The old man smiled. “Aah. Your friend Ramon Hotep scoffs at that exalted world while the scholar priests tell us it is the eternal abode. Be patient, beautiful woman, for you are still little experienced.”
The wave of dalliance and sarcasm came over her again, and she thought to tease the philosopher. “Do you really think I have little experience?” she said, feigning a serious tone. “You have seen nothing of the things I have seen.”
“And what have you seen that I have not?”
She pointed to the drunken throng and laughed. “I have seen these outstanding men, the cream of Egypt, mistress of the world, prostrating themselves at my feet. They have reverted to a state of barbarism, and forgotten their wisdom and dignity, they are like dogs or monkeys.”
She laughed delicately, and with the agility of a gazelle she stepped into the center of the hall. She signaled to her musicians and their fingers plucked the strings, as the courtesan danced one of her select dances at which her lithe and lissome body excelled, working miracles of nimbleness and flexibility. The guests were absorbed in the entertainment, and clapped their hands in time to the drums, a subtle fire smoldering in their eyes, and when she ended her dance, she flew like a dove back to her throne, whereupon she cast her eyes round their greedy faces. The sight made her roar with laughter: “It is as if I am among wolves.”
Anin, in his drunken state, relished the comparison, and he wished he were a wolf so that he might pounce on the beautiful ewe. The wine made his wish come true, and thinking he was really a wolf, he let out a great howl and the guests roared with laughter. But he went on howling and got down on all fours, and crawled toward Rhadopis amidst the uproarious laughter until he was only inches away from her. “Make this night belong to me,” he said-She did not reply, but rather turned to Governor Ani, — who had come to bid her farewell, and extended her hand. Philosopher Hof came next. “Would you like this night to belong to you?” she asked him.
He shook his head and laughed. “It would be easier to make jokes — with the prisoners of war — who labor in the mines of Koptos.”
Each man wanted the night to belong to him, and eagerly demanded so, and they competed vehemently until matters were almost out of hand, at which point Henfer took it upon himself to find a solution. “Let each of you write his name on a paper, and let us put the names in Anin's ivory casket, then Rhadopis may draw out the name of the lucky winner.”
They were all obliged to agree and they quickly wrote down their names, except for Anin, who saw his chances of the night receding. “My lady,” he beseeched, “I am a man of travel. Today I am here before you, tomorrow in a far-off land reached only with great effort. If this night passes me by I might lose it forever.”
His defense infuriated the guests and was greeted with hoots of derision. Rhadopis was silent as she surveyed her lovers with cold eyes. A strange apprehension came over her and she felt a desire to flee and be alone. She was tired of the din and she raised her hand. They fell silent as they stood suspended between hope and fear. “Do not tire yourselves, gentlemen. Tonight I shall belong to no man.”
Openmouthed they gazed at her, unwilling to acknowledge her words, unable to believe their ears, then they burst into shouts of protest and complaint. She realized there was no point in talking to them and she stood up, a look of determination and resolve upon her face. “I am tired. Please allow me to rest.”
And with a wave of her tender hand she turned her back on them and hurried out of the room.
As she went up to her bedchamber, the heated protests of the men still ringing in her ears, she felt delighted at what she had done, and great relief that she had been spared that night. She hurried straight over to the window and drew aside the curtain, and looking out at the dark road, she saw the shapes of chariots and litters in the distance carrying her drunken guests off into the night as they nursed their grief and disappointment. She relished the sight of them and a cruel and malicious smile formed upon her lips.
How had she done it? She did not know, but she felt uneasy, nervous. “O Lord,” she sighed, “what is the point of this monotonous life?” The answer evaded her. Not even the wise man Hof had been able to quench her burning thirst. She lay down on her sumptuous bed and went over the day's strange and wonderful events one by one in her mind. She saw the throngs of Egyptians and the burning eyes of the sorceress, which had seemed to hold her own eyes with an overpowering force, and she heard the crone's repulsive voice and her joints shivered. Then she saw the young pharaoh in all his finery, and next, that magnificent falcon who had flown off with her sandal. It had indeed been an eventful day. Perhaps that is what had roused her emotions and distracted her thoughts, shattering her into so many pieces. Her unfortunate lovers had paid the price for that. Her heart thumped loudly and burned with a mysterious flame, and her imagination roamed through unfamiliar valleys, as if she longed to pass from this state into another. But what state was it? She was baffled, unable to comprehend what was happening to her. Could it have been a waft of magic sent out to her by that accursed sorceress?
She was obviously under a spell, and if it was not the spell of a witch, then it was the spell of the Fates that control all destinies.
Tahu
Anxious and troubled — with all kinds of disturbing thoughts, she despaired of ever finding sleep. She rose from her bed once again, — walked slowly over to the window, and throwing it wide open, stood there like a statue. She undid the clasp that held her hair and it flowed in shimmering tresses over her neck and shoulders, touching the whiteness of her gown with a deep black. She breathed the damp night air into her lungs and put her elbows onto the window ledge, resting her chin in the palms of her hands. Her eyes wandered over the garden to the Nile flowing beyond the walls. It was a mild dark night, a gentle intermittent breeze was blowing and the leaves and branches danced discreetly. The Nile could be seen in the distance like a patch of blackness and the sky was adorned with shining stars that emitted a pale radiance that almost drowned in seas of darkness just as it reached the earth.
Would the dark night and the overwhelming silence be able to cast a shade of stillness and relief over her troubled mind? Alas, she felt as if her mind would never be at rest again. She fetched a pillow and placed it on the window sill and laid her right cheek upon it and closed her eyes.
Suddenly the words of Hof, the philosopher, came back to her: “Everyone complains, so what is the use of hoping for change? Be content with your lot.” She sighed from the depths of her heart, and asked herself dolefully, “Is there really no use hoping for change? Will people always complain?” But how was she to believe this so completely that it would sway her own heart from desiring change? A storm of defiance was brewing in her breast. She wanted it to sweep away her present and her past and she would escape to find salvation in lands mysterious and unknown beyond the horizon. How would she ever find conviction and peace of mind? She was dreaming of a state where there would be no need to grieve, but she was apprehensive, weary of all things.
She was not to be left to her thoughts and dreams though, for she heard a gentle knock on the door of her chamber. She pricked up her ears in surprise and lifted her head off the pillow.
“Who is it?” she called.
“It is I, my lady,” replied a familiar voice. “May I enter?”
“Come in Shayth,” said Rhadopis.
The slave girl came in on the tips of her toes. She was surprised to find her mistress still up, and her bed unslept in.
“What is it, Shayth?” Rhadopis inquired.
“A man is here who awaits permission to enter.”
Rhadopis frowned and could barely conceal her anger. “What man? Throw him out without delay.”