senses rejuvenated, that a radiant new world had been revealed to her, or that she had been created anew.
She rolled over on to her side and looked at the pillow: the hollow where his head had lain was clearly visible and it drew from her eyes a look of deep affection and compassion. She moved her head toward it and kissed it as she murmured happily, “How beautiful everything is, and how happy I am.”
She sat up for a moment and then got out of bed — as she did every morning — energetic, cheerful, like a brilliant wisecrack in a soul bursting with good humor. She bathed in cold water and put on her perfume, then dressed in her garments that had been perfumed with incense and went to her dining table where she ate a breakfast of eggs and flat bread and drank a cup of fresh milk and a glass of beer.
She boarded her barge for Abu. Once there, she headed to the temple of Sothis and entered through its mighty portal with a timid heart and her spirit full of hope and expectation. She wandered through the vast building, taking in the blessings from the walls and columns which were adorned with sacred inscriptions. She placed a generous donation in the offering box, then paid a visit to the chamber of the high priestess and asked her to wash her with sacred oil to purify her of the stains and blemishes of life and its afflictions and to cleanse her heart of transgression and blindness. As she surrendered herself to the hands of the pure and chaste priestesses, it seemed to her that she was ruthlessly depositing into a grave of oblivion the body of Rhadopis, the flirtatious courtesan, who mocked men and wreaked havoc on their souls, and danced on the remains of her victims and the remnants of their shattered hearts. She felt new blood flow in her veins, and contentment, happiness, and purity throbbed in her heart and reached out to all her senses. Then she fell to her knees and prayed fervently, her eyes full of tears, humbly beseeching the god to bless her love and her new life. So happy was she as she returned to her palace that she felt like a bird spreading its wings in a clear sky. Shayth could hardly contain her joy when she greeted her. “Blessed be this happy day, my lady,” she beamed. “Do you know who came to our palace while you were away?”
Her heart beat fast and furious. “Who?” she cried.
“Some men came,” said the slave, “the finest of Egypt's craftsmen sent by Pharaoh. They looked at the rooms and corridors and halls, and measured the height of the windows and walls in order to make new furnishings.”
“Really?”
“Yes, my lady. Soon this palace will be the wonder of the age. What a profitable deal it is!”
Rhadopis was not sure what the woman meant. Then it occurred to her and she knit her brow. “What deal do you mean, Shayth?” she asked.
The woman winked. “The deal of your new romance,” she said. “By the gods, my lord is worth an entire nation of wealthy men. After today I will not be sorry to see the backs of the merchants of Memphis and the commanders of the South.”
Rhadopis's face turned red with rage. “That is enough, woman!” she shouted. “This is no business deal.”
“I am sorry. If I were brave enough, my lady, I would ask you what you were doing then.”
Rhadopis sighed, “Stop your idle prattle. Can you not see that I am serious about this?”
The slave girl stared at her mistress's beautiful face and was silent for a moment, then said, “May the gods bless you my lady. I am confused, and am asking myself why my lady is serious?”
Rhadopis sighed again and threw herself down on the divan. “I am in love, Shayth,” she said quietly.
The slave girl beat her chest with her hand. “You are in love, my lady!” she said, alarmed and astonished.
“Yes, I am in love. Why are you so surprised?”
“I beg your pardon, my lady. Love is a new visitor. I have not heard you mention his name before. How did he come?”
Rhadopis smiled and said as if in a dream, “It is no cause for surprise, a woman in love. It is a common enough thing.”
“Not here though,” said Shayth as she pointed to her mistress's heart. “I always thought it was an impregnable fortress. How did it fall? Tell me, by God.”
Dreams shone in Rhadopis's eyes, and the memory evoked exuberant feelings in her soul. “I have fallen in love, Shayth,” she said in a voice that was a whisper. “And love is a wonderful thing. At what moment in time love knocked at the door of my heart, how it stole into the depths of my soul, I have no idea. It confuses me enormously, but I knew the truth in my heart, for it beat in violent turmoil, and stirred when I saw his face and when I heard his voice. I never knew it to stir at any of those things before, but a hidden voice whispered in my ear that this man and no other would own my heart. I was overcome by a violent, sweet, painful sensation, and felt an unmistakable feeling that he should be a part of me like my heart is, and I should be a part of him like his soul. I can no longer imagine how life can be good and existence pleasant without this blending of ourselves.”
“How perplexing, my lady,” said Shayth breathlessly.
“Yes, Shayth. As long as I enjoyed total freedom, I took up my seat atop a high hill and my eyes roamed over a strange wide world. I would spend the evening with dozens of men, enjoying pleasant conversation, delighting in works of art, savoring lewd jokes and bawdiness, and singing, yet all the time an inconsolable weariness weighed down on my heart, and an unbearable loneliness lay over my soul. Now, Shayth, my hopes are narrowed down and concentrated on one man — my lord. He is my whole world. Life has stirred again and chased away the weariness and loneliness that lay in my path and shone forth light and bliss upon it. I lost my self in this wide — world and now I have found it again in my beloved. See what love can do, Shayth!”
The slave nodded her head in bewilderment and said, “It is a wonderful thing as you say, my lady. Perhaps it is sweeter than life itself. Indeed, I ask myself what I myself feel of love. Love is like hunger and men are like food. I love men as much as I love food. I don't worry about it, and that is enough for me.”
Rhadopis laughed a delicate laugh like a note plucked on a harp string, and rising to her feet, went to the balcony that looked over the garden. She ordered Shayth to bring her the lyre, for she felt a desire to play the strings and sing. Why not, when the whole world was joined in joyful serenade?
Shayth disappeared for a moment then returned carrying the lyre and placed it before her mistress. “Would it bother you to delay the music for a while?” she said.
“Why?” asked Rhadopis as she picked up the lyre.
“One of the slaves asked me to inform you that there is someone who seeks permission to meet you.”
A look of disapproval crossed her face. “Does he not know who it is?” she asked curtly.
“He says he is… he claims he has been sent by the artist Henfer.”
She recalled what Henfer had said to her two days previously about the pupil he had appointed to take his place in carrying out the decoration of the summer room. “Bring him to me,” she told Shayth.
She felt irritated and annoyed. She held tightly onto the lyre and her fingertips plucked the strings softly, then angrily, playing music with no unity between its parts.
Shayth returned followed by a young man, who bowed his head in reverence and said in a soft voice, “May the gods make happy your day, my lady.”
She put the lyre to one side and looked at him through her long eyelashes. He was of average height, slender build, and dark complexion with handsome features and remarkably wide eyes in which appeared signs of candor and naivete. She was taken by his young age and the sincerity in his eyes, and she wondered if he would really be able to complete the work of the great sculptor Henfer. But she was pleased to see him and the wave of irritation that had come over her moments before disappeared. “Are you the pupil whom the sculptor Henfer has chosen to decorate the summer room?” she asked him.
“Yes, my lady,” said the youth with obvious embarrassment as his eyes wavered between the face of Rhadopis and the balcony floor.
“Excellent. What is your name?”
“Benamun, Benamun Ben Besar.”
“Benamun. And how old are you, Benamun? You look young to me.”
He blushed, and said, “I will be eighteen next Misra.”
“I think you may be exaggerating a little.”
“Certainly not, my lady. I am telling the truth.”
“What a child you are, Benamun.”
A look of unease appeared in his wide, honey-colored eyes, as if he were afraid that she would object to him
