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.”
But no sooner had she put her doubts at bay than her imagination drifted once again to hover round her fears: she saw Tahu's angry face contorted with agony and heard his hoarse voice, pained and wounded. She suffered greatly for her fears but she did not dare to interpret them, or remove the mystery that shrouded them.
She wondered if she was right to fear Tahu, or to think ill of him. All indications seemed to suggest that he had forgotten. But could he do something that he had, of his own accord, sworn not to? He could no longer knock at her door since it had become sacred and prohibited. All he could do was submit and obey, but that did not mean he had forgotten or was to be trusted.
She wondered if any remnants of the past still clung to his heart. Tahu was a stubborn bully, and love might transmute in his heart into concealed resentment, ready to — wreak revenge when the occasion presented itself. Still, despite her turmoil, she did not forget to be just to Tahu, and she recalled his loyalty and his unswerving dedication to his lord. He was a man of duty who would not be led astray by desire or temptation.
Everything suggested that she should relax, yet she was plagued with misgivings. The messenger had left her palace only hours before; how then was she to wait for a month or more? She was at her wits’ end, when suddenly the thought occurred to her to invite Tahu to come and meet her. She would not have dreamed of the idea the day before, but today it reassured her and she felt inclined to pursue it, forced along in the same way one is forced to embrace a danger one fears, but cannot deflect or escape from. She thought about it, unsure for a moment which course to take, then she said to herself, “Why not invite him and talk to him to see what his heart conceals. Perhaps I will be able to guard against his malice, if there is malice to be guarded against, and I shall save Tahu from himself, and save His Majesty from his evil.” Her desire had turned into a determination that would accept no delay and seized her with all its might until she could think of nothing else. She immediately called Shayth and ordered her to go to Commander Tahu's palace and summon him.
Shayth went off while her mistress waited nervously in the reception hall. She had no doubt that he would accept her invitation. As she waited, it dawned on her how nervous she was, and she compared herself now to how strong and unfeeling she had been in the past. She realized that from the moment she had fallen in love she had turned into a weak and nervous woman whose sleep was haunted with ridiculous delusions and false fears.
Tahu came as she had expected. He was dressed in his official uniform, which reassured her somewhat, as if he were telling her that he had forgotten Rhadopis, the courtesan of the white palace, and that he was now in audience with the friend of his lord and majesty, Pharaoh.
The commander bowed his head in reverence and respect, and speaking quietly and without the slightest trace of emotion, said, “May the gods make happy your days, my venerable lady.”
She examined his face, saying, “And your days too, noble commander. I thank you for accepting my invitation.”
Tahu bowed again. “I am at your command, my lady.”
He looked the same as he had before, strong, sturdy, and copper-skinned, but it did not escape her searching glance that some change had come over him that eyes other than hers would not have observed. She discerned upon the man's face a withered look that had dimmed the sparkle in his eyes and had quenched the all- encompassing spirit that once effused from his face. She was worried that the reason might be the events of that strange night they had parted ways almost a year ago. How awful it was! Tahu had been like a swirling wind; now he was like stagnant air.
