“Then am I free to visit Khemi—to visit the kindred of my mother.”
“Never, Atlana! Thou hast sworn to me ever to stay at this palace unless I grant thee leave.”
“Thou believest that prophecy. Thou canst never harm me.”
“Atlana, I wish thee no evil, but thou hast to obey me. Thou hast to yield in this going of Æole.”
“Æole shall not go.”
He leaned toward her, and whispered:
“Wouldst thou see her yielded on the altar? The priests will have her either as gift or handmaid. We have to please Amen that he may favor us.”
The queen cried out in horror. It was too true that human blood had defiled the altar. Shortly before the invasion of Pelasgia, Oltis, then chief priest of the temple, had offered as sacrifice, within the inner sanctuary, an African captive—a king—at behest of Atlano, who desired vengeance because of the latter’s refusal to reveal where certain treasure of his massacred tribe was hidden. Worse, the excuse for this great profanation had been that Amen and Poseidon needed propitiation. All this Atlano had confided to his wife.
The queen, of her horror, spoke not for a little. Then she towered almost to his height, as she cried:
“Tell me not that Amen and Poseidon are as men! Ye would make them as such—as frail, as wicked—in that they give favor for favor! Mock them no further. Make them no longer gods to suit your weak minds, your base thoughts! They are gods—gods—above such feeble doings of the flesh. Have done with this shield that they must be vilely served to give favor, and all the other shields!”