It was her scream that broadcast the painful news and the two men rushed into the room, unnoticed by her, and stood in front of the litter. Tahu cast a dismal glance at the king's face, the wan pallor of death overspreading his own face, and did not utter a word. Sofkhatep too approached the corpse and bowed in deep reverence, his eyes blinded by tears that ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the ground, saying in a shaking voice whose grieving tones tore at the pervading silence, “My master and lord, son of my master and lord, we commit you to the most exalted gods whose will has decreed this day the beginning of your journey to the eternal realm. How gladly I would sacrifice my doting senility for your tender youth, but it is the immutable will of the Lord. So now farewell, my noble lord.”
Sofkhatep stretched out his emaciated hand to the coverlet and unhurriedly drew it over the corpse. Then he bowed once again and returned to his place with heavy steps.
Rhadopis remained on her knees, in a state of utter bewilderment, engulfed in her sorrow, her eyes transfixed inconsolably on the corpse. An unnerving stillness like death had penetrated her body and she displayed not a single sign of life. She did not weep, nor did she scream out. The men stood motionlessly behind her, their heads turned to the ground, — when one of the slaves who had carried the litter entered and announced, “The queen's handmaiden.”
The men turned to the door and saw the handmaiden enter, deep sadness etched upon her face, and they bowed to her in greeting. She returned the greeting — with a nod of her head and cast a glance at the covered body then turned her eyes to Sofkhatep, who spoke in a voice filled with grief. “It is all over, venerable lady.”
The woman was silent for a moment like one in a daze, then said, “Then the noble corpse must be taken to the royal palace. That is Her Majesty the Queen's wish, Prime Minister.”
As the lady-in-waiting headed for the door, she gestured to the slaves. They rushed over to her and she ordered them to lift up the litter. As the slaves moved forward and bent down over its poles to lift it up, Rhadopis, who had not felt a thing going on around her, suddenly realized with horror what was happening, and in a hoarse incredulous voice she demanded, “Where are you taking him?”
She threw herself on the litter. Sofkhatep stepped over to her and said, “The palace wishes to carry out its duty in respect of the sacred corpse.”
The woman, in a state of shock, said, “Do not take him from me. Wait. I shall die on his chest.”
The lady-in-waiting was looking down on Rhadopis, and when she heard her words, she said roughly, “The king's chest was not created to be a final resting place for anyone.”
Sofkhatep bent down over the grieving woman and, gently taking hold of her wrists, slowly raised her to her feet as the slaves carried away the litter. She managed to free her hands from his and turned her head violently around her but there was no sign on her forlorn face that she recognized any of those who were present, and she cried out in a dismembered voice like the rattle of death, “Why are you taking him? This is his palace. This is his room. How can you subject me to such humiliation in front of him? It does not please my lord that anyone should mistreat me, you cruel, cruel people.”
The lady-in-waiting paid no attention to her and marched out into the garden — with the slaves following her, carrying the litter. The men left the room in a silent and subdued mood. The woman — was on the verge of madness. For a short moment she was frozen to the spot, but then she shot off behind them, only to find a coarse hand grabbing her arm. She tried to extricate herself but her efforts were to no avail.
She swung round furiously and found herself face-to-face with Tahu.
Tahu's end
She stared at him in disbelief, as if she did not know him. She tried to free her arm but he would not allow her to do so. “Let me go,” she said viciously.
Slowly he shook his head from right to left as if to say to her, “No, no, no.” His face was terrible and frightening, and a look of insanity flashed in his eyes as he muttered, “They are going to a place where it is best you do not follow.”
“Let me go. They have taken away my lord.”
He glowered at her and in an aggressive tone, as if he were giving a military order, he said, “Do not challenge the wishes of the queen who now rules.”
Her anger abated and turned to fear and she ceased to resist. For once, she gave in, and knitting her brow, she shook her head in confusion as if she were trying to muster her scattered and bewildered powers of comprehension. She stared at him with a look of incredulous denial, and said, “Do you not see? They have killed my lord. They have killed the king.”
The phrase “they have killed the king” rang ominously in his ears, almost too dire to comprehend, and the turmoil in his breast subsided as he said, “Yes, Rhadopis. They have killed the king. I for one would never have conceived before today that an arrow could end Pharaoh's life.”
And she said with idiotic simplicity, “How could you let them take him away from me?”
He erupted into fits of insane terrifying laughter and said, “Do you wish to go after them? How crazy you are, Rhadopis. You are blind to the consequences, sadness must have left you in a stupor. Wake up, temptress. She who now sits on the throne of Egypt is a woman you have treated with great disdain. You snatched her husband from between her hands and pitched her from the lofty peak of glory and felicity into the pits of misery and oblivion. She could, in an instant, dispatch those who would drag you before her shackled in irons, then deliver you into the hands of torturers who do not know the meaning of the word mercy. They would shave your head of its silken hair and gouge out your dark eyes. They would cut off your fine nose and amputate your delicate ears and then drive you through the streets on the back of a cart, a mutilated and repulsive spectacle, displaying you to the malicious delight of your detractors. And the town crier would walk before you inviting them at the top of his voice to behold the pernicious whore who lured the king from himself, then lured him from his people.”
Tahu was speaking as if to satisfy some burning thirst for revenge, his eyes shining with a fearsome light, but she was not moved by his words, as though something stood between him and her senses. Oddly silent, she stared at some unseen object and then shrugged her shoulders in blatant contempt. Fury and rage flared up in his heart at her coldness and distraction. The anger rushed from his heart into his hand and he gripped her tightly, feeling an uncontrollable desire to aim a massive blow at her face and smash it to pieces and gratify his eyes with its disfigurement, as the blood spurted from its pores and orifices. He spent a long moment scrutinizing her calm inattentive expression, disputing with his demonic desire. Then she raised her eyes to him but no sign or characteristic of life was visible in them. He was disturbed and his ardor flagged, and a look of startled fright appeared on his face, like one caught red-handed in a crime. His fingers loosened their grip, and he let out a deep heavy sigh, as he said, “I see that nothing concerns you anymore.”
She paid no attention to what he said, but then out of the blue she said, as if speaking to herself, “We should have followed them.”
“No, we should not,” said Tahu angrily. “Neither of us is any use to the world. No one will miss us after today.”