Amasis, too, took note of the newcomer. The surprise on his face was quickly replaced by pleasure, followed by a welcome cooling of his temper. But he was startled to see me, Rhodopis thought as she made her way to his side. It wasn’t the king who sent for me, after all. As she passed Khedeb-Netjer-Bona, she cast a questioning look at the chief wife. Khedeb-Netjer-Bona only shrugged, her expression unreadable, and looked away.
Rhodopis bowed low before the Pharaoh.
“My little treasure,” Amasis said. “How glad I am to see you! If any creature the gods ever made can soothe my ka, it is you.”
As she rose from her bow, Rhodopis took his hand and kissed it. Then she peered up earnestly into his age-lined, anger-reddened face. “Whatever is the matter, my king? What has upset you so?”
Amasis sighed. He tugged his hand from Rhodopis’ own and thrust an accusatory finger at a nearby table, where several scrolls and scraps of papyrus lay. It seemed to be Amasis’ typical clutter of office—notes on the proclamations he would send to his scribes, missives from ambassadors and nobles to which he would eventually attend. A few tablets—hard, dark wax pressed atop neat squares of stone—held more official and urgent communications.
Rhodopis blinked; she looked more closely at the mess. A single tablet lay apart from the others, one corner hanging over the edge of the table as if the king had dropped it in a fury. She stepped closer. This must be what’s put him in such a state. She glanced over the tablet, taking in the sharp, angular markings of cuneiform writing. Cuneiform was the script of the northern empire—the Persians. Rhodopis had once learned to read a bit of it, under Aesop’s teaching, but she could make no sense of it now. Below the blocks of cuneiform, the elegant, curving lines and occasional picture-symbol of Egyptian hieratic filled the remainder of the tablet. Rhodopis assumed that whoever had written the letter in cuneiform had reproduced its contents in Egyptian script. The author had taken special pains to ensure the king of Egypt would not mistake the letter’s contents.
Rhodopis was not a strong reader—not of any form of Egyptian writing, nor even of her native Greek—but she could make out enough of the final hieratic scrawl to discern exactly who had sent the letter. The tablet was signed, Cambyses, Lord of the Empire of the Sun, King of—. She couldn’t read the final word, but she could guess it readily enough. King of Haxamanishyia.
“A letter from the Persian king,” Rhodopis said. “The father of Shamiram and Ninsina, your new wives.”
“Yes, indeed.” Amasis stormed to his table and picked up the tablet. “Shall I read it to you? I hardly have to look at it now; I’ve read it so many times, disbelieving, that I can almost recite it from memory.”
“What is the point of riling yourself further?” Khedeb-Netjer-Bona said. But she sounded entirely unconcerned, perhaps even eager for the Pharaoh to enflame his anger again.
“‘To Amasis, King of Egypt,’” he read, “‘I send my greetings and respect. I have sent you also two of my beloved daughters, to beautify your home and make glad your heart. Now a bond of family ties us tightly together, and we must never meet as enemies on the battlefield. But I know that one bond is easily broken. Even two bonds may break in extremity of circumstance. But three bonds are strong enough to withstand any threat. Therefore I insist, for the sake of our respective empires, that you send me a daughter in return. I will take her to wife, and vow to treat her as an equal among the women of my household. My marriage to your daughter will ensure that Egypt and Persia remain allied for all time.’” Amasis drew a ragged breath, as if bracing himself to perform a particularly unsavory task. After a moment, when he seemed more or less composed, he continued. “‘My friend, do not deny my request. For if you do, the alliance between us will be broken, and Persia, with all its considerable might, will fall upon Egypt.’”
The tablet dropped onto the table with a clatter. Rhodopis jumped at the sound.
War. It was a naked threat. The very ground beneath Rhodopis’ feet seemed to tremble; she swayed, for she felt as if she was on the crumbling lip of a pit, so cold and deep that if she fell into its depths, she might never emerge. The present unrest in the streets of Memphis was frightening enough. But war with Persia…! Rhodopis could scarcely imagine what war might mean for her personally—how it would alter her life as a woman of the king’s harem. But one thing’s sure, and no mistaking it: war never brings good to anyone—not even to the people who win. She had learned that much from Aesop’s teachings.
“The audacity of him,” Amasis shouted. “Cambyses!” He spat the name.
The Pharaoh spun on his heel and began pacing again, tracing a path across his chamber, dodging the grand silk couches and chests of fine ebony and cedar wood, his fists clenched uselessly at his sides.
“The letter is terribly audacious, my king,” Rhodopis said carefully. Now more than ever before, she struggled to speak like a woman of refinement, for she sensed that her simple, country manner would seem ridiculous now, an insult to the gravity of Amasis’ situation. “But can you not send him a daughter all the same? Surely he is right about one thing: marriage to one of your daughters would preserve peace. It’s not my place to say it, I know—I hope you will forgive me, my king—but things aren’t as they should be in Memphis. Not just now. How much more strain can your kingdom bear? Can you risk war with Persia, when Egypt is already so damaged? It would be worth it—wouldn’t it?—to give Cambyses one of your daughters, and prevent a war.”
Rhodopis risked a swift glance in Khedeb-Netjer-Bona’s direction. She expected the chief wife to be pleased by Cambyses’ offer—no, his demand. The letter may be an insult to the Pharaoh’s dignity, but at least Cambyses’ proposal would put the chief wife’s second daughter well beyond Psamtik’s reach. Instead, Khedeb-Netjer-Bona had shed her air of serene unconcern. She scowled back at Rhodopis. “Never before has Egypt given a daughter to a foreign ruler,” she said. “Never—not once—in all the long history of Kmet. We will not break that tradition… not now.”
Amasis turned to his chief wife. His fists were still balled so tightly that his knuckles paled with the pressure, but desperation was plain to read in his soft, haunted eyes. “Yet this alliance with Persia is crucial. And fragile; you know that, my wife. The Two Lands are weakened by so much internal strife. It shames me to admit it, but it is true: we will never withstand Cambyses if he chooses to attack.”
“The gods will not abandon Kmet so readily,” Khedeb-Netjer-Bona said.
Amasis barked a dry and bitter laugh. “I fear the gods have little to do with it now. For more than a hundred years, Greece and Persia have been like starving beasts. They have swallowed up one kingdom after another, made each in turn a part of their respective empires. Like Ammit, eating the hearts of the dead. Whatever land the Greeks do not own, the Persians do. And as their empires have expanded, ours has receded.”
“I know all this,” Khedeb-Netjer-Bona said. She waved one hand airily, dismissing the Pharaoh’s fears.
“Do you, though? Do you truly understand it?”
Rhodopis absorbed herself in a study of her own sandals. She wished fervently to be anywhere but in the king’s chamber, playing the unwilling witness to their argument. Khedeb-Netjer-Bona was a prideful woman; she would resent Rhodopis for having seen her this way, chastised by the king.
Amasis said, “Kmet has always been a sovereign land. Even when foreign elements have held the Horus Throne, still the kingdom itself has remained intact. I cannot allow it to fall to Cambyses.”
“Then do not allow it to fall,” Khedeb-Netjer-Bona said.
“Ah,” Amasis laughed. “As simple as that! It’s a good job the gods sent you here to advise me, Khedeb; otherwise I might not have thought of such an elegant solution.”
“Your irony is noted,” the chief wife said coolly, “and unnecessary.”
“Persia’s strength is too great.” Amasis sounded weary with despair. “If Cambyses descends on our northern border, I will not be able to stop hi
m. If the gods wish to prevent Persia from invading, then they must send several thousand more men for my army.”
Egypt was a shadow of its former greatness—that much was true. Yet it was still, Rhodopis knew, among the most populous and wealthy kingdoms in the world. Surely if it were united, Egypt could withstand an attack by any foreign king. But the country was half torn apart already by the conflict that still raged between native Egyptians and Greek interlopers. Rhodopis bit her lip, maintaining a careful silence. Neither the Pharaoh nor his chief wife would welcome her opinion now. If Amasis never encouraged the division of his own nation—by favoring Greeks like me—then he wouldn’t find himself trapped in this mire.
A brief but unbearably tense silence fell over the room. Rhodopis glanced up from her sandals. The Pharaoh stood with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to dispel a particularly vicious headache. She laid a hand gently on his arm. “Please don’t be upset, my king. Surely there’s some way to make this King Cambyses happy—keep him satisfied enough that he’ll leave your kingdom alone.”
“But how?” Amasis muttered. “What am I to tell him? What answer can I possibly give? Khedeb-Netjer-Bona is right; this tradition is far too old. It mustn’t be broken now… not now, with the city—indeed, the whole nation—warring over every move I make.”
Khedeb-Netjer-Bona stepped confidently to the Pharaoh’s side. The chief wife’s unshakable poise seemed to precede her, sweeping across the room like a flood, a palpable force of confidence, of feminine power. Rhodopis shuffled backward, shrinking in awe as the chief wife’s potency reached her—as it pushed her aside.
“I’ll tell you how to answer Cambyses,” Khedeb-Netjer-Bona said. “Send him a daughter.”
Amasis dropped his trembling fingers from the bridge of his nose. A rebuke seemed to hover on the tip of his tongue—Are you deaf to your own words, woman?—but when he noted the sly light in Khedeb-Netjer-Bona’s eyes, he fell silent.
“You needn’t send any of our daughters,” she said. “As long as Cambyses gets a woman from your harem, one who claims to be of your own blood, he will never question it. The alliance will be preserved, and better still, none of your Kmetu subjects will be offended by the action.”
The sudden shock of realization jolted through Rhodopis’ body, sending cold fire racing down every nerve and vein. She swallowed hard as a wave of nausea struck her. There it is, then: the chief wife’s purpose. This is why she called me here.
Amasis, too, seemed to grasp Khedeb-Netjer-Bona’s meaning—though the crucial detail of her plan dawned on him more slowly. He drew a shaky breath, then turned to gaze at Rhodopis. His soft eyes were deep, troubled by regret. “It will pain me to lose this one. Lord Horus himself brought her to me.”
“Lord Horus brought her for a reason,” the chief wife said quietly. “Think of it, Amasis: if you were to choose any other woman for the task, you would alienate her family—and that is a risk you cannot afford now, with Memphis seething and the rest of the country not much better off. But no Kmetu will be offended if you send this Greek girl away from your harem. The falcon dropped this gem into your lap exactly for this purpose, my king. What else could Lord Horus intend by his strange gift?”
Rhodopis’ thoughts raced. No, she wanted to shout. Choose anyone else—not me! I’m too young, too insignificant, too… But what protest could she safely raise? She stood before the Pharaoh of Egypt. She was entirely at his mercy.
Amasis turned his back on both women. He stood very still as he considered the chief wife’s proposal. The silence stretched, then drew itself out, ever tighter, until Rhodopis was certain it must snap, certain that something must break and relieve this terrible tension or she would scream and scream…
Amasis sighed heavily. He turned again, is face stony with acceptance. Slowly, he nodded. “What you propose, Khedeb… it is a solution to my predicament. I must admit, it cleans the whole mess up rather neatly. But Rhodopis… you have been my delight, my comfort. I will take no pleasure in sending you away.”
“She has been your delight,” Khedeb-Netjer-Bona said, “and your loyal servant. Rhodopis has pleased all of us, I am sure, although she is an outsider. You mustn’t think of her as being gone from your presence, my king. She will take a journey in your service—to glorify and strengthen your works. Take comfort in her loyalty to you, and know that she is still with you, even if she works from afar.”
Amasis drifted toward his garden door, despondent and subdued.
“My king,” Rhodopis said timidly.
But she didn’t know what else to say. She could feel Khedeb-Netjer-Bona beside her still, looming in her power, as present and keen as the gods themselves.
Amasis did not turn back, did not take one final look at the joy of his harem, his comfort and delight. He only waved one hand in curt dismissal. “See to it,” he said to Khedeb-Netjer-Bona. “it is the only way to keep Cambyses from breaking down my door.”
The blood roared in Rhodopis’ ears. Her knees quivered, threatening to drop her to the hard stone floor, where she would surely break into a thousand pieces, a fragile faience pot fallen from careless hands. But Khedeb-Netjer-Bona swept an arm around Rhodopis’ shoulders. Before she was even aware that she’d been walking, the chief wife had guided Rhodopis out of the king’s chamber, into the corridor beyond. Khedeb-Netjer-Bona’s grip was firm… unbreakable.
They did not return to the women’s wing. Instead, Khedeb-Netjer-Bona diverted from the route and pulled Rhodopis into the audience chamber.
“Remain outside,” she said curtly to her two guardsmen. “Allow no one inside until we are done.”
The hall was eerily empty. The two women’s footsteps sounded small and hollow within that vast, echoing space. An oppressive silence lingered in the shadowy recesses between pillars. A few lamps, left over from the day’s audiences, still burned fitfully; the guttering light illuminated the vast chamber just enough to throw a ghostly reflection up from the well-polished floor. Rhodopis watched her own distorted image—pale and rippling, sadly hunched—slink along the malachite tiles with Khedeb-Netjer-Bona striding beside her, upright and strong as a warrior-goddess.
Rhodopis hesitated when they reached the stairs of the dais. For a moment, she thought the chief wife would climb those steps and seat herself upon the Pharaoh’s throne. But Khedeb-Netjer-Bona released her grip on Rhodopis’ shoulders and sank comfortably to the edge of the dais. She motioned for Rhodopis to join her; Rhodopis melted at once onto the steps.
“You aren’t weeping,” Khedeb-Netjer-Bona observed.
“Weeping seldom does any good.”
Khedeb-Netjer-Bona digested this in silence. After a pause, she said, “But aren’t you afraid?”
Rhodopis suppressed a shiver. “Very much, Chief Wife. I’ve no say in this, no way to protect myself…”
Another pause. Khedeb-Netjer-Bona said quietly, “And yet, the idea isn’t wholly disagreeable to you.”
Rhodopis held her tongue, considering the chief wife’s words—here, and back in Amasis’ chamber. What indeed had been the falcon’s purpose? Why had the bird—and the god it served—brought her to the Pharaoh’s household, only to leave her languishing in captivity? She looked up at Khedeb-Netjer-Bona, and to her surprise, a little of her anxiety drained away. “It is not entirely disagreeable to me—no, Chief Wife.”
Khedeb-Netjer-Bona did not smile; her hard, narrow face gave no sign of satisfaction. “Why?”
“Going away to Persia—well, it will get me out of the harem, for one thing.”
“So, life in the harem truly does not suit you.”
Rhodopis shrugged uncomfortably. “The king has been terribly kind to me. And the other girls—well, they’ve come to accept me, I suppose, even if they aren’t always kind. It’s an easy life, but it isn’t a free one.”
One side of Khedeb-Netjer-Bona’s mouth curled in a wry smile. “You weren’t free before, Rhodopis. A hetaera is practically a slav
e. And a hetaera is a whore, for all the gods’ intents. Life in the harem surely brought you far more honor than you had in Xanthes’ household, working on your back for a few stray bits of silver.”
“That’s true,” Rhodopis admitted. “But I was nearly free. I would have earned my freedom before much longer, if Amasis hadn’t taken me, and then I would have been on my own, able to go where I pleased, do what I pleased… and make whatever sort of life I fancied.”
“It was the god Horus who took you, Rhodopis, not Amasis.”
Rhodopis watched the chief wife’s face for a moment, but her expression of stoic assurance never flickered, never altered. “You truly believe that, don’t you, my lady?”
“You do not?”
Rhodopis sighed. She hugged her knees to her chest. “I’m not sure what I believe. Seems to me, nothing about my life can be credited at all. If I was to tell a stranger about my life—” Blushing with shame at her slip, she corrected her speech— “If I were to tell a stranger, my lady, they’d laugh and call me a liar. I don’t know what to make of my life, or the falcon, or anything else. All I know is I want to be free, and do what makes me happy, and live as the gods intend. If I must go all the way to Persia to do it, well then…”
Khedeb-Netjer-Bona tilted her head to one side. Her braids slid across her shoulder with a whisper and a faint clatter of beads. “You won’t be free in Cambyses’ court, either, you know.”
“I suppose he keeps his women in much the same way as the Pharaoh does. Secluded, like. On display.”
“I can’t speak to how he keeps his women,” the chief wife said, brisk and business-like. “I have never been to Persia, let alone been inside a Persian king’s harem. I mean only this: even in Cambyses’ court, you will owe loyalty and allegiance to Kmet—to Amasis, your true king. You must live as the Pharaoh’s daughter; you will be the Pharaoh’s daughter in all things. Cambyses’ letter was a clear threat, Rhodopis. You’re an intelligent girl; you know what that Persian dog meant. You could read what was written between the lines of his letter—not that he was subtle about it. We must know where Cambyses stands, what he plans to do. And most of all, we must learn how Amasis can keep him at bay.”
Persian Rose (White Lotus Book 2) Page 8