Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

She thought for a moment, and counted on her fingers, then said, “If your reckoning is correct, his return will coincide with the festival of the Nile.”

The king laughed. “That is a good omen, Rhadopis, for the festival of the Nile is the anniversary of our love. It shall be an occasion of victory and reassurance.”

She too was optimistic, believing dearly in the prosperity of that day, which she truly considered to be the birth of her happiness and love. She was convinced that the return of the messenger on that day was not just coincidence, but rather a prudent orchestration from the hand of a goddess who was blessing her love and was sympathetically disposed toward her hopes.

The king looked at her in wonder and admiration, then kissed her head and said, “How precious your head is. Sofkhatep is most impressed with it, as indeed he is most impressed with your brilliant idea. He could not resist telling me what a simple solution it was to a complex problem, like a pretty flower growing from a twisted stalk, or branches all knotted and gnarled.”

She had been under the impression that he had kept the plan a secret and had told no one about it, not even the loyal prime minister, Sofkhatep. She asked him, “Does the prime minister know of our secret?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Sofkhatep and Tahu are as close to me as my mind and heart. I hide nothing from them.”

Tahu's name rang in her ears, and her face became sullen, and a look of apprehension appeared in her eyes.

“Does the other know of it?” she asked.

The king laughed. “How wary you are, Rhadopis. But know that I do not trust myself with a thing I would not trust them with.”

“Your Majesty,” she said, “my misgivings would not extend to those you trust so implicitly.”

Nevertheless, she could not help remembering Tahu at the hour of his last farewell. His harsh voice echoed in her ears as he ranted on in fury and despair, and she wondered if he might still not harbor some grudge.

But these dark thoughts had no chance to play on her heart, as she forgot herself between the arms of her beloved.

The next morning the messenger, Benamun Ben Besar, came wrapped in his cloak, his cap pulled down to his ears. His cheeks were red and his eyes shone — with the light of heavenly joy. He prostrated himself in front of her in silent submission and humbly kissed the edge of her robe. She stroked his head — with her fingertips and said tenderly, “I shall never forget, Benamun, that it is for me that you are leaving this abode of peace and tranquility.”

His beautiful innocent face looked up at her, and in a trembling voice he said, “No labor is too great for your sake. May the gods help me to bear the pain of separation.”

She smiled, saying, “You will return happy and refreshed. And in the joys of the future you will forget all the pains of the past.”

He sighed, “Blessed be those who carry in their hearts a happy dream to keep them company in their loneliness and moisten their parched mouths.”

Rhadopis beamed at him and picked up the folded letter and placed it in his hand. “I do not think I need tell you how careful you must be,” she said. “Where will you keep it?”

“Under my shirt, my lady, next to my heart.”

She handed him another smaller letter. “This is a letter to Governor Ani, so that he will help you on your way and arrange for you a place on the first caravan to leave for the South.”

Then it was time to bid farewell. He swallowed; he was upset and confusion and longing showed in his face. She held out her hand to him and he hesitated a moment before placing it between his own. His palms trembled as if he was touching burning fire, then he held her so tightly to his breast that his heat and pulse flowed into her. At last he pulled away and disappeared through the door. She watched him helplessly as she mumbled fervent prayers.

Why not? For he had placed next to his heart the hope on which her very life depended.

Tahu's delirium

The waiting was bitter as soon as it began, for she was plagued by a nagging doubt and she wished that the king had not divulged the secret of the letter to a single soul. The great trust the king placed in his two most loyal servants did not detract from her torment. Her misgivings were not based on absolute doubt, but rather on some apprehension that made her wonder what would happen if the men of the priesthood got wind of the content of the letter. Would they think twice before defending themselves against such an evil plot? O Lord! The secret of the letter divulged. It was too terrible to think about. No sane, patriotic mind could dare to comprehend how terrible. She felt a shiver run down her spine and she shook her head violently to cast the dark forebodings from her mind, and she whispered to her conscience to soothe it, “Everything will go according to the plan we have worked out. There is no need to stir up these fears, they are only the doubts of a heart so much in love that it knows not sleep nor rest.”