Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

When Charis and Ilean reached the palace yard, the passengers were climbing into the carriages. The young princes were already mounted and riding around the yard, loudly expressing their impatience to be off. The carriage rode on four large, slender wheels; there was room for four passengers on its two wide benches. A crimson sunshade was raised on hoops over the rearmost bench, and two crimson banners, one on either side of the driver’s high seat at the front of the carriage, fluttered in the light breeze.

“We nearly left without you,” said Briseis as Charis scrambled into the seat beside her mother. A small force of mounted soldiers, the royal guard, rode into the yard, the sharp points of their long spears glittering in the midmorning sunlight. Their captain exchanged a few words with Avallach. The king mounted his horse while the soldiers ranged themselves at the head of the train, and a moment later the carriages began to roll. They passed slowly through the great archway and beyond the palace gates, and rolled out onto the causeway which joined the palace with Kellios below.

“At last,” sighed Charis, squirming in her seat to see the palace walls recede behind them. “I am finally leaving.”

King Avallach’s train of wagons and chariots rolled over stone-paved roads through the royal cify and into the dense wooded hills to the south, leaving the coastland far behind. There were many towns along the way, and at each the populace gathered to watch the royal procession pass, lining the road, waving, giving gifts. The travelers camped near a town or village-Iraklion, Parnitha, Kardis, Oenope, Xanthini, and others-where they were entertained by the local inhabitants each night until they began the gentle, rippling descent to the basin of the Coran River which formed the southern border of Avallach’s realm. The great river’s broad, fertile valley stretched from the heart of the continent to the sea, dividing Sarras from Corania. Upon crossing the river, the procession traveled through forested uplands for two more days before reaching Seithenin’s palace on the terraced hill overlooking the great harbor of Ys.

Riders were stationed at the approach to the palace. As the procession drew near, they rode to herald Avallach’s arrival so that when the king’s train came close it was met by a troop of soldiers wearing smoke-gray cloaks and carrying silver spears affixed with gray banners. The soldiers parted and formed columns on either side of the road, where they stood at attention, spears outthrust, banners flying.

Avallach’s train passed along this review until it came to a great wall. The road passed through the wall at an immense brazen gate which sported the images of two gigantic octopi, one on either doorpanel, their tentacles squirming toward one another. There, waiting before the gate, was Seithenin himself in his parade chariot. “Greetings, friend, and welcome!” he called as Avallach rode to meet him.

Seithenin stepped down from his chariot and Avallach dismounted. The two came together and embraced; then Seithenin bade Avallach join him in his chariot, so the two drove together through the gate and up the broad, stone-paved road to the palace on its hill above.

Queen Briseis in her carriage observed the greeting and remarked, “Seithenin’s welcome is most gratifying.”

Annubi, who was sitting opposite the queen, squinted in the sun and said, “With too much circumstance, it seems to me. A spectacle is made for many eyes-whose, I wonder?”

“Why, for our own, I should think. His welcome seemed genuine.”

“Perhaps. But there is more purpose behind it than that, you may be sure.” Upon saying this, he fell silent and would speak of it no more.

Charis heard what was said and turned away from her perusal of Seithenin’s palace to stare at Annubi. The seer seemed fidgety and out of sorts, his long hands gripping his knees impatiently. As the train passed beneath the shadow of the palace, he gave a start and looked up at the walls towering above.

Briseis placed a hand on his arm, saying, “Annubi, what is wrong?”

He raised a shaking hand to his face and cupped his eyes. “No… nothing. Nothing, my queen. A momentary chill, that is all.” He forced a weak smile.

Charis wondered at his answer, for she too had felt something like a chill, although not as forcefully as Annubi. She would have questioned him further, but something told her this was not the time to do it. I will ask him about it later, she thought and turned her attention back to the palace.

It was a vast, sprawling edifice, attesting to the ambitions of its various tenants as each succeeding monarch enlarged upon its design-adding a wall here, a rampart there, a tower or hall or storehouse or residence somewhere else. All this was surrounded by parks and gardens and vineyards, dovecotes, fishponds, and stables. Century upon century of continuous building had produced a rambling monument to the wealth of the Coranian kings.

As the carriages passed through gates and over bridges into the heart of Seithenin’s sprawling palace, Charis could not suppress her amazement any longer. “Look at it,” she said. “Is there a palace greater than this in all Atlantis?”

“Only the palace of the High King in Poseidonis,” answered her mother. “But Seithenin’s must be nearly as large.’

“And look at all the people!” Charis gazed at the crowds lining the breastworks of the inner walls, waving and tossing flowers onto the road below. “Do they all live in the palace?”

“Many of them,” said Briseis. “Although I suppose some must live in the city.”

“How many wives has Seithenin?” wondered Charis.

Her mother laughed. “Why do you ask?”

“A king with such a palace must have a great many wives to help fill it up. And if he has many wives, there must be many children-and perhaps one or two my age.”

“Oh, I think there will be at least one your age. Seithenin has seven wives and many children. You are certain to find a friend.”

Charis grew thoughtful for a moment and then asked, “Why does Seithenin have seven wives, while Avallach has but one?”

The queen smiled. “The ways of love are mysterious-as you will learn soon enough.”

“The ways of politics, you mean,” sniffed Annubi.

“I would not like being one of seven,” declared Charis. “If I am ever to be married, I want to be the only wife.”

“You have little cause to worry,” replied the queen lightly. “The taking of many wives is a custom dying out in Atlantis.”

“Good,” remarked Charis firmly. “But why is it dying out?”

“Times are changing, girl. Look around you!” said Annubi, almost shouting. He looked embarrassed and muttered, “Forgive my intrusion.”

“No, please go on,” coaxed Briseis. “I would hear what you have to say.”

“I have said too much,” the seer grumped. He turned away and whispered under his breath, “Words come without bidding.”

“Please, Annubi,” said Charis. “Tell us.”

He stared at the sky for a moment. “Times are changing,” he repeated. “Men roam far from their homes-whole nations wander; the world grows ever smaller. People do not respect authority; learning diminishes. Kings plot war in their hearts or devote themselves to idleness and folly. The gods are not worshiped ia the old way; the priests of Bel have grown fat and stupid, but no one cares anymore, no one cares…”

“Speak a good word to us,” said Briseis, trying to cheer him, “for certainly things cannot be as bad as you suggest.”

“A good word?” He placed a long finger to his pursed lips and scowled at Seithenin’s palace. When he turned back, his eyes glinted with perverse delight. “Here is a good word for you: whatever is done cannot be undone, but whatever is lost can sometimes be found.”