Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

Shayth's face went pale, and she looked at her mistress suspiciously. “You disappointed them yesterday. What will you say today? If only you knew how anxious they are at your tardiness.”

“Tell them I am not well.”

The slave girl hesitated, and was about to object, but Rhadopis yelled at her, “Do as I say!”

The woman left the bedchamber in a fluster, — wondering — what had brought such a change over her mistress.

Rhadopis was pleased with her response. She told herself that this was not the time for lovers, and in any case she could not muster her scattered thoughts to listen to anyone, nor form her ideas into any conversation, let alone dance or sing. Let them all be off. Still, she was afraid that Shayth would return with pleas and protestations from the guests and she got off the bed and hurried to the bathroom.

Inside and alone, she wondered if Pharaoh would send for her that very evening. Yes, that was why she was so nervous and confused. Perhaps even afraid? But no. Such beauty as hers, that no woman had ever possessed, was enough to fill her with boundless self-confidence. That is how she was. No man would resist her beauty. Her gorgeous looks would not be debased for a single soul, even if it were Pharaoh himself. But then why was she nervous and confused? The strange feeling came back to her, the one she had felt the previous night, and which she had first felt throb in her heart when she set eyes upon the young pharaoh as he stood like a statue in the back of his chariot. How magnificent he was! She wondered if she were confused because she stood before an enigma, an awesome and omnipotent name, a god worshipped by all. Was it because she wished to see him a passionate human being after she had beheld him in all his divine glory, or was she nervous because she wanted to be assured of her power in the face of this impregnable fortress?

Shayth knocked on the bathroom door, and informed her that Master Anin had sent with her a letter for her lady. Rhadopis was furious and told Shayth to tear it up.

The slave girl feared to incur her mistress's anger and she stumbled out of the room in disarray. Rhadopis emerged from the bathroom into the bedchamber, stunningly beautiful, flawlessly attired. She ate her food and drank a cup of fine vintage Maryut. But hardly had she relaxed on her couch than Shayth came running into the room without knocking. Rhadopis glared at her. “There is a strange man in the hall. He insists on meeting you,” said the frightened slave.

“Have you gone completely mad?” cried Rhadopis in anger. “Have you joined forces against me with that bunch of tiresome men?”

“Be patient a moment, my lady,” urged Shayth as she gasped for breath. “I showed out all the guests. This man is a stranger. I have not set eyes on him before. I stumbled upon him in the corridor leading to the hall. I do not know where he came from. I tried to block his way but he would not be swayed. He ordered me to inform you of his request.”

Rhadopis looked gravely at her slave for a moment. “Is he an officer from the royal guard?” she asked with interest.

“No, mistress. He does not wear the uniform of an officer. I asked him to tell me who he was, but he just shrugged his shoulders. I insisted you would not be receiving anyone today but he set little store by my words. He ordered me to inform you that he was waiting. Oh dear, my lady. I would have you think well of me, but he was insistent and audacious. I could find no way to deter him.”

She wondered if it was an emissary from the king. Her heart missed a beat at the very thought, and her chest heaved. She ran to the mirror and inspected herself, then she twirled on the tips of her toes, her face still fixed on the mirror. “What do you see, Shayth?” she asked the slave.

“I see Rhadopis, my lady,” replied Shayth, amazed at the change that had come over her mistress.

Rhadopis left the bedchamber, leaving her bewildered slave in a daze. She floated like a dove from room to room and then descended the stairs, which were covered in sumptuous carpets. Then, pausing a moment at the entrance to the hall, she spotted a man with his back to her, his face toward the wall as he read the poetry of Ramon Hotep. Who could it be? He was as tall as Tahu but slimmer and more delicate, broad-shouldered, with beautiful legs. Across his back was a sash encrusted with jewels hanging down between his shoulders as far as his waist, and on his head he wore a beautiful tall helmet in the shape of a pyramid that did not look like the headgear of the priests. Who was it? He did not know she was there because her feet made no noise on the thick carpet. When she was only a few steps from him, she said, “My lord?”

The stranger turned to look at her.

“O Lord,” she gasped, as she realized she was standing face-to-face — with Pharaoh. Pharaoh himself in all his divine glory. Merenra the Second, none other.