they told you a pack of lies,' hissed Eleni.
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'Who do you think gave me the brooch which I gave to your sister? It isn't Egyptian it's Atlantean! Those refugees gave it to me, as a reward for securing their freedom.' Eleni's eyes burned with hostility, like a beast sensing a trap. 'Freedom? So these Atlanteans are slave traders?' 'No, they cant possibly be Atlantean,' insisted Hypatia. Eleni snarled impatiently. Well what are they, then? Hypatia replied in a slow, sensible voice. 'Perhaps the ship is from a rogue province of the Roman Empire. An embarrassment to Caesar, too remote and mighty for him to suppress. An embarrassment that he prefers to keep hidden, for political purposes. Socrates shook his head. 'No, theyre Atlantean. But you're right about a cover-up. Atlanteans have secretly been collecting tribute from Rome, Egypt and Greece. In return, they arrange for certain things not to happen. Hypatia laughed out loud. 'Extortion? Are you seriously saying that they're powerful enough to put the Roman Empire on the wrong end of an extortion racket? I sincerely doubt it.' 'No, nothing as crude as that. Those two refugees explained it to me. Go on, said Hypatia, nervously eyeing the approaching vessel. They said the Atlanteans understand things on a deeper level than we can imagine. They understand the secret forces that drive everything: from weather to economics; from military expeditions to the love-lives of Caesars. They know where dangerous pressures are growing, and how the balance can be restored. They make sure everything runs smoothly. The tale of Atlantis is about what happened to another empire who didn't heed their advice - they fell out of balance with
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nature, and sank into the sea. 'So what's in it for them?' 'Order. They just want to maintain order. They're an old civilization. How many of the elders in your town would want to live beside noisy, rioting neighbours?' 'None, replied Hypatia. The Atlanteans are the same. And this is how they operate. They approach the different powers separately. They successfully convince them that their dealings are exclusive. Then they offer strategic or mercantile advantages in return for tribute. Not that they need it. They have more wealth than Caesar could count. The tribute is only a smokescreen. What they really want to do is ask for little favours: petty things that no-one cares about. Like the promotion of a certain unknown official, or a trivial tax increase. They ask for these things as if they were little jests: whims to be indulged. And of course, they always are. But straws break camels backs. The Atlanteans petty adjustments have big repercussions, even if the effects take centuries to manifest. They roll tiny snowballs, which later become huge avalanches. In this way, they hold the powers in stalemate. They will probably manipulate events soon, so that Rome is weakened. It's become far too strong and disruptive for their tastes. Hypatia seemed convinced, if only because these ideas were too abstruse to have been invented by a mere deckhand. 'So how did you meet the refugees who told you this? What did they look like? Socrates shook his head. 'I've not enough time to tell you. Besides, in a few minutes youll learn all about Atlanteans for yourself, first-hand'.
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They watched the impressive ship draw closer. It was built from wood, ornately carved and coated in deep red lacquer. The design was impossibly seamless. Had it been carved from one gigantic piece of wood? Impossible. No trees grew to such a colossal scale. But the flawless workmanship made them wonder. No joins or faults could be observed; the sea had taken no toll on the aromatic wood beneath the waterline. The boat looked fresh out of the builder's yard. But there was more to the ship than its pristine condition. It looked gracefully organic, like a living sea creature. Socrates felt that the finest Greek warships resembled lumbering corpses - mummies of tar and planks - in comparison to this living presence. Its crew was comprised of tall men with conical helmets, tunics and square-cut beards. Racially they seemed mixed, as if the men had been recruited from several different countries. Yet none of the different types were familiar - some looked almost Egyptian, some almost Roman, but all were subtly different: nobler somehow. They looked like statues of ancient heroes, made flesh and brought to life. Hypatia watched a lone figure as he scaled their splendid mast, then peered down at them from the crow's nest. He observed them methodically, before climbing down and reporting to his commander. The commander shouted across, in strangely accented Greek. 'Weigh your anchor and prepare to be boarded.' 'We can't!' replied Socrates, 'it's very heavy, and there are only three of us aboard this ship.' The Atlanteans conferred. The result of their deliberations was that a small boarding vessel was lowered into the ocean, with ten uniformed sailors rowing it across. The trio watched nervously. As the small boat grew closer, Hypatia regarded the boarding party in amazement.
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The sailors were unarmed. She was intrigued at the heavy load of jewellery each man wore, and by their braided beards. A man of Sparta or Rome would have judged their appearance as effeminate. But the grappling hooks they threw and their effortless boarding of the Xeno showed they meant business. The tallest of them strode over, ignoring the two sisters. Instead, he addressed Socrates. 'This ship looks far too big for one man to sail. Where are the rest of your crew?' 'Dead. They were killed by gases which bubbled up from the ocean floor.' The Atlantean stroked his beard thoughtfully. 'I've heard such things can happen, though normally the vessel is sunk during the uprising. What do you plan to do now?' 'We had hoped to be rescued by a passing ship. Yours will do nicely.' 'So you want us to ferry you back home?' 'Yes, that would be perfect. Wed all be eternally grateful.' Their spokesman shook his head. 'Impossible. You've all seen us, and we value our privacy above all things.' Eleni glared at the tall newcomer. 'So you'll just abandon us to drift, until we perish at sea? Why did you even bother boarding this vessel? Ramming us would have kinder.' The Atlantean looked shocked by Elenis directness. He turned to answer his accuser. 'No, I just said you can't return home. Well take you to dry-land, but it won't be Greek soil.' 'Where, then?' 'It will be Atlantean rock, and you will remain with us as guests for the rest of your lives.' The three looked at each other. They quickly reached an unspoken agreement. What other choice did they have? 'Alright, we're coming with you,' said Socrates.

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CHAPTER 3. LECTIKON

Hypatia climbed into the rowing boat, assisted by a courteous Atlantean. They began to row and she looked back over her shoulder, feeling sorry for the Xeno as it drifted away, an empty boat with an uncertain future. Look on the bright side, said Socrates. At least we wont be aboard when it sinks. The sailors in the rowing boat seemed friendly at first. Socrates even shared a few bawdy jokes with them, making them laugh out loud. But as soon as they were aboard the main ship, things grew tense and the Corinthian was hustled away. Eleni scowled as two sailors led him towards the prow. 'Why can't he stay with us?' she hissed. Their commander smiled, and lines wrinkled around his dark eyes, which were made-up with kohl. 'Because Im putting you both in the womens cabin. Youll remain there, segregated from the men, for the rest of this voyage. Why? Do you honestly expect me to maintain order on this boat whilst two young women roam free? My sailors are ten times more disciplined than Romans, but I cant allow them to be distracted.' 'Your sailors look like women to me,' spat Eleni; 'perhaps they'd resent competition from the real thing? The commander laughed. 'We are balanced within ourselves; our female and male aspects are harmonised. You barbarians are walking pieces of chaos - no wonder the sea belched in your faces.' Hypatia saw Elenis face turn scarlet as her anger built. 'Let it go,' she whispered. 'You might fancy a long swim home, but I don't.'
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The commander overheard, and gave Hypatia a reassuring smile. 'Don't be afraid to let your sister speak her mind. I wont punish her for making foolish arguments. After all, I have the wisdom of a ten thousand year old civilisation backing me up. What do you have, Spartan, when your anger is exhausted?' 'My anger will never be exhausted,' spat Eleni, 'but I've grown tired of you already.' 'Then perhaps you'll be needing some rest,' he retorted. 'Take them both to the women's cabin'. Two sailors led them away. Their destination was a large wooden structure in the shape of a small castle. The sisters followed their escorts up some stairs. Then a bulky, brass-clad door was unlocked by one of the men. Inside was a large, rectangular cabin. The windowless space was lit by a glass glow-worm, fixed to one of the walls. It emitted strange, pale blue light. A long bench ran around the walls, supporting the combined weight of boredom of a dozen women. They turned to peer at the newcomers, and the sailor smiled at them. 'Better make room, ladies. You have two new friends to keep you company.' The sisters were hustled inside, and the door was quickly closed and locked. The Atlantean women glared at the new arrivals, then started muttering softly under their breaths. 'Savages! Uncivilised whores!' 'They probably stink. I'll not have them sitting beside me. 'The tall one looks almost Atlantean. I wonder where she's from?' 'I'm from Sparta and so is my sister,' said Eleni, fixing the woman with a withering stare. 'I don't look like any Atlantean bitch, and I certainly don't submit like one. No maid of Sparta would allow herself to be kept under lock and key, even if it was for her own protection!
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A bulky matron in her thirties laughed sarcastically. You're here now, though, aren't you? Locked in here, just like the rest of us! So don't act so superior, you unwashed brass!' It was a poor choice of words. Eleni strode over, dealing the woman a harsh blow to the mouth. Her new enemy bellowed in pain. The womans cries were muffled by her hands as she clasped her burst lips. Tears of rage and pain spilled down her face. Everyone watched, under a spell of morbid fascination, as the matron spat blood into a little pool on the floor. Her lips looked like two pulverized leeches, quickly shedding their load of stolen blood. Then she regained her composure and began snarling at Eleni. 'You horrid little wretch! That sailor will return in a few hours, and take us to the dining hall. When he does, I'll make sure you end up in the drink, with sharks gobbling up your shitty entrails!' Her outraged friends rallied behind her. 'Why wait, girls? Let's teach them both a lesson here and now!' 'Break their ugly noses and knock out their crooked teeth!' 'Pull their hair out! Four of the toughest women rose from the benches and began clenching their fists. Eleni grabbed Hypatias arm, pulling her back. 'Get behind me!' she ordered. Hypatia shook as she obeyed. She prayed that Eleni was strong enough to hold the mob back. The prospect of a beating was distressing enough. In addition, she couldnt face being robbed by the victors. Hadnt Socrates entrusted her with the scarab? She knew it meant everything to him. No one had glimpsed the brooch as it hung round Hypatias neck on a leather thong. The enticing gold was hidden, covered by the modest neckline of her chiton. So she
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untied the scarab, and began hiding it in the folds of her robe. But fear made her clumsy and her hand fumbled, becoming snagged in the tangling cloth. Don't let them see it! she thought. It was too late. 'Stop. A fresh voice, soft yet imperious, froze everyone in their tracks. It belonged to a young woman. She was sitting calmly, with an entire bench to herself. Hypatia regarded her ornate, up-do hairstyle, heavy jewellery and long, blue, kimono-like gown. A blue tassel dangled from her belted waist, as a badge of rank. Hypatia sensed her authority, and surmised that she belonged to some kind of elite organisation. The girl couldnt guess what it was: the woman didnt look military, religious or academic. The mystery increased her unease. This was despite the fact that the speaker wasnt remotely fearsome. In fact, Hypatia thought she was the most beautiful and elegant woman shed ever seen. But one word from her delicately curved lips had cowed the angry mob, as if it had been uttered by an armed general. The group threw nervous glances at the woman, passively awaiting her next order. 'Everyone sit back down,' she said, in a tone that conveyed mild boredom. Her directions were obeyed without question. Then she turned to Hypatia, staring intently at the girl. 'You were trying to hide a piece of jewellery, she said, may I see it?' Hypatia revealed the scarab, placing it in the woman's outstretched palm. The stranger began carefully inspecting it. The gold rotated slowly, round and round in her graceful hands. The inspection lasted for a while, but Hypatia didnt mind. Quite the opposite was true. Every gesture the woman made was a work of art. Time seemed to slow down in the wake of her movements. Hypatia suddenly found that her forehead was pleasantly tingling, as if shed been lightly hypnotised. She never wanted the patient inspection to
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end. Oh to watch those graceful hands forever! Every motion revealed a sensual intelligence which was utterly spellbinding. She was disappointed when the piece was handed back. 'Come with me,' said the woman, rising and fetching a key from her pocket. 'There's someone aboard this ship that Id like you to meet.' Hypatia glanced nervously at her sister. 'Go!' said Eleni, her eyebrows arching determinedly, like those of a Chinese dragon. Hypatia obeyed, following the woman as she opened the door, leading her out into the daylight. Then she locked it again, leaving Eleni to an uncertain fate.

*** Hypatias eyes hurt as they slowly adjusted to the bright light outside the claustrophobic cabin. Her new guardian stretched her arms skywards in a graceful, cat-like motion. Then she slowly rolled her head, relaxing the muscles. A pair of sailors glanced over, and the woman smiled at them dismissively. They lowered their eyes and silently resumed their duties. The Atlantean smiled at Hypatia, as if theyd only just met. 'My name is Rowena, what's yours?' 'Hypatia.' 'You seem disturbed. Were you upset by what happened in the cabin?' 'No. But I'm worried about my sister. Those women want to beat her senseless and have her thrown overboard. Is there anything I can do to help her?' 'Perhaps, if you behave correctly. Now come with me.' Hypatia followed Rowena, whose walk, though fairly brisk, was also absurdly graceful. Hypatia realised that the Atlantean took great pleasure in the basic act of walking. Rowena gave the impression that shed just invented bipedal locomotion; that she was
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experimenting with a new world of possibilities. Her attitude was that of a dreamer, who suddenly discovers the miraculous power of flight. But she was only walking. Nevertheless, she was savouring every step, relishing the flexion and extension of her muscles, delighting in the shifts of balance and posture that each fresh footfall demanded. It came as no surprise to Hypatia when more sailors stopped and stared: after all, her own gaze had become so completely fixated on Rowena that she scarcely dared blink, in case it cost her a glimpse of some fresh nuance of her gait. What is it about Rowena that fascinates me? she thought. The answer came as a flash of insight. Hypatia realised that Rowena's mind was completely united with her body. Perhaps a stalking cat, with its slow-motion steps and unblinking gaze, achieves a similar unity of being. But Rowena's steps were as stylized and artificial as those of a dancer. Her gait was not the product of natural instincts. Instead, Hypatia guessed that a long and severe training had fashioned her into this new, self-dominated creature. The Atlantean gracefully led the girl up flights of mahogany stairs onto a landing, before whisking her past armed guards. They soon reached their destination: the top of the wooden castle, where two luxury cabins were located side by side. Rowena knocked on the right-hand door, and the pair were summoned in. The interior of the new cabin was spacious and luxurious. Light streamed in through large windows, illuminating the furs, silks and ornaments within. A richly dressed woman sat behind an ornate ebony table, greeting them with her widely-spaced brown eyes. Though she looked no older than Rowena, Hypatia somehow sensed that an older, more experienced mind resided behind that magnificent gaze. Her voice, when she spoke, was invested with the same preternatural grace as Rowena's stride. Hypatia had never imagined that so much delight could be found in the
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simple act of speaking, that a level of pleasure: almost embarrassing in its potency could be felt in the acts of utterance and listening. 'My dear Rowena. Most patient child of the order. What gift is this you have brought before me?' 'The scarab bearer, mistress.' The Priestess fixed Hypatia with an unrelenting gaze. It was like a hot sun that hatches an egg buried deeply in the sand. Something deep within Hypatia : something all her friends and family had overlooked for years - had been recognised by this woman in a split second. That strange something, that hidden potential, was unfurling and rising towards the light. It was not an entirely comfortable sensation. A sly little grin flickered across the Priestess's face. 'What is your name, fair maid of Sparta?' 'Hypatia, madam.' 'And I am Helianthe. Now Hypatia, please turn and face the window. I want to trace the contour of your profile.' Hypatia obeyed, and was rewarded with a wonderful view of the sea through the broad window. From the position of the sun in the sky, she surmised it was no later than noon. Helianthe came over and, with the tip of her index finger, delicately traced the convex and concave curves of Hypatia's profile. Then the Priestess moved so that she was uncomfortably close to Hypatia, standing face to face. She gazed directly at the teenager. The Priestesss dark brown eyes shone with a rare mixture of intelligence and animal vitality. Hypatia was embarrassed by the warm, tingling energy that this gaze stirred in her belly. Helianthe sensed her guests unease and her eyes seem to twinkle in triumph. Hypatia found the tension unbearable, and began fidgeting nervously. The girl was more than a little relieved when Helianthe moved safely back behind her desk, and turned her attention to Rowena.
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'Let me see the gold scarab,' she demanded. Rowena nodded to Hypatia, who handed over the brooch. Helianthe began rotating it elegantly in her hands, just as Rowena had done earlier, in the women's cabin. Each movement was the same, down to the last detail. The simple act of inspection was artificial and formal, like a choreographed dance or religious ritual. It was then that Hypatia noticed the extreme similarity between the Priestess and her novice. Every last nuance of their behaviour had been fashioned in the same exquisite mould. But whilst both were manufactured by the same school, Helianthe was by far the more finished product. 'It's certainly authentic,' concluded the Priestess. She eyed Hypatia playfully and inquisitively. 'How did you obtain this, Hypatia?' 'Socrates gave it to me.' 'Socrates? Rowena smiled at Helianthe. 'A Corinthian sailor, mistress. He was taken aboard this ship, along with the two Spartan sisters.' Helianthe eyed Hypatia. 'He gave it to you as a love-token?' 'Yes.' 'And how did he obtain it?' 'He said it was given to him by a pair of Atlantean runaways: they were lovers.' Helianthe chuckled. 'Oh, you mean Giordian and Daphne? Yes, we let them run away a few years ago. The Oracle said that was the best way to get this particular gold scarab out into the savage world. But I wasn't expecting to see it again quite so soon.' Rowena laughed, sounding pleased with herself. 'The enchantment must have been strong to attract a new recruit so quickly. And one who is so ripe for the Second Order.' Helianthe gave her novice a warning glare, silencing her instantly. Then she changed the subject, with an abruptness that even her Atlantean grace couldn't disguise. 'So,
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Hypatia. Your sister is aboard this ship? Is she in the women's cabin?' 'Yes, madam.' 'Is she much like you? Does she look the same?' 'No, madam. We are very different in appearance and character.' 'Do you love her?' 'Yes. We sometimes argue, but yes.' 'That's good. We must all love our families. Hypatia nodded in agreement, but Helianthe's eyes became narrow and twinkling. 'Would you like to see her again?' 'Yes, very much.' 'Then you will obey my every order, just as my novice Rowena does. And if you obey me faithfully and diligently, in all matters, both great and small, then I will, at some point in time, reunite you with your sister. Are my terms agreeable to you?' Helianthe's beautiful voice had become the instrument of ugly, manipulative intent. There was a brutal contrast between medium and message. But Hypatia knew she was in no position to argue. 'Yes,' she replied, submissively. 'Good. Then your new regime of obedience begins today. From this point on, you will address me as your mistress.' 'Yes, mistress.' Hypatia wished Eleni was beside her in the cabin, ready to demolish all Helianthes elegant manners with one of her punches.

*** Eleni sat in the cabin, glancing warily at the other women. They had somehow achieved an uneasy truce. The Spartan still didn't understand how it had come about.
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Shed fully expected to be beaten to a pulp in the cabin. But the pummelling hadn't materialised. Instead the women had whispered nervously amongst themselves: something about a Pleasure Cult. Eleni observed that the women were all in mortal fear of this cult. But Sylvia, the victim of Elenis right-hook, was angry enough to overcome her fear and push for revenge. Sylvia puffed herself up as she lectured the others. She was the wife of a prosperous merchant. Eleni was a savage. How could they let her dreadful insults go unpunished? How could they sit back idly, whilst one of their number was wounded? Surely this Spartan needed to be chastised right away, if Atlantean pride meant anything at all? What kind of friends were these, who wouldnt join her in taking revenge? In reasonable terms, Sylvia had won the debate. After all, Rowena had left Eleni to rot in the cabin. Hypatia had been singled out for protection, but only because she carried the gold scarab. The Atlanteans could probably rough Eleni up to their hearts content. The chances that the Cult would punish them seemed slim. But a strong, irrational fear held them back. No-one was willing to take the slightest risk when it came to angering the Cult. Eleni wondered why an organisation called a Pleasure Cult had the ability to instil such fear. 'What is this Pleasure Cult you keep muttering about? she asked. Is it like the cult of the wine god, Dionysus, in Athens?' Sylvia and her cronies ignored the question. But Eleni wasnt satisfied. 'Does the King of Atlantis keep a harem? Is that what it is? Why would you live in fear of a bunch of harem girls?' Sylvia snorted contemptuously. 'You really are an ignorant little bitch! Atlantis is ruled by an Emperor, not a King!'
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Her friend, Chlois, gave Sylvia a warning look, then whispered in her ear. 'Should we be telling her anything? This savage could by a spy or an assassin. Sylvia scoffed. 'I don't see any need to be careful. You know why?' 'No,' replied Chlois. 'For the same reason that I feel comfortable whenever I tell my deepest secrets to my dogs.' 'You confide in your dogs?' 'Yes. Because they're too brainless to betray me. And this Spartan has no more brain-power than a bitch on heat.' 'I was clever enough to shut you up!' reminded Eleni, clenching her fists. Sylvia rolled her eyes derisively. 'Do you really expect me to be impressed by a woman with a strong right arm? It doesn't say much about the men of Sparta, does it? I'm guessing theyre too cowardly to fight their own wars, so they set a pack of wild whores on the invaders. Chlois laughed. Yes, what exactly do your menfolk do with their time? Grow teats and stay home feeding the babies? Eleni gave her a contemptuous scowl. 'And your husbands are perfect, are they? Keeping you locked in here like rats in a barrel, whilst they have the run of the ship? I bet they have a mistress in every port they visit. No wonder you're so bad-tempered.' Sylvia's face reddened to a murderous shade of crimson. Her large hands blanched at the knuckles as she gripped the bench. A fight was about to start. Sylvias friends looked ready to back her up, forgetting their fears in the heat of the moment. Then, just as the cabin reached boiling point, its door was opened by a sailor. 'Your afternoon meal is ready ,' he said.
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The women filed out through the open doorway, and Eleni followed them into a communal dining hall. Once inside, they sat at a long table, where a bland, meatless stew and watered-down wine were being served. Eleni noticed that Rowena was also present in the dining hall, sitting at her own table towards the far end. As Eleni glanced across the novice made eye-contact and beckoned her over. Eleni rose, joining the small table where Rowena had been dining with impeccable manners. The Atlantean laid down her cutlery, turning her attention to her guest. 'Hello Eleni. My name is Rowena. I hope you appreciate my role in helping to safeguard your sister earlier today?' Eleni nodded. 'Yes. Where is she?' 'In a private cabin, far away from the rank and file.' 'I don't believe you.' 'Hunger and fatigue have made you excessively wary. You must be famished after your exertions. Let me get you some real food.' Rowena gestured to a servant who hurried away. It wasn't long before Eleni had a succulent dish of fresh seafood in front of her. The meal was accompanied by crystal carafes of water and fine wine. The teenager's mouth watered. After weeks of eating dried or salted food from caulked barrels on the Xeno, fresh fare was more than welcome. Eleni hastily gobbled the food, drawing a chorus of tutting noises from the jealous women on the long table. 'Are you enjoying our Atlantean cuisine?' asked Rowena. Eleni felt both fascinated and revolted by her hostesss sing-song voice and languid gestures. Was Rowena giving her preferential treatment because she was interested in her? The teenager forced a show of politeness. 'Yes, very much.' 'Perhaps you will enjoy it even more when I assure you that, at this very moment, your
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sister is eating similar food from a silver platter.' 'Why should I believe you?' 'Because she is so very important to us.' Eleni stared at her hostess. 'Why? Why is my sister so important to you? Is it because of that gold trinket she had? Surely you have holds full of jewels and precious metals inside this vessel?' 'On the Lectikon, you mean? Yes, we have a valuable cargo, but gold and jewels in themselves are of little interest to us.' Eleni regarded the open-work earrings that hung from Rowena's pierced lobes: both were exquisitely fashioned from pure gold. 'Yes, I can see that,' she observed sarcastically. Rowena frowned. 'Scarabs like that are portentous. Any woman found carrying one is automatically admitted to the Second Order of the Pleasure Cult.' 'Automatically ? So she can't refuse, then?' Rowena laughed. 'No-one refuses their own destiny. The only obstacle is ignorance. Those who don't know their destinies may go astray. But the scarab is an omen which reveals a woman's destiny, both to herself and to us.' Eleni took a good look at Rowena's eyes, which were bright with fanaticism. The Atlanteans beliefs were so deeply ingrained that it was no use disputing them. Rowena had given her mind over to a deranged religious sect. Eleni needed to know more about the kind of organisation she was dealing with, if she was going to help her sister. 'So what exactly is this Pleasure Cult?' 'It is one cult among many.' 'Many?'
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'Our whole island is ruled by a system of cults. Different cults for everything. War, learning, governing, trading, arts: and for pleasure.' 'A Pleasure Cult? What possible use could that be?' 'Use? Who said anything about use? Typical hard-headed Spartan thinking... Eleni repressed the urge to laugh. 'So what do you useless cultists do? Get drunk, play games, sing songs?' 'No! All our novices and Priestesses are ferociously self-disciplined. And our power and mystery are enormous.' 'So your membership consists entirely of women?' 'It does.' 'But what do you actually do?' 'I couldn't possibly reveal that to you: you'd need to be accepted as an acolyte first. To ignorant outsiders, our primary concerns appear to be fertility, love and sensual pleasure.' Eleni grinned. 'A cult devoted entirely to sex! My brothers would have given a lot to have been born in Atlantis!' Rowena wagged her finger. 'It isn't that simple. Only the High Priestesses know the true nature of our cult. Its ultimate aims and ideals are beyond speculation. Its methods, however, are more tangible and incredibly potent.' 'Tell me more!' 'No! I might, however, be willing to teach you more, Eleni. I want you to join me in the First Order as my acolyte. You will be subordinate to me, because I hold the rank of novice. I in turn am subordinate to my Priestess, Helianthe. She has approved your recruitment on the grounds that you share the blood of Hypatia.' 'Why didn't she just recruit me herself?'
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Rowena laughed. 'Because you don't interest her! First Order recruits are ten-a-penny. A Priestess is only interested in candidates for the Second Order, as revealed by the gold scarab. But personally I think she is missing out!' 'You do?' 'Yes! I saw you in action in that cabin, and she didn't! She didn't see your determination, your vitality, your complete lack of fear! I've never seen that in any Atlantean woman! If I can smooth off a few of your rough edges, I think I can shape you into a Priestess of the First Order.' Eleni glared across the table suspiciously. 'What's in it for you? Are you trying to seduce me or something?' 'No. I'm looking for a way to secure advancement within the cult.' 'You mean you want a promotion? How would I help with that?' 'Because a novice can only rise up the ranks by finding a successful candidate to replace her: your promotion will mean my promotion. And, in time, I think you have the natural talent and determination to go all the way to the top.' Eleni chuckled. 'And you accuse us Spartans of being hard-headed! You can drop all your dainty airs and graces, because you aren't fooling me. Underneath it all, you're as ambitious as a Roman Senator.' 'Maybe I am. But the question remains. How ambitious are you?' 'My only aim is to protect my sister. If I need to reach a position of power in order to defend her, then I'll work from dawn until dusk to get there.' 'Good.' 'So when can I see my sister?' 'Not in the immediate future. She is with the Priestess: the Priestess will never lower herself to meet with you. Your place is in the women's cabin now, and youll have to stay
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there until we reach Atlantis. But don't worry: the other women won't be able to touch you. Not once I've given you the blue tassel.' Eleni glanced towards the long table. 'Do you really think I'm worried about them?' Rowena looked at the women, and they quickly averted their envious eyes. Hostility shimmered above them, like an invisible heat-haze. 'No, I don't suppose you are. But will you join or not? I require an immediate answer.' 'Yes.' Rowena handed Eleni a blue girdle. 'Then take this and wear it around your waist, as a sign of your allegiance.' The belt was made of braided silk, dyed blue, with an elegant blue tassel attached to it . Rowena smiled. 'I won't be seeing you for a while, acolyte. My Priestess requires my services, and I must sleep in her cabin.' 'Will I see my sister again, when we reach Atlantis?' 'Not initially. The First and Second Orders are rigidly partitioned. The two ways only meet at the highest levels of the Cult.' 'Then why did I bother joining?' 'Because, if you work hard, and realise every last grain of the potential I see in you, you will see her again.' 'How? 'By becoming a Priestess. Priestesses can associate freely with members of the different orders.' 'I must reach the rank of Priestess?' 'Yes.' 'And how long will that take?' 'For an exceptional candidate? One hundred years.'
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CHAPTER 4. MAROONED

Socrates sat on the low bench in his gloomy cell. Eleven days had passed since the sailors imprisoned him there. Four other prisoners were confined in other cells on the brig. Socrates only saw them during communal latrine breaks, when they marched in silence towards a long bench, with holes from which clouds of black flies rose. Orders were barked at Socrates by the sailors, but there was no further communication. No-one had bothered to explain why he was being held in isolation. All five prisoners were kept under a strict regime of silence. If anyone breached the rule then the whole group got punished. The penalty was loss of rations for all five captives. Socrates had no desire to upset his brutal looking peers. That would mean a beating during latrine breaks. The twelfth day started much like any other, with strips of tough, dried meat being served as breakfast. Socrates chewed them up, washing the meal down with a canteen of brackish water. This joyless process was the highlight of his day. Then he sat back on the bench, awaiting the brief period of relative freedom which would be afforded him by the nauseating latrine break. The routine of waiting, of enduring silence for days on end, had numbed Socrates mind at first. Then, with the walls of his mind breached by boredom, dark shadows in the cell had gradually invaded his heart, extinguishing the last embers of hope. And so, when two sailors came to release him, they were met with a blank, defeated gaze. 'Cheer up, you Corinthian toerag, said one of the men, today's your lucky day!' Socrates, long accustomed to the rule of silence, held his tongue. The guards joined the two sailors in openly laughing at him. 'You can speak now, moron!'
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Socrates remained silent. 'Come on, speak up! insisted a sailor. Let's hear that horrible accent of yours!' When Socrates finally found his voice, it was a hoarse, dusty instrument. 'What do you want me to say?' he asked. The crewman flashed a mocking grin. 'Well, let me think. You might want to start by thanking me for releasing you!' 'You're releasing me?' 'Yes. So dust down those rags and follow me, you grimy fool. We're going to give you a whole island to yourselves.' Socrates eyed the man suspiciously. 'What do you mean yourselves? Who else is coming?' The sailor grinned. 'Ah, but that would be telling, wouldn't it? I wouldn't want to spoil your surprise. Get that blindfold on him lads...' The crewmen blindfolded Socrates, and he was prodded and dragged through the vessel until, with bruised shins and elbowed ribs, he found himself being forced down a rope-ladder, before being bundled onto a small rowing boat, which gently bobbed on the waves. Socrates heard the sound of oars, feeling the sensation of movement as the boat was rowed out in silence. Eventually he was forced onto another, even smaller boat. Socrates had a distinct impression that he was not alone in it. As the larger of the two boats departed, its crew began shouting abuse. 'See you later, Corinthian!' cried a sailors voice. 'Enjoy tupping your new friend. But just remember: next time I'm in Corinth, I'll be screwing all the women in your family, then selling them to Roman slavers!' 'Ignore him,' whispered a gentler voice, 'he's probably lying.' Socrates laughed dismissively.
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'No, definitely lying. No-one can hurt my loved ones because I don't have any. It's the only good thing about being an orphan.' There was a silence. Socrates sensed that he was being stared at, and he wilted in shame at his filthy rags and emaciated physical state. But the voice was reassuring. 'Perhaps you do have loved ones. Or at least, a loved one.' 'Oh yes? And who might that be?' A pair of gentle hands carefully unknotted the sash that had blindfolded Socrates. He blinked in the bright sunlight as a familiar face slowly came into focus. 'Me,' said Hypatia. Socrates gaped, awestruck. The young woman in front of him was dressed in an expensive gown, woven from blue silk. Her hair had been elaborately styled in intricate whirling braids, and her face was made-up so artfully that a stranger couldn't have detected the cosmetics. Heavy open-work earrings hung near the sides of her perfumed neck, and her painted nails flashed almost as brightly as her bangles and necklaces. In the centre of one necklace was the gold-scarab brooch, now mounted inside a broad disk of pure gold, the other half of an ancient piece of jewellery, restored to wholeness. 'What happened to you?' stammered the Corinthian, 'You look amazing'. 'No, what happened to you?' laughed Hypatia. 'You look like a starved rat.' 'I've been enjoying the hospitality of the ship's brig,' said Socrates. 'I was a prisoner, too,' said Hypatia, 'but in a golden cage.' Socrates smiled. 'Prisoner? You look more like a princess to me!' His expression became cold and serious. 'Do you have any idea why they've left us in this boat?' Hypatia nodded, gesturing towards a small land mass on the horizon. Theres an island over there, she said, and we're supposed to row to it.'
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Socrates began to row. His muscles ached: eleven days of poor diet and inactivity had taken their toll. Moreover, he couldnt concentrate. The whole situation puzzled him. Hypatia, on the other hand, looked perfectly serene, as if she knew precisely what was going on. Socrates needed some answers. 'Why? Why are they marooning us on that island?' Hypatia blushed. 'Newcomers to Atlantis must arrive as couples: no single men or women are admitted.' 'But we are both single,' replied Socrates. 'For now, yes. And normally that would be enough to guarantee us a trip to one of their prison islands. But for some reason they want me on Atlantis, as a member of a Cult, so they've decided to pair me off with you.' They want you? What about me? Im just making up numbers, is that it?' Hypatia laughed nervously, and Socrates continued. 'Well I suppose my time tossed aside in the brig answers that question. It's you they want, and they couldn't care less about me. I'm just half of an even number, right?' Hypatia didn't know what to say, but Socrates grinned. 'Don't worry, my pride can take a few bruises. I'm out of that stinking brig, that's the main thing. So what do we need to do? Hypatia smiled coyly as she reticently divulged the facts. 'Theyve left us alone to see if we can get along as lovers. When a few months have elapsed, they'll put spies on the island: spies who can swim in from considerable distances at night: to check on our progress. If they find a pair of satisfied lovers, we'll get picked up and taken ashore, to be married and accepted as Atlantean citizens.' Socrates looked intrigued. 'And what if we don't get along? What if they find us squabbling like children?'
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'Then we'll never get off the island.' Socrates pondered the situation for awhile. 'But surely we could just put on an act,' he said. 'Just show them whatever it is they want to see?' Hypatia shook her head. 'What, for every single moment of every single day? Their spies are wise observers of the human heart, and how it is revealed by tiny movements of the body, subtle gestures, and slight inflexions of speech.' The Corinthian shrugged. 'So they want real affection, do they? Well I can't see any problem. We already like each other. Enjoying a few days together won't be too difficult.' Hypatia laughed. 'Maybe not. But they'll need to see us enjoying our nights together as well.' Socrates frowned. 'I like you, Hypatia. And you look beautiful today. If I could propose to you freely, and hear your free acceptance, I would marry you tomorrow. But we aren't free, are we?' 'What do you mean?' said Hypatia, her heart sinking. 'I can't allow them to treat us this way - like a pair of prize animals. Will we stand back and let them force us into a cage? Will we let them prod and goad us with sticks until we mate, whilst they stand around laughing?' Hypatia was silent, her gaze downcast as he continued 'I've possessed nothing all my life, but I've always been free. I can't let anyone impose their will on us.' 'So you won't be my lover?' asked Hypatia. 'I'm sorry,' said Socrates, 'but no-one tells me who I can or cannot love.'

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CHAPTER 5. POWER

Eleni's next few days were spent in the women's cabin, where she held her tongue, somehow managing to tolerate the close proximity of Sylvia and her friends. At night they slept on bunks in another windowless room, and the lacklustre meals were the only highlight of the day. Eleni sat at one end of the table in the dining cabin, ignoring the idle chit-chat of the other women, who ignored her. She recalled the conversation she'd had with Rowena at the private table in the corner. The things that Rowena had said still infuriated Eleni. In spite of this, she looked over to check the private table on a daily basis. Each time she saw an empty table, and her heart sank in disappointment. Eleven days later, however, Eleni was pleasantly surprised to see Rowena sitting in the dining cabin, just as she had done many days before. And, once again, she invited Eleni to dine with her. Eleni looked at Rowena with a mix of pleasure and anger. In her mind, it was as if no time had passed. She was eager to pick up the conversation from exactly the point where they had left it. One hundred years to win a promotion! What kind of fool did she take her for? 'A hundred years? I'd be dead by then!' Rowena laughed: 'Of course you would be, if the wisdom of Sparta were all you had to keep you alive. But you're not on Sparta now, are you?' Eleni scowled at the disrespectful tone that Rowena kept using in relation to her homeland. But the novice continued: 'You're with Atlanteans now, and our libraries contain secrets more ancient than you
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can imagine. Our sages penetrated the secrets of life and death thousands of years ago.' Eleni's brow furrowed: 'You all look mortal to me.' 'How old do you think I am?' asked Rowena, smiling mischievously. 'I don't know - somewhere between nineteen and twenty-four.' 'I'm fifty-six,' said Rowena, 'and some of the High Priestesses measure their life-spans in centuries.' 'You're joking'. 'No, I'm not. Those in the cults enjoy longer life-spans. We maintain mastery over the populace using our wisdom - in order to possess this sublime knowledge, candidates are required to study for years, decades, centuries even.' Eleni's lips curled 'So the riff-raff don't get to be live forever, then? Only the elite: the cult-members?' 'Membership has its privileges,' said Rowena, with a smug half-smile. Eleni folded her arms tightly, leaning back in disdain at her benefactor's words: 'Immortality? Hah! Your fairy-story wouldn't fool a child of five! What do you take me for? A gullible idiot?' 'Can I see your palm?' said Rowena. Eleni extended the flat of her hand reluctantly, and Rowena began tracing the tip of her finger gently across it. Using the lightest touch imaginable, she began caressing the whole palm, using precise, semi-circular motions. It was as if she were using a fire-drill to gradually heat the tinder of the nerves in Eleni's palm. Slowly, imperceptibly, the steady, grinding friction generated heat, then smoke and then - flame. And now, as the flash-point was reached, Eleni felt the most exquisitely pleasant tingling sensation at the base of her skull, in her cerebellum. The back of her head
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vibrated with pure electrical pleasure: it was the sweetest feeling Eleni had experienced in her entire life, but the sweetness was mixed with sadness because she never wanted it to stop. Then the rapture overtook her, and she threw back her head and cried out; a shameless cry of ecstasy escaping through her gaping, smiling mouth. Her eye-lids were screwed tightly shut, barricading reality out - the better to dwell in this new realm of pleasure. All her cares were forgotten, washed aside like timber watch-towers before a tidal-wave. The pleasure was pure, having no stimulus to justify its existence. It was like a devotee's rapture, but without a cherished idol ; an orgasm without a lover's labouring body; a triumphal march without a hard-won victory, or a narcotic high without a trace of opium in the pipe. This was Eleni's first taste of pure, contextless pleasure. Her noisy response had not gone unnoticed at the long dining table. 'Listen to that whore groan!' growled Sylvia. 'Shut up,' said Chlois, 'before you get us both killed'. 'I can't believe that savage is being recruited to the Pleasure Cult! How is that fair when she attacked me, a loyal citizen of Atlantis?' 'We'll complain later,' said Chlois, 'but for now we ought to put on a mask of civility.' 'I've got contacts,' said Sylvia, 'and influence. I'll make sure someone pays for this!' Chlois shook her head. 'Our husbands are only merchants!' she said. 'They might be wealthy, but they're no match for the cults.' Sylvia glared over at the two women on the privileged table: 'Then it's time for us normal, hard-working Atlanteans to take those cults down a peg or two.'
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Rowena overheard the hostile murmurs and addressed the women 'Ladies! Go back to your cabins now! Find a guard to escort you!' The women stood up obediently, shuffling out of the room in single-file. The novice and her acolyte were left alone in the dining cabin. Rowena watched contentedly as Eleni recovered from her recent overload of pleasure. The Spartan rewarded her attentions with a menacing glare: 'If you touch me like that again, I'll kill you!' Rowena laughed: 'That was just a demonstration. Don't confuse it with anything intimate because it wasn't.' 'Then what the hell was it?' 'I manipulated the flow of energy in your body and sweetened it up a little.' 'Just by stroking my hand?' 'Strange, isn't it? How caressing one part of the body makes pleasure rise in a totally different area?' 'And what does that prove?' 'It was a small demonstration of an art that takes centuries to learn in its entirety. The palm touch alone took me three months to master, and there are hundreds of other touches for different pleasure centres in the body. I had to take many subtle factors into account before I was convinced that the energy meridian in your palm would be receptive at this point in time.' 'Factors like what?' 'Our geographical location. The time of day. The alignment of the stars. Things like that.' 'And how does that prove you can delay the aging process?' 'Because we control the energy flow in our bodies. The cult boasts, amongst its
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members, ancient mistresses of the art of longevity - they fine-tune the energy flow for us in our bodies every year. And, beyond that, they preserve life-force vibrations in storage vessels.' 'Storage vessels ?' 'You'll see.' Eleni pondered the evidence. Rowena seemed wise beyond her years. Her little demonstration had proved that her knowledge of the human body was greater than any Spartan healer could boast. But doubts lingered in her mind: 'Ok, so you've worked hard and learned these unusual ways of giving pleasure. I accept that. But can I ask you a simple question, as one woman to another?' 'Yes.' 'Why on Earth do you bother? Our Spartan men find pleasure enough between a woman's legs. What's wrong with your Atlantean males, that they need all these intricate arts to amuse them in the bed-chamber?' Rowena laughed 'The average Atlantean man is exactly the same as a Spartan. But our cult has no dealings with them.' 'I see.' 'We only deal with the elite; aristocrats and members of powerful cults. All of them are virtually immortal, and they've satisfied their normal appetites many thousands of times over. Therefore, most of them are jaded and bored. They crave novelty.' Eleni nodded. 'That's why our services are of particular interest - we know things that make them discover pleasure all over again, like virgins fumbling about on their honeymoons.' 'What a nice treat for them,' said Eleni sarcastically.
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'No, not a treat. We only give pleasure to those whom we wish to influence. In Atlantis, pleasure is power.' 'Power' repeated Eleni in a monotone. Suddenly she felt light-headed - was Atlantean wine unusually strong, or was it a side-effect of Rowena's palm-stroking technique? No - she didn't feel intoxicated. Instead, she felt unusually clear-headed and strong. Eleni was suddenly aware of an energy field surrounding her. She could sense it, outside her body, just as easily as she could feel her own hands and feet. Then a new sight came into her vision - another energy field, bluish-white in colour, which enveloped Rowena's body, trembling like a heat-haze over a dusty horizon. Eleni particularly sensed an area near Rowena's neck, where the vibrations had slowed to a languorous crawl. It seemed to be inviting her, crying out for a loving touch. Without thinking, Eleni reached out and gently stroked Rowena's neck. It felt good, but it was a strange pleasure, as if time had slowed down. She had the sensation of tip-toeing over feathers, a little more slowly and exquisitely than was humanly possible. Then she remembered Rowena, whose response came as a shock to the Spartan. The novice had fallen back on her chair and was writhing on the ground, flapping like a fish on a wooden deck. Her back was arching, and her palms were open and outspread. The smile of abandonment on her face gave mute testimony to the intensity of the pleasure she was receiving throughout her entire body. Eleni could see, through the lens of her new, subtle vision, how the thousand whirlpools of Rowena's energy centres were spinning faster, then blurring into pure light. At last the effect began to die down, and Rowena lay panting on the floor. Eleni ran over and cradled her head. 'Are you alright?' she asked the dishevelled, blushing novice.
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Rowena was breathing heavily, like a marathon runner who, having triumphed in a race, was now gasping for enough breath to regain the faculty of speech. Finally, she spoke 'Do it again!' she demanded. 'What?' 'Whatever it was you did, just do it again!' 'No,' said Eleni, 'it might hurt you!' 'I'm begging you,' said Rowena, whose voice and gestures were stripped of all their Atlantean graces. The composed Rowena that Eleni had met a few hours ago was completely gone. In her place was a creature ruled and mastered by her primeval appetite for pleasure. 'I'm sorry,' said Eleni, 'but we really need to talk about this! I don't even know what happened just then.' Rowena panted, slowly but steadily regaining her composure. 'No,' she gasped, 'neither do I. I've heard of the pleasure touch awakening dormant faculties in some people, but nothing like this.' 'Nothing like what?' hissed Eleni, 'tell me!' You just energised my entire pleasure body! All the pleasure centres at once! Every last one!' Eleni maintained her puzzled expression as Rowena gesticulated wildly: 'Don't you know what this means?' she said, in an exasperated tone. 'What?' 'It means - in technical terms at least - that you are now a Priestess of the First Order!'

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CHAPTER 6. LOVE ISLAND

The cave was situated on high ground in the middle of the sloping island. Its walls were formed from the same ancient, basalt-like rock that had pushed up aeons ago, forming the small mountain that overshadowed the cave. It's rocky slopes, half-merged with green hills, were lent music by gentle streams, the currents of which accelerated into waterfalls, before emptying into pools of clear, potable water. The area nearest the mount was pockmarked by cubiform boulders, which, like giant molar teeth, were wedged into the soft gums of the verdant turf. These gave way to a large clearing, encircled by woodland. Like a church spire in a rural valley, the great peak of the mountain claimed the attention of visitors, inevitably becoming their first port-of-call. Socrates and Hypatia were no exceptions to the rule. They headed straight towards the high-ground, with its mountain citadel. Upon reaching it, they found an unexpectedly welcoming environment. Everything in the high clearing had been carefully arranged to ensure a comfortable stay for visitors. The tall trees of the forest fringe had been hacked down and replaced with orchards of fruit trees. Their boughs were loaded with an abundance of strange but delicious-looking fruit. Root vegetables grew in patches. Large, flightless, turkey-like birds waddled around, complacently scratching for grains. Socrates marvelled that there were no predators on the island. If there were, then the numbers of these defenceless-looking birds would have been swiftly reduced. The clearing was as artificial as a garden, but no hand had laboured to maintain it. No gamekeeper guarded the birds, yet they flourished; no gardener plucked the weeds,
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yet they failed to grow. Instead, it looked as if nature had, by some ingenious and self-sustaining agricultural technique, been trained to selectively farm herself and supply human needs. 'Look,' said Hypatia, 'There's a cave for us to live in!' Socrates followed as she ran over to inspect this natural shelter. The flat roof of the protruding mouth of the cavern was wedged into a grassy hill-side, and it had a door-screen made from woven bamboo. Socrates pushed it aside, and they went in. Hypatia joyfully regarded the interior of the cave. 'It's so cosy,' she remarked, 'and perfectly dry. There are shelves carved in the walls to put things on. This stone block must have been designed as a bed.' Socrates nodded. 'The ground here is scorched by cooking fires, and there's a hole drilled in the roof for a chimney. There's even a cap-stone on the roof. It would be child's play to climb up there and move it.' Hypatia went to explore alone, venturing into the back of the cave. Her efforts were rewarded when she found a screened-off storage area with many tools and other useful looking things. When she returned to Socrates she was beaming: 'This place is perfect! We can live here in perfect harmony with nature, like the people of the Golden Age!' The disgusted look on Socrates' face shocked her. 'No, it isn't perfect! They want to keep us here like two birds in a cage. A caged bird has everything it needs to survive - food, shelter, water. But it doesn't have what it needs to live - freedom!' Hypatia couldn't believe what she was hearing. 'Life here won't be all that easy,' she snapped, 'we've still got to work together if we want
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to survive!' 'Not that easy?' snarled Socrates. 'There are ten varieties of fruit out there! Those pools have better water than a Roman aqueduct could supply. And I could kill a brace of those birds in five seconds! Nothing should be made this easy! Better to fly free for just one night, in the chill wind of a perishing winter, than to leave one's wits untested in a gilded cage of eternal summer!' Hypatia felt a sickening jolt of unease in her belly. Surely he wasn't serious? 'What exactly do you mean?' she said. Socrates fixed her with a defiant stare 'I mean that I'm leaving this place. I'll borrow one thing from this cave, and that's an axe. Then I'm finding a new clearing and building my own shelter. And if I can't find one, I'll take that axe and clear one for myself!' 'You're mad!' said Hypatia desperately. 'Why do all that work when everything has already been done for you here!' 'I'm mad? Then freedom is a kind of madness, and I'm pleased to be insane!' 'But what about me? I've lived indoors my whole life - servants have cooked and cleaned for me and tended to all my needs. I'll never manage out here by myself!' Socrates gave her a patronising smile 'Are you joking? Fruit and water are at your fingertips. If you want to eat meat then go wring one of those poor bird's necks! Personally I wouldn't stoop to eat game that can't flee or defend itself, but you say you like this place....' 'Me? Kill something? I wouldn't know how!' said Hypatia. 'I can't pluck feathers or gut carcasses or even start a cooking fire! Eleni could, but she's...' 'She's what?' 'She's not here, is she?'
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I'm going,' said Socrates, shouldering the axe and beginning his march into the woods. 'Wait,' said Hypatia, 'Please, just wait!' The Corinthian scowled. 'Why should I?' 'I thought you said that you loved me. If you do, then stay here with me!' 'When I said that I loved you, I said it with a free heart. But slaves have no love - only dependency. So if you want to be my lover, join me in my rebellion and follow me into these woods. We'll show these Atlantean dogs our defiance, our total independence from them, our distaste for the honey which they use to bait their snares!' 'I'm sorry,' said Hypatia 'I can't do it!' 'Come on,' he said with a roguish grin. 'I promise that you'll learn a thing or two! Imagine Eleni's surprise when you get back to Sparta - you'll be even tougher than she is! You'll be able to use a sling to bring down a rabbit at one-hundred paces!' 'But I don't want to be like Eleni! I like being me!' 'Then enjoy your own company. When I've established my camp, I'll pay you visits every three days or so, just to check that you are well.' Hypatia watched the Corinthian as he loped determinedly into the distance. 'Wander off and starve then, you stubborn bastard!' she said.

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CHAPTER 7. AUDIENCE

Eleni stood in Helianthe's cabin, just as her sister had done eleven days before. There the similarity ended. Eleni was not impressed by the Priestess or by the splendour of her room. And she had no time for graceful manners. All she wanted was answers. But so, it seemed, did Helianthe: 'How did you do it?' demanded Helianthe. Eleni disregarded her question. 'Where's my sister?' she demanded, 'I thought you were taking care of her?' Helianthe's eyes narrowed to slits as she confronted Rowena: 'Novice! Your acolyte is out of line! Get her under control or I'll have both of you expelled from the order!' Rowena looked terrified 'Please - just answer her questions' She grabbed Eleni by the shoulders, continuing in a whisper: 'Expulsion means a living death! The cult can't risk anyone learning its secrets: rejects are deliberately brain-damaged by toxic poisons before they go. You'd end up begging in the streets of Atlantis, unable to remember your own name. How will you be able to help your sister then?' The fear in Rowena's voice persuaded Eleni to adopt a softer approach. The Spartan composed herself before turning to face her inquisitor: 'You really want to know how I did it?' Helianthe nodded. 'I saw an energy field around Rowena. There was a place where the energy looked different - like it was going slower, or bidding for my attention somehow. I was attracted
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to it, so I touched it. You know the rest.' Helianthe seemed outraged and jealous at the same time. 'You saw her energy? And you had the power to augment it? Tell me, I need to know the circumstances of your birth. What hour, what day, what month, what year?' Eleni told her and Helianthe began some calculations. After a long, nerve-wracking pause, she addressed Eleni once again: 'Please wait outside. I need to confer in private with my novice.' Eleni obeyed. The two Atlanteans were left alone. Helianthe looked at Rowena and smiled. It was a horrible smile without happiness, and the Novice found herself trembling in fear. 'Quite the fisher-woman, aren't you? First you bring me an angelfish. Then you bring me a venomous sea-snake. What will you bring me next?' Rowena had no reply, but the Priestess continued: 'That tall, aggressive Spartan Girl could bring our Order to its knees. Do you know what her birth auguries are?' 'No,' said Rowena. 'The Triple Star. Three stars were in alignment, in the heavens, at her birth. One would have made her a champion. Two would have guaranteed her a reign as a legendary Empress. But three? Three stars? Do you know what you get with three stars?' 'No. 'Instability combined with massive power. The power to start a revolution. That girl could accomplish virtually anything.' Rowena shifted nervously. 'Is that why she mastered our arts so quickly?' Helianthe pounded her fist on the desk.
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'Mastered? She hasn't mastered anything! Mastery comes from diligent practice, from learning an art in all its different stages, like a pilgrim gradually climbing a set of stairs carved in a mountain-side, and finally reaching the temple at its summit. She's cheated her way to the pinnacle of achievement, like a flea leaping to a mountain-top. But she knows nothing about the infinite subtleties of our arts! She can achieve all or nothing ecstasy or despair. She has no capacity to operate in the human realm in between. She is simultaneously more and less than human.' Rowena sensed a sneaking admiration in the Priestesses' voice a melodious voice made harsh by jealousy. 'Has anyone been born this way before?' she asked. 'There are old scrolls that describe a male version of the Pleasure Cult. The weakness of men is their blinding egocentricity. They lean towards the extremes of an art whilst neglecting the middle-ground. These cultists were only interested in the maximum possible degree of power. They took no interest in harmony or progression; they would sooner burn a bale than light a straw. 'They ended up using pleasure as a weapon, and helped to bring the first Epoch to its knees. Therefore, in the second Epoch, women were entrusted with the Pleasure Cult. Our hands were safer because of our superior humility, patience, and our ability to explore the subtler nuances of this most potent art-form. 'There have been no Priestesses like Eleni?' 'No. All of us respect a rain-drop just as much as the sea.' 'Couldn't she learn to appreciate subtlety and balance?' 'No. Eleni is far too much like a male pleasure cultist. Her birth chart means that she will always go to extremes. Her very being is contrary to our Order, because we cherish harmony, balance and grace. These qualities don't exist in a storm - only power.'
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'Then what can we do with her?' asked Rowena. 'I'm not sure yet,' said Helianthe, 'and I'll need to consult with the High Priestess. I suspect she will choose one of two options.' 'Which are?' 'The first is to use her as a secret weapon. She has enough power to raise the Pleasure Cult to the dominant cult in all Atlantis.' 'How?' 'The sort of overwhelming pleasure she gives is unique. Once a man tastes that, he'll be hooked forever. All the kisses, all the sunsets, all the vintage wines and victories at arms will mean nothing to him then. No woman will come close to her in bed, and he'll end up pining like a dog. In short, we will spoil his palate forever, and chain him to our banqueting table. The world will fade to grey for him - only Eleni will remain in vivid colour.' 'That sounds like a cruel thing to do. Yes. As Helianthe gazed out of the window, a slow smile spread across her face. 'What would the second option entail?' 'Getting rid of her.'

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CHAPTER 8. ACROBAT

The dining hall of the Pleasure Cult palace was decorated with many ornaments, fashioned from coloured glass, all of which seemed to be composed from bulbous spheres. The globes were welded together vertically or horizontally in writhing, chaotic sequences, defying the laws of gravity or logical composition. The hall was dominated by a single large table of pure glass. Its curving, flamboyant, asymmetric design reflected the strange theme of the decor. A herald announced the honoured guests one by one, and they entered through an ornate portal. Two lines of women - elaborately costumed Novices and Priestesses - greeted each of the guests warmly, handing them small gifts. As each of the honoured guests ran this gauntlet of pleasure, astonishment was written on their faces. The woman at the head of the table smiled in greeting, and each guest lowered his or her head to give her a small formal bow. 'This table twists and bends like a river,' said Duke Nulock. I've never seen anything like it.' 'They place a premium on novelty in this place,' said his wife, the Duchess. 'I've dined here five times, and it's completely different each time round.' A Priestess overheard their conversation and interjected: 'We want you to rediscover your senses afresh. Routine is the enemy of pleasure.' 'I don't know about that,' said Duke Nulock. 'I enjoy a glass of Roman wine every day at noon. I look forward to it every time, and it never tastes dull to me. The anticipation of known pleasures can be better than novelty.' The Priestess smiled indulgently. His wife, the Duchess, gazed toward the head of the dining table, her eyes twinkling with envy and admiration.
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'Ottilia looks splendid tonight,' she said. 'Where does she get her costumes? I've not been able to find anything half as good in the shops of the Tailor's Guild.' 'She makes them herself,' said the Priestess, studying the silvery garment that Ottilia wore. 'She was apprenticed as a small girl to the Tailor's Guild.' The Duchess looked intrigued. 'I've heard that before, but I thought it was a folk-tale. How did she rise from such humble origins?' They both looked at the High Priestess. Indeed she had risen. Ottilia's apparent age, which seemed consistent with a woman of twenty-one, was starkly contradicted by an aura of timeless power. Her smallest movements refined to the point of being inhuman captivated the gazes of all the gathered onlookers. Her very being was strange and rare - a challenge to normal awareness itself. Most commentators agreed that her face and figure were the purest expression of the Atlantean type. There was a certain cat-like cruelty to her features: much-prized by Atlanteans in the opposite sex. Her hair was jet-black, with a bluish lustre or sheen. The poets agreed that she was the living embodiment of pleasure-consciousness, and her awareness, which had been densely saturated with the arts of pleasure for hundreds of years, seemed to radiate the essence of her knowledge like a sun. How else could her presence, even when she remained silent and unmoving, have affected people so? What do you think of Ottilia? said the Priestess to Duke Nulock. He thought a while before answering. Its hard to put into words. Whenever I see her, I get a certain sensation in the depth of my bones, like an exquisite tickling. It doesnt belong there, and its the kind of pleasure that sits a hairs breadth away from agony. She has her own sensation, then? Like the oppression you only feel before a storm?
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Yes. And she plays tricks on my mind the other men Ive spoken to agreed with me on this. How can I put it? Imagine if a man were woken in the middle of the night by a beautiful nude ghost hovering over his bed. Is he afraid or enticed? Imagine how his head would spin. Your High Priestess has a similar effect. The Duchess frowned at her husbands considered enthusiasm. After the banquet had finished, Ottilia ordered the room to be emptied. Only Janice, the Captain of the acrobats, was permitted to remain. 'You requested my presence, mistress?' said Janice humbly. 'Yes, I did,' said Ottilia. 'I have a mission that I wish you to accomplish.' 'Anything for you, mistress', said Janice. 'Take two of the slaves and disguise them as fishermen. Then buy a small fishing boat and get them to row you out to the first of the penal islands which surround Atlantis.' 'The prison islands? Arent they where high-born criminals are exiled?' 'In most cases. But the first island is currently inhabited by a very different class of person. May I ask who? There are two on that island. The first is the Spartan Hypatia. Her companion is Socrates, a Corinthian man, whom she loves. Janice was silent, but Ottilia noticed the puzzled look in her eyes. 'We are playing with them,' explained Ottilia. 'They think we only let couples enter Atlantis. Janice clapped her hands in glee. What an elegant deception! They were led to believe that our prison island is a testing-ground for their love. I left them there in the hope that nature will do the rest. It usually does.'
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'What a delightful game! Mistress is most ingenious!' Ottilia shook her head. 'This is no game. I want her to fall in love with this man. Perhaps I'll tell you why in due course.' 'What part do you want me to play in all this?' said Janice. 'Have the slaves row you out at night, but don't get too close to the island. Choose your best acrobat and swim ashore as a pair, making sure to remain underwater for the last few metres. 'Use your skills to spy on them. Climb the tallest trees, hide in narrow craters, do whatever it takes to go unnoticed. I want a progress report as soon as possible.' 'Yes, mistress.' As Janice was about to leave, the High Priestess checked her progress with a halting gesture. 'Oh, and Janice,' 'Yes, Mistress?' 'The only progress report I want to hear is that the pair are fornicating like dogs on heat. Don't come back until you're ready to give me that report.' 'I understand,' said Janice.

Two nights later, when the seas had become calm and the moon was full, a small four-man boat rowed out from the shores of Atlantis. When the isle was sighted, one of the two silent, muscular slaves weighed the anchor. Janice and her team-mate, Ianthe, were painted with black, water-proof paint, making them look like shadows. 'Take out your compass,' said Janice. 'We'll swim towards that big rock near the shore which is on what bearing?
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'North-East.' 'To get back here, we'll swim back from the same rock, heading South-West. Understood?' 'Yes.' The two acrobats swam stealthily towards the shore. Once they closed within fifty metres they swam underwater, only resurfacing when they reached the large rock. They scuttled ashore like two strange, black crabs, then vanished beneath the black umbrella of the forest canopy. The two shadows headed rapidly towards the mountainous clearing, negotiating the distance with the silent grace of forest apes. Above the forest but below the mountain, inside the cave which had become her home, Hypatia lay awake. Her days were idyllic but the long, solitary nights made her nervous. As the cooking fire dwindled, throwing strange shadows on the wall, her hope that Socrates might come to her would sink. Another long night stretched ahead, filled with strange sounds from the woods and echoing noises in the cave. Socrates had come to check on her once, proudly describing his hard-won achievements in the forest. She had begged him to stay and protect her from intruders, but he'd dismissed her fears as fantasies, saying there was no threat from man or beast on the island. Nevertheless, Hypatias nights were filled with dreadful fantasies of approaching footsteps. When the dreaded intruder finally came it was the silent Ianthe, sent to check the cave. She climbed onto the roof and peered through the chimney hole, ignoring the smoke that made her eyes smart. She looked down at an angle, checking the inside of the cave, which was lit by orange and amber embers. Shed anticipated the sight of a pair of worn-out lovers, sleeping in each other's arms. But all she could see was the solitary and sleepless form of Hypatia, who tossed and turned on the stone bed-block, which had been made comfortable with dried grasses and feathers.
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'What am I going to tell Janice?' she thought. 'Alone?' hissed Janice in a loud whisper. The Captain of the Acrobats had remained hidden in the trees for several minutes, awaiting her partners report. She was visibly disturbed by the news. 'Where's this Corinthian idiot, then?' 'I don't know,' said Ianthe, 'I didn't see any sign of a grave-mound or an unburied body, so he might still be alive somewhere. 'Unless he's drowned in the sea, or died in the depths of the woods. How careless are these foreign savages, anyway? These islands are supposed to be safe.' Janice shook her head. 'No, these foreign savages are tough - they lived through some kind of shipwreck didn't they? I'll bet he's still alive somewhere.' 'Yes, but where?' 'He's probably set up his own camp somewhere. The only other place you could choose on this island would be by the river on the west side.' Ianthe looked confused 'Why would he have gone off to a worse location and left her alone?' 'Guess.' 'An argument, perhaps? Or because she wouldn't sleep with him?' Janice made a dismissive gesture 'The reason he left is that he felt emasculated by the soft living conditions on this island. He needs to define himself in opposition to external challenges.' 'How could you know that?' 'Because my understanding of male psychology is better than yours. You are deficient in this respect, and that's something we'll have to work on back at the Order.'
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'Yes, Mistress,' said Ianthe, meekly. 'Fortunately your physical abilities are first rate, so the next task will prove a little easier for you. ' 'What's that?' 'You're going for a run in the woods.'

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CHAPTER 9. INTRUDER

Socrates woke with a start. The light of dawn, a subdued pink, shone through cracks in the crude wooden shelter he had laboriously fabricated. I hate bad dreams, he thought, throwing aside his blanket of woven rushes. He stood up, pushing back the screen that served as a make-shift door. It opened onto a clearing near the widest point of a river; a remote, unwelcoming place, which Socrates had made his home. A camp-fire still smouldered, and the remains of his evening meal were visible on the spit that spanned it. A stack of soft-wood logs and a rough-hewn bench completed the world he'd made for himself; a solitary world whose silence was only disturbed by the murmur of river-water and the whisper of leaves. Socrates turned to appraise the rounded shape of his dwelling. It wasn't good enough and needed to be wind-proofed. Perhaps a second wall of branches could be placed around the first, and the gap between the two walls filled up with bark and mud as insulation?

NEXT TIME WELL KILL HER.

A piece of parchment with red lettering had been pinned to the wall. Socrates felt a gnawing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach as his veins filled with adrenalin. Hypatia! What had they done to her? The Corinthian grabbed his axe and ran towards the mountain at a sprint. When he reached the cave he was breathless, and covered in scratches from the many branches which had barred his progress through the woods. Gripping the axe in both hands, he burst into the cave.
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'Hypatia! are you alright?' The Spartan girl, bound and gagged, lay writhing on the bed. Her panic-stricken eyes met with those of Socrates, who hurried to release her. The look of distress on Hypatia's face was torture to him, and he hugged her for a long time, talking all the while: 'Hypatia! Thank goodness you aren't hurt! How could I have been so proud and careless, leaving you alone and at the mercy of these Atlantean degenerates?' 'She came in the night,' said Hypatia in a subdued voice. 'She drugged me with vapours on a handkerchief, then tied me up. She had me entirely at her mercy. I didn't know if she was going to hurt me or kill me, but she just walked out. I was left like that, for hours, totally defenceless. I was scared that she might come back at anytime and do something horrible.' Socrates was visibly astonished by her account. 'She? Then it was a woman who did this?' 'Yes, but she was so strong, and she knew exactly what she was doing.' 'Did she say anything?' 'No.' 'Then how can you be so sure it was a woman? I mean it was dark, you were scared...' 'I knew. I could feel her body whilst she was tying me up, and it wasn't a man.' Socrates decided to keep the warning note to himself - Hypatia was anxious enough as it was. She didn't need to know there were at least two people on the island last night, or that theyd threatened to murder her. 'Why do you think they did this?' she asked. 'I don't know,' said Socrates, 'but I do know what needs to be done. I'm moving in here as of today. I'll set up a defensive perimeter with a fence and dig a trench filled with
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stakes. When I'm done, this place will be safer than a Roman fort.' 'What if they get through?' 'No-one gets inside this cave at night again, because I'll be guarding the door.' 'When will you sleep?' 'During the day, but never for too long. I'm a sailor, so I'm used to broken sleep patterns. No-one fully rests aboard ship.' Socrates sat beside Hypatia, holding her hand until the colour returned to her face. 'I need to take a look around outside,' he said. 'Perhaps I can find some clues about who did this and why.' 'Don't leave me,' said Hypatia. 'Come with me then,' he said; 'from this point on we have to stay together.' The pair of them left the cave and inspected the clearing which surrounded it. Many of the trees in the orchards had been burned down. It was an added blow for both of them, and, on seeing the damage, Hypatia finally burst into tears. 'Who would want to do such a thing?' she asked. 'Why are they attacking us like this?' 'I don't know,' said Socrates, 'but if we hold together, we will beat them.' The two of them worked together, salvaging any fruit which hadn't been seared by the flames. From her vantage point in a high tree, Janice observed the pair, studying their body-language intently: 'Look how defensive the male is being towards her,' she said, in a low whisper; 'he won't be going anywhere tonight.' 'Will they sleep together?' said Ianthe. Janice smiled 'Yes, eventually. My plan has worked. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.' 'We'll leave, then?'
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'No, you'll leave. I must stay here and keep a close eye on them. If they start getting too complacent, I'll stir them up by throwing a stone or starting a small fire. Nothing too drastic. The threat is already established in their minds.' 'How will you survive?' 'My training will get me through. I'll steal food if you have to - that could even help things along.' 'When will you be coming back?' 'As soon as I'm sure they've slept together. I may not see the act, but I'll notice the differences in their body language.' 'But how will you return?' I'll swim.' 'It's a long swim back to Atlantis!' 'Not for me.' Ianthe rumpled her distressed brow 'But mistress, this task is beneath your dignity! Please, let me stay here and watch them for you!' Janice frowned 'That was my plan, but your people-watching skills aren't up to scratch. Who knows how you managed to pass your psychology tests!' 'Mistress!' 'If you had been able to complete this part of the job, by staying here, it would have meant a promotion for you, and for me. But you aren't competent, and this job is too important to leave in unsafe hands. Now go!' 'Yes, mistress'. Ianthe silently slipped away, heading towards the beach and the waiting boat.
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CHAPTER 10. PRIESTESS

Nothing to be afraid of, I reassure myself, you've walked past these guards a thousand times before. The troubadour costume is cut from coarse cloth, making my skin itch terribly. I tilt the wide brim of my hat down, keeping my face in shadows. I pray the men don't recognise me. The guards posted at my palace gate lean on their pikes, looking completely bored. Ive never seen them behave unprofessionally before. 'Good evening to you, sirs!' I say, heartily. The men at the gate laugh and jest as I walk towards them. 'Give us a tune, then!' 'Yeah go on, sing us a nice ballad!' I shake my head: 'Sorry. I only perform for Royalty.' They laugh and let me through: 'I bet you'll be singing in the alehouse later tonight, eh mate!' 'No,' I say under my breath, 'I've got other plans.' I cant afford beer, anyhow. Theres no money in the pockets of the itchy costume. I remind myself not to complain. The minstrel took a big risk when he lent me his clothes. Discovery would lead to his severe punishment. Naturally, he had his doubts, and it took me a while to assuage them. A cask of ale and some promises did the trick, in the end. I intend to keep the promises. When I become Emperor, I will shower him with gold for this. The moon plays on cobble stones worn smooth by countless generations of
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sandal-clad feet. I have never set foot on them before, and the sensation is curiously uncomfortable. Normally I traverse these streets in a litter carried by four stout guards. The plain stone buildings, flat and smooth as adobe, seem to hang in the air, like countless blue-grey flags. At last I reach the high wall of the cult compound. I pull the blue tassel from my tunic. As I examine it, I remember the conversation I had with Jonas and the lads in a hunting lodge about a year ago. We were seventeen at the time, and our conversations revolved around sex. We talked about women we'd slept with, or wished we could sleep with. Our discussions inevitably led to the Pleasure Cult. The Pleasure Cult! We could speculate for hours about what happened behind the closed walls of its compound. Everyone had his theories, but real knowledge was rarer than diamonds. Jonas, who had the loudest mouth, seemed to know a little more than most. He had no qualms about sharing his knowledge. 'I've been reliably informed that the basic Pleasure Cult experience - though specially tailored to suit the tastes of each man - involves a long, perfectly harmonious series of pleasures, culminating in dozens of orgasms. They say the female adepts are graceful and perfectly balanced within themselves. They wear masks and act as remotely as deities, treating the men like kings, but never as equals. Conversation is formalised and pleasing, but never enters the realms of gossip or revelation. The mask never slips, the back-stage is never glimpsed.' I had snorted dismissively 'Come on Jonas! Everyone knows that much!' 'Yes,' 'And that's not the real mystery we're all interested in, is it?' 'Which is?'
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'How one gets to sleep with its members in the first place!' I said. 'No-one knows how they decide who will be pleasured. What happens is that you wake one morning to find a blue tassel tied to your bed frame. Who knows how they get them there undetected? When you get a blue tassel, you tell no-one. You just take it to the Pleasure Cult palace and show it to their guards. Then they show you in, and something else begins - something like a beautiful dream.' I was sceptical of everything that Jonas said, because he had a tendency to brag. Nevertheless, I was intrigued enough to humour him: 'So theoretically, any male Atlantean could get a blue tassel at any time?' 'No. The cult only selects from members of the patrician classes.' 'I'm glad I have noble blood, then! So when do I get a tassel?' 'I'm sorry Prince Adeni, but the question is if, not when. Selection is unpredictable, and many high-born men get passed by.' I laugh to myself as I recall the conversation. Sorry to contradict you, Jonas, I think with a smile, But the question isn't if, but when, and the answer is now. A guard in exquisite uniform mans the sentry post. I silently display the blue tassel, and he nods me though. Do I catch a flicker of envy in his brown eyes? Inside the compound is another world, whose splendour is breath-taking. The long path in front of me leads, via a series of deliciously serpentine curves, towards a small but incredibly ornate folly. Torches are placed at regular intervals, burning with blue, green and red flames. I look from left to right, a sweeping, panoramic gaze, surveying the large and beautiful arrangements of the nighted garden. Fountains gurgle softly, seeming to whisper like distant lovers from dark corners. Trees and archways are hung with flamboyant paper lanterns, devised by masters in that
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craft. Everything seems invested with perfection, and every minor detail has received a marvellous degree of care and attention. 'Dally not!' 'Tread the pathway, oh fortunate bearer of the blue tassel!' The voices come from rare night-birds, which are perched on metal stands. Their intelligence, increased by years of selective breeding, makes them gifted mimics of the human voice. I long to meet the women who trained them, because the voices are sweeter than any I have previously heard, with strange art in every syllable. Obediently I begin to walk the pathway, feeling weightless with excitement, moving with gliding ease. As I pass the different birds they respond by singing with the voices of maids, or reciting couplets of unknown poetry. I feel ready to fall under a spell of enchantment. At last I reach the reception building, whose door is oval. The individuals inside are masked, cloaked and silent. I hand them the tassel, and they begin to inspect it. Strange torches illuminate the chamber, bestowing a graceful light that is the colour of pure gold. Whilst not rivalling broad daylight in power, it seems infinitely more restrained, mellow, and patient. The slow, languorous light models every contour of the forms inside the room, displaying an intelligence of touch, like an oil-painter who has mastered chiaroscuro and knows the best way to reveal his subjects. It is sunlight filtered through the heart of the lover, the painter, the artist. As if the light had been trained by old masters. The play of shadows within the chamber is almost over-powering, but my reason rallies enough to give an account of the scene. One of the silent figures is looking very closely at the blue tassel. I notice little glints and see that fine threads of golden wire have been wound around the various filaments of the tassel. The figure examines the threads, reading a code hidden within the
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arrangements of the wire, and, via a series of mute hand gestures, relays a message to his or her cohorts. Then another figure sits at a strange key-board and begins playing a carillon, striking the numerous small bells that hang above the domed roof of the small reception folly. The intricate musical phrases are beautiful and no doubt significant. At last there is silence, and a silent note of resolution hangs in the air. One of the figures gestures for me to walk arm in arm with it. I do so, and the sensation is curiously anodyne. The arm feels metallic, as though the figure is wearing light armour beneath its silken robes. It marches me, in stiffly measured paces, towards a larger building - a real palace. I am conscious of the splendid architecture, and wish that we could pause for many minutes to savour its intricacies, which exceed even those of my Royal palace. But my mute companion has other plans, marching us briskly towards the wall and through its unutterably grand portals. Inside we pass through a large entrance hall, the likes of which kings would envy, before marching up a marble staircase. I am led through corridors, along landings, up stairways, around spiral staircases. It is a maze, but every new corner reveals marvels in the shape of ornate doorways, paintings, frescoes, tapestries, windows, vases - the accumulated treasure of countless centuries. These sights are illuminated by a silvery light emanating from small argent lamps. Perhaps there are minerals inside them which burn in a slow chemical reaction. It is an efficient light, a little stronger than the fullest moon-light, but it has none of the living charm of the golden light. The wonder of the place is hardly diminished - I feel no fatigue and could wander like this for days, in mute companionship. Then, at last, we stop, having reached our goal. There is a wide landing with a single red-lacquered door in its broad wall. There are large plants in pots flanking the door, which is generously studded with pure gold. It is a
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somewhat awe-inspiring door, summoning thoughts of frowning warlords rather than supreme pleasures. My companion leads me up to the door and knocks three times. There is no answer, but the door swings open onto the most attractive bed-chamber I have ever seen. The intelligent gold light models the furniture, which is built along clean, classical lines. A massive four-poster bed forms the centre-piece of the large room, whose tall arched windows open onto a balcony. It is empty. I glance at my companion and gasp aloud. They have gone! The replacement is a woman aged around nineteen, with a gold mask covering her face. Her body, perfumed and beautiful, is negligibly clad in silk underwear and a gauzy chemise, and the warm contact with her arm sends shudders of desire through my heart and flesh. I have spent countless hours in alehouses with Jonas, thinking of the suave things we would say to a member of the Pleasure Cult. Now, in the reality of the situation, my mind forgets them all. All I say is: 'Where did that other person go? The one in the robe?' She laughs, with a rising trill. It seems to run a finger up the full keyboard of human delights, briefly tickling each available note, and summoning overtones that suggest those more remote, alien pleasures within her reach. 'So you are the same person?' 'No. Or yes. You'll never know. That was just a little conjuring trick of ours.' Her accent is like nothing I have heard before - it is coarse and savage, as if she only recently mastered the Atlantean language, and was still defying it in her heart. 'I don't understand.' 'What has understanding got to do with pleasure? Let it pass, I have better tricks to show you. Stay here.'
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She releases my arm, caressing it with a parting touch. I stand in the door frame as directed whilst she moves around the room, seeming to tidy or reorder it. She kneels to pick up ornaments, then stretches to adjust paintings. Every motion seems to have been calculated to display her body to full advantage, from different angles. Or has it? There are wild, awkward motions too. I can't tell where her natural movement ends, and formal poses began. I'm in no position to be making fine deliberations - my senses are overruling my brain. Her body is incredibly beautiful, combining curves with passages of sublime delicacy and grace. But there is also something else; something unexpected even in a realm of marvels. What are these sharp, vulpine angles, these planes that sweep into each other at abrupt, spontaneous junctures, these exaggerations that shock me so? What is this undisguised strength in her body, which seems designed as much for war as for love? Her hips and shoulders are equally wide in proportion. I had always imagined that the women of the Pleasure Cult had bodies like classical statues, cast in a mould of harmony and voluptuous ease - serene beauty. But her body has no serenity to it. It looks savagely beautiful, like an oriental dragon, and might have been born in a sensuous whirlwind. Her beauty strongly suggests torment - the inner torment of ultimate desire that can find no satiation, but only increase in heat. There's not a line of her body that isn't sharpened to a keen blade, and these many edges send the blood of desire spilling from my heart down to my loins. Her beauty is the most eloquent I have ever experienced, but it has the tragic eloquence of a poem. How I long to see her face! I sweat, my heart beats like a drum and my loins glow like a heated fire-iron. She looks at me and laughs: 'You need to cool down. Go and wait on the balcony whilst I fetch you a drink.'
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I do as she suggests, finding myself in the balmy night-air of our island, whose evening breezes mix warmth with coolness in pleasing proportion. I lean out to survey the scenery, taking in the beautiful architecture of the palace walls below and noticing how the torches that illumine the gardens have shrunk to the size of fire-flies. Beyond the Pleasure Cult enclosure is the capital city of Atlantis and beyond that, the rolling sea. How beautiful these things are! My mind knows this, but I feel no pleasure. There is no source of pleasure for me now but her, and I was addicted with one breath of her ultimate perfume. Minutes have passed but I already pine for her living presence. From now on all the other wonders of the world will drift through my heart like grains of sand, without the roots and clay of true desire to cement them in place. At last she returns, with the drink carried artfully on a tray. How different her movements are to those of other women! The smallest gestures had become works of art, dramas in which the forces of energy and inertia attack, resist, then finally settle upon a perfect compromise. They seemed invested with a massive amount of intelligence. How hard she must have trained - countless hours of painful effort simply in order to learn these artful, stylized movements! And how hard again in order to cover her tracks, in order to make each artifice seem more natural than nature. 'I can see that you're still enjoying yourself, even now your animal spirits have subsided a little.' 'I am indeed.' 'Good. I hate those who are unable to appreciate the full experience. Those who push the graceful trappings aside, who just want to get down to the animal act.' My jaw dropped - I never expected her to say anything like that! 'I won't waste my talents on those mindless boors. I simply throw them out.'
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I couldn't believe that she was speaking in such a vein. What happened to rigid formality? 'Aren't they angry? Don't they behave obnoxiously?' 'Who cares if they do? I just remind them that my anatomical training in pleasure also confers the power to kill. The same knowledge that lets me bestow exquisite pleasure also lets me deliver excruciating pain. Pain, blindness and death.' 'Should you be telling me this? Won't you frighten me away?' 'Not if I've judged you correctly. And since my knowledge of male psychology excels that of any other Priestess, past or present, I feel confident in my own judgements.' I was astounded. Surely she was far too young to have attained the rank of Priestess? She looked at me slyly. 'Yes, a lot of the sisters think I'm too young, as well. I'm only nineteen after all, but I'm something of a prodigy. Where others walk I seem to run.' 'Nineteen? Surely you mean one-hundred and nineteen? No-one so young could possibly hold a senior rank in a cult! That's what they keep telling me but, here I am!' 'How old was the youngest Priestess before you?' 'One hundred and fifty. Can you believe that? It took her all those years to pass a few simple tests.' There was something girlishly conspiratorial about her way of talking. I enjoyed it, being only eighteen myself. She also seemed incredibly boastful. A high priestess with human flaws! I permitted myself a little smile. 'What's that smug little smile all about? Ah, so you think I'm a braggart do you? Hmmm?'
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'Maybe just a bit.' 'And could an idle boaster do this?' She grabbed my hand and traced a few lines on my palm with the sharp end of her finger-nail. I felt myself sinking into a black sea with a glowing white bed at the base of it. It was a delicious, leaden descent. I found myself forgetting all my sorrows - nay, forgetting my very self. I felt light enter the base of my spine, then shoot up into the base of my skull, where the hind portion of my brain tingled and vibrated with indescribable pleasure. Soon it suffused every pore of my skin, and I shook with ecstasy for many minutes, murmuring inarticulate cries of bliss. Finally I recovered, and saw her standing over me. I imagined her smile behind the expressionless gold mask. 'Oh. Oh heavens. What did you just do to me?' 'Nothing that I couldn't do again, in a thousand other ways, each time different and better than the last. I stroked you with the tip of one feather from my plumage - there are many others.' 'But what about pacing the pleasure? What about classical proportions? What about harmony?' 'What about this?' She pulled aside her clothes and embraced me. The feel of her nude skin on mine was unendurably sweet, matchlessly intimate. She had an electrical tingle that seemed to shunt pulses of pleasure into my flesh. My heart felt ready to explode with affection, and that wasn't the only organ on the brink of exploding. With one swift motion - the motion of someone who has mastered legerdemain she jabbed me on the thigh with a needle. There was no pain, only surprise. 'You're not planning on going anywhere for the next hour, are you?' 'No! Of course not!'
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'Well you won't be coming anywhere either. Not for at least an hour. My little jab just blocked the energy meridian that would let you spoil the fun. We call it muzzling the serpent.' She pulled me onto the bed, and all vestiges of pace and classical harmony were gone. In their place was a sheer elemental force. The storm of her lust beat down on me in overwhelming waves, and the pleasure that followed left no room for thought. As we joined I lost all self-awareness, and was subsumed in the act of pleasure. The faculty of detachment that lets us step back from experience - even powerful emotional experiences like sexual orgasm - was now entirely absent. The universe had collapsed into a pin-head of white-hot pleasure, governed by an intelligence or genius so far beyond mine that I couldn't comprehend it. I became the rain, became the storm, became the flashing lightning that ignites the leaden sky. Afterwards, she paced around the room as if nothing had happened. The storm still raged within her, as though nothing could quench it. 'What's your name?' I asked. She laughed: 'You know I'm not allowed to tell you that.' 'Please, I'm begging you....' 'No. Now leave before you get me in trouble.' 'Leave! You dare address a Crown-Prince this way? I am heir to the throne of Atlantis!' 'Do I look like I care!' 'I'll make you care!' 'Go ahead. And tell the Emperor it was Eleni who disrespected you.' I shook my head and left. On the way out I could hear her muttering: 'You're dancing to my tune now, minstrel. You will never know another moment of true
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pleasure unless I decide to give it to you, and there will be terms.'

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CHAPTER 11. BONDING

Hypatia watched as Socrates toiled in the clearing. She saw him sweat as he hacked down branches and saplings; heard his breath grow laboured as he dug a line of small pits, creating the semi-circle where the fence would stand. She saw him sharpen long staves with a knife, then set them up, bracing them with struts and heaps of earth, creating a perimeter fence. He worked hard as if driven by demons, pushing himself through the pain-barrier until the job was done. Then, with his energy spent, he leant forward with his hands on his thighs and panted like a hound. Hypatia approached him, placing a tender hand on his shoulder. 'You deserve a break,' said the Spartan, 'you've been working flat-out all day'. Socrates was red in the face, and his brow was knitted in pain. His reply was mixed with hoarse, panting sighs, as he gasped for breath. 'No, no breaks. This has... to be finished... by nightfall.' 'Can't I help?' 'No, you should take it easy and rest. When I'm done with the fence, I'm going to build a fire outside the cave, and prepare a meal. Then I'll stand watch all night.' 'But the fence looks almost finished!' 'I haven't built the entrance tunnel yet. It will need a wooden trapdoor with a wooden bolt to lock it, so you'll be safe whilst I forage and hunt.' 'Sounds complicated. Have you built one before?' 'No, but I've seen similar things aboard ship. I can adapt the principles.' The moment he recovered his breath, Socrates resumed working. Hypatia looked at him in awe. Her sheltered life meant she had enjoyed few opportunities to watch men working really hard - not until her time spent on the Xeno,
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anyway. His broad back was coated in grime and sweat, and the muscles rippled as he exerted himself. She wanted to feel that body close to her, protecting her. He glanced across, and caught her looking at him. Her stomach gave a jolt as some kind of nervous energy passed between them like lightning. His black eyes looked different, somehow, as if they were translucent wells, and she could see his resourceful spirit glowing behind them. He smiled. 'So you like watching me work, eh?' Hypatia was flustered: 'No, I was just idly watching.' 'Idly - but with a very keen gaze. You were giving me the exact same look that you gave me back on the Xeno, when I was working on deck.' 'It's just.... something different.' 'You're not used to the toughness of the world, are you?' 'Maybe not.' 'Your father was a rich man, he could get you anything you desired with very little effort - food, warmth, protection, comfort. But did you appreciate it?' 'No, I suppose I didn't.' 'But you appreciate what I'm doing for you now, don't you?' 'Yes.' 'Why do you think that is?' 'Because I can see how dedicated you are. Everything you achieve costs you dearly in sweat and grimaces. And you are doing it all for me.' Suddenly Hypatia started crying. Socrates ran over: 'I'm sorry! It was wrong of me to tease you at such a time. You deserve more consideration.' 'How could you do anything wrong?' said Hypatia, her eyes streaked with tears.
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'Nobody ever cared about me the way you do! You've done more for me in a few hours than anyone ever has!' 'Oh come on, that's not true! Your family loved you, they cared about you. They brought you up well, and never let you suffer any hardships or indignity!' 'They didn't really care about me! All they truly cared about was keeping everything respectable! They were cold, Socrates; cold as stone.' 'And me?' 'You are warm.' She hugged him and he held her with his arms behind her back, embracing her protectively. Then it happened; a brief, spontaneous kiss that drew their bodies closely together. It was Socrates who gently broke away. 'I should keep working,' he said, 'but I'm glad that you appreciate my efforts.' 'I appreciate you,' said Hypatia. They gazed each other directly in the face, all the ice between them melting. A distance away, a third, uninvited gaze was sharing the moment. From her leafy hide in a tall tree, Janice observed the proceedings with a sly smile. 'I don't think I'll be staying here much longer', she said. The next day, Hypatia slept surprisingly soundly, waking early in the morning. She went out of the cave and greeted Socrates, his eyes red-ringed with fatigue, still on guard duty. 'You look exhausted!' 'I am, but at least you are safe.' 'It's daylight now, and the fence looks strong enough to keep anyone away. Why don't you sleep for a few hours, I'll keep an eye out for trouble?' The weary Corinthian agreed, shuffling into the cave to sleep.
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Hours later, Hypatia sat on top of the cave, keeping look-out for any signs of intruders. It was monotonous and she found her thoughts drifting elsewhere. Socrates, having woken, clambered up to join her. 'Hello, this looks like a good place to keep watch'. 'Yes,' said Hypatia, smiling. But the sailor's expression was grave: 'I think we need to talk about what happened yesterday.' 'Yes?' 'We were both tired and emotional, and I think I owe you an apology. It was wrong for me to take advantage of you at such a vulnerable time.' Hypatia shook her head. 'You didn't take advantage.' 'No. But still, I think I owe you an apology.' Hypatia reached over, placing a hand, gentle and reassuring, on his naked shoulder. 'No, you don't. You made me feel good when I needed it most. I haven't felt that happy for months now - years even.' He grinned: 'Do I make you feel happy, then?' 'Yes, sometimes.' Only sometimes?' 'I didn't like it when you left me alone. If you want to apologize for something, apologize for that.' He laughed. 'I don't like to be made to grovel, I'm a proud man. I only offer my apologies if and when I think they're called for.' 'So make it up to me, then.'
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'Make it up to you? How?' 'I don't know...' 'Do you want to feel happy now?' 'Definitely. 'And what do you think I can do?' 'I don't know... you could always hold me again?' They embraced each other, for longer this time. 'I liked the way you kissed me,' said Hypatia. 'You know where kisses lead, though, don't you?' 'Do they always have to lead there?' 'No, but it's been a long time for me, and my desire has grown strong. I can hold back, but it might be uncomfortable for me.' He saw the sad expression on her face. 'Hey - we can take things at your pace! I think we both need this, in some shape or form.' 'Need what? Sexual relief?' Not just that. We need to feel close to each other. We need to bond.' Hypatia looked remote, gazing deep into the sky. 'What you said then, back on the Xeno - did you mean it?' 'Yes, absolutely.' It's just that your feelings seemed too sudden to be true. You were giving me strong affection when I'd only just met you. How could you have felt that way about someone you'd only recently met?' 'I know it seems irrational, but the feeling came from my heart.' 'What feeling?'
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'A kind of sadness, reaching out from your heart, that made mine ache unbearably. I knew, then, that you carried a similar sadness to my own.' 'What sadness?' 'Loneliness. A strong potential for affection, but blocked somehow. If my feelings are right, and I wasn't imagining it, then our hearts are like two dammed rivers.' 'And you wanted the dams to break?' 'Not wanted; needed.' 'Couldn't you have taken things a little easier or a little slower? You came on way too strong!' 'Yes, I did. It was because I was scared of losing you. Scared of losing what I sensed you, and you only, could give to me.' 'Which is?' 'The total redemption of each others pain. Both our dams would break together, and the rivers flow into each other.' 'Do you still feel that way?' 'Yes, though I want to deny it. Isnt it a weakness to feel so dependent? Shouldn't happiness rest on more than bonding with one particular woman? Isn't it wrong when one face seems to be painted in bright colours, whilst the rest of the world fades to grey? I've tried to find a more balanced feeling in my heart, but, try as I might, the need for you remains.' He looked sad. 'I need you too,' said Hypatia. Socrates smiled. 'Then let's kiss and see where it takes us.'

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CHAPTER 12. - WAYWARD PRIESTESS

Helianthe sat at a long, sombre-looking stone table. She was flanked by two senior Priestesses, Isobel and Imogen. The three women in the room formed the Pleasure Cult elite, and Helianthe, Ottilias second-in-command, had a particularly high reputation throughout Atlantis. A lanky, insolent figure strode into the room and, without being invited, took a seat. She carelessly put both feet on the table, crossing them at the ankles, before leaning back, arms behind her head. Her gaze was full of defiance and arrogance. Isobel looked aghast 'Where are your manners, girl?' 'It would be wise for you to remember that you are seated in front of three of your most distinguished peers!' added Imogen. Eleni laughed, and her mouth contorted in an angular sneer. 'Manners? I've been learning a lot about Atlantean manners recently, haven't I?' 'Apparently not,' muttered Helianthe. 'Oh yes I have. I've been learning from the best - your Royal family. Ever since you convinced me to sleep with half of them, that is.' Isobel frowned 'I trust your current impudence was reigned in during those encounters? Our Royal family would never tolerate such disgraceful remarks!' 'Oh, I think you'd be surprised about what they've tolerated from me. They're even coming back for second helpings.' 'Such vulgarity!' hissed Isobel. Imogen ignored the Spartan but glared at Helianthe 91

'Your worst fears have been realised,' she snapped, 'this savage is uncontrollable!' Eleni smiled sweetly at her critic 'Do you like my boots, Imogen? They're men's ones. One of your slave-men gave them to me!' 'Any social intercourse with our slaves is strictly forbidden!' 'Oh, that's a relief, because it was sexual intercourse that I had in mind. Your broad-backed slave men are almost as good as our Spartans. I think I'll tup one the old fashioned way, with none of your gimmicks to spoil the fun.' The three Atlantean Priestesses huddled together, conferring. They seemed to be re-thinking their strategy. 'How old are you?' said Isobel. 'I'm nineteen.' 'I am two-hundred,' said Isobel, 'but I look younger than you.' 'That's a matter of opinion.' 'Maybe. But it's a matter of fact that, without our help, you will age and die. Do you think you'll be so proud when your back is bent over with age, like a Roman arch?' Eleni stroked her chin in a dumb-show of deep reflection. 'Better than being bent over by a Roman, I suppose. The ones I spoke to were all pot-bellied braggarts.' 'Your wit is rapidly becoming tiresome,' said Imogen. 'Really? Would you like to come rapidly, instead? I'll give you an orgasm you'll never forget. I call it The Abdicator.' 'Fool!' spat the Priestess from across the table. 'You are making powerful enemies here!' 'I'm not a fool,' said Eleni, 'because I know exactly what you want from me. And I'm not
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your enemy, because I'm giving it to you!' 'At what cost!' whispered Isobel. The Spartan ignored her and continued: 'I don't do bows or ribbons, and I don't like bowing or curtsying. But my victories for you are unquestionable!' 'Your arrogance is unforgivable!' said Isobel. 'Remember that I'm a warrior, born of warriors and raised at the thorny skirt of Nature. My only jewellery is the scabbard that chafes my thigh and my only make-up is soot from burning cities. I seek out my foe-men's weaknesses then destroy them without mercy. This is who I am, and that is what makes me useful to you. If you want manners, go capture an Athenian girl!' Helianthe clapped: 'I admire your clarity. You are under no illusions. You fully realise that we are using you as a tool: or, if you prefer, as a weapon. And what does it matter if a sword has no polish, as long as the edge is kept sharp? But remember, warrior, that it is we who are holding your sister to ransom. Our demands are that you serve us and show us an acceptable degree of respect. Failure to comply will lead to Hypatia being punished.' Eleni put her feet down, sitting almost normally: 'Ok,' she said. 'What do you want me to do now?'

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CHAPTER 13. REPORT

Ottilia wandered throughout the walled garden of the Pleasure Cult, slowly and idly picking flowers. Her movements were sure yet unhurried, and she trod lightly. Thin clouds above, their fibres teased gently apart like wool, drifted on a serene breath of wind. Their slow shuffle across the heavens - a movement as imperceptible as the onset of sleep - seemed to guide Ottilia's own pace. A superstitious onlooker, given a chance to observe the High Priestess for any length of time, might reach the following conclusion. That Ottilia was bending reality slightly, as a boat distorts the sea with its wake. No matter how casually she moved or positioned herself, the surrounding scene inevitably complemented her figure, and the colour or pattern of her dress. It was as if an invisible painter was at constant work, composing the skies and flowerbeds, making sure they brought out the beauty of his model in an endless variety of pleasing ways. Surely she hadnt calculated the minutiae of such things? Such a degree of premeditation seemed impossible, or at least inhuman. Hours passed while she assembled her slim bouquet of flowers. Then she sat on an ornate bench. Here, she achieved the artificial serenity of a figure in a painting by Watteau. 'Mistress!' The figure who joined her was also graceful, but her urgency was jarring, like a bad brush-stroke on a masterpiece. Ottilia smiled, slowly turning to face the newcomer. 'Janice, you look flustered. I will forgive you because I know you are eager to bring me good news.'
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'Yes,' said Janice. 'The love between the Spartan, Hypatia, and the Corinthian, Socrates, has flourished.' 'You saw them coupling?' 'No, just the prelude. But the next day I counted seven of the ten signs of consummation which your wise Order has taught me.' 'For example?' 'He sat between her thighs whilst she combed his hair very gently. Their faces bore the serenity of recent gratification.' 'You are a good psychologist, Janice.' 'Thank you, mistress.' 'I am a better psychologist, and I can read no trace of uncertainty in your voice or manner. In fact, the part of their love that you saw has aroused you a little, changing the timbre of your voice ever so slightly.' 'I defer to your superior knowledge, mistress.' 'One day others will defer to you, Janice. Your assured handling of this situation has pleased me.' 'Thank you, mistress.' Janice waited for Ottilias next word, even if it was only her dismissal. Her wait was oddly protracted. Ottilia appeared to lose interest in the subject, seeming, also, to forget Janices very existence. Instead, she gazed at her bouquet, tracing the different coloured petals and stamens with her long, sensitive fingers. Her distraction created a sustained silence, a tense pause which Janice found disturbing. Finally 'And now, Janice, the real game begins. I adore love as much as I cherish these flowers. Once these beauties grew in our garden of nature. I picked them in the interests
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of art - my flower-arranging - and ended their communion with the soil. Do you suppose that the flowers hate me, Janice?' 'I don't know, mistress.' 'But I will replant them, in a new garden - the garden of my awareness. The soil of my mind is fine, and it has been watered by my tears.' 'Yes, mistress.' 'Don't yes mistress me! Pay real attention, girl! I will memorize every aspect of these flowers - every nuance, every contour, every possible association. They will be granted strange longevity, in my mind.' Janice was unsure how to reply. The concrete orders that followed came as a relief to her: 'Pick out some of your best acrobats and revisit the island. Approach the cave by stealth and tranquillize the lovers with blowpipe darts. Leave Socrates in the cave and bring Hypatia to me. Understood?' 'Yes.' 'Good. There is something in my chamber that I need you to leave in that cave. An ancient and precious mirror, of black obsidian. You must put it in the cave, wrapped in blue silk, with a blue tassel attached to it.' 'Yes, mistress.' 'Go now, faithful Janice.' As the acrobat sprinted away, Ottilia studied the posy in her hand for a long time. She shed a single tear and it landed, quivering like a dew-drop, on the scarlet tulip at the centre.

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* Hypatia lay awake in Socratess arms as he slept. The fire, which had dwindled to embers, now shed a mellow, amber light on the lovers. Hypatia smiled at her memories of their love-making earlier that night. Now, with her nude flesh held close to his, she felt deliciously relaxed and loved. She didnt hear the acrobats as they pole-vaulted over Socratess defensive wall of sharpened stakes. She didnt sense them as they climbed onto the cave roof and peered through the smoking chimney hole. Nor did she feel a twinge of pain as the hair-thin needle of a blowpipe dart penetrated her arm, driving its load of curare-like poison into her bloodstream, and paralysing her. Socrates received the same treatment and didnt even wake. The girl suddenly found she couldnt move. She watched helplessly as four black-clad figures moved inside the cave. She panicked, unable to cry for help, as they rapidly bound her nude body with fine silken cords. The last thing she saw was a square cotton handkerchief, damp with ether, moving towards her face. It was hours before Socrates woke from his own heavy, etherised sleep. He had a mild headache but smiled: Hey, Hypatia! Where are you? You really wore me out last night, you pretty little vampire! There was no reply. He moved out of the cave, entering the fenced compound. Hypatia was nowhere to be seen, and he shouted over the fence: You really shouldnt stray out there, on your own! You know we agreed that area was off limits! But I might forgive you, if youve gathered some fruit to feed to me. Its time you waited on me, after all the work Ive done. I could use some water too.
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There was still no reply. Socrates noticed the tiny feathered dart that was still embedded in his muscular left bicep. He pulled it out, eyeing it suspiciously. Then he noticed a small hole where the team of acrobats had burrowed their way out. Hypatia! HYPATIA! He ran all the way to the coastline, back to the beach where they had initially landed. A cryptic message had been painted on a large boulder. It read: Look after the mirror we left in your cave, and never cover it. Face it towards your bed. If you obey, Hypatia might live long enough to see you again. Socrates stared out at the sea, his eyes wild with anger. There was no trace of a fleeing boat. He grabbed a small rock and began furiously scratching at the painted message, totally effacing it. Damn all you Atlanteans, and your twisted games! Count us out, you bastards and bitches! Were not here for your sport!

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CHAPTER 14.

AMBITIONS

Helianthe breathed heavily as she laboriously ascended a tall spiral staircase, finally reaching a blue door at the summit. She knocked three times, and a melodious voice invited her to enter. Ottilia's private bedchamber was sparsely furnished, but the few ornaments she retained were of exquisite quality. A large window let sunlight stream in, casting shadow on the High Priestessess other guest. A slave, chained at the wrists by shackles, was hanging from a hook fixed to the ceiling. Ottilia, armed with a whip, regarded his nude form with mild interest. 'Hello, Helianthe,' said Ottilia, without looking away from her prey. 'Greetings, mistress,' said Helianthe. 'This is the slave who gave his boots to your errant protg.' 'You mean Eleni?' 'The very same. Such behaviour is not permitted within the confines of my cult.' She slowly, teasingly, caressed his body with the tip of the crop. The slave maintained a submissive silence. 'Do you think I should punish him or kiss him?' asked the High Priestess. Helianthe paused, carefully considering her reply. 'Perhaps,' she said, 'it is Eleni herself who requires your discipline. She was the instigator - not this docile slave.' 'No,' said Ottilia, 'that isn't an option. Eleni is a valuable asset to this Cult.' 'Of course. It was foolish of me to voice such an opinion, mistress.' 'But I am touched by your compassion towards this slave. So kiss him, then let him go.' Helianthe kissed the slave, whose body writhed in pleasure at the adept caresses of
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her lips. Then she unlocked the shackles, and the man, still naked, walked out of the chamber, leaving them alone. They sat on two flamboyant chairs, of silver and padded silk. 'You look unhappy,' said Ottilia. 'Eleni's presence here is distressing you, isn't it?' 'Perhaps a little. Her behaviour goes against everything we traditionally stand for.' Ottilia laughed. 'But you knew very well what to expect from her. You knew the ways of the Triple Star before you brought her to me. You knew that she was a force of nature. If you were so concerned, why didn't you have her thrown overboard whilst you had the chance?' 'I thought the decision was above my station. I felt it was a matter of such gravity that only you could decide.' 'Fair enough. But tell me: I have never met a Triple Star before. Of course, I have studied the theory, and am familiar with all the examples recorded in the annals of our Atlantean History...' Ottilia gazed reflectively out of the window. Helianthe, intuiting her train of thought, found the audacity to speak her mind: 'You want to know how she comes across in person? A living, breathing Triple Star? Not a text-book example, the real thing?' 'Perhaps. What are these personality flaws of hers, which you speak about?' 'She is rude and insolent for a start. She speaks before she thinks, thinking herself superior to any company. Her movements are graceless and sudden. She is reckless and seems to care about nothing and no-one - except saving her sister.' 'And her bedroom technique? Have you observed her?' 'Yes, from the usual hiding place.' 'And?'
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'She gets straight to the point. Harmony and ease mean nothing to her. She hits these men with very strong doses of pleasure, and gloats as they roll over like tickled hounds. She likes to render them powerless, and to push them past all reasonable thresholds of pleasure.' 'And the men?' 'Those fools love it. They are of a despicably low calibre, totally lacking in true refinement or connoisseurship. High-born Atlantean males are of a poor standard these days.' Ottilia smiled. 'Then it is a good thing that our cult is gaining the upper-hand.' 'Mistress?' 'Your Eleni already has dozens of influential men in thrall to her. And when these addicts demand their next fix, we can name our terms. I will manipulate Atlantean society so that our cult towers above all others. Then, the Art of Pleasure will become the primary concern of all citizens - not just an elite Order of Priestesses. Eleni is a means to an end - she is the coarse, labouring hand that will weed the flower-beds of our society. When they are clear, we will plant new, more delicate blooms. Subtlety and grace will ennoble the minds of all citizens. Every single act, however trivial or mundane, with be invested with serene and mindful bliss.' 'Mistress is wise. But surely there is a great obstacle that remains in our path?' 'Yes?' 'The Cult of Austerity still exerts its powerful restraining influence upon the nobles, armies and fleets of our Island. The celibate monks of that Order will never succumb to Eleni's charm.' 'No, they most probably won't. But I have other plans for controlling them.' 'Mistress?'
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'I won't share them with you... yet. I do, however, have a trivial favour to ask of you.' 'Anything, mistress.' 'Eleni is due to please a Nobleman this evening, isn't she?' 'Yes. None other than Prince Adeni, back for his second helping of mindless pleasure.' 'Good. Arrange things so I am placed in one of those two spying niches behind the tapestry.' Helianthe tried, and failed, to hide an expression of astonishment. 'Mistress? I mean, of course, mistress.'

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CHAPTER 15.

INDUCTION

Hypatia woke feeling groggy and faint. She lay on a four-poster bed, with cool silk sheets and delicately carved supports. The girl had been bathed, perfumed and dressed in a white singlet. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light in the chamber. It's curved walls suggested the inside of a tower. Daylight streamed in through two large, arched windows. One of them framed the silhouette of a woman who stood silently gazing out, her back to Hypatia. The strong back-lighting made her body resemble a sun in eclipse, its black mass fringed with a bright corona. Hello ?' said Hypatia feebly. The woman turned and answered. 'Thank goodness you're awake!' She offered a goblet of water which the girl thirstily drank. 'How do you feel?' asked the stranger. Her expression was tenderly maternal with a brow that was knitted in worry. She had a soothing tone of voice. Hypatia noticed her blonde hair and high, rounded cheek-bones. 'The whole room is spinning,' she answered. 'The sensation should pass in an hour or so,' said the woman, reassuringly. 'Who are you?' asked Hypatia. 'My name is Culina. I'm a Priestess in the Second Order of the Atlantean Pleasure Cult.' 'How did I get here!?' We intercepted a small slaver vessel, and found you locked in their hold.' 'Slavers?' 'Yes, a raiding party. They abduct women and sell them to the enemies of Atlantis.'
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'Socrates! Where is he? Socrates? He was your companion on that deserted island, right? Yes! Where have they taken him ?' 'Nowhere, they aren't interested in men. They probably just left him behind.' 'How do you know he wasn't murdered?' 'Because he isn't Atlantean. They kill all Atlantean men on sight, but they tend to be lenient with outsiders.' 'Then he's still alive? He must be desperately worried by now! If only I could tell him that I'm safe and unharmed.' Hypatia hung her head in despair. Culina put a reassuring arm round her shoulder: 'Look on the bright side! You are extremely fortunate to be here!' 'I am?' said the dazed girl. 'Yes. If it wasn't for Rowena, one of our sharp-eyed novices, you'd have woken up alone in the gutter of an Atlantean street. Atlantis is no place for friendless strangers.' 'What would have happened to me?' 'You'd have been arrested, then thrown into the sea to swim back home. The authorities cannot tolerate the presence of single women! But the Sisters of the Pleasure Cult - your Sisters - are powerful enough to hide you. We are still taking a considerable risk, though, by harbouring an unmarried refugee.' 'Thank you. I'll make it up to you somehow.' 'You had better do so,' said Culina, 'because we have saved you twice-over. Once from slavers, and once from rule-books of our own petty officials.' Hypatia shook her head: 'Actually, you've rescued me three times! When we were drifting in a stricken vessel it
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was an Atlantean ship - the Lectikon- which picked us up. It was there, aboard that ship, that I first experienced the kindness of your Pleasure Cult. A novice called Rowena saved me from serious injury. Her kind actions prevented me from being beaten-up by a gang of women.' Culina nodded: 'I already know your story.' 'You do?' 'Yes. After Novice Rowena recognised you, she explained everything. She says she left you and Socrates together on that island as a love-test, to see if you would bond. Is that correct?' 'Yes.' 'We were planning to check on your progress next week. If the two of you had become lovers, we were planning to welcome you both to Atlantis.' 'But we are lovers! Our love is deep and true! We should be together now!' 'I agree! But the slavers have ruined our plan! I still can't believe they dared to ruin the beautiful ritual which we arranged for you!' 'How is it ruined?' 'We want to bring your man here, to join you. Especially since you say true love has blossomed.' 'It has!' 'But it's simply too dangerous.' Hypatia looked frantic 'Why? You managed to rescue me, didn't you?' 'Only because we took those slavers by surprise. My sources report that their leader is furious. He sees our victory as a personal slight on his honour. Hell go to any lengths to
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get revenge. Hes ordered his ships to tirelessly patrol the waters encircling the island. And hes using your lover as bait. If we were to stage a rescue attempt, we would certainly all be killed.' Hypatia was confused: 'So their leader is at liberty? I thought you arrested the whole crew?' 'We did, but that particular ship was only a small raiding vessel; one which had become isolated from their fleet.' 'They have a whole fleet?' 'Yes. Those criminals grow stronger every year. They are a menace to all who sail the waters near Atlantis! Many families have lost loved-ones, stolen or killed by their pitiless hands. My own family was not exempt. My younger sister...' As her voice cracked with emotion, Culina turned away from Hypatia, sobbing into her voluminous sleeve. 'I'm sorry,' said Hypatia, 'I didn't understand the situation.' Culina looked at Hypatia and made a brave attempt at a smile. Her eyes were red with tears. 'We are only a Pleasure Cult.' she said. 'What use are our charms against cold steel?' 'None, I suppose.' She scowled angrily: 'Half the slave-traders are women. Those bitches are even crueller than their male comrades.' Hypatia nodded. 'That makes sense. There was a raid on our island a few months ago - this was before I was actually taken. I could tell the intruder was a woman.'
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Culina nodded: 'They were probably playing some kind of cruel game. Who knows how their evil minds work?' Hypatia fell silent, gazing forlornly into space. 'Oh sweetheart, what is the matter?' said Culina. 'I miss Socrates! I would do anything to get him back!' The Priestess gazed pensively out of the window. 'Put him out of your mind. There is no way that you can help him now.' 'I can't stop thinking about him!' said Hypatia. 'I love him too dearly!' Culina was silent for a few moments. 'Your loyalty and faith are assets: you should be proud of such admirable qualities. I, on the other hand, should feel ashamed.' 'Why?' 'Because I am shamefully quick to abandon hope. Especially since...' 'Since what?' ' since there are less conventional means at my disposal,' she said. 'What do you mean?' 'There is a strange and subtle way for the two of you to be reunited. It might succeed where boats and swords would fail.' 'I would be reunited with him by any means, strange or not!' Culina fell silent, folding her arms tightly. She looked tortured by indecision. 'What are you thinking?' asked Hypatia impatiently. 'I am considering telling you some things that would be of great use to you in the present circumstances,' said Culina. 'Yes! Please do!'
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'It's not that simple.' 'How so?' 'This knowledge is secret. Officially speaking, it should never be divulged to anyone below the rank of Priestess. Sharing it could cost me my place in the Order. But...' 'But what?' said Hypatia eagerly. 'I hate those slavers bitterly for taking my sister away. I have a personal score to settle with them. Also, I like you.' 'Then you'll help me? You'll help me free Socrates?' 'Only if you promise to keep it a secret.' 'Of course! I promise!' Culina looked serious. 'This won't be easy! It will take time and concentration.' 'I don't care! Anything!' 'To make matters worse, I can only teach you at night. So you can forget about getting a decent night's sleep for the next few months. Fortunately, your bed-chamber is positioned very near to mine. I will bribe the guards so that they let you pass.' 'I accept your conditions,' said Hypatia. 'Really? Because you still have to perform your novitiate duties during the day. There will be lessons in elocution, deportment, dancing. You'll be required to pass difficult tests. No-one can suspect you are tired...' 'I need very little rest,' said Hypatia. 'I can function on just three or four hours sleep a night.' 'Good. You should spend a week or so just settling in, learning the ropes. When I think you're ready for some extra coaching, I'll let you know.' Now rest. Your evening meal will be brought to you, and someone will be with you
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tomorrow morning to guide you through your new routine. Hypatia frowned at Culina as she started to leave the room: 'But what exactly is it youll be teaching me? You haven't even said yet!' Culina smiled: 'I'll tell you when you're ready. Trust me, Hypatia. Rest for me.' As the door softly closed, Hypatia sank deep into sleep.

* In the corridor outside, Culina reported to Helianthe in a whisper: 'It's done. I fed her a pack of lies. 'And she believed you?' 'For now, but she's still drowsy and suggestible. Her head will be clear by tomorrow; she may start asking awkward questions.' 'So? Should we start feeding her the Affinity mixture?' 'No, it would numb her emotions. She'll need strong feelings if she's to fulfil her potential.' 'Then what do you propose?' 'A strong dose of Tristisia should be all she needs.' Helianthe laughed: 'That evil battleaxe wont give her a moments rest! And if shes given no time to think then she wont begin doubting us.'

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CHAPTER 16.

THE VOYEUR

Eleni paced around the bed-chamber like a caged tigress, waiting for the knock on its heavy wooden door. Her gold mask was carelessly discarded on the bed, and her bored expression contrasted with its serene visage. Two pairs of eyes watched as she began to play an idle game of her own devise. It involved flipping gold coins at a mark on the floor. The hard coins bounced off the polished marble tiles, scratching them, before clattering around the chamber noisily, and finally coming to rest. Ottilia glanced at Helianthe, who stood beside her, scowling in contempt at the Spartan. The two women shared a concealed alcove behind a wall-length tapestry. Each of them viewed the chamber through small spy-holes. These were carefully disguised amidst the ornate patterning of the woven cloth. Elenis game was disturbed by a knock at the door. She slowly donned her mask, but otherwise ignored the sound, continuing to play her seemingly-pointless game. There was another knock. Then another. Finally, she opened the door, revealing a flustered-looking Prince Adeni. 'I couldn't wait to see you again. You're like no-one else I've encountered in my whole life.' 'You mean I'm better than the others in bed?' 'No, there's far more to it than that. Normal words can't describe the changes you've wrought upon my soul. So I've written a poem for you. It's called The Thundercloud. May I recite it?' 'If you must.' The Prince slowly, nervously, unfolded his poem, holding the parchment in shaking
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hands. Then, in a tremulous but serious voice, he began to read it aloud:

'Bright is the sun, ruler of the day; dim is the moon, pale Queen of the night, none can compete with his luminous ray save for the cloud, which, with lightning bright

Eases dark broodings, which are the price for her swift moments of insolence. Eclipsing the sun for a moment, a trice? Can this be half-enough recompense

for a shouldered burden of thunderous gloom? Such a cloud should name a Prince for her groom; Would such a marriage, to brightness and power, Ease her heart's pain, as she reigned from my tower, bringing her love's rain?

Eleni ignored his recital, carrying on her game of coin-toss throughout. The uninvited listeners were more attentive: 'Did he just ask her to marry him?' whispered Helianthe. 'Ssshh,' hissed Ottilia, 'I'm listening.' Prince Adeni looked pleased with himself. 'Well, what did you think?' 'You are good at reading. You read quickly.'
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'But did you like the poem? Did it stir your heart?' 'No. I come from Sparta, and we have no time for timid games like poetry. It didn't interest me a bit, and I hardly understood it. Were you talking about a thunder-storm you once saw, or something?' 'Such intolerable insolence!' hissed Helianthe. Ottilia bit her hand, stifling laughter. Out in the room, Prince Adeni looked stunned 'It was about you! I wrote it for you, my darling! You are the sombre thundercloud, whose sparks have enough power to compete with the sun! And, as surely as my blood is Royal, I will have your hand in marriage!' Eleni folded her arms defiantly. 'Why would you want that? What's so special about the Royal bedchamber? I can give you all the pleasure you want, right here, right now!' He stepped forward, clasping her shoulders: 'I don't think you truly understand! I love you! Give your brooding heart to me, and I will make it sweet again!' She pushed him away unceremoniously. Then, as if nothing had transpired, she changed the subject. I am pleased that you performed the favour I asked of you.' 'What? Promising to break off my engagement to that Priestess of the Craft Cult? It wasn't easy! Tongues wagged furiously.' 'Oh?' 'But I did it for you! I freed my heart from duty so that I could release it to your pleasure.' 'You need pleasure, don't you?'
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'Of course!' 'Good. If you want to be a saddle for my loins again, you must agree to perform a new favour.' 'Anything! Name it and its yours!' 'You will marry a Priestess from the Pleasure Cult.' He looked overwhelmed with joy: 'What, you? Yes! Of course, yes!' As the frothy tide of his romantic dream hit the rocky shore of reality, it was diminished somewhat. He suddenly seemed more serious. 'Such a marriage is forbidden by years of tradition... Pleasure Cultists can't normally marry. But I will fight like a veteran until such a pioneering love-match becomes reality.' Behind the gold mask, Eleni smiled: 'Good. But you won't be marrying me. I want you to marry Imogen.' Adeni was momentarily dumbstruck. Then 'Why on Earth would I marry her when I could have you?' Eleni stifled a laugh. 'Err.. let me think. Perhaps it would be easier for your Court to accept a fellow Atlantean as Empress? Better that, than an outsider from Sparta?' 'She's a bad liar,' complained Helianthe, 'but he's love-struck enough to fall for it.' Ottilia was biting her palm, suppressing more laughter. 'Mistress?' whispered Helianthe. 'These are matters of some gravity. I fail to understand how her careless talk can provide any cause for amusement?' Ottilia seemed to laugh even harder, becoming red in her elaborately made-up face. Adeni, on the other hand, was entirely serious. 'Yes!' he said, 'you have devised a brilliant plan!'
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As he spoke, he puffed out his chest, making grand, sweeping gestures with his arms. 'We will soften this great blow against tradition by dividing it into two lesser blows. First, I marry an Atlantean Pleasure Cultist. Then, when the uproar over that has died down, I will divorce her and marry you!' He brought his hand to his chin and paced the chamber, pondering their chances of success: 'Even in two halves it will remain a bitter pill for the traditionalists to swallow...' 'It's a poison pill, my dear!' whispered Helianthe, gloatingly. 'They won't swallow it, and you will forfeit your claim to the throne. Once your idiot brother takes your place, we will control him as easily as we do the slaves in this Cult!' 'That was my general plan,' said Ottilia, who had finally stopped laughing. Adeni stopped pacing, his doubts mastered. 'I'll do it!' he said. 'Then it's time for your reward,' said Eleni, prosaically. She moved towards the bed. 'No,' said Adeni, 'not yet, not like this! First you must please accept this ring and agree to be my fiance!' The prince produced a small, velvet-lined jewellery box. As he knelt, he snapped it open, revealing an exquisite engagement ring. 'Eleni of Sparta. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife, the future Empress of all Atlantis?' 'Alright then,' she said, casually extending her ring-finger. Adeni slowly slipped the ring onto her finger, savouring each tiny moment of his victory. He stood back, a beaming smile on his satisfied face. 'All I ask now is a kiss,' he said, 'just one kiss from your naked lips. Please take off that mask and show me your beautiful face!'
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'Sorry, I can't do that,' said Eleni. 'They won't let me. Its strictly against the rules.' 'Darling! I am prepared to fight against thousands of years of ingrained tradition in order to secure our marriage! A small rebellion on your part would be an appropriate gesture of our solidarity, would it not?' 'Rules are rules. You can kiss the mask if you like.' 'Kiss...the mask?' 'It's the best I can offer.' Adeni tenderly, passionately, kissed the cold metal, embracing Eleni and caressing her back with his hands. Her arms reached behind his shoulders, giving him a cursory pat on the shoulder-blades. In the shadows of the voyeur's alcove, Ottilia bit deeply into the heel of her bruised hand, unsuccessfully stifling a gale of laughter. Eleni glanced over quickly, but Adeni remained oblivious. Finally, after many long-winded assurances, he bid his sweetheart adieu. Eleni discarded the mask, then slipped off the ring, casually tossing it onto the unused bed. She smiled in the direction of the tapestry: 'Come out, come out, whoever you are!' 'Hold your insolent tongue,' hissed Helianthe, 'and leave this chamber at once. I will remain here whilst I consider your punishment.' 'Punishment? For what?' 'For taking such foolish risks with the crown-prince! How dare you treat him as if he were some drunken stable-hand!' 'I took no risks that didn't yield results,' said Eleni. A furious Helianthe would hear no apologies: 'How far were you prepared to push him! Out of the damn window? Do you really think
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you can jeopardize our plans for your own amusement?' 'I'm sorry, but I still can't see what I did wrong.' 'When he read you that poem, you should have listened, hanging on his every word! When he gave you that ring, you should have accepted it graciously, not casually. When he wanted to remove your mask, you should have let him! Have you no idea of protocol!' 'So you really wanted me to be meek, predictable and subservient? In short, like every other woman in Atlantis? Can't you see that he wants me because I don't care, because when he kisses me, I spit back in his face?' 'NO! He only wants you because of the strong pleasure which your freakish horoscope allows you to give to him!' Eleni shook her head: 'It's not always about pleasure, Helianthe. Tell me. Are you jealous?' 'WHAT!' The cry of pure rage was muffled by the thick cloth of the tapestry. Eleni sighed. 'I don't think we're ever going to like each other, are we, Helianthe? So I'm going to leave you now.' 'Good riddance, strumpet.' 'Oh, and give my regards to your silent friend, skulking coward that she is...' 'YOU'LL DIE FOR SUCH INSOLENCE!' roared Helianthe. 'DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE INSULTING?' Her outburst was cut short when Ottilia pushed the tapestry aside and revealed herself. She was smiling calmly. The two women eyed each other silently for a moment, like prize-fighters in a ring. It was Ottilia who broke the silence. 'How did you know I was there?' she asked, casually but imperiously.
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Eleni's blood was up. The next thing that usually happened in such circumstances was a fight. But something about Ottilia's presence seemed to restore the Spartan girl's sobriety. Her answer, when it came, was measured: 'It's simple, isn't it? I heard the sound of laughter, and I can't imagine Helianthe having a laugh about anything. So someone else must have been involved.' Helianthe bit her tongue as the High Priestess smiled: 'You know that I could have you killed for this? You and your sister, both put to death?' 'Yes...' 'Really, because you don't seem to care.' Eleni was silent. 'Are you always this casual in matters of life-and-death?' 'Worrying never changed anything, did it?' 'Perhaps not. But calculation and planning can change everything.' Eleni looked at Ottilia suspiciously, as if she were an apparition. Ottilias presence was giving her a strange sensation, and she struggled to define it. Abruptly, she had a spark of recognition: Ottilia is like me. She simply doesn't care. Eleni had met many tough people in her life brigands and soldiers who cherished the idea of fighting to the death. Champions who would train themselves to the point of collapse under the blazing sun, just to ensure a moment of pure glory. Veterans who, having experienced all the horrors of the world, had lost the fears that average men carry. These were dangerous, focused people, and you noticed them when they entered a room. But none of them had this sort of presence. No, she's not the same as anyone I've met! She's like a stone pillar in a temple! Nobody should be that calm!
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Ottilia smiled 'Anybody can be this calm, if they are willing to practice.' Eleni was visibly shocked 'Did you just read my mind? How could that be possible?' 'No. Your mind is closed to me, but your body spoke volumes.' 'My body?' 'It seems you have a lot to learn. You have so much power, and yet so little knowledge and control. It seems like a shame to me. Wouldn't you agree?' 'I don't know.' 'Then meet me in my private garden tomorrow morning. We will discuss these and many other interesting things. Helianthe will show you out, won't you Helianthe?' 'Yes, mistress,' said the petulant cultist. Helianthe led Eleni out of the ornate door, and through the corridor. 'I can't believe she's invited you to join her in the private garden. This is a rare privilege for any Priestess!' 'Really? I wouldn't know.' 'Then know this, Spartan. You may amuse Ottilia for a while - like a snake with legs, or some other bizarre oddity of nature. But when the novelty wears off she will see you for what you are, and punish you accordingly.' 'I take it you've never been invited to her garden, then?' Helianthe refused an answer. The enemies continued their walk in tense silence. Back in the chamber, Ottilia was left alone, unobserved. She picked up the gold mask and began fingering the slimy trails of saliva around its insensitive mouth. 'Kiss...the mask?' she said, mimicking Adeni's voice. Laughter rang out loudly in the chamber.
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CHAPTER 17. SUBMISSION

The knock at the door came at sun-rise. 'Come in,' said Hypatia wearily. A novice came through the door. She handed Hypatia a tray which bore a bowl of soup and some bread. 'Your breakfast,' said the young novice. Hypatia was famished after her long, drugged sleep; she began eagerly devouring the offering. 'My name is Hypatia,' she said between mouthfuls, 'what's yours?' 'Prymna.' 'So what are we doing today, then, Prymna?' 'I am to show you to the baths, then accompany you to the Chapel where the Dressing Ceremony will take place.' Prymna spoke tersely, with an air of frosty disdain. 'Dressing Ceremony ?' She nodded silently. 'Can you tell me a little more, please?' 'No, I can't.' Hypatia caught Prymna glaring at her as she ate. 'Do my manners offend you?' The novice blanked her, creating an awkward silence. 'Did you not hear me?' 'I am only permitted to speak on matters of importance.' 'And who decides what's important, and what isn't?'
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'Tristisia.' 'Who, or what, is Tristisia?' 'You'll see,' said the novice, with an evil little grin. 'Now follow me.' Hypatia followed Prymna out of the room. Her guide walked with fast, stiff, mechanical steps; they totally lacked the grace which Hypatia had admired in Rowena's fluid gait. The silent novice marched her swiftly through a corridor and down some stairs. They quickly reached a chamber, and Prymna hustled the Spartan inside. Hypatia found herself in a narrow room with a high, thin, arrow-slit window. It was lit by a silvery, artificial light set in the ceiling. The chamber was lined from floor to ceiling with chequered tiles. 'Strip,' said Prymna. Hypatia reluctantly obeyed. She felt vulnerable without her singlet - not from any feeling of self-consciousness, but because she disliked Prymna and knew the feeling was mutual. Removing a defensive layer of clothes felt like dropping her guard during a fight. Prymna smiled disdainfully as she regarded her denuded body. Hypatia watched as she filled a bucket from a porcelain sink. Then she threw it at her aggressively, so that the main bulk of the water struck her forcefully in the face. 'It's ice-cold!' shrieked Hypatia, who immediately began shivering. 'Turn around,' said Prymna, with a smile. The bucket was flung again. 'Raise your arms and keep them held above your head.' Hypatia obeyed and Prymna grabbed a coarse, soapy brush. She began harshly scrubbing Hypatia's body, as if she were cleaning a stone door-step. 'Can't you be a bit more gentle?' protested the Spartan. 'Tristisia wants you clean.' 'You're scrubbing me raw.'
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'I answer to Tristisia, not you.' Finally the ordeal was over. Prymna splashed perfume on Hypatia's body, where it stung dreadfully. Then she man-handled her hair, tying it back with copper-wire. 'Can I get dressed now?' asked Hypatia. 'No. You can follow me.' 'What, naked?' Prymna gave her an insulting look, as if she were an idiot. 'Yes, naked. Don't you savages understand simple instructions?' 'Yes, but I'm not a savage.' 'Good. Then tomorrow you can clean yourself. If you can remember how it's done, that is.' Hypatia followed Prymna, sensing the cold, stone floor with every step of her naked feet. She resisted the urge to cover herself, instead walking naturally and confidently. They walked for about a minute, but it felt like an eternity. Eventually they arrived at a grand arched doorway. 'Walk through the chapel until you reach the altar. Your new clothes are on top of it. You really should put them on.' Prymna gave Hypatia a disparaging, head-to-toe gaze. Then, abruptly, she left. Hypatia opened the door. She slowly walked the length of the long chapel, fighting back an impulse to jog forwards. The Spartan felt utterly indifferent to the vaulted splendour of the soaring roof above. Instead, she was keenly aware of the stone floor tiles, cold but smooth under her bare feet. Chill breezes brought goose-bumps to the rest of her body, and she found herself walking a little faster. The fact that the chapel appeared to be deserted did little to relieve her self-consciousness. She was delighted to reach the altar at the far end. On
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it she discovered a blue silk robe, which she slipped on hurriedly, feeling better as the long garment covered her from collar to toe. 'Aren't you the shy one!' cried a woman's heckling voice. Hypatia gasped and wheeled round. A robed woman had slipped in through the door at the other end of the chamber. The Priestess was bedecked with several intricate pieces of golden jewellery, proving her advancement within the hierarchy of the cult. She was beautiful in a harsh, angular way, but her thin lips and narrow eyes warned of a strain of cruelty in her make-up. 'This is no place for shrinking violets. Your body and mind are ours now, and we will transform them entirely. Take a good look at this temple - the columns, traceries, vaults and arches. Once all these were raw stone, bleaching in the sun. The stonemasons fashioned them into something entirely new. What use if those stones had trembled away from the chisels?' 'I will be less reserved in future, mistress.' 'I'm pleased to hear that. After all, we will be revealing a lot of secrets to you. Are you ready to learn some of the secrets of pleasure?' 'Yes.' 'Such a confident answer could only be mouthed by ignorant lips. You are ignorant of pleasure!' 'Yes, mistress.' 'Now you are mindlessly agreeing with me - you only want to please me, you don't care about the truth.' Hypatia was dumbfounded and the Priestess smiled. 'Why haven't you asked me my name yet? Don't you care?' 'Please, mistress. You are Tristisia?'
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'How do you know?' 'Prymna mentioned you, Mistress.' 'So, Prymna has been gossiping about me, behind my back. What did she say? 'She said you decide what's important and what's not.' Tristisia laughed: 'Prymna is the least talented of my pupils. She will never rise above the grade of novice. But she sometimes manages to get little things right. What she told you is true. From this point forward, I will decide what's important, and what isn't.' 'Yes, mistress.' 'Let's start with the way you walked across this chapel. It was an absolute disgrace. Your walk didn't just lack beauty. It didn't just lack femininity. It lacked humanity. You are human, aren't you?' 'Of course, mistress.' 'Are you sure, because the last creature I saw walking like that was an ape.' 'Sorry, mistress.' 'Never apologise to me! I want improvements, not words! Now take off that robe and cross the floor again. You'll get it back when I decide you've earned it.' Hypatia reluctantly obeyed, placing the garment on the altar. 'NO!' screamed Tristisia, 'fold it, and lay it down neatly. You've relied on servants all your life haven't you?' 'Yes.' 'And it shows, because you can't even do simple things properly. Never mind. Just get back over there and walk for me.' 'Must I be nude?' complained Hypatia. 'It is quite cold in here.' Tristisia walked right over to the Spartan, thrusting her angry gaze half an inch from the
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girls own flinching, downcast eyes. 'Why do you think I want you nude? Are you deluded enough to believe that I have the slightest interest in your body?' 'No, mistress.' 'I can only study your posture and balance properly when you are nude or lightly clad. One day, you will be required to walk across a balance beam a hundred feet above the ground, naked as the day you were born. The rocky ground below will give you no warning before it dashes you to pieces! Now walk!' Hypatia obeyed. She vainly attempted to recall Rowena's graceful stride, and to copy it. Tristisia's flurry of angry gestures confirmed her doubts. 'No, no, no! A drunken sailor getting shoved out of a whore-house moves more gracefully than that! And why do you look so ashamed? How can you hope to please a man if you are ashamed of your own body?' Hypatia thought of the times when she was naked with Socrates. How natural it felt; how tenderly he put her at her ease. How content he had been to watch her saunter, naked and laughing, across the floor of the cave. It felt like another world; a warm place that Tristisia and her heartless kind could never hope to understand. In that moment Hypatia could have wept for sadness, but instead she resolved to continue. The nights would bring her the chance to help Socrates. She couldn't afford to let him down. 'You are right, mistress', she said. 'I am ashamed. I was born clumsy and made even clumsier by my savage upbringing. My walk is disgraceful. I humbly beg you to show me how to improve.' Tristisia laughed: 'That's the spirit! But before you can walk, you must learn to crawl! No, wait! That's probably too advanced for you! First I would have you slither across to
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me on your belly, like a worm.' Hypatia felt no more pain, or anger, or shame as she complied. Her mind was entirely focused on one goal: being reunited with Socrates. Everything else paled into insignificance. 'Good!' said Tristisia, glaring down with gleeful eyes. 'I can see that we are going to enjoy each other's company very much'.

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CHAPTER 18. OTTILIAS PRIVATE GARDEN

That morning, Eleni bathed in the communal baths of the Pleasure Cult. The whole bathing process took a considerable amount of time. It was divided into several stages, each of which took place in a different chamber. These opulent spaces were tiled with coloured mosaics, depicting ocean scenes and marine wildlife. Inside were hot and cold baths, steam-saunas, or rows of long benches, upon which the cultist's reclining bodies were cleansed with aromatic oils (these were applied, then scraped off, by the silent, impassive slaves). After her long, relaxing pilgrimage through the bath-chambers, Eleni sat in a great boudoir, where the cult women were attended upon by skilled servants Eleni found herself being dressed with an extravagance that went far beyond the normal requirements of daywear. She was given a strange, shimmering dress, formed of minuscule, rainbow coloured scales. Then her hair was slowly, laboriously styled into braided coils. Sleek, slanting strokes of dark cosmetics were applied around her eyes, and her whole face was made-up in a skilful way that made her gasp in astonishment at her own reflection in the mirror: I hardly recognise myself! I didn't know I could look this good , she thought. Looking again, she realised that the artist had emphasised those aspects of her face whilst she personally disliked, whilst underplaying her best features. They had successfully worked against the grain, producing a transformation. Then her whole body was loaded with ornate, curving jewellery. Each valuable piece beguiled and disturbed Eleni, like strange, exotic fish she'd once been shown by a fishermen. What whirlpools of thought could have inspired these berserk, rambling contours, and serpentine writhings? They were the work of a madman.
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Thus adorned, Eleni was led by two maids through the main garden, towards a separate walled garden. The door was opened with a golden key and Eleni was led through. Inside was a formal garden, whose pathways, fountains and flowerbeds were organised around a geometric pattern. The Spartan followed the maids, finding herself in a round patio at the centre. The High Priestess, Ottilia, stood near a flowerbed, serenely regarding the flowers. She turned round and smiled in greeting. 'Welcome, Eleni. You are a guest in my own private garden now. I hope you like it?' What do I know about gardens? thought Eleni. I like wild woods, whose tangled pathways are bordered with dark labyrinths of trees. I like scattered boulders that seem to be attacking the sides of mountains. I don't like gardens. This one looks the same as any other to me. 'Its green and neat, and the plants seem to be growing well,' offered Eleni. Her polite comments were delivered in a flat, unenthusiastic tone. Ottilia laughed, and the Spartan girl took the opportunity to look at her. Ottilia stood at about the same height as Eleni, who was tall by Spartan standards. Shed noticed that Atlanteans were a tall people, and Ottilia was about average height for a female of that Isle. Her features were too exotic to appeal to the majority of men. She had the kind of fine, incredibly elegant face that only another woman could fully appreciate. Her figure was slim and slender, lacking the strength of Eleni's own lanky, athletic frame. The bones in her small, pointed hands looked delicate, to the degree that Eleni could imagine crushing them within her own stronger grasp. Her fingers, like organ-pipes, were very different in length, coming to sharp points at the tapering index fingers. She seemed like a vampire that had fed upon a thousand envious dreams in the
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hearts of less-fortunate Atlantean women, stealing her form from their unachieved ideals of perfection. Just as there are a few extremely masculine men, who seem to form a sex within a sex, or a fortified keep of purity within the castle of common maleness, so Ottilia was ultra-feminine. But, in the same way as a pure man's man - say a barrel-chested veteran of many wars - might be off-putting to many women, so Ottilia's appearance seemed calculated to alienate all but the most refined, or raw, male tastes. Eleni was disturbed to see that the High Priestess's hair, make-up, jewellery and dress were almost exactly the same as her own - the only difference being that the Atlantean's were of even higher quality. They might have been two princesses, dressed to look alike. Still, there was no mistaking who was pre-eminent. Ottilias posture and gestures were subtly hypnotic. Everything but art had been removed from her thought, from her speech, from her sensing, from her actions. She was as artificial as a mechanical songbird, fashioned from gold and enamel, and studded with rare jewels of exotic insights. Even her gaze seemed light-footed, as if it rested gently on the things she saw, whispering across them like a bird on thin ice. Ottilia noticed Elenis scrutiny. She smiled: 'Do you find me interesting?' Eleni felt a little uneasy: 'Perhaps. You're very different from anyone else I've met. Her hostess laughed. 'Yes, but everything is so very different from everything else. Stand beside me, Eleni. Look at these flowers.' She gestured toward an earthy bed full of exotic flowers. 'Every one of these is different. Some of them make love to themselves. Others consort with insects or the wind, using them to spread their seed.'
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'I know that'. 'Yes. But did you know that there are a thousand different ways to pluck a flower? One has to use the right way, or they lose their beauty when they leave the earth.' 'No.' 'Then I will teach you. I'll show you how to hold your hand in different ways, so that it resembles the beak of a predatory bird. Each of these birds snatches its prey using a different motion. So we can pick flowers in the mode of the Falcon, or of the Eagle, or in the mode of the Kingfisher.' 'Really...' 'See this cyclamen. It's petals are heart-shaped and divided from each other. Is it not the flower of lovers who long for their sweethearts? We should pick it very gently, severing the stem with the nails of our smallest fingers. Then its native suffering will be kept intact. We mustn't inflict any coarse, alien traumas. These would only distract it from its endless song of woe.' Eleni gazed at the flower, unimpressed. 'I wouldn't have looked at it that carefully.' Ottilia shook her head. 'Flowers are not plants. They are beliefs given shape. Rose, chrysanthemum, morning glory - each one embodies a separate portion of the universal pleasure - the undivided rapture that lives in the sun.' 'You think the sun is pure pleasure?' 'I speak symbolically. My point is that no pleasure is total in this world; we can only discern small fractions of it. My science is to observe and catalogue these delicate, whispering fractions. I have infinite patience for this study, unlimited interest in the variations. Then, I learn from them, making their power my own.'
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'What can a woman learn from a plant?' 'The plant's own particular belief about what pleasure is. Look deeply. Sense without preconceptions. Rare pleasures can only be learnt from rare sources.' 'But why bother? I have enough power to give any man total pleasure any time I like. Why would I bother making candles? I already have the sunlight to fill my bedroom?' Ottilia looked up at the sky, taking time to shape her riposte. 'The sun is brilliant, but it hides the light of the stars. The world at night is humiliated, abandoned by her husband, the sun. But that is the only chance she gets to count her pale dreams. The sadness of losing the full light is compensated by the chance to study the myriad stars - each one different in character.' 'Sorry? Was that poetry or something?' Ottilia almost frowned: 'Your power has become a barrier to learning. When you are with me, I want you to forget the power you've got. When you are with me, I want you to learn the small, delicate things you might otherwise miss.' 'I'm not a delicate person! Even as a girl I hated flowers. If I stopped to pick one, it was only to pretend it was a sword.' 'Go on then. Show me.' 'I've grown past that now.' 'Then what do you do for fun?' 'Here? Nothing. There is no fun for me here.' 'What if we were in Sparta?' 'Then I would be out horse-riding. Or throwing the discus or javelin. Or running. Or, better than any of these, wrestling. Wrestling a proud, strong youth, and grinding his face down into the dirt.'
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Ottilia looked shocked: 'Surely these rough activities are exclusively the province of men? Eleni laughed. 'Not for us Spartans. We believe that women with strong bodies have strong babies.' 'And the other women? Are they as strong as you?' Eleni spat disdainfully: 'Some of them tried to be, but I was the best. I beat all the others at the women's games, the Heraea. In fact, they were too easy for me. I preferred to compete against the youths of the training camps. Sometimes us maids would strip nude and race or wrestle them. When I won - which was often - I would taunt them: You sons of Helots I would say. Over and over again, until the whole company laughed and flung dust in their faces.' 'Helots?' 'The slave people.' 'You have slaves on Sparta?' 'Yes, just as you Atlanteans do. And, if I had my way, we would invade your Isle, conquer it, and name your people as the new Helots.' 'You would fail,' said Ottilia, 'just as a small boy would fail if he tried to beat his father'. Eleni scowled at her hostess's arrogance. 'Maybe now. But small boys grow up to be strong men, and fathers eventually grow feeble. Our time will come.' 'No, it won't', said Ottilia. 'We are the secret gardeners of your world. When any power grows too tall - Egypt or Athens, Rome or Sparta - we prune it down to size. We sabotage kingdoms by stealth, and no-one sees our hand at work. We rule over you by legerdemain.'
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'Your tactics are cowardly.' 'But effective. What does it matter if we never march our troops onto the battle-fields? We are always the winning side.' 'Cheating cowards.' Ottilia gazed around idly. 'I'm tired of this talk. In truth, I care little for nations, and their squabbles. My only interest is the study of pleasure. Your savage idea of fun repulses me, but I wish to learn more about it.' 'Why?' 'If only to show, by contrast, how vastly superior our enjoyments are.' 'And what part do I play in this? What do you want me to do?' 'You must show me, one by one, all the things in life that you've most enjoyed. You will do it?' Eleni bared her teeth in a wolfish grin: 'I will, but on one condition.' 'Yes?' 'You must learn all or nothing. I will teach you all the sports and diversions I know, but you may not pick or choose. I will hear no refusals. Cowardice and prissiness are not an option in Sparta.' 'Very well. Eleni grinned, putting her hands on her hips: Then we'll start today. I've been hemmed in behind stone walls for too long. I need a horse-ride badly. Get two fast stallions and have them saddled for us.' Ottilia shook her head: 'I've never ridden a horse before. I wouldn't know how. Eleni pulled a mocking face:
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'Its about time you learned, then.' 'No! I've spent four centuries gathering my store of knowledge. I'm not going to risk all that by falling off a beast and breaking my neck!' 'Then my lessons end here.' Eleni turned tail and began striding away. 'Wait!' cried Ottilia. 'You must hold the reins, and I'll sit behind you. I want the sensation of speed.' Eleni sighed: 'I suppose that's better than nothing, and I do still want a horse-ride. So have you two peplos we can wear?' 'What?' 'Short tunics, slit down both thighs. You don't imagine we'll be mounting a horse in these long dresses, do you?' Ottilia shook her head: 'We don't keep barbarian clothes here.' 'No, of course you don't. Do you have a knife?' Ottilia produced a short, curved dagger, its gold handle encrusted in jewels. 'How do I know I can trust you with this weapon?' she said. 'I thought you could read my intentions by looking at my body?' 'I can,' she bluffed. But not when I'm this excited . 'So you know you can trust me, then?' 'Perhaps...' Eleni laughed: 'You can't read me now, can you? I wonder why that is?'
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'I can!' The Spartan glared impatiently at the High Priestess, who glared back defiantly. Eleni exhaled slowly: 'You'll have to trust me sooner or later if not with that blade then on the horse. Stabbing you now, whilst we're alone together in a locked garden, would be far too obvious. If I want to kill you, Ill shove you off the horses back. Then Ill claim you fell by accident.' 'If you kill me, Helianthe will succeed me as High Priestess. Her first act will be to have you put to death.' 'Then I need you alive. So let's trust each other? We haven't got all day.' Ottilia handed Eleni the dagger, and Eleni began slashing at her exquisite dress. 'Wait! What are you doing! That gown took me a year to make!' Eleni laughed as she drastically raised the hem-line, before slitting the skirt down both thighs. 'Your turn,' she giggled, handing back the blade. 'I can't believe I'm even considering this,' said Ottilia, reluctantly tapping the blade against the costly fabric with its shimmering scales. 'I must be going mad.' 'Do you want a ride or not?' 'Yes, damn you.' Ottilia scowled as she sheared the fabric, crudely cutting a new diagonal hemline. 'Not that high,' teased Eleni, 'you'll be giving the horse ideas.' Suddenly Ottilia was laughing, but there was no artifice in it. Eleni watched, beaming: 'That's the spirit! We'll make a Spartan of you yet,' she said.

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CHAPTER 19. BLACK MIRROR

Hypatia lay in bed, feeling miserable and exhausted. Outside the window a full moon, larger and yellower than she remembered, poured jaundiced light into her chamber. It was a warm spring night. The balmy climate of Atlantis meant that sleeping was done under thin, silk sheets with windows open. There was a soft breeze and the music of crickets rose up from the garden, which was fragrant with night-flowering plants. She should have felt tranquil; sleep should have enveloped her body gently, like a warm bath. But Hypatia's eyes were open, resisting rest. Sleep was the accomplice of time, and time had become a criminal. Every morning at dawn it stole her peace-of-mind. A week had passed, but Tristisia's regime of bullying made each day feel like a lifetime. Hypatia had cried the first few nights, but tonight she resolved to be strong. She gazed intently at the moon. Perhaps, at that same moment, Socrates was also gazing at its remote light? This meagre scrap of hope only increased her longing for him. Now she experienced the full power of heartache. Hypatia's heart and stomach felt as if they'd been hollowed out. A bitter, aching wine had been poured in, and she was drunk on its incomparably sour taste. Longing had become a magical force in her life. It subtly transformed her world, painting invisible shadows over everything; transposing every order of experience into a minor key. Bright colours were despicable to her now, as was the sound of laughter. She longed for winter shadows and the echoes of abandoned ruins. Whilst she suffered under the tyrant, Tristisia, the intense heartache was dispelled. Instead she just felt numb and exhausted: there was no room in her heart for hatred. It was entirely devoted to longing.
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As soon as her exhausting training sessions were over, she began dreaming of Socrates, and the love they should have been sharing. She would concentrate hard, conjuring an image of his smiling face. This brought her some comfort, easing the loneliness slightly. But, if her attention wavered, self-pity and despair would latch on like vampires, draining her heart of all its warmth. There was a soft noise at the door and Hypatia leapt up to investigate. She found a tiny, hand-written note:

Visit me tonight. Turn right, second room on the right (door-handle shaped like otter). Knock three times. Your friend,

Culina.

Hypatia smiled. She waited a moment then obeyed the note to the letter. The room was easy to find and she knocked three times. 'Come in,' said Culina from within. Hypatia entered the chamber. Culina smiled, embracing her like a long-lost sister. The hug felt surprisingly good. Then she gestured for Hypatia to sit beside her, on her bed. She glanced around at Culina's chamber. Several candles, in silver candle-sticks, shed a subdued light. From what Hypatia could see, the room was hardly any better than her own. 'How are you, friend?'
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Culina put an arm around her shoulder, briefly rubbing her back. Hypatia was beginning to feel human again. 'I'm well, but I'm not happy here. Tristisia is cruel to me. Her deportment training is very difficult.' Culina laughed sympathetically: 'We've all been there! It took me years to learn to walk properly.' She stood up and paraded round the room with a gliding, seductive walk. 'Looks pretty, doesn't it? This graceful little walk of mine? But every step cost me a thousand tears.' 'I can imagine.' Culina smiled. 'Tristisia is a soft touch! You should have seen the deportment instructor I had, Virata.' 'Virata?' 'I've had army Generals swear to me that their men would desert after just one day of her training regime. But us women are tougher, eh?' 'I don't feel very tough.' Culina sat down close beside her. 'Hey, it's not easy for you right now! Tristisia is more than enough for anyone to deal with. You have other burdens to carry, don't you?' 'Yes.' 'Yes, because you're worried about Socrates and you miss him dreadfully; I can see it in your eyes. The briefest mention of his name affects you like a charm.' Hypatia nodded, her eyes misting with tears. Culina hugged her: 'There, there, my dearest friend. You're with me now.' Hypatia's body was racked with sobs as her pent-up feelings were finally granted an
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outlet. 'Tristisia is a heartless bitch,' said Culina. 'She'll never love anyone as sweetly as you love Socrates.' 'She won't?' 'No, because she can't. Every night when you visit me, we'll have a little joke at her expense. That will make you feel better, eh? 'I feel better already. You're so nice!' Hypatia smiled, then hugged Culina. Culina suddenly looked serious. 'Nobody deserves kindness more than you. But the time for sympathy is over. I can't allow myself to betray our friendship.' 'How?' 'By wasting time that would be better spent on work. We need to work hard. It's the only way to reunite you with Socrates.' 'Then we work,' said Hypatia earnestly. Culina fetched an object from under the bed, and placed it on the bedside table. It was covered with a black silk cloth. 'What's under there?' 'Something which I borrowed earlier today. Something that could get me into a lot of trouble.' 'What?' 'Something that's going to help you see Socrates again.' Culina displayed all the panache of a stage conjurer as she whisked away the cloth, revealing the stolen treasure. It was a black obsidian mirror, the frame of which glinted in the candle-light.
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'What is that?' 'A magic mirror. A scrying glass, to be precise. It has the power to let separated lovers see each other, across any distance.' 'Can I look into it?' 'Of course...' Hypatia gazed into the mirror, which reflected nothing. Its polished face was the blackest thing she'd seen, deeper and darker than any night. It was not the flat darkness of ebony. Instead Hypatia sensed depth, like a tunnel flooded with black waters. 'Behold the depths of yearning!' 'It's so black. The darkness scares me.' 'Keep looking into it.' Hypatia complied, and minutes passed in silence. 'Nothing is happening,' she reported. 'Let your mind go blank,' advised Culina in a soft voice. Hypatia obeyed, and felt a warm, sinking sensation, like the beginning of sleep. Then lights began swarming around in the darkness, like a horde of fireflies. The points were gradually replaced by a shimmering, flickering film, which abruptly became translucent; then fully transparent. Hypatia gasped as she saw the inside of the cave. There, lying on the bed, was Socrates. He lay on his left-side, facing Hypatia, and the scene was dimly illuminated by the embers of the hearth-fire. Hypatia studied his face intently: 'He's awake and he looks miserable!' 'You see him?' 'Yes. But I've never seen him look so unhappy!' She moved her face closer to the mirage, where her loved-one dwelt and suffered.
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Culina saw that she yearned to dive into its illusory depths. 'I should be there in that cave! I want to hold him, and make him happy again! Surely there is a way?' Culina shook her head and pulled the mirror away. Hypatia resisted the urge to snatch it back. Instead she sobbed as the Atlantean replaced the silk, before placing the mirror under her bed. 'I'm sorry. This mirror can only grant a fleeting vision of your beloved.' 'Can I look at him every night?' 'I'm afraid you can't. When I say I borrowed the mirror, I actually mean that I stole it. I must put it back before its missed, or therell be hell to pay.' As Hypatia sobbed in despair, Culina placed a comforting hand over her own. 'But I can offer something better.' 'Really?' 'Yes. Would you send your heart to his, so he feels your love as strongly as if you were embracing in bed? Would you warm his body with magic fire from your own? Would you submit your soul to his, so that his reality becomes joyous, and his tread is softened, as if by rose leaves?' 'Yes! What must I do?' 'Return here tomorrow night at the same hour. 'Can we not begin now?' 'No. Your emotions were disturbed when you glimpsed Socrates in the mirror. I need you to be calm, not agitated.' 'You know best.' 'I do. Now you must leave. Get some sleep, and don't let Tristisia get you down.'
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'Goodbye, then.' 'Goodbye, dearest friend.' After Hypatia had left, Helianthe emerged from a hidden alcove. 'Well,' said Culina, 'what do you think?' Helianthe smiled: 'That our plan is going rather well. Begin her Second Order training tomorrow night!' 'In that case, I think Tristisia should ease off on her.' 'Don't tell me you're going soft, Culina?' 'No.' 'An oasis is made attractive by the harsh desert that encircles it. Hypatia trusts you because you are the only person that treats her kindly round here. If I rein Tristisia in, her trust in you may fade.' Culina shook her head: 'Tristisia's job is done. Her week of hazing distracted Hypatia from the gaps in my story. But all her doubts are gone now.' 'Really?' 'Yes. Her body-language showed implicit trust. From this point onward, Tristisia's methods would only distract her. She's ready for the next stage.' 'Which is?' 'She needs to spend her days brooding over Socrates. Heartache will be her desert, driving her towards the oasis of my teachings.' 'What work should she undertake?' 'Put her under the tutelage of a laissez-faire instructor. Give her something easy to do simple flower-arranging or light gardening duties. She needs to spend plenty of time alone, to gather the force of her longings.'
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Helianthe laughed: 'Perhaps a few more weeks with Tristisia would have been kinder?' 'I've no interest in cruelty or lenience. Who cares if a plant is watered or parched? My goal is to see it bloom.' Helianthe seemed satisfied by this callous sentiment: 'I'll make the arrangements.' She sighed before continuing. 'If only her sister were as manageable as this one.' 'She is giving you trouble?' 'No: she is trouble.' 'I'm sorry to hear that. Feel free to discuss the situation with me any time: bar evenings, of course.' There was an exchange of formalities as Helianthe got ready to leave. 'Don't forget this,' said Culina, handing over the obsidian mirror. The door closed. Culina, left alone, gazed out of her window at the rounded, amber moon.

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CHAPTER 20. RIDE

Steam jetted from the black stallion's nose as he galloped at full-pelt across the green fields beyond Atlantis city. Ottilia gazed sideways as she clung tightly to Eleni's back. Her world was transformed by this sudden burst of speed. The outlines of trees and farmhouses were blurred by velocity, like a pastel drawing smudged by a reckless hand. Her heart pounded as the heat of excitement burned through her veins. The Atlanteans head wasnt so easily carried away. Four hundred years of accumulated wisdom jeopardised for a cheap adrenalin rush. I should be disgusted at myself! But Ottilia wasn't disgusted at all. In fact, she was feeling something very far removed from disgust. As Eleni's body rhythmically bobbed up and down, perfectly attuned to the motion of the horse, Ottilia found it easy to fall into sync with her companion, so that all three bodies moved swiftly as one. They became one motion, one rider, one wild impulse towards speed; a unified expression of power. The metronome of the beating hooves determined Ottilia's heartbeat, forcing its tempo, matching it with that of Eleni's. Then she felt her heart melting into the Spartan's until there were no longer any barriers between them. The feeling they shared was pure freedom. When the ride was over, Ottilia gazed at the animal's steaming, muscular flanks and haunches. Stemon was a young cavalry horse of three years, hardly broken-in and very much full of spirit. The Pleasure Cult maintained no stable of its own, but the Warrior Cult, eager to curry favour, had lent Ottilia the powerful beast with no questions asked. He
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was panting heavily, and veins pulsed rhythmically on his thick neck. Ottilia, with crimson cheeks, somehow managed to stifle her own heavy breathing. Do you like him? asked Eleni with a smile. Ottilia turned from the animal dismissively, folding her arms as she addressed Eleni in a curt, disdainful tone: Ive not studied enough horses to judge. I dont enjoy single examples of things, only total patterns. I see constellations, not stars. Youre right, you dont know the first thing about horses or how to ride them! Your dismount was the clumsiest Ive ever seen. The High Priestess frowned at the insult, but Eleni continued: Where will he be stabled? 'I'll have the slaves adapt one of the store-houses and turn it into a make-shift stable. That will solve the problem for now. Tomorrow Ill contact the carpenters of the Craft Cult, and have them build a proper stable for this thing. I'm sure many of our slaves and servants have previous experience as stable-hands. They will groom and feed the horse, as well as removing its dung from my garden.' Eleni was patting Stemon's flank. 'Id prefer to groom him myself,' she said, smiling. Ottilia shook her head and sneered: 'These labours are beneath the dignity of a Priestess.' 'And we're dignified now, are we?' grinned Eleni, pointing to her crudely altered skirt. Ottilia didn't return the smile; her face was now a blank wall of authority. 'That experiment is concluded. Whilst you and your sister are under my protection, you will abide by my rules.' Eleni frowned:
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'What! I can't believe you're talking to me like that. A moment ago you were having the time of your life!' Ottilia replied in her most detached, imperious voice 'No, I wasn't.' 'Yes you were! For one moment back there, I thought I sensed the heart of a race jockey beating inside you. Now you want to wash your hands of the whole thing. May I ask why?' 'No, you may not. I am the High Priestess. Subordinates will answer to me, obeying my dictates without question.' 'Then may I beg a favour?' 'What?' 'Let me groom the horse.' 'Why?' 'It's one of the few things that soothes my soul, and brings the serenity you speak of. It reminds me of happier days back on Sparta, when I could escape to the family stables and not be troubled by anybody.' 'No. I have given you enough privileges for one day. For one year, even. Your favour is declined.' Eleni let the reins fall to the ground. Then, turning her back on Ottilia and Stemon, she walked silently away, heading back towards the cult palace. The Atlantean snarled: 'Come back here you insolent puppet! It is I that am pulling your strings! Don't tempt me to cut them!' As Eleni receded into the distance, Ottilia felt a sinking sensation build in the pit of her stomach. She regarded the beautiful horse as he wandered away, reins trailing on the
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grass. 'You will not visit my private garden again!' Eleni was a fast walker, and didnt hear the threat. Ottilia began running, swiftly and artlessly, towards the Spartan. 'WAIT!' she cried. As Ottilia came within earshot, Eleni swivelled round. 'What now?' asked the perplexed girl. 'I forgive you,' answered Ottilia breathlessly. 'Forgive me? Forgive me for what, exactly? 'I just forgive you,' she said awkwardly. Eleni smiled, enjoying Ottilia's loss of control. 'In that case, let me forgive you as well.' 'For what?' Eleni bowed, in a display of mock formality: 'Mistress, I forgive you for being totally mad. ' They laughed. 'What has become of my wits?' said Ottilia. 'They're blowing here and there, like so many boats in a storm.' 'Nothing that can't be solved with a little wine.' said Eleni. 'When was the last time you were really drunk?' 'I can't remember,' said the High Priestess, 'it was so very long ago.' Eleni nodded: 'You've had total control over yourself for way too long. The strain is showing.' 'What do you mean?' 'We all need to let go of the reins now and again. Otherwise we start going mad.'
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'I disagree.' 'Why do you think us Spartans have our Saturnalias and Dionysian revels? Theyre a licence to be foolish for a while.' 'I see no pleasure in being foolish.' 'It will even you out a bit. You rely too much on self-control.' 'I'm in a responsible position. I can't just abdicate my senses.' 'Even the Caesars allow themselves to become drunk at their banquets.' 'And then to get stabbed in their backs, once wine-fumes have lulled them asleep.' 'I'll be there to protect you. You trusted me with your life today, when we rode Stemon together. Did I betray you?' 'No.' 'Did I look after you?' 'Yes, I suppose.' 'Then trust me again.' Eleni flashed her a conspiratorial smile, as if they were rebellious schoolgirls planning on playing truant. 'Let's do it,' said Ottilia.

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CHAPTER 21. MYTHOLOGY

The next night, Hypatia returned to her allies room. Culina sat beside the teenager on her bed. 'How is Tristisia treating you?' Hypatia smiled: 'She dismissed me!' 'Dismissed you?' 'Yes. Tristisia says Im unworthy of her instruction. She was really insulting... Culina held Hypatias hand, stroking it in a maternal way. 'You don't seem very upset. 'To be honest I'm relieved! I've been given a new teacher, Chloris, who is teaching me about the shapes and colours of plants and flowers. I have to spend hours drawing different plants in the gardens. My work isn't very good yet, but Chloris doesn't seem to mind. I'm almost enjoying it.' 'Almost?' 'I can't stop thinking about Socrates! When I see those beautiful flowers I wish he was beside me, so we could enjoy them together. Everything seems hollow without him... empty, almost.' 'We can't have you feeling like that, now, can we? Heartache is no fun!' 'No, it isn't.' 'So let's start teaching you a few more secrets. Culinas expression became more formal, as if she were beginning a history lesson. Atlanteans are an ancient and passionate race. No-one feels love more strongly than us.'
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'Is that really true?' 'Yes. And, in the written histories of my race, there are many accounts of lovers who got separated for some reason. But no story is sweeter or stranger than that of Loxia and Luteus.' 'Who were they?' 'Loxia was a young woman of noble birth. Her lover was a young nobleman named Luteus. They were devoted to each other with an intensity which bordered on fanaticism. 'Were they married?' 'No. Their families were old and aristocratic, but each was going through a time of misfortune. So each family decided to consult a sage. The two hired sages gave them advice; advice which was guaranteed to restore their ailing fortunes. Strangely enough, both sages arrived at the same conclusion independently.' 'What did they say?' 'That each family had to give up their eldest child. Loxia's family had to volunteer their daughter for entry to the Pleasure Cult. In Luteus's case, he was to be admitted to the Austerity Cult.' 'Austerity Cult?' 'I'll tell you about that later. But the point is that, if the advice of either of the sages was followed, the lovers would not be allowed to marry. Nor would they be able see each other again, even by clandestine means.' 'That must have been heart-wrenching for them both!' 'Indeed. But they were loyal to their families. So, in the name of duty, each of them submitted to the sage's advice.' 'So that was the end of their love affair'
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'It should have been.' 'Then what happened next?' 'Every night, Loxia would be left alone in a chamber in this palace. She couldn't sleep for heartache. Instead she'd look out of the window and cry endless tears. 'Then, one night, something strange happened. A golden bird appeared on the window-sill and spoke to her, claiming to represent the spirits of dead lovers from the ancient past. It offered her a means to obtain consolation.' 'Which was?' 'It's a long story. I'll need to tell you it piece by piece, over several nights. Let's just say that, by the end, these two lovers were happily reunited.' Hypatia smiled sceptically: 'It sounds like a beautiful myth. How can folklore help me?' Culinas expression changed, becoming deadly serious. She grabbed Hypatia's shoulders, then stared deep into her eyes: 'Of course the story has been embellished over the years. If you were expecting a golden bird on your windowsill, you'd be sorely disappointed. Nevertheless, the story is based on truth. There was a woman called Loxia and, whilst she was serving her novitiate in this palace, she lived on this very floor. In your room, to be precise.' 'Really?' 'Yes. So, do you still want to continue?' 'Of course!' 'Good. Now let's imagine that you're Loxia and I'm the golden bird. Its name was Arctoa, by the way. Arctoa told Loxia to lay on her bed and completely relax.' 'Relax? How can I help Socrates if I'm lounging around idly?'
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Culina laughed delightedly: 'Ha! That's almost exactly what Loxia is reported to have said back then. You know what the bird's reply was?' 'No. What?' 'All your doubts will be answered in time. For now, just trust.' Hypatia put her doubts to one side. She lay down flat on the bed. 'Do you feel relaxed?' 'Yes.' 'As relaxed as if you were a cork, floating in a bowl of water?' 'Yes.' 'Good. So Arctoa perched on the bed-frame above Loxia's head. The bird whispered softly to her. Arctoa said that very few humans are able to work in the spiritual world. This is because they don't know the two keys that open the door. The first key is to feel sensations and the second key is to feel love.' Hypatia frowned: 'Sensations aren't spiritual, are they? I thought the way into the spirit world was to hear wise words?' 'Words are confusing. They lead into the labyrinth of logic, with its twisting corridors of arguments and counter-arguments. Many devoted mystics have wasted their energy by wandering round in circles. They should have used the golden thread to escape: the thread of sensation.' Hypatia was silent and Culina continued. 'Arctoa told Loxia to concentrate on the sensations in her heart. All she had to do was listen to her own sensations and become accustomed to them.'
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'Shall I do the same thing?' 'Yes.' There was a brief silence as the Spartan concentrated in the dim candle-light. 'All I can feel is the warmth of my blood and the sensation of my heart beating. Is that enough?' 'No. I need you to feel emotional energy. Listen for the sensation. Listen to your body. You must listen by feeling.' 'I can't feel anything yet.' Culina sighed. 'Don't think about this in words,' she advised, 'just place all your attention on your heart and feel its sensations'. 'I'll try,' she replied. A long, awkward silence revealed that she was floundering. 'Let's try another approach,' said Culina. 'What?' 'Arctoa helped Loxia by whistling a slow, bitter-sweet melody. I can play a similar tune on my harp, if you like.' 'If it helps.' Culina produced a small silver harp with seven strings. She began to play the subtlest, sweetest melody Hypatia had ever heard. 'It's beautiful!' she said. 'Yes, but listen to it in your heart! No more words.' Hypatia obeyed, feeling nothing at first. Then, she began to feel something: intense longing. It seemed as if the music were coming directly from her heart, sobbing out her deepest tears in musical form. The emotion started to become actual physical
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pain. 'Please stop! I can't take it any more!' 'This is the same feeling you've had for days,' said Culina gently. 'It will haunt you forever unless you face it. You must experience this sensation on your own terms. Invite it into your heart as an honoured guest!' 'Why would I want to do that?' sobbed Hypatia. 'It's the only way for you to be reunited with Socrates,' answered Culina, still playing the melancholy air. Hypatia gritted her teeth, resolving to follow these directions. She submitted to the sensation for about an hour, crying throughout. Finally, the harp fell silent. 'The sensation was very strong?' 'Yes.' 'Good. Now you know the power of your heart. Hypatia gave Culina an accusing stare: 'Why would you deliberately upset me like that? I thought we were friends? Culina sighed. 'In order to plant flowers we must first dig a hole. A hole is a black, desolate place. You've dug yours, and dug it well. The flowers that spring up will repay your tears with happiness'. Hypatia forced a smile. 'Go now,' said Culina. 'Tomorrow I will teach you the real magic of sensations.'

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CHAPTER 22. THE FALCONER

The Falconer was located a few miles outside the thick perimeter walls of the city of Atlantis. A ramshackle three-storey alehouse, it was run at arms length by the Farming Cult, who supplied it with alcohol and food, then washed their hands of it. Disowned by the city, it served as a place where citizens could indulge their baser appetites with no questions asked. Wearing masks, like revellers at Venetian carnivals, pillars of society would gamble, drink, fight, share seditious views, or keep company with courtesans all night long. The Falconer was viewed as being outside the jurisdiction of civil-law, and city guards wouldn't go near it. Security was provided by the drinker's own muscle-power and by weapons, which were often placed on the table in a show of readiness. Strangely enough, there was little trouble for those who didn't determinedly seek it. Any drinker who didn't cheat at the gaming table, offer personal insults or try to seduce wives or girlfriends would largely be left to get on with it. A buoyant, festival atmosphere reigned and, if anything, the whole place was more relaxed than any 'respectable' alehouse within the city-walls. Outside the inn a crowd of masked drinkers had gathered, all of whom were talking loudly. 'Look at that!' said a man, gesturing drunkenly at the road. A richly decorated litter, borne by four thickset men, slowly approached the tavern. On arrival, the men slowly, ponderously, lowered the litter. Two masked women, dressed like young Atlantean socialites, emerged from the veiled cabin. 'That's what I call an entrance!' said the man's friend. 'Ay,' laughed the man, 'and I hope to be entering both of them later tonight!'
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'In your dreams!' said his friend. 'The best you could possibly hope for is being one of their litter-bearers.' 'Wait here,' whispered Ottilia to her slaves. The masked pair sauntered, arm in arm, into the tavern. The ground-floor was heaving with drunken citizens, many of whom gazed brazenly at the newcomers. One of Ottilia's hirelings came across and flourished a key. 'Your private room is on the top floor, madam,' said the stocky man in his forties, 'if you'll just follow me up these stairs, I'll let you in.' 'You ordered a private room?' said Eleni. 'Of course,' laughed Ottilia. 'You weren't seriously expecting me to drink with that rabble were you?' The man opened a crude but robust wooden door. Then, he ushered them into their private room. The gas-lit space was dominated by a large wooden table, which was equipped with cards, dice and the more-obscure accoutrements of Atlantean gambling. At one side, shoved up against the timber-framed walls, was a large bed with red-velvet sheets. Small barrels of wine and ale stood in a corner, with glasses set up on a low table. A giant, free-standing hookah pipe was ready to be loaded with opium, or more potent Atlantean narcotics, and a side-door led to a private latrine. 'Do you like it?' said Ottilia. 'No! It's not what I was planning at all,' said Eleni. 'You're right,' agreed the High Priestess. 'I thought I could get this despicable room ready for our diversion, but my efforts werent enough.' 'Efforts?' 'I sent an advance party to scout this place out and get it prepared. My own cleaners
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were scrubbing this room for hours, and it still stinks. Most of the furniture has been replaced with hygienic facsimiles - accurate down to the scuffs and graffiti. All the glasses, bed-linen and drink came from the cult. I even had my builders cover a small spy-hole they discovered in the wall. But the whole room is still a flea-ridden disgrace.' 'Who said anything about preparations?' said Eleni. 'You don't prepare for a drunken revel!' 'No?' 'No! You're supposed to be letting your hair down - not running the place.' 'Personally, I would knock this whole building down, and start again from scratch.' 'Thats exactly why were alone in this private room. You've been walled-in for centuries now. Time to let the world in, Ottilia!' 'The world stinks of sweat.' 'So? I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're both going to have a glass of that wine, then go downstairs and stay there all night.' 'I had other plans,' said Ottilia, pulling a bell-cord. Moments later, another hireling appeared at the door. It was a young woman who looked pale and debauched. Her torn and repaired party clothes gave the impression of a socialite whose excesses had led to a cycle of debt. 'What people of quality are present in this tavern tonight?' asked Ottilia. 'Three Duchesses, a Marquis and an Earl. Also several Priests and Priestesses from various cults, including a Priest of the Austerity Cult.' 'Tut, tut!' laughed Eleni. 'All tedious!' judged Ottilia. 'Who's here tonight that is fashionable? Who shall entertain us with novel pleasures, fine or coarse?' 'There are some actors and actresses from a company of travelling players. Some fine
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poets and artists. Oh, and La Martine.' 'La Martine is here tonight?' said Ottilia. 'Yes,' smiled the agent, sensing a large tip. 'Have him brought to me. I mean, please extend our invitation to him, and his table-fellows.' 'Yes, madam,' said the agent, hurrying away. 'You're going about this the wrong way,' said Eleni, starting a second glass of wine. 'Why are you running your own private club? Let's just get out there, get drunk, and mingle.' 'I like to have my way,' said Ottilia, still delicately sipping her first glass. 'You want to build your own little world up here? Fine. I guarantee it will be predictable and dull!' 'Oh, but La Martine is everything except predictable and dull.' 'Screw La Martine! Who is he, anyway?' 'A drunk, an idler, a parasite on the generosity of hard-working citizens. And probably the finest talker Atlantis ever produced. He is a brilliant raconteur!' 'You know what I really hate?' said Eleni. 'I really hate listening to people who can't stop talking! They bore me to tears!' 'Is that true?' 'Yes. So I tell you what I'm going to do. I'll go off and do things my way. You stay here in your cosy little fortress. Tomorrow, we'll compare notes and see who had the better night. Agreed?' 'Agreed.' Eleni left the room and walked around The Falconer, looking for the noisiest, smokiest room she could find. The tap-room on the lower floor fitted the bill, and she
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ordered another glass of wine at the bar. It tasted cheap and strong, and she knocked it back, before ordering another. 'So you alone tonight, darling?' asked a drunken sailor. 'Yes.' 'Me and the boys on that long table are looking for some company. Come over and sit with us?' Eleni followed him over to a long table, which was studded with daggers and knives. Fifteen sailors, all drunk or paralytic, sat on low stools, singing. A fat, sullen-looking bar-maid poured brandy from a huge ceramic jar which she carried under one arm, endlessly refilling their glasses with spirits. As each man received another shot, he flipped a small coin into a basket on the table, adding or withholding tips as his mood wavered. 'Make some room!' said the sailor. Eleni laughed as he tipped the drunkest ship-mate off his stool, leaving him snoring loudly on the floor. 'Take a pew,' he said, with a drunken bow. Eleni sat, and the sailors grinned at the attractive newcomer. 'Brandy?' The whole table watched in reverential silence as Eleni drank. She immediately winced at the strongest alcohol that had ever passed her lips. Her mouth was exposed by the half-mask she wore, and the company laughed loudly at her expression. The bar-maid frowned resentfully as she poured her a refill. 'I'm Captain Sericeus,' said the sailor, 'and this is my humble crew. Their singing is almost as bad as their taste in booze. Would you like to listen?' 'I'll do more than listen - I'll join in.' He smiled:
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'Do you like singing, miss..?' 'Eleni. Yes, if I'm drunk.' 'Great. Then you're not stuck-up like most of these Atlantean wenches. I respect that!' The company began singing, but Eleni was intrigued enough to continue the conversation: 'So you're not Atlantean?' she asked loudly. 'No, I'm from another island nearby which is under their rule. That's where all the real work gets done! We call it Remia, but the Atlanteans call it Little Atlantis.' 'Why are you telling her things that every child knows!' roared his barrel-chested Bosun. 'Shut up, drink and sing!' said Captain Sericeus, sending a loaded tumbler skating across the table into the man's massive hand. 'Sounds OK to me,' said the Bosun. Sericeus stood up to leave the table, signalling for Eleni to join him. They continued talking when they reached the relative privacy of the bar, where everyone else was intent on being served. 'I can tell you're an out-worlder just by listening to your accent. Sparta, right?' 'Thats right.' 'I've met out-worlders before. In my experience they don't tend to settle in very well.' 'They don't?' smiled Eleni, sarcastically. 'No. And they're usually looking for a boat ride home. That's where I come in.' 'Oh. How's that?' 'I have been known to smuggle people back and forth. Homesick out-worlders. Runaway slaves. Atlanteans who want to try living in Greece or Rome. 'What's in it for you?'
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'Five hundred gold Atlantean crowns.' 'That sounds like a lot of money.' 'I run a lot of risk. Even this conversation is dangerous. Perhaps I should return to the table? Eleni shook her head. 'I didn't say I wasn't interested.' 'I thought as much. Well, think it over. It you can get the money, find a way to visit Little Atlantis. There's a tavern near the docks called The Rising Sapphire. Ask anyone where it is - everyone knows. It's even more disreputable than this place. Anyway, talk to the publican and mention my name. He'll see you right.' Just then, Eleni and Sericeus were distracted by loud, drunken yelling. Ottilia, visibly drunk and red with rage, was shouting insults at La Martine whilst he sat impassively on a long bench along the right-hand wall of the tavern, surrounded by his laughing cronies. 'How dare you refuse my invitation! Do you have any idea who I am?' 'No!' said La Martine. 'So please remove your mask! If your features are half as awkwardly assembled as your speech, you will prove to be astoundingly ugly!' Ottilia began fumbling with her mask in an attempt to remove it. Fortunately she was too drunk to succeed. Eleni laughed at her drunken movements - they were a strange mixture of perfect grace and hopeless clumsiness. 'You know her?' said Sericeus. 'A little,' said Eleni. 'I ought to go over before she makes a fool of herself.' As Ottilia wrestled with her mask, La Martine continued poking fun: 'Someone pour me more wine! No, make it brandy! Oh noble alcohol: fortify my nerves that they may endure the revelation of such a hideous countenance.'
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'You'll die for that,' swore the High Priestess. Eleni grabbed her and pulled her out of harm's way. 'Who is it that the ponce keeps bad-mouthing?' asked the drunken bosun. 'I think he was insulting your mother,' said Eleni. His massive hands curled into club-like fists. 'You hear that, boys? I think it's time we taught this Atlantean dog some Remian manners!' Most of the table staggered to its feet, and a drunken fist-fight ensued. Eleni felt the warm brandy fumes in her belly rise up into her brain, taking powerful effect. She watched Ottilia, who laughed at the writhing heap of belligerent men. A sudden wave of goodwill washed through Elenis heart. How brave these sailors were, fighting for her and Ottilia's honour! (Even if she had tricked them into doing so). 'Go on boys!' she shouted. 'Give those Atlanteans a good pummelling.' Ottilia's shoulders drooped sullenly. 'Do you hate all Atlanteans this much?' she asked Eleni. 'All except you,' she said. Ottilia suddenly found herself enfolded in a ferocious hug: 'I love you, Ottilia,' swore Eleni in a loud, slurred voice. Ottilia could smell the brandy on Eleni's breath. She could feel the warmth of her body, and the reckless power behind the aggressive embrace. Her drunken brain failed to detach and analyse the situation properly. Instead she found herself hugging back, with all the faulty technique of a perpetual novice like Prymna. After the swift embrace ended, Eleni smiled at Ottilia. The Atlantean looked unhappy, as if shed plunged into the dark depths of depression.
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'Why so glum?' asked Eleni. 'I'm four-hundred years old and I've never loved anyone!' she confessed. 'Never mind, Ottilia,' said Eleni, reassuringly. 'I love you!' 'Prove it,' she replied. 'Alright then!' grinned Eleni. The Spartan began addressing the whole room in a booming, strident tone: Ladies and gentlemen, please stop fighting! I demand your complete attention!' The crowd looked around, fascinated by this tall, over-confident woman, with her bizarre accent. 'This is my friend Ottilia, whos very important. And I have an important announcement to make.' 'What? The Ottilia?' whispered a drunken aristocrat. 'She'd never come in here to drink with the likes of us,' answered his friend. 'She's tall enough! And didnt you see the litter they both arrived in!' 'Don't be a fool,' snapped his friend, 'she's just a young noble-woman posing as Ottilia.' Similar arguments erupted amongst other drinkers, who stopped listening and began talking loudly. A bar-maid was keen to keep the drinkers listening rather than fighting. 'What's the announcement ?' she said. Eleni pointed to Ottilia with drunken fondness: 'I love her more than any man!' The whole tavern laughed - all except Ottilia, who began swearing loudly in a strange dialect. Her raging tirade did little to subdue the mob. Instead, it attracted unwanted interest. 'She's swearing in Old Atlantean,' declared a drunken old scholar. 'Only Ottilia
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herself could be so proficient in that dead language.' 'Is he saying that really is Ottilia?' said a thuggish gambler. 'Yes! Without a shadow of a doubt!' answered the proud scholar. The crowd went wild, everyone wanting a piece of the unexpected action. 'Ottilia! Please...take off your mask!' shouted a woman. 'Take off all your clothes!' added a man. 'Will you sleep with me for a hundred crowns?' said his friend. 'We love you, Ottilia,' swore a woman. Eleni hustled the High Priestess up to the private room, locking the sturdy door. The barrier was immediately subjected to hammerings and knocks from a herd of ardent admirers. Hinges rattled and plumes of dust rose as the crowd's enthusiasm began testing the door to destruction Meanwhile, Ottilia was blissfully ignorant of her popularity. The Atlantean, having taken a seat at the table, had immediately slumped unconscious across it. Eleni stood over Ottila's drunken, passed-out body. 'I don't really love you,' she laughed. 'I only want to get in with you so I can have my sister back.' She took the opportunity to study the High Priestess more carefully. Ottilias mask was thrown aside and her sleeping face looked peaceful. Her expression was sweet, with nothing of the arrogant disdain put there by her waking self. Her hair was wantonly dishevelled, and her clothes were in disarray. Eleni suddenly felt like a devout pilgrim encountering a vandalised shrine. Her instinct was to begin tidying it a little. She smoothed some of the creases out of her companions dress. As she did, Ottilia stirred. 'I don't like it here ,' muttered the semi-conscious Atlantean.
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'Make them all be quiet .' 'I'll look after you,' said Eleni, stroking her head tenderly. 'Really? ' 'Yes.' Eleni held Ottilias hand protectively. It felt like a rare and delicate bird. The Spartan felt upset by the contrast between the frail, elegant hand, and the racket of bony, nerveless fists, which were slowly beating down the door. She shouted out of the window at the litter-bearers: 'Get up here, now! Your mistress is in danger.' They obeyed, forcing a way through the burgeoning crowd, and up to the room, where Eleni admitted them. They quickly encircled Eleni, who carried Ottilia down the stairs on her back. A familiar face greeted her in the taproom. 'You and your friend had better come with me,' smiled Captain Sericeus. 'What?' 'Outside the front door is a wild mob. You don't even want to try getting past them. But I know a secret exit through a passageway in the cellar.' Why should I trust you?' 'I trusted you tonight, didn't I? You already have enough information on me to seal my fate - as well as the fates of many innocent people, whom I intend to smuggle home.' Eleni nodded her assent and Sericeus led them behind the bar. They went through a wooden trapdoor, down into the dank, booze-filled cellar. The captain moved some barrels away from the far wall, revealing a hidden door that was camouflaged with dried earth. Eleni held Ottilia up by the arms whilst Sericeus held her ankles. Then they scurried through the narrow passageway in complete darkness.
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'This hole reeks of brandy,' said Eleni. We use it to smuggle tax-free booze in here. Then we sell it on to licensed taverns in the city at a profit. Its usually a nice little earner. Only sometimes my men trip and smash a bottle in the dark, hence the smell.' 'Wouldn't it be easier to smuggle barrels?' 'We do. The bottles belong to the men themselves. Some of them get claustrophobic down here; they prefer to do the job pissed-up.' They both laughed. 'We also smuggle people this way: fugitives and the like.' Ottilia groaned and mumbled incoherently. 'How much further do we have to go?' asked Eleni. 'About a mile, but its hard to tell. 'Then that gives us plenty of time to talk. 'What do you want to discuss?' 'Exactly why you're so keen to help us. Are you another of Ottilia's adoring fans?' 'No, quite the opposite. I loath and despise her, and everything she stands for.' 'Why?' 'She keeps slaves, for a start. Did you see the glazed expressions on those litter-bearer's faces? They were all drugged to the eye-balls.' 'Drugged with what?' 'No-one knows for sure. Lotus flowers or nepenthe, perhaps. The Pleasure Cult guards their formulas well. All we know is the end result - mindless obedience.' Eleni snorted dismissively. 'All the powers keep slaves. Rome, Egypt, Persia, Athens - even Sparta.' 'You mean the Helots that your countrymen so harshly oppress? Perhaps one day you
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will help to set them free.' 'Why?' 'Because my people, the Remians, are in a similar position to your Helots.' 'Then take arms! Rise against the Atlanteans!' 'Freedom shouldn't cost blood. Its the birthright of all people.' 'You're a good man,' said Eleni, 'but too much of an idealist. There's no such thing as total freedom in this world. Even Ottilia herself is bound, if only by chains of tradition.' Sericeus scoffed at her suggestion. 'I'm no idealist. My work is in the real world, striking shackles off wrists and helping stranded people get back home.' 'For a hefty price.' 'I have a family to support. I save money to ensure their future, in case I am caught and executed. Also, my men deserve to be well-renumerated for risking their necks.' 'You mention a family. So do you have a wife? Children?' 'Yes, I'm married with two sons and a daughter. Her aged parents rely on my support, as do my own; and I need dowries if my daughters are to be married to respectable men with any sort of prospects.' 'Are all Remians smugglers?' 'Life in Remia is a lot tougher than you've encountered in Atlantis. Every crown that I earn for my family is gratefully received, with no questions asked' Eleni fell silent for a while. Then 'So why help Ottilia? You could have stood aside and left her to the mercy of that crowd?' 'Yes, but then the Falconer would be burnt to the ground in reprisals. It's a vital base for my operations in Atlantis. We can't afford to lose it.'
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'But surely you're drawing unwelcome attention to yourselves? When Ottilia's agents learn she's missing, they'll scour the whole of Atlantis looking for her.' 'I was hoping you could help me with that little problem,' said the captain.

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CHAPTER 23. INDOCTRINATION

Hypatia spent the next day wandering around the Pleasure Cult garden in a kind of trance. Her heart had assumed control, altering the teenagers experience of the world. It was as if shed grown a new eye in her chest; one which saw the world through a filmy lens of tears. This over-sensitive eye brought her new information. The plants in the garden looked more poignantly beautiful, and their colours seemed brighter, with subtler gradations of tones. But these visions were of little comfort because the eye longed to blink. The only way it could blink was to be reunited with Socrates. Until it blinked, its destiny was to shed more and more tears. Hypatia had been reborn as a purely emotional being. But her dependency on one man was absolute. She also acquired a new ability; the power to share the sadness in the hearts of others. Chloris for example. Her new teacher had seemed like an aloof eccentric. Now Hypatia sensed a weight of loneliness behind her diffident persona. The hours passed slowly. Evening and the coming of shadows brought no relief as the dark mood persisted. It was in this frame of mind that she visited Culina for the third time. 'How are you?' said Culina. 'A little over-wrought, but otherwise fine,' answered Hypatia. 'Shall we continue?' 'Yes,' said the girl. 'So lie down and relax as you did before. Then start sensing your heart.' Hypatia did as directed. Five minutes passed. 'All your attention is now focused on your heart?'
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'Yes.' 'That's good. So let's get on with the story, shall we?' 'Can't you just give it to me straight?' demanded Hypatia. 'I want results, not fairy-tales.' Culina tutted. 'You don't like my story of Loxia and Luteus?' 'It's not that!' said Hypatia. 'It's just that my heart is aching. I can't stand the yearning much longer.' 'Such impatience! The story sets the pace of the teaching, which is traditionally quite slow. There is a good reason for this.' 'I'd like to go faster. Isnt that possible?' 'Yes. But my teaching can be a hard medicine to swallow.' 'Why is that?' It has a strange taste - unlike anything you've encountered previously. Most pupils need a little sugar to help it down: hence the pretty story. But if you're confident you can take it neat?' 'I am.' 'Very well. I shall instruct you directly.' She took a deep breath. 'I want you to imagine that you feel Socratess heart - or, to be more precise, the emotional energy of his heart - on top of yours.' 'That's impossible!' said Hypatia. 'I said imagine, didn't I? Anything can be imagined.' 'Even the impossible?' 'Especially the impossible!' Culina reached out, then softly tapped her pupil on the heart. 'What I need from this organ is sensation. You don't need to logically accept anything.
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Forget that you even have a thinking head.' 'I'll try.' Hypatia imagined that Socrates warm heart was right beside hers. Nothing happened. All she could feel was her own morbid longing. She felt like a fisherman who waits and waits, catching nothing. After a while, such a fisherman stops expecting any result. Then they start to feel the cold. So it was with Hypatia. Relaxation turned to boredom. Then her whole body felt restless and itchy. The longer she waited, the more doubts seemed to echo in her mind. 'You need to bait the hook' hissed Culina. 'How?' asked Hypatia. 'Imagine him kissing you!' Remember how good it felt when he embraced you! Gather those sensations from the store-house of your heart's memory! Feel nothing else!' Hypatia obeyed. At first she felt ashamed for having intimate fantasies whilst another woman gazed at her attentively. But she persevered, reliving all the sweetest, most heartfelt moments of intimacy they had shared during their brief relationship in the cave. Pure longing span like a whirlpool inside her heart. Its gyroscopic tunnel parted the waters; drilling a passage down to unfathomable depths. Then she imagined the ghostly counterpart of his heart descending from the ceiling and sinking through her flesh, becoming so close that their two hearts merged into one. Suddenly, the fisherwoman felt a new weight added to her baited line. An expert angler can identify an unseen fish from the force and fury of its pull. So it was with Hypatia: she had no doubt as to the identity of the energy which shed hooked. She could feel Socrates heart, which was full of pain and loneliness. It seemed to
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melt into her own, and the combined force of their longing was unbearable. 'I can feel his heart,' reported Hypatia in a trembling voice. 'It's beating on my own!' 'That's good,' said Culina, 'you are making rapid progress!' 'It isn't good!' protested her pupil. 'I can feel his misery inside me. But I can do nothing to comfort him!' 'Stay with it!' ordered Culina. Hypatia shook her head violently from side to side. 'To feel so close and yet be so far away is torture! I can't stand it anymore!' The girl sat up and began rubbing her stiff arms and legs, restoring their circulation. 'Time for a short break,' observed Culina. The cultist produced a silver flask of perfumed tea. They drank in silence from tiny filigree cups. The beverage seemed to soothe Hypatia's nerves, gradually restoring her emotional balance. Five minutes later, she felt composed enough to question her instructor. 'What happened?' 'You did Chakra Bonding. You were able to feel the energy of Socrates' heart centre, joined with your own.' 'Is that good?' 'It's a start.' 'Is it normal?' 'Yes and no. Many lovers spontaneously encounter bonding effects whilst they're locked together in the throes of sexual passion; or when they hold each other tenderly in a serene post-coital embrace.' 'You mean they feel good in themselves whilst they're together?' 'No, they sense that their lover is feeling good. But remote Bonding is something else. It
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is entirely a trained phenomena. In other words, it is to spontaneous Bonding what a disciplined army is to a rioting mob. Loxia and Luteus were the first to fully explore its potentials - but then, they had little choice in the matter. I'm sure they would have settled for a sweaty clinch in a private room, but destiny had other plans for them. Just as it has other plans for you.' 'What plans?' 'You need to make the Chakra Bond again. Then, you will do two things. First, you will create a strong feeling of love and pleasure in your heart. This will pass on to Socrates, like a bolt of lightning that travels from heaven to earth.' 'How can I feel such pleasure when I'm totally miserable? I don't want him feeling my sadness.' 'You'll need to do some devotional exercises.' 'What are they?' 'I want you to spend hours thinking of him kissing you, holding you, loving you. Do this until you can actually feel his embrace, and your heart fills with love and ecstasy. Then youll be ready to bond with him again. To give him the gift of love nurtured in absence.' 'And after that?' 'Assuming you are successful with the first stage, you move onto the second. This is a lot more subtle. We call it making the Slipstream.' 'Why is it subtle?' 'Because success depends on doing nothing. Less than nothing, to be precise. You no longer add pleasure or love to his heart energy. 'What do I do, then?' 'Create a space of raw possibility within your heart.' 'How?'
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'You need to attract his heart onto yours. Then you surrender your heart, letting it melt away into pure, unstructured energy.' 'How can I surrender my heart? Surely in that case I would die?' 'Because ultimately you have no heart! You only believe that you do!' 'Believe?' 'Yes! And the beliefs in your heart will always challenge those in his, unless you surrender them. Surrender is the only way to create a pure belief gate in your heart. If you succeed, his deepest inner beliefs will be granted free passage into manifest reality.' 'What does his heart believe that mine doesn't?' Culina sighed. 'I'm a little hesitant about going any further with my explanation. You really need a lot of first-hand experience before any of this can make sense to you.' 'Why?' 'Imagine you met someone who grew a mouth only yesterday. Could you explain to them the difference between sweet and sour? Or what swallowing is? No. You'd give them a pile of food and let them learn the best way - using their bodies. We're in the realm of sensations now. Words are of secondary importance at best. At worst they can confuse or mislead.' Hypatia nodded. 'I'm interested in the beliefs in a heart. What are they?' 'There are many. Look at the towers in the city of Atlantis. They have many identical rooms on different floors. A man who looks straight ahead sees the lower floors. A man who tilts his head back sees the upper floors. You are only seeing one floor in Socrates tower of possible hearts.' 'How can I see more?'
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'Stop using your eyes! Relax, like the mindless air that surrounds and fills the tower. Then you become a special gateway, that lets many hidden levels of his heart manifest.' 'It's a difficult idea to grasp.' 'Then don't grasp it! At least not intellectually. Just use it as a sensation. The sensation is a special type of relaxed surrender that lovers gift to their beloved.' Hypatia looked dazed. 'I've never heard such strange ideas before. My common-sense tells me to reject them. And yet..... I already know that Chakra Bonding exists. I can't deny what I felt so strongly! So where does this leave my old ideas? If they aren't true then what is? What is reality?' Culina paced slowly around the chamber. Finally she stood gazing out of the window, as if gathering her thoughts together in silence before expressing them. 'The universe is made from energy and belief. The way they interact determines experience. Belief is like a sluice gate which controls the flow of energy. It can do three things to energy. It can block it. It can allow it free passage. Or it can change the structural pattern of energy, like sand being sieved. 'On the higher levels of the universe, the gateways are wide. These permissive energy levels are where miracles happen. 'On lower levels there are a lot of limiting, negative beliefs which hamper or delay the energy flow. These non-permissive levels have more suffering, but perhaps more learning as well. 'The greatest levels are where there are no gates, only slipstreams. Here beliefs have carte blanche. The Belief Gates have been dissolved, allowing anything to happen. Therefore, energies are able to express themselves in their true forms, which are typically beautiful, loving and serene.'
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Hypatia sat with her head cradled in her hands. She appeared shell-shocked. 'Are you alright?' said Culina, placing a hand on her shoulder. 'Yes, at least I think so. But I need some time to think about some of the things you've been saying.' 'No, don't think about them!' 'But why not?' 'Our Atlantean philosophers wasted centuries coming up with sophisticated verbal arguments about the nature of reality. Why wasted? Because they could have been making real progress, instead of just talking. Culinas eyes seemed to shine as she went on the offensive: How many Priests or Priestesses with actual mystic abilities did you meet back on Sparta?' 'What do you mean?' 'How many of your Priests or Priestesses could heal the sick, or read minds, or levitate?' 'None, I suppose.' 'Why do you think there were so few?' 'I don't know.' 'The answer is that they didn't believe.' 'But they did believe! I heard them reciting their beliefs at religious festivals! You could see the sincerity in their eyes.' Culina shook her head: 'You think - like those Priests and Priestesses thought - that beliefs are words. They aren't! Beliefs are sensations. Words are just labels that help us remember sensations.' 'How do you mean?'
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'Spartans have one name for apples, Romans call them something else. Atlanteans call them by another name again. But the sensation of their taste is the same the world over.' 'I'm not sure that I follow.' 'You think belief means words you say to others, or to yourself in your mind. You could recite the following statement of belief: I can walk through walls. But walls would still knock you flat if you were foolish enough to walk into them. Belief is sensation. If, however, you got the sensation right in your body, you could walk through a wall.' Hypatia frowned: 'That's difficult to accept.' 'Because you're thinking in words; words that tie you to a limited band of sensations.' Hypatia hung her head in despair. 'I'm not clever enough to understand you, Culina! Perhaps you are wasting your time helping me.' Culina laughed and embraced her: 'You don't need to understand! All you really need is your love and desire for Socrates! You have strong feelings for him, yes!' 'Yes!' 'Then trust my guidance. I will make your feelings do things you can't imagine. I'll give your love wings. Do you still desire my teachings?' 'Yes, I do.' 'Then be here tomorrow night. And don't think too much about our conversation! Let me do the head-work.' 'Alright. I'll try hard not to think.' 'Good. Your priority is to devote your time to feeling love for Socrates. When you return here, bring a glad heart full of affection.'
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With that admonition, Hypatia left the room.

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CHAPTER 24. REVIVAL

Ottilia woke in a strange room. She sat up on a large, unfamiliar, strawmattressed bed, shoving its goose-feathered eiderdown to one side. The High Priestess attempted to stand up, but was immediately dragged down by the weight of her hangover. A raging thirst possessed her, and she reached for a jug of water which someone had placed on the bedside table, gratefully imbibing the cool, clear water. The bed began spinning. She retreated back under the eiderdown, in an attempt to sleep the situation off. Half an hour later, Eleni joined her in the room. 'Sleep well?' she said. 'Of course! You gave me enough wine to stun a bull-elephant!' 'I wasn't forcing you to drink last night.' 'The stench of the dump you insisted we visit was enough to force anyone to drink. The High Priestess slowly recovered her imperious front. A croaking voice and spinning head werent helping, and Eleni tried not to laugh. I can't believe La Martine rejected my invitation! I'll make sure he's snubbed by all of Atlantean society. Let's see how he likes being left alone, with nothing but a cask of wine to keep him company.' 'He'll probably enjoy that,' laughed Eleni, 'after all, he is in love with the sound of his own voice.' 'You were introduced to him?' 'Not exactly...' 'Of course...it's all coming back to me. Oh I remember now! Oh, what on earth have I done!'
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With a bruised ego added to her severe hangover, Ottilia sat on the end of her bed with her head cradled in her hands, nursing her woes. 'How did we escape from that mob?' she eventually asked. 'I don't know,' lied Eleni, 'I was drunk myself and it's all a blur.' 'So where the hell are we now?' 'We must have wandered off into the countryside.' 'That makes sense,' said Ottilia, eyeing the tunnel-dirt that besmirched Eleni's dress. 'My own dress seems relatively clean in comparison with yours. Were you carrying me?' 'I guess. We seem to have stumbled upon a remote farmhouse. The elderly farmer recognised me in the morning. He seems like an honest sort, the type that helps strangers in trouble.' 'It's an Atlantean folk-custom,' said Ottilia, in a condescending tone, 'that any household must grant hospitality to travelling strangers, providing them with food and a bed for the night.' 'The Greeks have a similar custom.' 'I would shower him with gold, but I don't want anyone learning who I am. But perhaps you could give him a couple of crowns for his trouble?' 'That's the least we owe him.' 'And how do you propose we get back home? Are you going to carry me? Eleni shook her head. 'The farmer has an old mare which he uses to carry goods to market. She's not as impressive as Stemon, and her back only has enough strength for one rider. But you can ride her home whilst I lead by the reins?' 'What has it come to when the High Priestess of the most powerful cult in Atlantis is reduced to riding a bow-legged donkey?'
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'Perhaps one day we'll laugh about this.' 'I doubt it,' hissed Ottilia. 'Now leave! I need a few more hours sleep before I'm fit to travel.' Eleni left, closing the door gently. Downstairs the old farmer, who ran a safe-house for Sericeus, looked at her expectantly. 'Well? Did she believe you?' 'Yes.' 'Then you're a good liar. I owe you my thanks.' 'Don't thank me - thank the wine.' They laughed.

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CHAPTER 25. CHAKRA BOND

It was dusk. The sun had divorced the world, leaving the sky empty and cold. Socrates sat on top of the cave entrance, staring out at the darkening woodland. He was tired and the shadows disturbed him. He feared the end of the birdsong and the total incursion of night. These long, lonely hours between dusk and dawn were a regular torment. During daylight hours he could work hard and share his world with the animals. He could partake in the rhythm of nature. These distractions lent him strength for a time. During this time he could half convince himself that it had never happened. But doubt lingered at the back of his mind. Soon after he went to bed, it would resume. He'd experienced erotic dreams before, but nothing to rival these. Most of the time he wasn't even asleep, but the effects still came. He felt as though he were being haunted by a sensuous ghost: a succubus which visited him every night, and which felt like a ghostly memory of Hypatia. He could feel phantom hands stroking his body, a cool breath on the back of his neck, like the prelude to a kiss which never came. The gulf between these sweet, delirious reveries and his stark loneliness was maddening. Socrates felt like the victim of a psychological torture devised in Hades. He could scent the cool, thirst-quenching water, but whenever he reached out to drink, it magically evaporated. He got little sleep, and, when he did, he dreamt of Hypatia. It was always the same dream. They would be kissing on a bed in a strange, candle-lit room. Every time the dream recurred, it became more vivid. Sometimes Socrates felt that they were going beyond normal love-making; that, instead, his body was melting and fusing with
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Hypatia's, until their essences combined in a force-field of bliss. But the dream was always tainted by an unsettling presence. Socrates grew to loath the unwelcome figure who invaded their private happiness. The voyeur was a blonde woman who sat watching at the side of the bed. This woman, who had strong, rounded cheekbones, observed the proceedings through narrowed eyes. There was no hint of compassion in them. Instead, Socrates saw scheming and calculation in her gaze; he didn't want such a person near himself or Hypatia. He tried to yell out his suspicions and point a warning finger at the visitant. But in the dreams his body was heavy and immobile. All he could do was soak up pleasure whilst doubts and fears screamed in his mind. A small bird alighted on the cave roof where he sat. It gazed at him expectantly, with bright, hungry eyes. Socrates had been feeding the bird every dusk, and it no longer feared him. He tossed it a few seeds which he'd carefully collected earlier that day and it pecked at them gratefully. 'What do you think, little friend? Am I going crazy?' The bird hopped about, ignoring him. 'Can dreams ever be real? They certainly feel real, and it's the same dream every time. Or am I just half-mad with loneliness?' The bird took flight with some seeds in its beak. 'Some help you are,' he said. The sky was darkening, and Socrates shivered in a sea-chilled breeze.

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CHAPTER 26. THE SECOND ORDER

Eleni smiled as she gently groomed Stemons mane. There was a soft click as the stable door opened. Eleni turned to face the newcomer. 'You like taking care of your beast, don't you?' said Ottilia. 'Yes,' agreed the Spartan, 'horses are noble animals. I find them soothing.' 'You comb him so gently, with such sensitive hands. You weren't nearly as gentle when you slept with Count Spinus the other night.' Eleni scowled as she continued grooming the horse. So you were watching us from behind the tapestry again? I thought I told you that I hated that!' 'Sorry. My spirits felt dull and I needed some sport.' 'Spinus is a bore. Why would you want to watch his fat carcass puffing and panting?' 'I liked the jests you made at his expense.' Eleni smiled and Ottilia pointed at the horse. 'I think Stemon has had enough care for today. But what about you? You've worked hard since you've been here, and I'm concerned that the wine you drank the other night has damaged your body.' 'I slept it off. So did you, didn't you?' 'No. I got healed. And it's time for you to have your first healing.' Eleni shook her head. 'I don't trust healers. I've seen them kill people on Sparta with their lies and poisonous remedies.' 'This is Atlantis. There's no quack medicine here.' 'So what? I feel perfectly well. If I need a healer, I'll ask for one.'
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Ottilia nodded and stepped back. She began to examine Eleni's body slowly, with the detached passion of an art collector. 'Why are you staring at me like that?' hissed Eleni abrasively. Ottilia ignored the question. Instead she began thinking out loud in a soft voice: 'I had thought about leaving it for another year. I thought perhaps your proportions would even out, and you'd lose that youthful lankiness. I considered letting your figure ripen and mellow, which might be an improvement. But now I'm not so sure...' 'What the hell are you muttering about?' 'You. Or your figure, to be more precise. I've decided that you're perfect as you are.' 'Thank you,' said Eleni sarcastically. 'Not perfect in the classical sense, of course. Your features have no balance to them. But your embodiment of raw sexual power interests me - even if it is bought at the expense of harmonious proportions and graceful refinements.' 'I'm not one of your cultivated flowers, Ottilia!' snapped Eleni. 'I don't appreciate being judged by you, or anyone else.' Ottilia ignored her protests and continued: 'Any changes might spoil your idiosyncratic charms. How old are you , Eleni?' 'Nineteen. Why? 'Because you're going to stay ninteteen forever. Come with me.' Eleni shook her head. 'I've no desire to be immortal,' she said. 'I might end up talking like you.' Ottilia was aghast: 'This is not a trivial offer! Only a High Priestess can arrange such a thing. I think I need a finer comb for Stemons mane. Can you fetch me one of those, instead?
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Ottilia pushed her snarling face near Elenis. Do you know how many Atlantean girls approach me every year to beg for the favour Im offering you? Hundreds. They go down on their knees and literally beg. But I see that their beauty is of a common type; of a pattern that repeats itself in more or less the same way with each new generation. But you are the Triple Star! Your beauty is supremely rare. I wont allow you to waste it!' 'Forget it. I'm not your pet insect, and Ive no interest in being preserved in your amber.' 'Youre unique! I've never seen your like before. Not in four-hundred years.' 'Are you trying to persuade me that I'm some kind of a freak, Ottilia? Just like you are? Well I'm not. I'm a daughter of Sparta, raised from common Spartan dust, and destined to breed and die and be buried there like all my sisters. I'm only here for as long as it takes to rescue my sister. You think I'd want to stay here forever? To join your Freak's Guild? I'd rather live in this stable with my horse.' Ottilia turned purple with rage. 'You are insanely stubborn! No-one refuses this privilege!' 'I do.' 'You actually want to age and die? You want your back to be bent, like a shepherd's crook? Why? Why would you want that?' 'Because it is the normal way of things.' 'Then hear this! If you refuse, Ill have your sister slain in front of your eyes! I will personally slit her throat. If you yield to time, I will force her time to end prematurely.' 'You keep bluffing,' said Eleni, 'but we both know that you covet my sister. I don't know why, or what you think she can do for you. But you seem to think she can do something special, so you're keeping her alive and well.'
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'She is quite special,' conceded Ottilia, 'and in time she'll make a splendid addition to my Second Order. At first I thought you were nothing, but I was wrong. You are the rarer flower, and my real passion is collecting. I am prepared to trade her life for yours. But it probably wouldn't come to that. I could probably just bleed her a bit, and youd eventually yield to my plans. It needn't be that way, though, if you co-operate.' Ottilia moved closer. 'Do you still think I am bluffing? Look into my eyes and tell me what you see?' Eleni gazed into the ancient, exquisitely slanted eyes of the High Priestess. She saw that she was telling the truth. 'Alright, have it your way. Looks like Ill be loitering about for longer than I thought. Don't you think I'll outstay my welcome?' Ottilia looked delighted. She jumped girlishly, gleefully clapping her hands: 'No. No, that could never happen. Let's do it!' Eleni followed Ottilia into the cult palace. The High Priestess led her down a flight of heavily guarded stairs. The lower levels were roughly-hewn from the rocks, the steps being huge and primitive. They led down to a large natural cavern, softly lit by artificial golden lights that shimmered and changed, responding to every word, motion and thought. 'Welcome to the roots of our Order!' said Ottilia. 'This is the oldest part of the Pleasure Cult palace. The first Atlanteans held fertility rites in this ancient cavern. Their concern was to reproduce life. Now we use it to store life itself.' 'How?' asked Eleni. 'Look at that broad wall over there. See how it's been chiselled flat? There are hundreds of niches in there, and each contains a secret source of life which we can tap. Here, put
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this on.' She handed Eleni a silk blind-fold. 'What the hells this for?' 'You are deep in the sanctified heart of my Cult. Everything must be done properly, according to ancient lore. You are required to be blindfolded.' 'Why?' 'Just do it!' Eleni relented, and Ottilia began shouting directions. She directed Eleni to blindly scale a ladder up to one of the niches, sensing each rung with her hands and feet. She soon reached the top. 'Now you must trust me. Your mortal and immortal lives are both at my disposal. But, if you do as I say, you will be profoundly rewarded. Climb up into the niche and stand there a while. Be silent as first. Then say your name in a very soft but clear voice. Speak slowly. The teenager obeyed: 'I am Eleni of Sparta.' Her voice echoed back, the acoustics giving the impression of a short tunnel behind the niche. Then another voice spoke, startling her: 'Welcome to the First Order, Eleni of Sparta. Dwell now in my dreams, for they are beyond time.' Spurred on by a curious impulse, Eleni slipped the blindfold down a bit to take a peek. 'What are you doing!' raged Ottilia, still standing near the foot of the ladder. Eleni noticed that the niche was bricked up after a metre, leaving only a narrow aperture. This hole revealed a short tunnel. Inside was a strange creature with large dark eyes that sparkled in the gold light.
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'Get that blindfold back on, or your sister pays in her blood!' threatened Ottilia. Eleni did as she was told, then descended the ladder. Ottilia grabbed her by the arm, frog-marching her briskly up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, Ottilia yanked the blindfold off Eleni, snatching it and hurling it to the ground. She began shrieking in a venomous tone that Eleni hadn't heard before. 'I give you life eternal and this is how you thank me? By immediately disobeying me!' 'I'm sorry.' 'No, you're not! The time for disobedience is over, Priestess! You're part of my Order now! If you think you can spend the next few centuries defying me, think again! I granted you longevity - not invulnerability! You can be harmed and I will punish any further transgressions!' Eleni smiled. 'Alright, I accept your authority. But before my eternal round of total submission begins, I'd like to ask one tiny question. What was that thing you had walled-up in there?' Ottilia's reply was a harsh backhanded slap to the Spartan girl's face. 'You don't learn, do you?' she hissed. 'Tomorrow I will test your obedience to me. If you fail, there will be dire consequences for you!'

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CHAPTER 27. DOUBTS

Hypatia wandered lethargically in the Pleasure Cult garden, drifting around the flower-beds like a drunken bee. She picked different flowers for a contrasting arrangement she intended to paint. She'd been very slow to master the delicate Atlantean arts of flower-arranging and painting. Under the lax tutelage of Chloris, her skills had barely progressed, though weeks had passed. Lack of sleep didn't help. It made Hypatia prone to irritability and the slightest effort of will cost her a head-ache. She avoided these pitfalls by doing the bare minimum and doing it very slowly. Chloris didn't seem to mind. Indeed, her teacher could often be found asleep under the shade of an apple-tree. Hypatia didn't feel ashamed at her mediocre efforts in the garden. At night she had a different teacher and a different set of arts to learn. She found herself progressing through this secret curriculum at breath-taking speed. Hypatia used her downtime in the garden to try to come to terms with what was happening every night. It was as if Culina were leading her by the hand through a doorway into another, dream-like world, where different rules applied. She'd been taught to connect with Socrates using different energy centres in her body. These included her navel, her sacrum, the back of her shoulder-blades and her forehead. More intimate connections were made using private regions of her body, then with her whole hips. As each centre was relaxed and ecstatically bonded to a corresponding centre in Socrates' body, Hypatia felt strange vibrations shudder through her frame. As the series of exercises progressed, she began feeling totally relaxed and ghost-like. Culina was making her experience her whole body again, on different terms: terms which were testing her world-view to destruction.
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Sometimes the experiences were earthy and erotic; sometimes loving and warm. Then, as the teachings progressed, they strayed very far from normal concepts of pleasure; becoming purely electrical, abstract or even spiritual in their scope. Once, at Culina's insistence, Hypatia imagined that her whole spinal column was in alignment with that of Socrates. Then, she had to imagine them melting, relaxing, fusing together as one. Culina said it was important for the nervous energy of his spine to rush up through hers. The result had been electrical tingling sensations that tickled exquisitely, so that her whole back arched involuntarily. It felt as though a long, silky feather was being dragged up through the hollow interior of her spine, pipe-cleaning it with new energy. This exercise left the base of her brain - her cerebellum - vibrating deliciously. The garden of the Pleasure Cult had seemed a vision of loveliness for days after that, with colours amplified and every sensory impression refreshed and renewed. Hypatia had felt energised to such a degree that she was slightly manic, and her carefree flower paintings from that time were given pride of place in her room. After that, Culina had taught Hypatia increasingly bizarre exercises. The Chakra Bondings done in the pineal centre of the head felt powerful, but they started to disturb Hypatia's thought patterns, disrupting her sense of identity. It was at this point that she started to grow unsure about who or what she really was. 'You are becoming the instrument of Socrate's pleasure,' Culina had said, 'forget everything else.' The only constant in her strange new life was her craving for Socrates. The extravagant exercises Culina taught didn't seem to quench her thirst for his love. Instead they actually increased it, like draughts of salted water. Every day she longed for the simple things they had shared on the island. Their
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silly jokes. His kind words. A loving touch whenever he sensed that she needed it. His kiss. His smell. The warmth of skin on skin. All these were gone. Everyday she cried, pining for him. Hypatia drove herself harder and harder, exceeding Culina's expectations with each new challenge. The cultist taught her that perception is an activity, like firing an endless stream of arrows. Her old passive model of the reception of impressions something gained passively, like rain falling into a bowl - was exploded. Culina's favourite analogy was with walking. 'To look at someone or something is to walk on them with your mind. Most people stomp about with muddy boots. They foul up the beauty of things, like soldiers trampling on Persian rugs. You must learn to tread lightly, disturbing nothing with your feet. Then flowers will spring up beneath your heels. 'Next, you must cultivate an even more delicate feeling. It's often found in half-dreams: the visions you experience on the contested borderline between true sleep and true waking. These visions encourage a sense of ambivalent wonder; you are no longer sure about the true nature of what you see. Are they mirages or realities? They could be anything, so the guards at the gates of awareness are left scratching their heads. In such instances the mind treads carefully and respectfully, as if negotiating thin ice. Someone who is unsure of their step gives subtle attention to every foot-fall. They allow the ground to have its say, so a dialogue is commenced. Those who walk on paths paved with preconceptions are on a one-way street. 'Most people bring down the full weight of their certainties with every step. They end up trampling the very ground they wish to understand - because remember that by 'treading' I mean sensing. We must learn to tread tentatively, in a dialogue with the shifting sands of possibility beneath our feet. All the weight of certainty we withhold will
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be rewarded with surges of fresh energy. The energies we sense don't want to be crushed by our preconceptions, or forced to fit a limiting mould. We must learn, in ambivalent states like hypnagogia, what it means to walk on wonders. 'Can you borrow this feeling and apply it to your normal awareness? Can you liberate the objects of your awareness, acknowledging that your ideas of them are far from being the whole truth? When you can, many doors will open for you.' Then, one night, Culina announced it was time for Hypatia to start working beyond the limits of her energy body. She had to believe that a force-field was surrounding her relaxed body and interpenetrating it. As usual, having belief meant feeling sensation. Therefore, she had to imagine a pleasurable sensation extending for three metres outside her body and three metres behind it, giving her 360 degree awareness. Culina said that the force-field represented her own awareness and energy. She could use it to create a gateway through which Socrate's awareness and energy could freely travel. Culina had taught her to focus her mind in two places at once: firstly, on the energy that surrounded her. Secondly, on the energy centre between her legs, the Base Chakra. She was told to aim for a relaxed, melting sensation, bypassing any effort. The cultist instructed her to slow her mind down, and to bring the natural oscillations of her Base Chakra to a halt. Then, she told her to sense Socrate's energy field as if it were part of her own. Culina told her to tread lightly whilst searching his energy field, relaxing deeply into it, like a diver looking for gold. Hypatia sensed vibrations in the energy field, and her instinct was to guide them gently until they became slower and more subtle. She felt the fabric of the energy field becoming finer, like strands of cotton being manually teased apart. The fabric began to feel less like cotton and more like silk, as if her slowed awareness was letting her slip
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through the coarse mesh of reality, until she sensed a finer fabric underneath. Then there was a surge of rapturous energy. 'You've located his pleasure frequency,' said Culina, 'hold it steady and keep calm.' Hypatia found herself floating in the weightless centre of a 360 degree force-field of pleasure. Her entire body was so relaxed that it felt molten. Her Base Chakra, whose signature oscillations had been brought to a relaxed halt, felt as though it was drifting in a field of bliss, like a rudderless ship drifting at sea. This centre of female sexual energy had temporarily stopped its individual, solitary dance, drifting in sync with a limitless field of sensation. Culina had been pleased with her efforts. 'Good. The process of self-abnegation is over. Your whole body is a Chakra now, with an energy field that is bonded to Socrates. 'You are totally attuned to him. You have become a Belief Gate, a magical passage in the universe that will eventually grant him limitless life, freedom and pleasure. Come back here tomorrow night, and we will discuss the final stages.' It was a powerful lesson that left Hypatia unable to sleep. Her sense of reality reeled under the force of multiple knock-out blows. The next day, the Spartan shambled into the garden. She tried to arrange some flowers in a tall vase. It was a losing struggle. Her thoughts strayed from the task at hand. Her only concern now was Culinas ultimate lesson. What mind-bending feat would the Priestess expect her to perform next? And where was all this heading? The lessons had their own dazzling momentum, like a runaway chariot. Hypatia had progressed so rapidly that she'd barely had time to blink. Now, with the final hurdle in site, she found herself getting cold feet. The course had put all the pressure on Hypatia - the onus was on her to perform
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well and play the part of a diligent pupil. But what part was Culina playing? Hypatia had invested so much energy in self-criticism that she'd forgot to question the integrity of Culina, or the wisdom of her methods. As her self-doubt vanished, she was haunted by new questions. Previously she'd dismissed them as distractions on the path to success. Now there was no easy way of exorcising them. What was Culina talking about when she said she could grant Socrates limitless life, freedom and pleasure? These grand concepts meant nothing to her. All she wanted was to be reunited with him, to be in his arms again, and to enjoy a simple life together. Culina had promised to help her fulfil this humble aim. Why had she steered her so far into uncharted waters? Hypatia vowed that she would voice her doubts to Culina at the next opportunity. She needed clear answers.

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CHAPTER 28. APOSTASY

Eleni ran up the spiral staircase, quickly reaching the blue door to Ottilia's bedchamber. She knocked and was invited in. Inside, she saw Ottilia wielding a whip. A male slave hung from chains, his body criss-crossed with bloody welts that testified to his harsh punishment at her hands. He glanced at Eleni with hateful eyes. 'You called me here,' said Eleni flatly. 'I did. And please remember to address me using my appropriate title. Diomedes will remind you of it, won't you Diomedes?' 'Yes, mistress!' 'You see, it isn't so hard to remember!' 'You called me here, mistress,' said Eleni in a laconic drawl. 'Can I ask why?' 'Yes, you can ask. Whether or not I choose to give you an answer is another thing entirely.' 'I guess you didn't invite me here for another afternoon of horse-riding?' 'No....' said Ottilia, whose structured dress was as rigidly-intricate as a gothic cathedral. '....but you will be using a riding crop. Why? 'This slave attempted to escape earlier today. I want you to punish him.' She tried, unsuccessfully, to hand Eleni the whip. The slave glared at Eleni, who quickly stared him down. 'It looks to me as if he's been punished enough already,' she said. Ottilia walked over to her window, gazing remotely into the distance. 'If you refuse, I will make you shoulder his burden of pain. Strong as you are, it will yet
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prove a heavy load for you to carry.' The slave gazed at Eleni with eyes that couldn't quite manage hope as yet. She laughed. 'So what's all this really about? You want to show me how tough you are? How well you keep order, and control everything around here? Ottilias grip on the riding crop tightened. 'I do not answer your questions. You obey my commands, or face the consequences.' Eleni walked over to where Ottilia was standing, then looked directly into her face. 'Can you control your own heart, Ottilia?' she whispered. The High Priestess ignored her, but Eleni continued regardless. 'What you are asking me to do is unsporting. If I want to dominate a man, I fight him on even terms, using nothing but the strength in my arms. I don't need any of your iron chains to hold him still.' 'What are you talking about?' said Ottilia. 'Wrestling.' 'This isn't one of your Spartan games. This is about honour and discipline. How long do you think this cult could have lasted without rules and punishments? Will you stand idle when this man has insulted our dignity, Priestess?' 'Your rules, your honour! I bear no insults from anyone. You summon me here like a slave and ask me to punish another. Why should I?' 'Because I am your mistress!' Eleni moved her face insolently close to that of the High Priestess. 'Then prove it! Beat me with your own hands!' Eleni shoved Ottilia gently. She snarled and lashed out with the whip, cutting a diagonal welt on Eleni's shoulder.
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'Obey me!' she hissed. Eleni grabbed the High Priestess, swiftly manoeuvring her into an armlock. With her right arm forced painfully behind her back, Ottilia screamed in powerless rage. 'Drop the whip,' said Eleni, smiling. 'No, why should I?' 'So you can take your revenge. I'll give you three free chances.' Ottilia dropped the whip and Eleni let her go. The High Priestess glared at her opponent, whilst rubbing her sore arm. 'You'll regret that,' she said, producing a jewel-hilted dagger from the folds of her garments. 'This time, it'll be you that I cut down to size, and not my riding dress.' 'Go on then,' said Eleni nonchalantly. 'I'll give you three chances'. The High Priestess slashed wildly at her calm, agile tormentor. The Spartan easily parried the untutored and predictable assaults. Then Ottilia lunged forward, putting all her weight on her front leg. Eleni took the opportunity to push her even further off balance, and she fell to the floor, dropping the dagger which clattered across the marble tiles. The slave gazed in wide-eyed astonishment as Eleni straddled the High Priestess, securing her lower body in the vice-like grip of her thighs, pinning both her hands down above her head. 'Do you submit?' she said. 'No!' Screamed Ottilia, her hair spread out on the floor like a pool of ink. Eleni squeezed both her wrists at tender pressure points. 'Submit!' she insisted. Ottilia could sense the enjoyment that Eleni was getting from this demonstration of mastery.
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'Yes, I submit to you!' Eleni lowered her smiling face until it was close to Ottilia's. She felt her hot breath as she whispered: 'Promise to let the slave go, and I'll let you go.' Ottilia gazed into Eleni's eyes, and there was a brief moment of recognition, as if an electrical charge passed between their black, equally dilated pupils. 'Yes, I promise,' she said softly. There was a loud bang as the door was flung open. Vigilant ears had heard the leader's cries of distress ,and rushed to investigate. Janice, armed with a sword and flanked by two armed women, regarded Eleni contemptuously: 'Get away from the High Priestess!' barked the acrobat. Eleni smiled: 'So, you want to give me orders as well? Is it because you love the sound of your own voice?' 'What?' 'If you carry on talking then I'll treat you a new sound. The sound of your mistress's neck breaking. We'll see how you enjoy that!' 'Do as she says,' said Ottilia to Eleni, 'or she will kill you!' Her captor laughed. 'No-one here has the nerve or skill to beat me! I could probably best all three of them!' 'Do you seriously dare to believe that you can beat me?' said Janice. 'I'm the captain of the Acrobats! I've seen Spartans in action - your clumsiness is only matched by your over-confidence .' Eleni spat on the floor.
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'This is no time for insults, my dainty little tumbler! Your mistress is at my mercy. I'll name my terms. Then you can cartwheel off, and obey them to the letter.' 'These aren't just acrobats!' warned Ottilia. 'We're forbidden to keep a garrison, so we train martial artists instead. I pass them off as entertainers but everyone knows their real role. These are my spies and enforcers - assassins, infiltrators, saboteurs.' 'My skills have nothing to do with pleasure,' agreed Janice, 'except the pleasure of watching you bleed'. Eleni felt a sharp pain in her right bicep. She looked and saw a small feathered dart embedded there. Her head span as she fainted to the floor. Janice helped Ottilia up, and dusted her off deferentially. The acrobats congratulated the newcomer who had crept up the stairs, before firing her blow-pipe from a prone position behind the legs of her comrades. 'What shall I do with the Spartan?' asked Janice. 'Put her in the dungeon along with this slave. I'll see them executed as soon as the festival calendar permits.'

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CHAPTER 29. THE LOVER

Hypatia entered Culina's chamber. 'Greetings, friend!' said the Priestess, embracing her. Hypatia said nothing. 'Well, aren't you going to lay down on my bed? This is a momentous night! We are wonderfully close to finishing your teachings!' 'I'd rather not,' said the Spartan, folding her arms defensively. 'Why?' 'I want you to answer some questions first. I need to know where all this work is heading.' Culina looked calm. It was as if she half-expected this sudden change of attitude. The cultist replied through smiling lips. 'You are my star pupil: the most talented candidate for the Second Order that I've ever encountered. You've accomplished the work of months or years in weeks. Would you like to know why?' Hypatia frowned. 'Youre avoiding my question.' Culina ignored her and continued. 'because you never stopped to think. You never stopped to ask why. Your devotion to Socrates blinded you to all other considerations. I've seen race-horses less blinkered than you.' 'That time is over,' insisted Hypatia, 'and I'll do nothing more until you answer my questions.' 'We are good friends! Why can't you just trust me?
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Culina appeared hurt but Hypatia suspected it was an act. 'I've already put a lot of trust in you, Culina. Now I want answers.' The cultist was furious. 'Get out!' she hissed. 'Pardon?' 'Are you deaf as well as ungrateful? Get out of my room, you unworthy bitch!' Hypatia was taken aback. 'I'm sorry, I never meant...' 'You want answers from me? Who are you to make demands? Don't you appreciate what I've been doing for you all this while?' 'Look, Culina, I'm really sorry...' 'I've spent night after sleepless night helping you. I've risked my neck sharing secret knowledge, and asked nothing in return. All in the spirit of self-sacrifice, which is something you obviously know nothing about.' As the cultist's lecture came to an end, Hypatia hung her head in shame. She burst into penitent tears: 'I'm sorry. I never meant to offend you. All those sleepless nights must have caught up with me. If you let me stay, I'll be your best student again. I won't let you down, Culina.' Culina smiled. 'Come here,' she said. She sat down on the bed, patting the space beside her with her hand. 'Sit down,' she said, 'I think we could both use a break.' Hypatia sat down. Culina produced her flask, and they both drank small cups of tea. 'I'm tired and irritable, too,' she confided in a soothing tone. 'We've both been under a lot of pressure lately. Can you forgive my outburst earlier?'
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'There's nothing to forgive,' said Hypatia, 'I was the one who spoke out of turn.' Culina shook her head. 'No, no, you're being far too kind. It was perfectly reasonable for you to be curious at this stage. And I think I know exactly what it is you want to ask.' 'You do?' 'Yes. You want to know when you will see Socrates again and embrace him in the flesh. Am I right?' 'Yes.' 'I'm afraid the answer won't be to your liking. I kept it secret to avoid upsetting you. Can't you see it hurts me to see you unhappy?' Hypatia was silenced by dread. 'There is no way for you to be together with him now. Those slavers made sure of that. So I devised a plan to console you in your hour of grief. I gave your heart a pair of wings that no villains blade could clip. I wanted you to feel near to him again, even if it was only in spirit.' 'Thank you,' said Hypatia in a quiet, defeated voice, 'I can see that you did your best.' 'You deserved it.' Hypatia frowned, pointing at herself. 'Did I? You were probably right to call me ungrateful. And what exactly did you mean when you said I knew nothing about the spirit of self-sacrifice?' 'Let me explain,' said Culina. She finished her tea before setting down the cup. 'You're not exactly the first girl that I've helped out this way. You see, lots of girls end up in the cult against their wishes. They leave behind boyfriends, lovers, fiances and husbands. So when they arrive, most are burdened with a broken heart. I try to help
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them the only way I know how. They all seem grateful at first, and eager to co-operate. 'Sooner or later, though, they realise the limitations of my spiritual methods. That's when they start asking questions. I try to explain, but they can't or won't understand. So most of them end up by walking away from me, as if I was some kind of enemy.' 'Why?' 'Because they were selfish lovers. In my opinion they were never really in love at all. They liked the idea of love well enough. But when I showed them a higher form of love, they ran.' 'Why was that?' 'Because it wasn't what theyd been fantasizing! They thought my methods would end by teleporting them onto a bed of roses. There, in the company of their loved-one, they could satisfy all their carnal desires. 'Or they expected to be spirited away into a scented garden, where their man, enslaved by magic, would sing love songs to them for the rest of time. They came to me with specific desires and fixed expectations. They all wanted to satisfy emotional or sexual desires in the flesh. Once they realised that I couldn't wave that kind of magic wand, they stormed out in disgust.' Culina stared silently at Hypatia, gazing deep into her eyes. She felt as if the cultist was judging her soul. At last she continued: 'Most people are pretty selfish when it comes down to it. Either that or they can't shake off a limited idea of what love could be. But I thought you might be different. I thought to myself Hypatia is different. Her soul is nobler than the rest. She cares about nothing but true love. You proved me wrong, though, didn't you?'
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Hypatia grabbed her tutors hand. 'Please don't give up on me, Culina! I was having a crisis of faith. I'm not a selfish lover!' Culina took Hypatia's other hand with a wavering grasp. 'Really? Do you really love Socrates, or do you just want to use him to satisfy your desires?' 'It's not just about sex with him!' 'Sex, emotions, security, ego, they're all the same. I want to know if you ever really loved him? Were you ever really willing to put his happiness first?' 'Yes! I would do anything to make him happy?' Culina shook her head. 'Don't be so quick to talk. You might enjoy saying sweet, poetic things. But I don't deal with empty promises. I only deal with sensations.' 'Of course.' 'You know there are sensations to cover any possibility. I can show you a way to give him eternal happiness. The question is, what would you be willing to sacrifice in return?' 'Anything!' 'Even if it meant that you no longer existed.' 'What, that I'd be dead?' 'No. Your body would live, but your self-awareness would be gone.' 'What would it feel like?' 'Like nothing! The perfect gate is a void that permits anything to pass through it. The slightest flicker of awareness on your part would put him in the chains of misery and limitation.' Hypatia was silent, considering the implications. Culina regarded her for a while before releasing her hand. Then she stood up,
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showing her the door. 'Like I said, there are very few real lovers in this world. Most people are selfish to some degree.' 'What will his life be like if I help him?' The cultist smiled. 'Exceptionally lucky. He will succeed in anything he attempts. His life will become one long round of triumphant pleasure. If he is worldly, he will become rich. If he is ambitious, he will succeed. If he is spiritual, he will be enlightened. All circumstances will be on his side.' 'I'll do it! I'll do what it takes to make him happy!' 'Are you certain? Because you won't be around to witness one second of it?' 'Yes.' Culina moved over to her teaching position beside the bed. 'Then you'd better lie down. I will complete the ritual, but you must surrender completely. You should expect to lose consciousness. This is your last night as Hypatia of Sparta. You will be reborn as a Belief Gate. An instrument of pleasure. Hypatia smiled sadly: 'Then, on this, my last night as Hypatia of Sparta, I take an opportunity to thank you, Culina of Atlantis, my dearest friend!' Culina smiled in the flickering candlelight. 'Goodbye, dear friend.'

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CHAPTER 30. DISFAVOUR

Eleni woke to a sore head - perhaps even sorer than the one she'd suffered previously on the Xeno. A muscular man, stripped to the waist and covered in whip-marks, was offering her a jug of water. 'The first thing I wanted was water.' he said. 'Huh?' replied Eleni, who was still in a daze. 'I remember being very thirsty' he added, 'and I had a verminous taste in the back of my mouth.' Eleni snatched the pitcher and began drinking like a hound after the chase. 'Stop!' he said, 'That's got to last us all day!' 'I've got to get that damn taste out of my mouth!' she croaked. 'Water won't do it,' he said, shaking his head. 'Just give it an hour or so, it'll gradually fade.' Eleni's head, though sore, was clearing. She moved to the opposite side of the stone cell. With her back to the wall, she glared suspiciously at the man. 'How do you know what I'm going through?' she said. He laughed dryly. I had a taste of those darts a few years back. Did you think I came to work here of my own free will?' Eleni regarded his painful-looking welts: 'No, I can see that you didn't. So how did you end up here? You sound Greek to me.' 'We were sailing from Athens to Persia when we got blown wildly off course. We sailed into unknown waters and were intercepted by a fast sailing ship. The sailors were all women, so naturally we thought our luck had changed for the better. We let them on
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board our vessel, and they promised us all the delights under the sun. Then, whilst our guard was down, they shot me and the other men with hidden blowpipes. Next they dumped us in cages aboard their vessel. They brought us here as slaves, and we were happy to do their bidding.' 'Happy to be slaves? Why?' 'Because they fed us some kind of narcotic - lotus flowers, nepenthe, who knows what kind of evil plant? Whatever it was, it was in all our food. One day I got sick and didn't eat, which is when the fog cleared and I became aware of my true situation. After that, I learned to hide my meals and scrounge clean food from the bins. One day I felt confident enough to run away: not that it got me anywhere.' 'Diomedes, isnt that what youre called?' 'And you're Eleni. I heard them mention your name whilst you were unconscious.' 'Thats me.' Eleni regarded the stone walls as the Athenian crouched on the floor. 'Why did they put us in here together, Diomedes?' 'I don't know. Perhaps they thought I would take revenge on you whilst you were unconscious.' 'You could have done,' she said. 'And you could have whipped me to death, but you didn't.' He smiled: 'I had no respect for Sparta before I met you; now I would gladly kneel and kiss its shores.' 'So would I,' reflected Eleni, 'but I doubt if either of us will get the chance.' He gazed at her pensively. 'We should share what we know about this place', he said, 'perhaps we can work out
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some weakness of theirs which we can exploit'. 'What do you want to know?' 'Everything, but please start from the beginning. How did you get here?' 'Itll be a long story,' warned Eleni. He smiled ruefully: 'What else have we to do?

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CHAPTER 31. BELIEF GATE

Later that night, Helianthe knocked on Culina's door. 'Come in,' said the cultist. Culina was looking down at the bed with a smug grin on her face. On top of it lay Hypatia, in what looked like a deep sleep. 'Is she ready?' asked Helianthe 'Absolutely,' replied Culina proudly, 'have your slaves carry her down to the catacombs.' 'You will be rewarded for this, Culina.' At Helianthe's signal, two slaves entered, carrying long poles. They lifted the silk bed-sheet with Hypatia still on it, draping it over the poles to create a stretcher. 'Follow me,' said Helianthe. The slaves followed their mistress, carrying the stretcher between them. She led them along corridors and down many flights of stairs. Finally they reached the ancient cavern over which the Pleasure Cult had been founded. The slaves were ordered to rest the stretcher on the ground. Helianthe pointed to a ladder which spanned the distance between the ground and a freshly carved niche. She pointed to the tallest of the two slaves. 'You. Lift her over your shoulder and carry her up to that alcove. Sit her down in the stone seat at the back.' The man obeyed, carrying Hypatia's limp, hypnotised body up to the alcove. Eventually he began to descend the ladder alone. 'No, stay up there,' she ordered. She gestured at the other slave: 'You see that hod carrier full of bricks? Carry it up to the alcove. Tell the slave at the top
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to start sealing the entrance.' The slave obeyed, going up and down the ladder with his shouldered burden of bricks. Helianthe shouted up to his mate, who was walling-up the entrance: 'Leave a small gap so I can look through and check her face.' 'Yes, mistress,' he said, obediently. Eventually Culina joined them. 'It is done?' she asked. 'Yes,' replied Helianthe. 'Hypatia is safely installed in the Second Order. We can sell her services to the highest bidder.' Culina seemed thoughtful. 'I wonder what it's like to spend centuries dreaming in an alcove?' 'Who knows?' replied Helianthe. 'I don't think they even dream. But one things for sure: those belief gates grant immortality to anyone who speaks their name into the alcove. That gives us more influence than all the other Cults put together.' 'What if they died? Would the client die as well?' 'Eventually. But they don't die. They are outside the remit of time. Barring violence, they might go on forever. They do, however change over time.' 'Change?' asked Culina. 'Yes,' said Helianthe. 'We had to move the oldest Belief Gate - Loxia - out from a crumbling niche and relocate her. Her skin had turned as white as ivory, and her mouth had sealed over. Her eyes had grown large and turned purely black. Hers were the strangest eyes I'd ever seen.' 'What was so strange about them?' 'They seemed to shine with love. The contrast between them and her pallid body made for a singularly disturbing sight.'
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Culina seemed eager to change the subject. 'So, how soon can we get a client?' 'We are in talks with a wealthy nobleman at present. I had such great faith in your abilities, Culina, that I began discussions as soon as your training sessions commenced.' 'Thank you, mistress. I'm glad I didn't let you down.' Helianthe smiled. 'You rarely do, Culina. You rarely do.' The two women left the chamber, followed by the two slaves.

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CHAPTER 32. CRUELTY

It was an overcast afternoon. Beneath the slate-grey sky, two women walked slowly along a gently undulating ornamental pathway. Beside it were small, softly gurgling streams, and box-hedges arranged at harmonious intervals. They both walked at the same serene pace; and, as they did, a beautiful dance of gestures took place between them. A naive onlooker might have guessed their topic of discussion as love, or the arts, or fashion. Instead they were discussing an execution. '...it should take place on a raised wooden platform,' said Helianthe. 'I want the Athenian to tup the Spartan before they are both killed. It will be a good entertainment for the coarse souls in the crowd. All they want is sex and blood.' Helianthe's eyes glittered in anticipation as she continued: 'They should be tortured next. Humiliating and degrading punishments. Then we kill them very slowly - perhaps by garrotting?' 'Would you like to inflict the tortures yourself?' asked Ottilia blandly. 'No,' said Helianthe after a slight delay, 'but perhaps I can hand-pick the men who will do it?' 'That is my prerogative,' snapped Ottilia. 'Your new horse gives me an idea. What was his name again? Stimos? 'Stemon'. 'I can't believe you plan to have riding lessons! What an eccentric choice of pastime for a dignified personage like yourself...' 'That's my business. Now get to the point, Priestess, if you have one.' 'Yes, of course. My sincerest apologies, mistress. I hear that in Rome they have special Circuses where unfortunates are slain to entertain the masses. One of the cruellest - but
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also most spectacular - methods they have devised is called being torn asunder by four horses. The victim's limbs are secured...' 'Forget it. We'll kill them quickly.' 'But mistress...' 'We are not Roman savages. This pair have transgressed and will suffer the penalty. But high-born Atlanteans do not make sport out of suffering.' 'The masses will be displeased! We must appease their coarse, degenerate tastes during the festivals, or risk their wrath!' Ottilia shook her head. They walked in silence as the High Priestess gazed at the wall of the garden. Then, as if no time had elapsed, she spoke: 'Also, the execution of Eleni will take place in private, here in the prison cells. She will die by rapid poison, or some similar means.' 'What! That would be seen as an outrageous act of clemency!' 'To some. But I believe a public execution would cause the Spartan to be elevated as a figure-head or martyr in the eyes of a rebellious minority.' 'What rebellious minority? We all hate foreign savages here!' 'She has a stoic nature and would endure harsh treatment nobly. Therefore her bravery must be concealed from the public. Crowds are impressed by simple bravery, you know.' Helianthe silently weighed her Mistresses logic against her hatred for Eleni. 'We could drown her in a crystal vat. That mode of death would afford her stoicism no scope for expression.' 'I said no. My mind is made up on this matter.' 'Mistress, your mind seems somewhat prejudiced of late. You still favour Eleni of Sparta, do you not?' Ottilia stopped in her tracks, gazing fiercely at her accuser:
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'Hold your tongue, priestess, or your discourtesy will be remedied in public!' The two women continued walking in silence.

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CHAPTER 33. INDICTMENT

Eleni and Diomedes glared at two guards as they entered the cell. One had a sword, the other carried food and water. The armed guard spoke, giving the usual order: You two! Stand in that corner and face the wall. The prisoners obeyed. They listened to the clattering sound as trays of food and water were placed near the door. The whole routine was usually over in less than a minute, at which point the cell door clanged shut. Eleni was therefore surprised when one of the guards began speaking in a whisper: My master has concerns over your safety, mistress Eleni. Your master? We are Prince Adenis men, working here in secrecy. Then break us out of here! Sorry, not possible. Wed have to take on all the other guards. The odds are hopeless. Eleni scowled: Then bring us poison, so that we may die on our own terms. The guard shook his head. There is a better way. There are some nasty rumours flying around the Royal palace. They say Ottilias Priestesses are working to rule our Isle by cunning. Our informants uncovered a plot to destabilize the Royal family. They say you were forced to manipulate Prince Adeni, using womens wiles. If you can sign this declaration, my master will be legally entitled to move against the Pleasure Cult with force of arms, and arrest those scheming Priestesses.
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And us? You will be released and cleared of any blame. The guard presented a small scroll and Eleni signed it:

Eleni of Sparta

The guard smiled: My master will be pleased! You should expect a rescue within days. The pair left and Eleni regarded Diomedes. Well, what did you make of all that? Adeni will use force. How can you be so sure? Those guards could have been a pair of Ottilias actors; I might have signed our death warrant. No, she doesnt need one. She has legal jurisdiction within the cult compound. How do you know? I learned a lot about Atlantis during my stay here. The Sisters lowered their guard in my presence after all, I was seen as a mindless slave. They spoke freely about all kinds of intrigues. Eleni tilted her head quizzically. So answer this then, Mr. Expert why did that man only talk about arresting the Priestesses? What about the High Priestess, Ottilia herself? Oh, nobody touches Ottilia. She has countless enemies, but they all depend on her for one thing or another. Like their immortality? Exactly. Shes a living book all the mysteries of the Pleasure Cult reside inside her head. She knows things Helianthe couldnt dream of.
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Shes irreplaceable. But political resentments build, and every century or so theres a purge of the lower Priestesses. How can we go free when Ottilias still alive? Thats a good question. Nobody wants an enemy that powerful. But it seems you have powerful friends, also? Prince Adeni. Exactly. * The sea was slate-grey beneath colossal black rain-clouds. Still Socrates stood, sheltering inside the wooden sentry box hed built. Its roof leaked and three timber walls did little to prevent biting winds from further chilling his goose-pimpled body. Tomorrow Ill build a warm fire in front of this thing , he thought. Then, as he surveyed the rain-spattered sea, he spotted a distant boat. He ran across the beach to light the huge signal fire hed prepared. As the rain pelted down the Corinthian ignored his saturated clothes, concentrating instead on his flint and tinder. Sparks flew but the tinder immediately became damp, despite his best efforts to protect it. The dried reeds and grasses at the heart of the fire had also become damp. Socrates realised that his efforts were useless. He began raging at the sky: You think youve beat me with a little rain? Think again! Ill build the next fire in a hut then burn the whole damn thing, rain or no rain! The sky ignored this show of defiance, and black clouds steadily deposited tonnes of water over the small island and its sole, sobbing occupant. Meanwhile, the boat continued on its course towards the island.

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CHAPTER 34. HUBRIS

Ottilia gazed out of the window of her room in the highest turret of the Cult Palace. She recognised the purple and orange tabards of the Royal militia as they stormed through the gates, slaughtering the guards in the process. Some slaves milled about in the grounds, but they passively surrendered to the threat of violence. Not again, muttered the High Priestess to herself. She said it calmly, as if this turn of events was too petty to warrant real concern. It was as if a cake had overcooked in her oven, and become slightly singed around the edges. Helianthe did not share her mistresss tranquil attitude. The priestess burst into Ottilias room, trembling all over: Mistress, Mistress! Gods help us mistress, we are undone! In your case Im not surprised. You may despise the Greeks but their myths tell us a lot about the fates of those with excessive pride and ambition. Mistress? The Greeks identified a character flaw which they labelled hubris. A kind of pride and ambition that offends the Gods, summoning destruction from on high. But you taught me ambition, mistress! You taught me to despise the Royals and gradually engineer their downfall. I did all you asked and more! More? I suppose by more you mean plotting to destroy my supremacy within the order? No! I am completely loyal! Ottilia gave a sneering laugh. Ive known you for three-hundred years, Helianthe. Dont you know I can read you like a book?
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Yes. You are three-hundred Helianthe. Thats a long time to remain second-in-command. I have pleaded for your life on previous occasions, if only because you knew enough about the tedious, technical workings of this cult to save me training up a new head maid. Head-maid?! Youve always betrayed your loyal servants. That I can accept. But when you choose to actually insult us? To cast me in such a lowly role! I am the closest thing in Atlantis to your equal! Ottilia ignored the furious Priestess as she continued with her rant: Ive waited three-hundred years for your token of approval and received none! Thats the only reason I fantasised betrayal to force you to see me as an equal! For you to fully acknowledge me, if only for the second before you died! Ottilia smiled: Well, now your fantasy of betrayal ends. With the reality of your punishment. I wonder what theyll do to you Priestesses this time? It seems to change every century. You could be imprisoned or executed. Or just sold as a slave to the highest bidder. Helianthe recoiled in disbelief. You dont care, do you? You are utterly inhumane And you are not my equal. I make Priestesses, Helianthe. I could make a hundred more like you very easily. Youll never understand the gulf between maker and made. Yes, but I know all your secrets! Ill sell them to the highest bidder! I will make the King of Remia immortal! The High Priestess laughed. You fool there are no secrets, only me. I make everything happen here. I might teach you a song and dance, and convince you it does something, when of course it actually doesnt. I AM THIS CULT. You can only fly on my wings no stolen feathers
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will save you from the fall. Youre bluffing. Of course shes bluffing, said a newcomer. In the heat of the argument Prince Adeni had stormed the turret. He and his soldiers held the two antagonists at sword point. The Prince grinned triumphantly at the two angry women whilst addressing them: Ottilia, former High Priestess of the Pleasure Cult. You are to be imprisoned within your bedchamber. You will be held here as prisoner at the pleasure of the new High Priestess. Helianthe smiled triumphantly.

Thank you, noble Prince. I fully submit to your Royal authority, and I promise to do a better job than my corrupt predecessor. Adeni shook his head. I didnt appoint you. Helianthe grimaced in rage. Then who? Eleni of Sparta. She will help to decide your fate and the fate of your Sisters at a Tribunal whose sessions will be held in coming days. To hell with that! shrieked Helianthe. The Priestess dived across the room before hurling herself out of the window. A soldier crossed the room and peered grimly out. Shes dead, your Highness. Restrain Ottilia, ordered Adeni, and bar the window to stop her copying Helianthe.
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Ottilia sighed. Didnt she hear? I just warned her she couldnt fly Adeni frowned: Our ancestors named this as a pleasure cult. But all youve done is bring pain, and not just to the normal people whom you tax with envy. You even rejoice in the death of your peers. Wrong. I am peerless. Maybe. I personally see you as a vampire a parasite. You are nothing without a powerful body to drain blood from. Im going to change this place your body beyond recognition. Your future is a very humble one. Ottilia batted her eyelashes in a parody of admiration: Why Adeni, conquest suits you well! Youve become so.masterful! Shut up, you murderess. The deposed High Priestess pouted: I didnt push Helianthe. She jumped! Yes, but I heard what you were saying to her. You knew you were breaking her spirit. Perhaps I can raise yours. Ottilia mockingly groped the Princes crotch but he shoved her back. Ouch! Youre almost a convincing bastard! What? You recited poetry in the bedchamber, like a love-sick girl. If only Eleni had seen you in this guise. She might have regarded you with interest rather than contempt. You watched? No. I laughed. Adeni slapped Ottilia round the face.
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Yes, almost a convincing bastard. Now run back to your very convincing bitch. Ill imagine you kissing that gold mask again. You evil Her mask will never be lowered, Adeni. Not for you, anyway.

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CHAPTER 35. THE TUNNEL

Seven men toiled in the crypt beneath an old alms chapel. Lanterns lit the clandestine work party, and dirt was wheeled away in small wooden barrows. The men laboured with pickaxes and shovels, gradually burrowing through an earthen wall. Every now and then, a bottle was passed around the thirsty, claustrophobic sailors. Captain Sericeus glanced over at Socrates, who was sweating with exertion. Youre a hard worker! I should have rescued you ages ago How did you know I was on that island, anyway? The same way I know where to find your girlfriend. Im a criminal. My contacts know whats really going on. Oh? They have to. In my trade, bad information buys tickets to executions. With us as the main event. I see your point... I hope you do. Because I prefer to visit tombs on a temporary basis. Socrates smiled: Im just grateful that you can help me rescue Hypatia. Its not just her, snarled the bosun, theyve got Remians walled-up in that twisted cellar of theirs. Well save them all, vowed Sericeus. This is our big chance. The guard is down since Adeni took over.

How did you know to dig a tunnel here? We could be wasting our time! Because I love old maps. Especially stolen ones. According to this, the Second Order
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caverns are huge. They extend way beyond the Palace Grounds. This old crypt is only metres shy of the outermost cave. Its that easy. He chuckled. They might as well have built a door and painted a welcome sign. The bosun looked unimpressed. How many metres to the cave, precisely? growled the bosun. Its not that Im lazy. But people are bound to notice our guest is missing sooner or later. The guest was an old Atlantean priest who had the misfortune to be around when the Remians slipped into the chapel. He glared at his taut rope bonds, which had been secured expertly with sailors knots. Its only a small Alms chapel, said Sericeus, weve most likely got all night. He smiled at the complaining priest. Dont worry friend! Well release you once our countrymen are freed from that vault. There was a loud clang as a pickaxe met solid rock. Thats the cave wall, boys! We smash through a few feet of that and were in! It feels like solid granite, protested a Remian smuggler, my arms numb after one swing! Give it here! said Socrates. He began swinging at the rock face with fanatical energy. Are you sure youre a Corinthian? asked Sericeus. You could have been born a Remian with that sort of spirit. Half an hour later the cave wall was breached and the smugglers walked in, carrying lanterns. Sericeus led the way using his compass and the antique map. They walked for several minutes before successfully locating the main cavern, with its myriad alcoves. Wheres Hypatia? asked Socrates.
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The Captain surveyed the scene before pointing up at the wall. You see that ladder? They havent bothered to lower it. It goes up to a fresh alcove. You can bet that your woman is in there. Socrates ran to the ladder and scrambled up the rungs. The sailors gazed up at the Corinthians progress. They watched as he entered the black alcove, vanishing into its shadows. Are you alright? cried Sericeus. Yes. Someone fetch me a pick-axe and a lantern! The bosun hurried up the ladder, passing him the tools. Moments later Socrates emerged with Hypatia slung her over his shoulder. He carefully carried her down the ladder. At its base, he gently lowered Hypatia onto the ground, whilst the sailors formed a circle. Her eyes are open, but shes sleeping, reported Socrates. I think shes in some kind of trance, said the captain. How do we wake her up? pondered a deckhand. This usually does the trick The bosun gave her some brandy from his hip-flask but the sleeping girl instinctively spat it out. She didnt revive. The other sailors looked around nervously. We need to get out of here! said their spokesman. We thought these people were trapped, not comatose. There must be over a hundred alcoves here! How can we carry that many sleeping people? Sorry, Hypatia Socrates urgently slapped his lovers face but there was no effect.
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Youre wasting your time, announced a female voice. Sericeus shone his lantern around the cavern. Whos there? A smiling woman slowly emerged from the shadows. She was blonde with high cheekbones, her attractive body dressed in the exquisite silk finery of a Priestess. It was Culina. You, snarled Socrates. Youre the witch from my nightmares! What have you done to Hypatia? Captain Sericeus drew his sword and confronted the Priestess. She placed both hands on her head in submission. Youve got some explaining to do said the captain. Why are you walking free when your Sisters are all in chains, being sold as slaves to the highest bidder? I hid here in the caves. No-one bothered to search the deep shadows. Can you revive this woman from her trance? Yes, but Ill need time. How long? Hours. Dont lie! I saw that glint in your eye. Weve got to get out of here, insisted the bosun, its barely an hour before dawn. Then tie her hands and bring her with us, ordered Sericeus, Shell give us the truth in the brig of my ship. Socrates lifted Hypatia and the men retraced their steps towards the crypt and the brightening sky above.

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CHAPTER 36. TRADITION

It was the seventh day of the Tribunal hearings. Atlantis City had been brought to a standstill as its big central square played host to the trials of dozens of novices, Priestesses and acrobats. The Tribunal consisted of Emperor Vinaceus; High Priest Cincta of the Austerity Cult; and Rasina, High Priestess of the War Cult. These were the traditional rivals to Ottilias organisation. Therefore no-one was surprised when Cincta and Rasina judged enemy after old enemy with unremitting harshness. The expressions on their faces as they stipulated the details of each punishment were characterised by acute relish. Emperor Vinaceus appeared willing to back their snap judgements. The Austerity and War Cults were dyed-in-the-wool Royalists. Vinaceus was keen to ensure their continued loyalty, even if this meant paying them in enemy scalps. On a high bench near the three biased judges, Eleni sat beside Prince Adeni. Her status as key witness and Royal favourite meant that she was suddenly in the public eye. Down in the crowded square, the common folk of Atlantis were unsure who to back. Alario, a market trader, grumbled to Calystegia, his wife: I wish theyd get this whole sorry business over and done with! My stall should have been set up over there today, instead of that bloody Tribunal grandstand. Its costing us a packet. This sort of thing only happens once in a lifetime, said Calystegia. You should pay more attention because youll be telling our grand-kids about this. Theyll probably starve at this rate. Calystegia sighed. Its Ottilia I feel sorry for. Shes always so pretty and elegantly attired. She sews all her own dresses, you know
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Why must all you women worship bloody Ottilia? Well, look at that trollop Adenis sat next to! Theyre telling us shes going to be the next High Priestess! She isnt even Atlantean! Its a total disgrace. An older woman stood behind them, nodding in agreement. Yeah, that Eleni should be up there on trial! And Adeni! That love-struck idiot is going to run the aristocracy into the ground. There were mixed reactions from the crowd as one of the senior Priestesses, Imogen, was ordered to stand on a podium and face judgement. Shed been dressed in a simple white prison gown, but her stylish movements and graceful speech found favour in the crowd. My goodness!, said Calystegia, shes almost as elegant as Ottilia! Thats a real Atlantean lady, agreed the older woman. How can those philistines have her sold as a slave? She might be bought by the King of Little Atlantis, or some other filthy outsider. She was ready to betray the Emperor, reminded Alario. Shut up, barked Calystegia, I cant hear what shes saying. Eleni grinned as Imogen was led away in chains. Thatll teach her to call me a fool. Adeni lightly stroked her hand. You dont forget insults, do you lover? No, dearest. Thats the last of our enemies dealt with. Well, almost the last. Isobel is left and shell stand trial within the hour. I dont doubt that this good tribunal will reach a guilty verdict, thanks to your invaluable testimonies. What then?
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Then we hold a celebration feast! Changes like these always stir up resentment in the hearts of the people. We must appease them with public feasting, drinking and the distribution of alms and wealth. You mean some of the gold you stripped from the Pleasure Cult? Yes. And what then? Shall we sleep together tonight, in your bedchamber, my darling? Prince Adeni suddenly looked maudlin. No, not tonight. I have difficult news. It is my duty to inform you of a certain traditional arrangement connected with these trials. What arrangement? You, as acting High Priestess, must sleep with the Emperor this very night. This ritual will prove the Pleasure Cults renewed submission to Royal authority. Eleni began feigning shock: Oh, this is a most sensitive duty that I must fulfil! It will be a stern test of character for all three of us. The heart-broken Adeni was barely able to look Eleni in the eye. No son wishes to hate his father. My heart is a heart of purest loyalty. But in this matter, I wish he could have broken with tradition, in support of my feelings for you. But surely we are all slaves to tradition, in this situation? No. An Emperor has some power to waive the rules or have them amended. But what if he backed down? Surely the people would be offended? Damn the people and damn the rules! Damn the Emperor! Elenis eyes sparkled in delight as Adeni vented his spleen. Surely you shouldnt say that? Not on this day, when Priestesses are being punished for treason?
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Well maybe they had a point. Is it really treason to betray a ruler who departs from noble principles? But tradition commands Damn tradition! I rule from the heart, not from the dusty pages of historical precedent. Then I will weep for you whilst I sleep with your father. Surely this will deter him from betraying you? Adeni scowled. No, it wont. Hes a heartless man. He has lived for centuries and lost contact with normal human feelings. His appetites are jaded, and cruelty will only stimulate him. I wish I could help. So do I. The Prince cupped his head in his hands like a morbid gargoyle, staring desolately into space. Elenis eyes darkened: Perhaps there is a way. It pains my heart to think such things, but I see no other path. Let me whisper in your ear.

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CHAPTER 37. MASKS

Sericeuss ship, the Callis, gradually sailed away from the main port of Atlantis city. It was a pleasant, blue-skied morning, and the sailors on deck whistled in the warm sunlight. Down below deck, In the gloomy, gas-lit brig, Culina maintained silence. The Priestess was bound to a chair, where she faced interrogation from Socrates and the Captain. Hypatia lay nearby on a long bench made from a plank of wood, oblivious to the loud voices and accusations which echoed around the cramped, wooden walls. Socrates was losing his temper. Answer the question! How do we revive Hypatia? Culina was silent. She seemed to have withdrawn into a meditative state. Answer the question, you ignorant witch! The captain regarded his captive with a cooler gaze, like a chess-master taking the measure of an opponent. We could just turn back, and hand you in to the City Guards. Im sure the Tribunal would enjoy an extra trial. The Priestess stayed silent. Socrates reddened. Enough of this bullshit. If this thing wont talk, Ill force it to. How? Lets put its head in a barrel of water. Either it talks, or it grows gills. Sericeus shook his head. Thats not our way, friend. Remians follow an honour code. Im not Remian! But youre on a Remian vessel! Socrates threw a right-hook, knocking Sericeus out.
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Sorry, friend. Hypatia is my honour. Culina smiled at her lone inquisitor. No need for water-torture, Corinthian. Youd only spoil my hair. He regarded the rope coils which had fallen onto the deck. Youve slipped your bonds! Yes. Now isnt it time you slipped yours? She touched him on the forehead. Socrates swooned and Culina watched him fall.

* Ottilia stood captive. The deposed High Priestess wore a delicate, off-the-shoulder gown, which would have secured compliments at a social gathering. But no-one was around, either to notice her chic garment, or to witness her predicament. Her wrists were bound to the ceiling by iron chains. Her delicate ankles were also chained, so that her scope for movement was limited. Then came the sound of footsteps. At first the sound was barely audible, but it gradually became louder. A flicker of interest briefly registered on her self-controlled face. Someone was ascending the spiral staircase which led to her private bedchamber. Hello Eleni, said Ottilia, before the door had even opened. Am I supposed to be impressed? said the Spartan, as she entered. No. I could recognise the clatter of your mannish hooves a mile away. Youre in no position to command respect, slave. Perhaps this will teach you some humility? Eleni produced Ottilias own curved, jewelled dagger. She rapidly slashed away her vestments, leaving the Atlantean completely naked. Not quite so dignified now, are we?
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The Spartan gazed at Ottilias naked body. Her captive looked far more delicate without her formidable gowns. Her beauty was fragile and doll-like. The cruel steel chains formed a harsh counterpoint to her slender wrists and ankles, her small, pointed hands and feet, and her small, rounded breasts. The skin which the dagger had bared was the colour of creamy marble. Eleni had never seen a more vulnerable looking person and her heart began burning, like a cat that sees the cage door loosed and the song-bird exposed to its fangs. Then she glimpsed the dark, ancient, intelligent eyes burning into her own. The whip-hand is yours. So punish me, you coward! That would be beneath my honour. Didnt I tell you before? How I choose the strongest opponents and wrestle them down to defeat? You werent strong enough for me. Eleni slowly caressed Ottilias flank with her fingertips. She traced her fingers up and down the side of her elite, exclusive body. Ottilia gave small, fluttering, involuntary sighs of delight. Your skin is soft! I was immortalised at seventeen. The same age as your sister. And if you want to see her again, youll release me, and restore my dignity. Eleni smiled, enjoying her control of the situation. I dont think youve anything to be ashamed of. How many men have you stripped for, Ottilia? None. Eleni laughed: Are you being serious? Yes, of course! Jokes are for fools. I let my Priestesses handle them.
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Women? Have you stripped for women? None, save my maids. That doesnt count. How many lovers have you taken? None. Eleni grinned: Are you trying to tell me that the High Priestess of this Pleasure Cult is a virgin? Of course. I'm collecting all the subtle pleasures in the world. Sex is the strong sun. I prefer delicate moonlight. So no-ones been between those dainty thighs? No-one. Not even my own hand. But surely youve had erotic dreams? Never. At first I used herbs to make my sleep a dreamless void. Now it stays that way, automatically. And those energy tricks? The ones that let me fire ecstasy into mens souls? I shun them even more than Ive shunned the flesh. I know them all but use none. Ive experienced none. They outshine subtlety. Then what do you really have, for pleasure? Rare words. Rare thoughts. Solitude. This is perfect, laughed Eleni. Im going to ruin you forever, starting now. Ill take your subtlety and feed it to the wolves. Ottilias eyes widened nervously: What are you going to do? Youve not even been kissed, have you, Ottilia? No. Then your first kisses should be ones to remember!
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Eleni fetched the slender riding crop from beside Ottilias bed. The instrument of torture was long, tapering to a thin, flexible end. Eleni sensed that it would sting exquisitely. The Spartan teased her helpless victim with the end of the crop. Ottilias breathing became more rapid as she became aroused, either by fear or by anticipation. Eleni eventually stopped teasing. She stood in front of Ottilia, gazing deep into her dark, dewy eyes. Ill show you the meaning of pleasure. Eleni began a severe chastisement, the equal of any that Ottilia had inflicted on her slaves. She swung the crop hard, leaving angry-looking welts on rounded, tapering thighs, delicate shoulders and trembling buttocks. Soon Ottilias soft, pale skin, was criss-crossed with vermilion stripes. Abruptly, the flogging stopped. Eleni reached out, grabbing Ottilia by the chin. A delicate tear rolled down her rounded cheek. You made the prettiest noises under my whip. Thank you. Perhaps this will make you sing for me? Eleni lowered the crop, placing the shaft below Ottilias crotch. She began moving it back and forth, with a rough, sawing motion, creating a painful friction against her sex. Ottilias eyelids fluttered and she whimpered loudly as friction burns mixed with keen sensations of pleasure. Eleni wasnt satisfied. She stood back, with her hands on her hips, gazing at her captive. Then, after long deliberation, she unlocked the chains, freeing Ottilia. The victim nursed her whipped, wounded flesh before instinctively covering her vulnerable crotch. She stared at her tormentor. So, how did you enjoy my Spartan kisses, slave?
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Ottilia said nothing. Her face was miserable and beaten. The Spartan crossed the room and began a long kiss. Eleni kissed hard with no reservation. Ottilia eventually pulled away. Why did you hurt me? She asked. There is no good in me, replied Eleni. I trample around gardens destroying the flowers. Especially the pretty ones. You should take that dagger, and kill me while you can. I cant. You know you can. Ottilia smiled in accusation. I think you were hiding under a fierce mask. Just like you are doing now. No, I wasnt. Ottilia kissed her right hand. I love you, Eleni. Eleni sneered unconvincingly. Then you really are my slave. Promise to keep me forever? No. Just for as long as you amuse me. Shall I amuse you now? You can try. Ottilia gracefully moved across the room, before reclining on her silken bed. Eleni grinned and joined her.

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CHAPTER 38. THE GARDEN OF ARCTOA

Sericeus woke, wincing as he rubbed his bruised eye-socket. The sailors had moved their unconscious captain up on deck, propping him up against some sacks of grain. He had sat there for hours before waking. Now his bosun stood before him, looking worried. What happened down there in the brig, chief? I found you all unconscious. That Corinthian idiot punched my lights out. But now hes unconscious, you say? Yeah. And the witch has vanished. Sericeus laughed. Well she cant have gone far. Were miles from shore. She didnt look like much of a swimmer to me. She aint on board, thats for sure. Me and the lads have searched high and low. We guess she must have drowned or Or what? Flown away! Sericeus scowled as he stood up. Pure nonsense. Ill hear no more crazy talk like that. Crazy? You should see that Socrates! Hes exactly like his girlfriend fast asleep, eyes wide open. It isnt natural. A nervous deckhand overheard the conversation. What if shes cursed the whole ship? He whined This voyage could be our last. She could raise a storm. We should never have brought a witch on board, agreed the bosun. Sericeus swore loudly, throwing a coil of rope at the deckhand. Now look here. Ive seen enough voyages ruined by superstitious sailors. Any more talk
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like that will be penalised no grog rations for culprits. Yes boss. The captain took his bosun to one side. They went over to his cabin to discuss the situation in private. So where has this Culina gone? I dont honestly know. Maybe she drowned herself. No, I think shes a lot craftier than that. Goodness knows how she hid for so long in those caves Have your men search the whole ship again. Yes, boss. And what about the two sleeping lovebirds in the brig? Well take them to Remia. Perhaps our healers will know what to do with them.

Hypatia and Socrates gazed into each others eyes. Is this a dream? asked Hypatia. Socrates shook his head. No, it feels real. As real as when we were together on that island. Remember? Of course I remember! The teenager began to cry. Will you hold me, please, Socrates? They embraced tenderly, simply holding each other for a long time, with smiles on their faces. Hypatia had always dreamed that their reunion would feel good, but not this good. Her heart glowed with a love far sweeter, stronger and more pleasurable than anything shed dared imagine.
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Ive missed you so much! said the Spartan. I missed you too, Hypatia. Ive imagined this moment every day. The reunited lovers looked around. They were standing in a rooftop garden, where a chilly wind bent the heads of Atlantean flowers. Socrates eyes watered as he took in the panoramic view of a city built from wood and clay, brought to colourful life by hanging gardens and rooftop gardens like the one on which they stood. The scene had all the beauty of paradise. What is this place? asked Socrates. I dont know, said Hypatia, but that walled garden down there looks familiar. Im surprised you recognise it. Its nothing like the garden you encountered. They wheeled around to face the newcomer. Culina stood, hand in hand with a handsome man. She looked subtly different. Hypatia realised that she bore the glow of someone deeply in love. You, shouted Socrates, witch Culina! What have you done to us! Where are we? Culina gestured around: Youve joined us in the garden of Arctoa. The what?

The man nodded: You flew on the wings of the golden bird. Hypatia learnt his song perfectly. Culina smiled. My real name is Loxia and my lovers name is Luteus. Were standing on top of the original Pleasure Cult palace. This is how it was before they replaced it with stone.
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Socrates looked puzzled. You mean youve brought us to the past? How is that possible? There is no past or present. Only belief. Your belief was pure enough to summon you here. Check your fingers. Hypatia and Socrates examined their ring-fingers. Both found heavy gold scarab rings had been added. This is the only real Pleasure Cult. The Second Order is the reality of love. The First Order is just a distorted reflection, created by the nightmares of power-mongers. Stay with us, said Luteus, as eternal lovers. Our minds created this world of love. You two think the same, so you are welcome guests. Your memories and dreams will enrich ours. The emotion of love is far stronger here, added Loxia, but I think youve already noticed that? You can spend whole days just sharing it with your soul-mate. It keeps changing and evolving, growing stronger and sweeter. Its never the same twice. Hypatia smiled, but Socrates sensed her reservations. Youd like to stay here, wouldnt you? But youre worried about Eleni? Yes. He nodded. And Im worried about whats happening in the real world. I saw you in a deep sleep. We cant leave you lying around that way! No, of course we cant, agreed Hypatia. And what about Sericeus? His cause of Remian freedom is just and I would gladly assist him. Luteus walked over. Your doubts are familiar to us. Many lovers ask us to bring them here. Their souls
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appear as birds, perched together, singing mournfully in the garden. But when we fetch them here as people, their minds become profoundly confused. How do I know youre telling the truth? asked Hypatia. I believe Culina has already tricked me once. Im called Loxia, replied Culina. And I only deceived your rational mind. I gave your hearts what they asked for. Does they make me a false friend? No, I suppose not. Just very unusual. Maybe too sincere. And arrogant! snarled Socrates. Who are you to decide our fates? Luteus nodded. Yes, we are somewhat arrogant and proud. We are lovers and we think our state is best. But then, you were once a sailor, werent you? Your fate was decided by a captain with a cat of nine-tails in one hand and a bag of bronze coins in the other. His fate, in turn, was decided by the mindless whims of the sea. Do such masters deserve your trust? Where would they have led you? The gold scarab never lies, added Loxia. It brought you here, to your true fate. Socrates seemed satisfied. I always knew that brooch had magical properties. But what of our sleeping bodies? asked Hypatia. They dont exist. Theyre only real for the deluded souls who suffer the nightmares of the First Order. Theyre afraid of our garden. So they see lovers as sleepers walled up in alcoves. And what about Eleni? I cant just abandon her to her fate! Loxia gave Luteus an ominous-looking glance. We should show them, she said.

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CHAPTER 39. CONQUEST

Ottilia lay in her silk bed. She smiled at the sound of feet ascending her spiral staircase. Eleni used a key to open the locked door. Once inside, she smiled as she relocked the door. Do you really think Im going to run away from you, lover? whispered Ottilia. No. Still, its very pleasing to have you under lock and key. Eleni stripped and joined her captive in bed. Afterwards, they lay idly with their heads resting on embroidered silk pillows. The Spartan gazed into the Atlanteans eyes. She began talking in a droll, lazy voice. I killed Emperor Vinaceus yesterday. I was supposed to sleep with him after the Tribunal had finished. Instead, I messed with his energy and stopped his heart forever. Ottilia smiled mischievously: That was a little drastic. I always used to send him Helianthe. After secretly drugging him, of course. He never noticed. You dirty little cheat! Still, Im glad you avoided that lecher. It makes you all mine. What will Adeni do? Nothing, it was his true wish. I just dared to voice his desire. You planned the Emperor's assassination together? Yes. Adeni bribed a physician to claim he suffered a heart-attack during intercourse. Is the aristocracy buying it? No. Adeni made a lot of enemies when he dismantled the Pleasure Cult. Now half of Atlantis thinks he murdered his father. Ottilia smiled: You really are a destructive influence! You have no notion of diplomacy, do you?
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I have no interest in diplomacy. But I know what to do next What? Start a war. Adeni has a lot of enemies on this island. We need to shift the focus to the enemies outside Atlantis. Hatred pointed outwards is a lot safer than hatred pointed inwards. Wouldnt you agree? Yes. But please, dont invent Remia again! Its such a tedious, hackneyed strategy. Forget Remia! My fleets will sail against Rome, Greece and Egypt! First, Ill build an Atlantean base on Sparta. That will become the new world capital, eclipsing Rome as the first power. Such grand plans. And what about your sister? What does she make of all this? What about who? I only pushed for her freedom because I enjoyed the battle of wills mine against yours. Ottilia frowned. Sometimes I think youre pure evil. Doesnt that worry you? Never. Then perhaps the whole of Atlantis should worry. Youre going to leave this civilisation in ruins. Eleni shrugged her shoulders. So, great conqueror. What will you do for a love-life? Eleni stroked Ottilias hair as she replied. This. You know all the arts of pleasure. I want you to please me often. Youll keep me here as your toy? Locked in my bedchamber, like a horse in a stable? No. From this point on youre my constant companion. My lady in waiting. Youll even accompany me when we sail to conquer Sparta. What will Adeni think of such an arrangement?
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Nothing. Every Queen needs a lady in waiting. I intend to marry him within the year. Ottilias face registered genuine shock. You cant! One more insult to Atlantean tradition will mean your execution. Youve already enraged most of the cults and aristocrats. We can and we will. How? A High Priestess isnt eligible to marry! First well dissolve the Pleasure Cult entirely. That way I cease to be High Priestess. Instead your palace will be requisitioned as an extra Royal palace, devoted to recreation and feasts. The gardens will be used for hunting and sports. Loyal dukes and barons will be invited to attend healing sessions in the Second Order cave. Favourites and powerful allies will be immortalised and regularly healed as usual. And who will take care of the occult side of things? You are the only person qualified. You will be my lady in waiting and my special court physician. Ha, now I see why you want to keep me close! As insurance! Im the most valuable hostage on the Isle the key to immortality. If anyone tries to assassinate you, youll just hide behind me as a human shield. Eleni laughed. I hadnt thought of that. Really I was hoping that wed get close to some glorious battles and maybe die fighting. Youre really willing to gamble everyones future for a thrill, like a drunk staking his house at a card table? Eleni scoffed. Youre the only person in this bed that wants to live forever, Ottilia. My goal is a flash of glory.
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The Atlantean suddenly kissed Eleni. Why have I fallen for a lunatic? Because you need a savage heart. Then love me with it. The bedchamber filled with cries of lust as Eleni dived under the sheets.

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CHAPTER 40. THE IMMORTALS

Loxia and Luteus led the way down a staircase which was carved into the side of the clay-built palace. Hypatia and Socrates followed their hosts into the gardens at ground-level. The design was different, following the taste of old Atlantis. The stone perimeter wall, however, was virtually the same as the one Hypatia had encountered. Many stones had been replaced but it covered the same ground. The garden was attractive. Its appeal was marred, however, by scores of life-sized marble statues. These were arranged haphazardly throughout the verdant space. They were realistic but grotesque. The carving of difficult details, like hair, finger nails and fabric, was technically perfect. But the figures were posed in ugly, contorted postures, as if theyd been frozen in evil acts. Often, the marble was of poor quality, with great seams and ugly striations of lesser rock spoiling the polished surfaces. Im glad they took those statues out, said Hypatia. The garden looks much nicer without them. Loxia pointed to the stone figures with a grim smile. They arent statues, theyre immortals. Immortals? These are the Atlanteans who paid to use members of the Second Order. They whispered their names into stone niches for the love of life and power. We cursed them with immortality as flesh there and stone here. Socrates inspected one of the statues. It portrayed a duke with narrow, scheming eyes. No, its just an ordinary statue. I can even see tiny marks from the chisel at the base. Luteus laughed.
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You think? Then come over here and look at this one. They followed Luteus to a female statue. The inscription on the base read HELIANTHE. Look at the eyes. Hypatia recoiled in shock. My goodness theyre alive! She shuddered as the statue gazed directly at her. I met this Priestess on a ship enroute to Atlantis. Is she encased in the marble, somehow? No, she is the marble. The other statue which you saw was of a living duke. It hasnt received his essence yet. Helianthe must have died, and her spirit is trapped in this. Loxia nodded in agreement. Thats what happens to all the members of the First Order when they die. They cant love so they petrify. At night they wander aimlessly around the perimeter, like sleepwalkers. They cant leave this garden. Hypatia recoiled from the ghoulish sight of Helianthes statue. She sought comfort in Socrates arms. What if theyre broken? asked the Corinthian. Would that break the charm? Luteus shook his head. No. You should steel your nerves for a shock, said Loxia. I have something in particular to show you. Hypatia fought against a growing sense of dread as she and Socrates followed their guides. In the centre of the garden was a raised marble platform. On it were two figures
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that seemed to be wrestling or embracing. Both were female. The smaller of the two had a delicate build and was carved from the rarest, purest rose marble. The other was carved from dense, black obsidian. Eleni! No! Hypatia was in tears as she ascended the stairs at the side of the platform. The inscription on the jet-black statue read ELENI. The other read OTTILIA. Socrates tried in vain to comfort the tearful girl. Eleni has sealed her own fate, said Loxia. I have to go back and help her, begged the teenager. This is her predestined place. Her fate was always bound up with that of Ottilia. The High Priestess of the Pleasure Cult? Yes. Perhaps an eternal struggle is the closest thing to love that these two strange souls can hope to experience. Hypatia began sobbing. My paradise is turned to desolation! I wont leave this spot until I find a way to help my sister. Ill be here by your side, said Socrates. Loxia and Luteus walked away as the sun gradually set, tinting the sky as pink as the marble Ottilia.

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POSTSCRIPT

Captain Sericeus stood in a Remian chapel, talking to an aged priest. Hypatia and Socrates lay side by side on a large altar. Their eyes, which remained open, twinkled under the candle-light. Will they be alright here? asked the captain. Why, yes! They could sleep like this for centuries. Theyll suffer no hunger or thirst. They need no warmth. They are living miracles. Eventually theyll attract many pilgrims, wholl pray to them. This humble chapel could become a great temple. The captain frowned. Yes, but is there anything that can be done? Done? To revive them. Perhaps, answered the Priest. But they were enchanted by a Priestess in the Atlantean Pleasure Cult. Not by a Remian Priest. Im not familiar with their rituals. Then Ill bring you someone who is. What, an actual Priestess? Yes, who else? Oh. If you can find one, she may be able to reverse the effects. Sericeus laughed bitterly. We had one such Priestess captive on our ship only days ago. She was called Culina. Unfortunately she escaped. The Priest scratched his head. Culina? Yes I know that name well. My brothers see her in their visions. You see, Culina
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is really a spirit who merely acts like a human-being. No prison can hold her. But her sisters are flesh and blood? Yes. Sericeus began thinking out loud. There are dozens of Priestesses being held as slaves by Dukes and foreign Kings The Priest guessed the captains intent. Yes. And if you smuggle one here, I wont ask awkward questions about the fine details of her liberation. Good. Then expect to see me again soon. After he left, the Priest paced around his chapel, gazing at the altar all the while. He began rubbing his hands, excitedly: Such a small chapel and such a rare prize. Two sleeping immortals. The pilgrims will flock by their dozens. Think of all the money Ill raise to feed the Remian poor.

Sericeus sat in his cabin as the Callis sailed towards the port of Atlantis city. There was a knock on the door. Come in. Sir, youd better take a look at this. The bosun pointed towards the great shipyard beside the naval docks. It had been disused for years. Atlantean ships rarely sank, and repairs were handled in situ, out at sea. Now, however, the shipyard was a hub of noisy activity. Hundreds of tents housed an army of shipbuilders. Hammers and saws filled the air with noise as great wooden cranes hoisted bulky timbers aloft. Smoke rose from black
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cauldrons which heated gallons of tar. The men were assembling wooden warships, but the designs were not Atlantean. Instead, the vessels that gradually took shape appeared to be Greek, Roman and Egyptian. The finished copies looked accurate down to the last detail. What the hell are they playing at? asked the bosun. Look at those clumsy out-world designs. They should be ashamed building those things. Even us Remians can build ships a hundred times better. Sericeus grinned wryly. You are missing the point. Which is? They want the element of surprise. Well, Im bloody surprised. Now can you please explain what theyre doing? What if the Greek navy suddenly sailed against Rome? Whilst, at the same time, Rome attacked Egypt? And what if, meanwhile, Egypt moved against Greece? No-one would have a clue what was going on. The out-worlders would think theyd invaded each other. Theyd fight and, once the dust settled, theyd all be weakened and bankrupted. Then Atlantis would invade. Or create a puppet regime, funded by Atlantean gold. The bosun frowned. Why not just send the real Atlantean fleet? Sericeus observed the shipyard with a cynical grin. Emperor Adeni wants to have his cake and eat it. Hell take the Atlantean people to war whilst maintaining their cherished secrecy. Which gives me a sneaky idea. Go on. What if someone warned those out-worlders exactly what to expect? If Adeni fails, hell
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have squandered a lot of lives and money, and his head will roll. Hows that gonna help us, chief? Theyll just appoint a new Emperor. I think not. The rulers have lost public trust. One more mistake and Atlantis will be plunged into anarchy and civil disobedience. Then Remia will have her day. Then, Remia will be free once again. You really think this is our big chance? Yes. Set a course to Rome. Atlantis must lose this war.

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