“All hope hangs on the return of the messenger before the festival,” said the king.
Sofkhatep continued to consider the matter from his own point of view, for in his heart he believed in the proposal of the governors. He said, “The messenger will come soon and he will read his message for all to hear. No doubt the priests, having courted the favor of their lord and believing that they once again enjoyed their ancient rights, will be more enthusiastically inclined to accept mobilization, for even if my lord were to take the upper hand and dictate his desire, there is none who can refuse to do his will.”
The king took umbrage at Sofkhatep's opinion, and feeling isolated and alone even in his private wing, he hastened to the palace of Biga, where loneliness never followed him. Rhadopis did not know what had happened in the latest meeting and her mind was less troubled than his. Still, she found no difficulty reading the telling expression on his face and sensed the anger and vexation that churned in his heart. She was filled with trepidation and she looked at him questioningly, but the words piled up behind her lips, afraid to come out.
“Have you not heard, Rhadopis?” he grumbled. “The governors and ministers are advising me to return the estates to the priests, and to content myself with defeat.”
“What has urged them to pronounce this counsel?” she asked nervously.
The king related what the governors had said and what they had counseled him to do and she grew sadder and more nervous. She could not restrain herself from saying, “The air grows dusty and dark. Only grave danger would have led the governors to reveal their opinions.”
“My people are angry,” said the king scornfully.
“Your Majesty, the people are like a ship off course without a rudder, which the winds carry wherever they will.”
“I will knock the wind out of their sails,” he said ominously.
Fears and doubts returned to plague her, and her patience betrayed her for a moment as she said, “We must seek recourse to wisdom and willingly step back awhile. The day of victory is near.”
He looked at her curiously. “Are you suggesting that I submit, Rhadopis?”
She held him to her breast for his tone had hurt her, then she said, her eyes overflowing with fervent tears, “It is more proper for one about to take a great leap to first crouch down. Victory hinges upon the outcome.”
The king moaned, saying, “Ah, Rhadopis, if you do not know my soul, then who can know it? I am one who, if coerced to bend to a person's will, withers with grief like a rose battered by the wind.”
Her dark eyes were touched by his words and she said with deep sadness, “I would gladly sacrifice myself for you, my darling. You will never wither as long as my breast waters you with pure love.
“I shall live victorious every moment of my life, and I shall never give Khnumhotep the pleasure of saying that he humiliated me for even an hour.”
She smiled at him sadly and asked, “Do you wish to govern a people without at times resorting to subterfuge?”
“Surrender is the subterfuge of the incapable. I shall remain, while I am alive, as straight as a sword upon whose blade the forces of the traitors will be smashed.”
She sighed sadly and regretfully and did not try to win him round. She was content with defeat in the face of his anger and pride, and from that moment she began to ask herself incessantly, “When — will the messenger return? When — will the messenger return? When — will the messenger return?”
How tedious the — waiting — was. If those — who desire knew the torment of-waiting as she now did, they — would prefer abstinence in this world. How she counted the hours and minutes and watched the sun rise and waited for its setting. Her eyes ached from long looking at the Nile as it — wound its — way from the South. She reckoned the days with bated breath and throbbing heart, and often cried out when she could stand the apprehension no more, “Where are you, Benamun?” Even love itself she tasted as one distracted, far away in thought. There would be no peace of mind, no rest until the messenger returned with the letter.
The days elapsed, slowly dragging their intolerable heaviness, until one day she was sitting engrossed in her thoughts, when Shayth burst into the room. Rhadopis raised her head and asked her, “What pursues you, Shayth?”
“My lady,” said the slave girl eagerly, panting for breath, “Benamun has returned.”
Joy engulfed her and she jumped to her feet like a startled bird as she called out, “Benamun!”
“Yes, my lady,” said the slave girl. “He is waiting in the hall. He asked me to inform you of his arrival. How he has caught the sun on his travels.”
She ran in great bounds down the stairway to the hall and found him standing there waiting for her to appear. A burning desire shone in his eyes. She seemed to him like a flame of joy and hope, and in his mind he had no doubt that her joy was because of him and for him. Divine rapture flowed over him and he threw himself at her feet like one in worship. Wrapping his arms around her legs passionately and with great affection, and falling upon her feet with his mouth, he said, “My idol, my goddess, I dreamed a hundred times I kissed these feet, and now my dreams are come true.”
Her fingers played — with his hair as she said gently, “Dear Benamun, Benamun, have you really returned to me?”
His eyes shone — with the light of life. He thrust his hand inside his jerkin and pulled out a small ivory box and opened it. Inside it was dust. “This dust is some ofthat which your feet trod upon in the garden,” he said. “I gathered it up with my hands and kept it in this box. I carried it with me on my journey and would kiss it every night before surrendering to sleep and place it against my heart.”
She listened to him, anxious and perturbed. Her feelings had turned away from the words he spoke and as her patience expired, she asked with a calmness that masked her apprehension, “Do you not bear anything?”
He thrust his hand into his jerkin once again and took out a folded letter which he held out to her. She took receipt of it with trembling hand. She was awash with happy feelings and she felt a numbness in her nerves and a languor in her powers. She cast a long look at the letter and held it tightly in her hand. She would have forgotten Benamun and his ardent passion had not her glance fallen upon him, and she recalled an important matter. “Did not a messenger from Prince Kaneferu come with you?” she inquired.
“Yes, my lady,” said the youth. “He it was who carried the message during our return. He is waiting now in the summer room.”
She was unable to stand there any longer, for the joy that flooded her senses was enemy to stillness and immobility, and she said, “May the gods be with you for now. The summer room awaits you and untroubled days lie ahead for us.”
Off she ran carrying the letter, calling out for her beloved lord from the deepest recesses of her heart. Were it not for her sense of propriety she would have flown to him in his palace, like the falcon had done before, to bear him the glad tidings.
The meeting
The day of the festival of the Nile arrived, and Abu welcomed revelers from the farthest reaches of the North and South. Ballads rang out on the city's air and its houses were adorned with banners and flowers and olive branches. The priests and the governors greeted the rising sun on their way to Pharaoh's palace where they joined the great royal cavalcade, which was due to set off from the palace in the late morning.
As the assembled notables waited in one of the chambers for the king to come down, a chamberlain entered, and saluting them in the name of the king, announced in a stentorian voice: “Venerable lords, Pharaoh wishes to meet with you at once. If you would be so kind as to proceed to the pharaoh's hall.”
All greeted the chamberlain's declaration with unconcealed surprise, for it was the custom that the king received the men of his kingdom after the celebration of the festival, not before it. Confusion was etched on their faces as they asked one another, “What grave matter could it be that occasions a meeting which violates the traditions?”