“Do not say such things, Rhadopis. You are reminding me of a matter I hate to hear about.”
“Your Majesty,” she pleaded, “it is about to envelop the sky of our happiness. Remove it with a single word.”
“And what word might that be?”
She thought he was beginning to yield and see sense. “To give them back their lands,” she said happily.
He shook his head violently. “You do not know anything about the matter, Rhadopis,” he insisted. “I spoke, but my word has not been respected; it has been implemented reluctantly, and they have not silenced their protests. They continue to threaten me and giving in to them is a defeat I will not accept. I would rather die than allow that. You do not know what defeat means to my soul. It is death. If they were victorious over me and took what they desired, you would find me a stranger, pathetic and pitiful, unable to live or to love.”
His words penetrated to her heart and she held his hands more tightly. She felt her body tremble. She could bear anything, but not that he be incapable of life or love. She relinquished her desire, and regretted her beseeching, and in a quivering voice she exclaimed, “You shall never be conquered. Never.”
He smiled at her tenderly. “Nor shall I err or falter, nor shall you be the fate that brings disgrace upon me.”
A hot tear slipped from beneath her trembling eyelids.
“You shall never be disgraced,” she said breathlessly, “you shall never be defeated.”
She leaned her head against his chest, and let herself be lulled to sleep by the beating of his heart. In her slumber she felt his fingers playing with her hair and her cheeks, but she did not find peace for long, for one of the thoughts that had darkened her day tugged at her mind, and she looked up at him with worried eyes.
“What is the matter?” he asked.
She hesitated before she spoke. “It is said that they are a strong party, with great sway over the hearts and minds of the people.”
He smiled: “But I am stronger.”
She paused a moment then said, “Why do you not conscript a powerful army that would be at your command?”
The king smiled and said, “I see that your misgivings are getting the better of you once again.”
She sighed with irritation, “Did it not reach my ear that people are whispering among themselves that Pharaoh takes the money of the gods and spends it on a dancer? When people come together their whisper becomes a loud cry; like evil it will flare up.”
“What a pessimist you are, seeing evil everywhere.”
But she asked him again, pleading, “Why do you not summon the soldiery?”
He looked at her for a long time, thinking, then said, “The army cannot be called up without a reason.”
He appeared angry and continued, “They are confused and misguided. They feel that I am displeased with them. If I announce conscription they will be alarmed. Maybe they would rise up desperately to defend themselves.”
She thought for a moment, then, in a dreamy voice, as if she were talking to herself, she said, “Make up a pretext and summon the army.”
“Pretexts make themselves up by themselves.”
She felt desperate, and lowered her head sadly, her eyes closed. She was not asking for anything, but suddenly, in the utter darkness, an auspicious idea jumped out at her. She was staggered and when she opened her eyes, joy shone in them. The king was astonished, but she did not notice, for she could scarcely contain her excitement. “I have found a reason,” she said.
He looked at her questioningly.
“The Maasayu tribes,” she continued.
He understood what she meant, and shaking his head in despair, muttered, “Their leader has signed a peace treaty with us.”
She would not be put off. “Who knows what is happening over the border? The ruling prince there is one of our men.
Let us send him a secret message with a trustworthy messenger informing him to claim there is revolt and fighting in his province and send to us for help. We will spread his call throughout the land, you will summon the army and they will come to you from the North and South to gather under your banner. That will fix your broken wing and be your sword unsheathed. Thus shall your word remain supreme and obedience to your will be enforced.”
Pharaoh listened to her in amazement, and wonder too, because the idea had never occurred to him. Although he had not thought much about the formation of a strong army when military circumstance did not require it, and had believed, and still did believe, that the mutterings of the clergy could not reach the level of danger that would require a large army to crush it, he had come to believe that the absence of such an army suited the people and tempted them to raise petitions, and voice aloud their complaints. He found Rhadopis's simple idea the perfect opportunity and he was taken by it with all his heart. And when he was taken by something, he would dedicate himself to it and be preoccupied with it, and focus on it with an obsession verging on madness, heedless of all else. For this he looked into her eyes, delighted. “What an excellent idea, Rhadopis,” he said. “An excellent idea.”
“It is what my heart tells me,” she said, curiously elated. “It is easy to accomplish, as easy as forgoing this kiss from your beloved mouth. All we must do is say nothing.”
“Yes, my darling. Do you not see how your mind, like your heart, is a precious treasure? Truly, all we have to do is remain silent and choose a trustworthy messenger. You can leave that to me.”
“Who might your messenger to Prince Kaneferu be?” she asked.
“I will choose a chamberlain from my loyal men.”
She did not trust his vast palace, not for any rational reason, but because of her heart's aversion to the place in which the queen dwelled. She could not express her misgivings at all, but she had no idea who the messenger should be if he were not from the palace. To make matters worse, she fully understood that if the secret were exposed, the consequences would be too serious to even contemplate. She was about to despair and abandon altogether the sensitive and perilous project, when suddenly she remembered the child-like young man with the happy eyes who was working in the summer room. With the memory came a strange reassurance, for he was sincere and naive and pure. His heart was a temple in which he offered to her rituals of worship, morning and night. He was her messenger; he was trustworthy. Immediately she turned to Pharaoh and said confidently, “Let me choose the messenger myself.”
The king was amused. “What a nuisance you are today. Not your usual self at all. Who shall you choose, I wonder?”
“My lord,” she reminded him humbly, “a person in love has many fears. My messenger is the artist who is decorating the summer room. In his age he is a young man but in his soul he is a child. He has the heart of a chaste virgin. He is totally devoted to me, and his most obvious advantage is that he will not arouse suspicion, and he knows nothing. It is far better for us if the person who bears our message knows nothing of its grave and serious contents. If we do not know fear, we can pass through all perils unscathed.”
The king nodded in agreement: he hated to say no to her. As far as Rhadopis was concerned, the clouds had dispersed, even if it was not in the way she had originally intended. She was delighted and gave free rein to her joy, confident that soon she would be able to forget the world and live in her palace of love, leaving its protection to a mighty army, in the face of which all would be powerless.
Her head bowed with dreams and the beauty of her hair delighted the king. He adored her hair and his fingers dallied at the knot and untied it, and it cascaded down over her shoulders. He held it in his hands and breathed it deep into his nostrils, and buried his head and face in it, playfully, until they were both completely hidden by it.