about by a strong man's sandal.

It was the portent served out yearly by the chiefs of the
Priests' Clan on the Sacred Mountain, when they bade all the world
take count of their sins. It was the sacred reminder that from
roaring, raging fire, and from the agony of monstrous
earth-tremors, man had been born, and that by these same agencies
he would eventually be swallowed up--he and the sins within his
breast. And here the Empress was prostituting its solemnities into
a mere call to gluttony, and sign for ribald laughter and sensuous
display.

But how had she acquired the authority to do this thing? Who
was she that she should tamper with those dimly understood powers,
the forces that dwell within the liquid heart of our mother earth?
Had there been treachery? Had some member of the Priests' Clan
forgotten his sacred vows, and babbled to this woman matters
concerning the holy mysteries? Or had Phorenice discovered a key
to these mysteries with her own agile brain?

If that last was the case, I could continue to serve her with
silent conscience. Though she might be none of my making, at least
she was Empress, and it was my duty to give her obedience. But if
she had suborned some weaker member of the Clan on the Sacred
Mount, that would be a different matter. For be it remembered that
it was one of the elements of our constitution to preserve our
secrets and mysteries inviolate, and to pursue with undying hatred
both the man who had dared to betray them, and the unhappy
recipient of his confidence.