“But if not for Amasis,” Phanes said rather slyly, “your life would never have been thus: filled with loss and pain, and you, such a bright young woman, made to serve men in the basest of ways. The Pharaoh and his disastrous policies… the Pharaoh, changing the best of Egypt to suit his taste for Greek culture!”
She shrugged again, outwardly flippant, but a curious tightness was settling in her chest, squeezing her heart tighter moment by moment. Over the course of their conversation, Rhodopis had begun to suspect that her life would have been very different indeed if she had never met Xanthes or Iadmon. And why would either man have made Egypt his home, if Amasis had not welcomed them in?
Nothing to be done about it now. My life is what the gods have made it. Where’s the sense in dwelling on what might have been?
“I’ve seen you work your charms on Cambyses,” Phanes said. “You are far more intelligent than anyone suspects. Aren’t you?”
“Reckon so,” Rhodopis said, lifting her chin defiantly. If the gods had made her this—a hetaera, a whore—then they had also made her sharp-witted and strong. Strong enough to survive this long as the Pharaoh’s spy in Babylon, and sharp enough to turn a fleeting opportunity to her advantage. Hadn’t she cause to be proud of who and what she was?
“I need intelligent people like you working with me, hand in hand.”
“Doing what sort of work?” Rhodopis asked cautiously.
“The most important work. You can help me, Lady Nitetis. You can restore Egypt to what it once was. You can throw off the Greek shroud once and for all, and bring Kmet back to life… so that no other girl need ever face such a fate.”
Rhodopis sat in quiet contemplation. Phanes had placed a good deal of trust in her—indeed, he had placed his life in her hands, by revealing who he truly was and how he had come to Cambyses’ service. If such information spread, it would certainly mean death for the physician. Even Cambyses—who may be a respectable man, but was first and foremost a king—would not hesitate to take off Phanes’ head for the simple crime of meddling in the king’s affairs.
Egypt the way it used to be sounds much better than Egypt as it is now. A spark of excitement flared in her breast, despite the obvious danger. But she was less thrilled by the opportunity Phanes laid out before her—the chance to restore Egypt, to return all its women to their rightful place—than by a private ambition of her own. Psamtik. Cambyses would make short work of that monster. And wouldn’t Rhodopis savor the chance to lay waste to Psamtik’s plans, to destroy his dark schemes for the throne! If Phanes was right, if his plan was a sound one, then Rhodopis could destroy Psamtik utterly, strip him of everything he desired, everything he held dear. She could leave him with nothing—nothing. Just the thought of the King’s Son made Rhodopis tremble, but this time it was not fear that quivered along her veins. It was a desire hotter and more insistent than any she had known before: a hunger for vengeance against the demon who had raped her. No hunger that had ever plagued her compared to this sudden, predatory longing.
Is this what you mean for me, gods? Lady Ishtar, is this the victory you’ve planned?
Rhodopis could sense no answer to her fleeting prayer. But buoyed by the shelter of Babylon, the favor of the king and the cooperation of the goddess, Rhodopis embraced her desire for revenge. Oh, yes—she would destroy the whole of Egypt, if it could be done at al. She would take it all away from Psamtik, that soulless beast who was so sure of his place in the world, so confident in his power, that he would defile and torture a defenseless young woman with impunity, in his father’s own house. Could she really do it—take it all away from him, leave him stripped of everything he valued? Would the gods truly permit it?
With a lurch of power so strong it made her queasy, Rhodopis realized she didn’t care whether the gods would permit it. I’ll leave Psamtik with worse than nothing, before I’m through.
“How?” she finally said. “How can it be done? It’s a tall order, to bring down an empire. Especially one as old and large as Egypt.”
“Before we had this talk,” Phanes said, “I admit I hadn’t any clear idea of how to go about it. But now I think I understand how it can be done. It will require us both to work together. And it will require a good deal of bravery. Are you strong enough to face what will come?”
“It will take trust between us, too, I suppose.”
“It will, indeed. I’ve already made up my mind to trust you. Have I made the right choice, Nitetis?”
She looked at Phanes levelly. “My name isn’t Nitetis. In Egypt, I was called Rhodopis. And in Thrace, I was Doricha.”
He nodded, understanding the confidence she had placed in him, the commitment she had made. “Thank you,” he said simply.
“As for being brave and strong—” Rhodopis lifted her chin— “I’m stronger than you think. I’ve faced more than you’d ever believe, and lived to tell the story. I’ll do it, Phanes. I’ll help you, if the gods are willing.” And I’ll crush Psamtik under my heel, even if the gods aren’t willing.
“Good,” he said. His brief grin of triumph slid into another of his sober, thoughtful expressions. He turned a rather grim look on Rhodopis. “I’m afraid you will need plenty of strength for what you must do next. May all the gods grant it.”
13
The Point of the Sword
Amtes had returned to the chamber immediately after Rhodopis committed herself to Phanes’ cause. Freshly bathed, dark hair dripping over her shoulders, the handmaid had stood in silence, watching Phanes with a perfectly unreadable expression. In that moment, it occurred to Rhodopis that no matter how much kindness Amtes had shown over the course of their journey, she did not know her handmaid well enough to anticipate show she would react to the plan. Would Amtes gleefully participate in the destruction of Amasis, and the royal family’s legacy? Perhaps. But then, it seemed just as likely to Rhodopis that Amtes be horrified by the notion. Was she the sort of Kmetu who longed to see the Greek plague routed from Egypt at any cost? Or was she the sort who would uphold the Pharaoh no matter what ills be brought upon the Two Lands? Amtes may very well believe that Amasis had been chosen by the gods to enact all their inscrutable purposes. Amasis had paid Amtes well for her services… but did she feel any real loyalty toward the Pharaoh?
Rhodopis could not be certain Amtes would maintain the secret—not until they’d discussed the matter in depth. There was no time now to suss out the watchful handmaid. Rhodopis saw at once that she must protect the plot from Amtes until she could be sure where the woman’s loyalties lay. One careless word, and a pigeon might go winging off toward Tadmor, and Memphis beyond, carrying word of Rhodopis’ treachery and spoiling everything before she and Phanes had found their chance to act.
Rhodopis had smiled up at Amtes, giving no sign of her inner turmoil. “The physician came around to the women’s quarters on some other errand, and I thought I would ask him about my headache.”
Amtes tilted her head a fraction, so subtle an expression of doubt that only Rhodopis could have seen it, familiar as she was with her handmaid. I thought you hated and feared Phanes, Amtes’ dark eyes said. Yet now I find you alone with him.
Phanes rose from his chair. “If you like, Lady Nitetis, I can show you which herbs to use yourself. They grow here in the women’s garden. Then you need not call on me the next time you have this type of pain—though of course, I am always glad to serve, if you prefer.”
“That would be well,” Rhodopis said. “If I know which herbs to take, then I needn’t trouble you.”
Amtes pushed her wet hair off her shoulder. “I’ll come with you, Mistress.”
Rhodopis forestalled her with a raised hand. “There is no need. Master Phanes and I have had certain… disagreements… in the past, but I believe we see eye to eye now.”
Phanes bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Every man and woman in the palace respects you for your commitment to the king, my lady. After today, with Ambassador Turo, there is no one left who doubts y
ou—least of all myself.”
“You see?” Rhodopis said to Amtes. “There’s no cause for alarm. Come out your hair, and then you can eat this roasted fowl yourself. I had some of the figs, but I’m afraid my appetite hasn’t fully recovered.” She led Phanes toward her chamber door, chatting light-heartedly. “But perhaps once I try these herbs, I’ll feel right as the summer sun again.”
“Indeed,” Phanes said, following. “Your appetite will return as soon as the pain is gone. Two hours, three at most.”
Rhodopis had closed the door, leaving Amtes alone in the apartment.
She and Phanes had indeed walked in the garden, first by the light of the setting sun, then by the amber glow of his swinging lamp. They had remained together even as the night’s chill came on, bundled tightly in their shawls, working their way along every path, climbing from one terrace to the next. When they’d grown weary, they sat together on a vine-shrouded parapet, looking out over Babylon glittering in the darkness below. And through those hours, they had talked and planned, raised every question and turned over every possible solution, approaching their plot from every angle either one could conceive. At last, when the garden was soaked with dew and the eastern horizon warmed subtly with the coming dawn, Phanes blew out his lamp’s flame.
“You should sleep,” he’d said. “In just a few hours, we must go and speak to the king.”
“I don’t think I can sleep. I don’t feel tired. I feel…”
“Frightened?”
Rhodopis had considered the word for a long time before answering. “No. No, I don’t think it’s fear, exactly. This whole plan is dangerous—of course it is. The king will be angry; there’s no one to say what he might do. And you… I’ve no real reason to trust you, have I?”
“But you do trust me.”
She had nodded, thoughtfully. “Yes. Only everything you’ve said tonight—it could get you killed, too. Yet you’ve trusted me with all of it. I suppose that’s reason enough to trust a man.”
“I am quite determined, my friend—I can call you ‘friend,’ I hope?—to bring Amasis down. It’s a gamble, trusting this plan to one as young and inexperienced as you. Yet I have waited a long time for the gods to provide a way. I have remained vigilant; I never gave up hope. I believe I would be a fool not to have faith in the gods, and act on the chance they’ve supplied. But I will not make you do it, Rhodopis. If at any time you wish to back down, I will honor your decision. You may stop this plan yourself, right up until you stand before the king.”
Rhodopis had flushed with the force of her feeling. She thought of Psamtik, forcing her, leaving her no choice. Wasn’t that the way of men? So many of them had owned her, used her… stripped all choice away. Now I have power… or I could have it, if I’m courageous enough to take it. All she needed to do was face Cambyses. And believe in Phanes, this strange, passionate man whom she had known for only a few weeks. Gods, but it’s hard to know what’s best done.
She and Phanes had parted with the sunrise, and Rhodopis had promised to sleep—but sleep would not come. Instead, she had sat before her mirror, hopelessly alert and far too anxious, staring at her own face as morning light flooded the room.
Rhodopis searched her features for traces of the girl she had once been. Where was Doricha, the Thracian child? Where was Doricha the dancer, and Rhodopis the hetaera, tumbling into the beds of one man after another? Where was Rhodopis, the favorite of the Pharaoh? And where was Rhodopis, abused and frightened in the garden grove with the point of Psamtik’s knife pressed to her throat? She ran her hand over the smooth skin of her neck. The marks of his knife had vanished from her flesh. They had healed without any outward scar, yet she knew he had left a scar on her spirit. Perhaps that wound would never heal. But looking at herself—to see her own face, eyes red from lack of sleep (but not from frightened tears)—Rhodopis could find nothing of Psamtik’s influence. That heartened her. She could not see Lady Nitetis, either, who had lolled so often in Cambyses’ arms and heard his words of praise and endearment. Nitetis was gone. After today, she would never live again.
I am none of those past people, Rhodopis realized. A thrill warmed her stomach, growing hotter by the moment. I am only me, as I am here today, and whatever future the gods may grant me—whether it’s death at Cambyses’ hands or a long life and old age—it will be my future, my life, because I reached out and took it. Because no man made me do it—not even Phanes. Mine, because I chose it.
By the pale, soft light of morning, Rhodopis painted her face with delicate colors, soft and fresh, blooming and new. She scented her skin with rose oil, the scent Cambyses loved the best on her skin. She dressed herself in a robe of petal-pink, sweet and pretty, youthfully innocent. When Amtes rose from her bed and found Rhodopis standing before her mirror, her dyed-black hair falling down her back, her face painted as if for court, the handmaid checked and stared.
“Find that beaded hair-band for me,” Rhodopis said to Amtes. “don’t know where I left it.”
“My lady?”
“The king will be practicing with his sword today in the courtyard. I will go and watch.”
“Yes, of course,” Amtes said. “You always do. But dressed like this? As if he’ll be hearing audiences in the throne room?”
“Cambyses will hear one audience today,” Rhodopis said calmly. “A very important one. Come, now—the band is all I need, and then you must go and fetch Phanes. Tell him I say: I am ready.”
As ready as ever I can be.
By the time Phanes returned to Rhodopis’ quarters, the other women had already departed from the harem to watch the king at his exercises. A curious sensation had long since settled in Rhodopis’ stomach—a queasy buzzing, as of hornets below the ground, but that constant, grating murmur was not fear. It was a strange, grateful anticipation. Ever since speaking with Phanes the night before, she wanted to get this business over and done with as soon as she could—let the gods rain down whatever punishment or reward they would. Now that she had decided to act of her own will, to take her fate in her hands, she was eager to begin, whatever the consequences may be.
When Phanes knocked, Rhodopis turned to Amtes. She embraced her handmaid impulsively, which Amtes accepted with a startled expression. She patted Rhodopis rather awkwardly on the back.
“Whatever happens today,” Rhodopis said, “don’t go with anyone who may come for you. If I do not return for you myself, then Phanes will, and he’ll see you safely away. Trust no one but him.”
“My lady!” Amtes pulled back from the embrace. “What in Hathor’s name is happening? You were so strange last night, and this morning—”
“I can’t explain, Amtes—not now, though I hope I can explain it to you later. And I hope… I hope you’ll be glad, and not curse me.”
“Curse you? You’re speaking nonsense! What herbs did that physician give you? Has he addled you somehow?”
“There’s no more time.” Rhodopis squeezed Amtes’ hand. “You’ve been good to me. Whatever happens, I won’t forget that.”
Amtes tried to follow Rhodopis through the door and out into the corridor, but Rhodopis stayed her with a gentle touch. “Please—you must stay here. I want you kept safe.”
Her mouth hanging open in helpless wonder, Amtes shook her head. “I’ll wait here until you return, then, if that’s what you truly want. But you will return.”
Rhodopis smiled at her handmaid and turned away.
She walked with Phanes from the women’s quarters, across the very garden terraces they had wandered throughout the previous night. They made their way together to the dusty, hot flatness of the king’s practice yard. Both were tense, both silent; they had spoken every sensible and reasonable word the night before, and had carefully rehearsed the parts each must play. It was time now to act—to take the chance the gods had provided, and pray that mercy would be their reward.
When they reached the courtyard, bright with morning sun, Cambyses had already begun his drilling. The
women were gathered beneath their sun shades, laughing and murmuring together. Rhodopis felt the first lurch of regret, looking upon the king’s women. She had almost become a sister to them. She had almost managed to fit, neat as a weaver’s weft, into their glad and easy lives. What would they think of her now? Rhodopis had no way to predict Cambyses’ reaction, but she was coldly certain that the women she had come to like so well would despise her. The inescapable fact of it soured her stomach.
Cambyses was fiercely engaged with one of his best soldiers, turning and dodging in the glare of the sun. He brought up one arm even as the other made a rapid slash with his sword; the clang of metal on metal made Rhodopis jump. Then her heart sank. Cambyses was working with his shield today. That meant he was training with live swords.
Rhodopis and Phanes hung back, hidden in the shadow of the portico—just as they had been on her arrival in Babylon. How far in the past that day seemed now! How her life had changed in that handful of weeks… and now it would change again, irrevocably. Neither Rhodopis nor Phanes spoke. She could feel the physician’s tension, the faint vibration of his body as the flood of fear-energy swept him. It washed through Rhodopis, too, until every muscle and vein within her screamed at her to run, to flee the palace, to sprint across the desert until at last she found some refuge of safety.
No, she told herself firmly. Her trembling ceased. I am committed now. And Phanes is committed, too. He will not sell me out; he will stand by me. She believed it, and it was some small comfort. She and the Egyptian exile had cast their lots together. There was no going backward now, but at least they would go forward hand in hand.
“Are you ready?” Phanes asked as the king and his soldier whirled past them, their sharp blades flashing in the sun.
“No,” Rhodopis said. “But that doesn’t mean the time isn’t right. We must do it now, mustn’t we? I feel waiting any longer would be agony.”
Persian Rose (White Lotus Book 2) Page 20