Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

His hard eyes looked at her for a long time. He felt, at that decisive moment, a sense of mortal despair and stifling loss, but he did not allow his anger to get the better of him, and in a cruel cold voice he said, “How ugly you are, Rhadopis. How repulsive and twisted an image you display. Whoever thinks you beautiful is blind, without vision. You are ugly because you are dead, and there is no beauty without life. Life has never flowed through your veins. Your heart has never been warm. You are a corpse with perfect features, but a corpse nevertheless. Compassion has not shone in your eyes, your lips have never parted in pain, nor has your heart felt pity. Your eyes are hard and your heart is made of stone. You are a corpse, damn you! I should hate you, and rue the day I ever loved you. I know well that you will dominate and control wherever your devil wishes you to. But one day you will be brought crashing to the ground, your soul shattered into many pieces. That is the end of everything. Why should I kill you then? Why should I carry the burden of murdering a corpse that is already dead?”

With these words Tahu departed.

Rhadopis listened to his heavy footfall until the silence of the night enveloped her. Then she went back to the window. The darkness was absolute and the stars looked down from their eternal banquet, and in the solemn all-encompassing silence, she thought she could hear secrets fluttering deep in her heart.

There was a power in her, violent with heat and unrest. She was alive, her body throbbing with life, not a dead corpse.

Pharaoh

She opened her eyes and saw darkness. It must still be night. How many hours had she been able to find sleep and tranquility? For a few moments she was not aware of anything at all, she could remember nothing, as if the past was unknown to her just as the future is unknown, and the pitch-black night had consumed her identity. For a — while she felt bewildered and — weary, but then her eyes grew used to the dark and she could perceive a faint light creeping in through the curtains. She could make out the shapes of the furniture and she saw the hanging lamp coated in gold. Her senses suddenly became sharper and she remembered that she had remained awake, her eyelids not tasting sleep until the gentle blue — waves of dawn washed over her. Then she had lain on her bed and sleep had carried her away from her emotions and her dreams. If that were so, it would be well into the next day, or even its evening.

She recalled the events of the previous night. The image of Tahu came back to her, fuming and raging, groaning with despair, threatening hatred and abomination. What a violent man he was, a bully with a brutal temper, madly infatuated. His only fault was that his love was stubborn and persistent, and he was deeply smitten. She sincerely hoped he would forget her or despise her. All she ever gained from love was pain. Everyone yearned for her heart and her heart remained unapproachable and aloof, like an untamed animal. How often she had been forced to plunge into disturbing scenarios and painful tragedies even though she hated it. But tragedy had followed her like a shadow, hovering around her like her deepest thoughts, spoiling her life with its cruelty and pain.

Then she remembered what Tahu had said about young Pharaoh and how he had desired to see the woman the sandal belonged to, and that he would summon her eventually to join his thriving harem. Ah, Pharaoh — was a young man — with fire in his blood and impetuosity in his mind, or so she had been told. It was no wonder Tahu had said what he had, and it was not impossible to believe it either, but she wondered whether events might not take a different course. Her faith in herself knew no bounds.

She heard a knock at the door. “Shayth,” she called lazily. “Come in.”

The slave opened the door and, stepping into the room with her familiar nimble gait, said, “Lord have mercy on you, my lady. You must be famished.”

Shayth opened the window. The light that came in was already fading. “The sun went down today without seeing you,” she laughed. “He wasted his journey to the earth.”

“Is it evening?” asked Rhadopis, stretching and yawning.

“Yes, my lady. Now, are you going to the perfumed water, or would you like to eat? It's a pity, but I know what kept you awake last night.”

“What was it, Shayth?” asked Rhadopis with interest.

“You did not warm your bed with a man.”

“Stop it, you wicked woman.”

“Men are always so forceful, my lady,” said the slave with a glint in her eye. “Otherwise you would never put up with their vanity.”

“Enough of your nonsense, Shayth,” she said, then complained of a sore head.

“Let us go to the bath,” said Shayth. “Your admirers are starting to assemble in the reception hall, and it pains them to see you are not there.”

“Have they really come?”

“Has the reception hall ever been empty of them at this hour?”

“I will not see a single one of them.”