by Roman Blair
The wild presentation continued as we approached our destination. I was rather frightened, for the display of the locals was the last thing I had expected to see. It was nearly impossible to pick out single voices among the group but many individuals seemed to be shouting the same two words that the woman Yawa addressed us with earlier: “Er thelón.”
I looked to my companions, who appeared just as scared as I was. Lady Pearson was attempting to say something but it was impossible to hear her over the din. Our laps were soon covered with countless flowers and the words “Er thelón” had become a chant. They were shouted over and over in unison until we reached the base of the great silver tower.
The smooth cone continued straight down to the grass, so that the building looked like a colossal metal spike which had erupted from the deep recesses of the Earth. The circular base, hundreds of feet in diameter, was broken by a large doorway at the terminus of the road. It was reminiscent of the heavy bronze doors from the temple we left behind just a few hours prior. Was it just a few hours? The ordeals of the day played tricks on the mind and time always seems more elastic in these instances. The drumming intensified as we reached the large doors and the silver trumpets resonated beautifully for a final prolonged burst. Then the music, as well as our carriage, stopped in unison.
We craned our necks examining the impossible structure before us. The tower rose so high that it appeared to touch the sky. The exterior was completely flush and unornamented save for the doorway. Just as on the temple, the bronze doors were decorated with beautifully chiseled panels. I distinguished several familiar scenes of agriculture, gardening, and animal husbandry within them. Above the doorway, in bold simple letters fashioned of iron, were the words
VAΣIΛA REΣ PUBΛICA CAPRIBIΣ.
As a historian, I recognized some of the writing. The first word vaguely resembled the ancient Greek term for King or Royalty. Although some of the letters were replaced by Greek equivalents, I was also quick to spot the words RES PUBLICA among the inscription. I suspected that the island was part of the Roman Empire in ancient times for its use of the phrase. The final word was a mystery.
We descended from the carriage as the great bronze doors opened outwardly to welcome us. Four more purple-clad sentries stepped out. Ms. Yawa came to the head of our group and led us into the great monument. The guards followed and shut the doors with a powerful clang. In stark contrast to the brilliant light of the mid-day sun and the noise of the procession, we were now trapped in darkness and silence.
The immediate interior was a short hall of dark green marble. I spotted white half-columns protruding from both sides of the passage. The boots of the sentries echoed as we walked forward. The entry hall opened into a large interior chamber. A number of people stood within, long lanterns dangling from their hands. They provided just enough light to spot the details of the vast space.
Twelve immense columns of red porphyry stood in a large circle at the center of the chamber, supporting a massive dome overhead. Heavy doors secured entry to several rooms on the main floor and bright white statues contrasted against a backdrop of tan marble. A grand stairway curved up at either end of the vast space. The floor was an intricate mosaic of people in ancient attire. They were portrayed very fluidly, as if in motion, and the level of detail must have required a mastered group of artists.
A great wall rose high before us. I suspected it stood at the exact diameter of the tower, dividing the base into two great semicircular chambers. Another set of bronze doors stood at its center and a pantheon of large white marble statues lined the dividing wall to either side. Their eyes seemed to glower at us as we were led forward.
Once again, the doors opened as we approached and Ms. Yawa escorted us through. The area within was like something out of a dream. It is nearly impossible to convey the scale of the chamber. It was just as tall as the previous hall, but there were no other rooms or staircases detracting from the massive space. The blue marble floor was a perfect half-circle. Corinthian columns, the most elaborate I have ever seen, stood along the edge of the curved wall. Their white marble pillars and silver accents reflected beautifully in the flooring. Sheer panels of blue silk connected their crowns.
The high walls were composed of gray stone and I could distinguish the curve of the tower’s elegant cone from within. Unlike its sister chamber, this hall was very well-lit. The outer wall was broken by four narrow windows which stretched from floor to ceiling. Massive ribbons of glass were impeccably fitted into the building’s unique shape to create a seamless appearance. I could see the great trees outside and marveled at the mastery of glasswork these people possessed.
Their leader sat before us, for there could be no doubt that the chamber we entered was a throne room. Three squares of white stone, each slightly recessed like a pyramid, created a platform at the center of the great hall. I spotted a pattern of lotus blossoms chiseled into their sides. A hulking throne of solid white marble stood at the top. It was surprisingly plain, with sharp squared corners and a complete lack of embellishment. Silver cushions were its only accent. The simplicity amid the opulence of the chamber gave it an ambiance of purity.
The man on the throne was perfectly at ease atop the dais. He was a handsome figure in his late twenties, with a slim build and finely chiseled features. His dark blonde hair was cropped very short and he displayed several days’ growth of beard. To his credit, unshaven faces appeared fashionable among these people. Much of the populace had exhibited similar closely-trimmed bristles. His long flowing garment resembled those of antiquity, though cleaner in construction. It was completely white save for the silver stitching along its edges. He wore a crown upon his head, a broad silver diadem fashioned to resemble the ancient laurels.
Several attendants, men and women alike, stood to each side of the dais and they observed us with genuine curiosity. Ms. Yawa stopped several feet from the royal platform, bowed her head, and left our party to join the others. Our escort of guards fanned out behind us. My companions and I instinctively stayed in close formation at the center of this scrutiny. I briefly met the gaze of the young man on the throne. He examined each of us in turn, his dark green eyes assessing every detail of our group. What must have been a few seconds felt like a never-ending scrutiny before the King finally addressed us.
“Er thelón indue Vasila Res Publica Capribis. Elo Vasilus Ptolemaíos Eireas Varus.” He spoke clearly and fluidly, the words echoing throughout the chamber. I could not comprehend the language but it was pleasant to the ears and I sensed no hostility in his tone.
One of the attendants, a man of middle age, stepped forward and began a similar discourse. He finished, studied us, and stepped back into line. The next attendant followed his example. While their words were similar, each man seemed to be speaking a different language. We continued to observe in silence.
The third in line was a woman of darker complexion. Her radiant black hair fell in waves across her shoulders and her chiseled features resembled those of Central America. She stepped forward and began her speech. My heart skipped a beat for I realized that I understood her words. Although differently accented than what I had been taught, there could be no doubt that she was speaking Latin. Her last word was one that I knew very well from my days in the classroom: “Do you comprehend?”
“I comprehend!” I exclaimed. The woman smiled and bowed her head. “Welcome,” she said warmly.
“What’s happening?” Travert questioned.
“She’s speaking Latin,” I explained. “She just welcomed us.”
“Latin?” Lady Pearson echoed.
“What else did she say?” Rémy asked.
“I didn’t quite hear. I’ll ask her to repeat.”
I had some difficulty finding the words, both out of excitement and nervousness, but the woman understood me and gladly restated her opening dialogue: “King Ptolemy Eireas Varus welcomes you to the Royal Republic of Capribo.”
CHAPTER SIX
C apribo�
��” Travert enunciated.
“You’ve heard of it?” Lady Pearson asked, her tone beseeching confirmation.
The captain met her expectant gaze but shook his head.
The King, without breaking his unrelenting scrutiny, lifted a single finger from his marble armrest. “Atérnas,” his voice resounded and all the attendants, minus the woman who addressed us and Ms. Yawa, departed the great chamber. The sentries remained unmoved in their posts. They observed our every move with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
“At least we have someone in our group who can communicate with them,” Ella pointed out.
“Two people,” Father Daniel corrected proudly, and we realized he would have undoubtedly mastered the Latin language as a man of the cloth.
The royal attendant took a few steps forward and continued her address. “I am Sarmia Ichtaca, advisor to his highness.” She had a broad face with a prominent hooked nose and beautiful almond-shaped eyes. The yellow tunic she wore resembled those of the masses and attractively contrasted against her skin.
“Thank you for your great hospitality,” Father Daniel announced pompously with an exaggerated bow. He turned to us and translated his message.
Lady Pearson nodded approvingly. “Can we ask where in heavens this Capribo may lay?” she suggested.
I relayed the question.
“Insula in mare internum,” the woman’s powerful voice echoed. An island in the internal sea. The Romans referred to the Mediterranean as the ‘internal sea’ and the phrase, despite its ambiguity, further reinforced my working theory of the isle’s bygone days. I translated her response.
“That’s of no geographical use,” Travert grunted under his breath.
“Please present yourselves,” the advisor requested. Father Daniel obliged with a bow and motioned to each of us as he disclosed our names.
Ella shuffled closer to me during the foreign discourse and I flashed her a comforting smile. She stood proudly and curtsied to the dais as her name was called.
The King watched the introductions with great interest and addressed us at their conclusion, this time in Latin. “On behalf of the people of Capribo, I offer you respite from your journey. You are guests within our land.” His character overflowed with regal poise, no doubt imparted on him from infancy.
“We are eternally grateful,” Father Daniel proclaimed and passed the message to our companions. “I believe it would be wise to accept their hospitality,” he surmised quietly and we nodded our agreement.
“You will be given rooms within the palace,” the King informed us. His eyes narrowed slightly and a discreet smile curled up on his lips. “We look forward to learning more about you.”
A deep bell, seemingly out of nowhere, reverberated through the chamber. The two attendants bowed their heads to the dais and escorted us out of the room. The bronze doors split open again and I noticed for the first time that they were neither pushed nor pulled, but entirely fueled by internal mechanics. We withdrew from the hall of light and reentered the hall of darkness. My eyes took some time to adjust to the feeble illumination of the lanterns.
The advisors led us through the chamber and up one of the magnificent curved staircases. I spotted a sister stairway leading down as well. I wondered how far the tower extended below ground. A building of such unmatched dimension must have possessed a substantial foundation. The stairway terminated at the central wall which divided the tower. An arched opening led us inside the great partition. A steeper, and far darker, incline of polished granite steps presented itself within. Ms. Yawa had taken one of the lanterns from the hall attendants and lit our path as we ascended. I offered my arm to Lady Pearson, who gladly made use of it. My companions remained silent, though the two attendants talked quietly in their native tongue at the head of our group.
The laborious climb was regularly broken by half-landings so that we zigzagged up the monolith. We broke to catch our breath often, for even I was becoming fatigued when we finally spotted the glow of natural light overhead. Sets of sun-lit corridors began to open up on either side of the stairway, but we continued to ascend past them. We finally withdrew into a very wide hall on the sixth landing, much to the delight of an exhausted Lady Pearson. It was parallel to the central wall and stretched the full length of the building. Six ornate doors stood closed along one side and large panes of glass marked its outer edges, illuminating the passage.
Ms. Yawa opened one of the doors and steered us inside. The room we entered was ripe with the exotic. Beautiful slabs of onyx formed the flooring of the apartment. A dining table of dark wood and tortoiseshell stood at its center, atop a raised platform of stone. Eight cushioned chairs of an odd three-legged design were stationed around it. Regal couches with lion heads for armrests and paws for feet were positioned at the other end of the space, atop a luxurious crimson rug. Opulence bedecked even more opulence everywhere we looked.
Great porcelain vases and unique statuary stood in the corners of the room. I noted traces of Mesopotamian art in the golden accents affixed to the tables and armoires. An intricate white flower was carved into the tall ceiling, its petals stretching out across the vast space. It was an aesthetic feast for the eyes and I had no doubt that the decor could equal that of any Sultan’s in intricacy and flair.
But the most striking feature of the room lay not in furnishing but in construction. While the inner walls were fashioned of simple red and tan stone, the curved outer wall was wholly constructed of glass. I judged that we were some twenty stories up, and it provided a magnificent southern vista over the forested plain and the blue waters of the sea beyond.
“We hope you will be comfortable here,” Ms. Sarmia beamed.
“It is magnificent!” I acknowledged and walked up to the window. Every shade of green could be discerned among the sun-drenched treetops below. The crowns of numerous white stone buildings erupted through the foliage.
“We are very grateful to Etia Yawa for guiding you to Aleria,” the woman added. “She does not speak the Latin tongue, but she bids you welcome to our home.”
The old woman who met us at the temple cast her warm smile upon us.
“What is Aleria?” Father Daniel inquired.
“Forgive me,” the advisor continued, “It is the capital of Capribo. This forested area between the hills marks its borders.”
“How many people live on this island?” I asked.
“Almost one million,” she declared.
“A million!” Father Daniel and I exclaimed in unison. Our companions looked to us and we relayed the new disclosure to them.
“Incroyable!” Rémy gasped. “To imagine that so many people could be hidden from civilization.”
“To develop a civilization all their own,” Ella corrected.
The revelation sparked something within me, like a drop of water making contact with a parched mouth. The events of the previous two days had kept me in a distant and fearful state. But I was now promptly snapped back to vivid reality. Our surroundings ceased being marvels to observe. They became tangible objects to explore. And the people had a culture all-their-own to discover. As a man of letters who spent his youth in the study of human civilization, I was suddenly overwhelmed with an unquenchable thirst for more.
I must admit that, as much as I craved the intellectual pursuit, the awakened spark was equally fueled by personal motives. I recognized that our arrival on the island permanently bound us to its history. My companions and I were now inextricably linked to the discovery of Capribo, and I fancied leading its future exploration as it established its place in the greater world.
“Tell me, Ms. Sarmia,” I began.
“Etia Sarmia,” she corrected politely.
“Etia?” I echoed.
“Etia is the official title I possess. It is bestowed by his majesty to his closest advisors,” she was delicate in her explanation and I noticed she was a humble woman in spite of her exalted rank.
“My apologies, Etia Sarmia,” I amended
. “Can you please tell me why we could not see any windows on this tower from the exterior? It appeared to be made entirely of silver.”
The woman nodded. “The windows look like metal from the outside.”
“But… how is that possible?” I probed, though my inquiry was disrupted.
An ethereal foghorn, identical to the one we heard beside the temple, bellowed its deep rumbling call. My shipmates and I turned to our hosts.
“We heard a horn like that this morning,” Father Daniel informed them.
“Yes,” the Etia confirmed. “All our cities identify the times of sunrise, mid-day, and sunset with the trumpets,” she expounded. “It is an ancient tradition which our island continues to uphold.”
I was about to speak again, for my mind was racing with queries, but the woman quickly continued her discourse. “I know you must be filled with many questions, but please take some time to recover from your toil. You will find fresh clothing in your sleeping rooms and a mid-day meal will soon be brought to you. King Eireas has requested your company for dinner. I will return to escort you this evening.”
“Thank you for all your assistance,” said Father Daniel. The women gave a small bow of their heads and left us.
“Can someone please tell us what is happening?” Lady Pearson complained as soon as the apartment door had closed. She labored over to one of the lion couches, for our climb had taken the wind out of many of us.
I restated all that Etia Sarmia had disclosed. To say that we were comfortable would be an overstatement, for tranquility is always out of reach when one’s circumstances hang in someone else’s balance. Nevertheless, my companions and I seemed placated with the knowledge that our hosts were both civilized and welcoming.