Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

If she had been left to her emotions, the world would not have been wide enough to contain her insane ranting, but she yielded to his dear desire and fed her eyes on his face, not believing that it would disappear from her view forever after a few short seconds, and that she would never see it again in this world however much she suffered or sighed or shed tears of grief. His image, his life, and his love would all pass away, distant memories of an unfamiliar past. How preposterous for her broken heart to believe that he had once been her present and her future. And all this because a wild arrow had found its mark here in his chest. How could this despicable arrow put an end to her hopes when the whole world had been too narrow to contain them? The woman let out a deep and fervent sigh that stirred up the fragments of her broken heart. The king — was giving up the last remnants of life that still hung on in his breast and rattled in his throat. His strength — waned and his limbs — went limp, his senses died and his eyes dimmed. All that remained of him was his chest, heaving tumultuously, while therein death and life were locked in desperate and doomed combat. Suddenly his face contorted with pain and he opened his mouth as if to scream or cry out for help and he held the hand that she had extended to him, a look of indescribable panic in his eyes. “Rhadopis, raise my head, raise my head,” he cried.

She took his head in her trembling hands and was about to sit him up when he emitted a fearful moan and his hand fell limply at his side. Thus ended the battle raging between life and death. She hurriedly laid his head back in its original position and let out an agonizing high-pitched scream, but it was shortlived and her voice cut off abruptly as if her lungs had been torn out, her tongue turned to stone, and her jaws clamped tightly shut. She stared with emotionless eyes into the face that had once been a person, and sat there immobile.

It was her scream that broadcast the painful news and the two men rushed into the room, unnoticed by her, and stood in front of the litter. Tahu cast a dismal glance at the king's face, the wan pallor of death overspreading his own face, and did not utter a word. Sofkhatep too approached the corpse and bowed in deep reverence, his eyes blinded by tears that ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the ground, saying in a shaking voice whose grieving tones tore at the pervading silence, “My master and lord, son of my master and lord, we commit you to the most exalted gods whose will has decreed this day the beginning of your journey to the eternal realm. How gladly I would sacrifice my doting senility for your tender youth, but it is the immutable will of the Lord. So now farewell, my noble lord.”

Sofkhatep stretched out his emaciated hand to the coverlet and unhurriedly drew it over the corpse. Then he bowed once again and returned to his place with heavy steps.

Rhadopis remained on her knees, in a state of utter bewilderment, engulfed in her sorrow, her eyes transfixed inconsolably on the corpse. An unnerving stillness like death had penetrated her body and she displayed not a single sign of life. She did not weep, nor did she scream out. The men stood motionlessly behind her, their heads turned to the ground, — when one of the slaves who had carried the litter entered and announced, “The queen's handmaiden.”

The men turned to the door and saw the handmaiden enter, deep sadness etched upon her face, and they bowed to her in greeting. She returned the greeting — with a nod of her head and cast a glance at the covered body then turned her eyes to Sofkhatep, who spoke in a voice filled with grief. “It is all over, venerable lady.”

The woman was silent for a moment like one in a daze, then said, “Then the noble corpse must be taken to the royal palace. That is Her Majesty the Queen's wish, Prime Minister.”

As the lady-in-waiting headed for the door, she gestured to the slaves. They rushed over to her and she ordered them to lift up the litter. As the slaves moved forward and bent down over its poles to lift it up, Rhadopis, who had not felt a thing going on around her, suddenly realized with horror what was happening, and in a hoarse incredulous voice she demanded, “Where are you taking him?”

She threw herself on the litter. Sofkhatep stepped over to her and said, “The palace wishes to carry out its duty in respect of the sacred corpse.”

The woman, in a state of shock, said, “Do not take him from me. Wait. I shall die on his chest.”

The lady-in-waiting was looking down on Rhadopis, and when she heard her words, she said roughly, “The king's chest was not created to be a final resting place for anyone.”