Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

Ahmose said, “You are right and I cannot do without you.” Then Hur said, “There is a man of great virtue and experience, known for his wisdom and originality of thought, and that is Tuti-Amun, agent of the temple of Amun. If my lord wishes, let him charge this man with the affairs of Thebes.”

Ahmose said, “We declare him our governor of Thebes.” Then the king invited his men to take breakfast at his table.

17

The army passed the daylight hours dressing its wounds and taking its share of rest and recreation, song and drink. Those soldiers who were from Thebes raced one another to get to their homes, where hearts embraced and souls mingled. So great were the joy and emotion, that Thebes seemed as though it were the beating heart of the very world. Ahmose, however, did not leave his ship, and, summoning the officer charged with guarding the princess, asked him about her. The man told him that she had gone the night without tasting food. It occurred to him to put her on another ship, under the charge of trustworthy officers, but he could not arrive at a definite decision. He had no doubt that Hur was displeased at her presence on his ship and sure that the chamberlain found it difficult to understand why the daughter of Apophis should be given this honored status in his eyes. Ahmose knew the man inside out and that his heart had no place for anything but Thebes’ struggle. He, on the other hand, found his emotions athirst and overflowing. He was making himself sick with the effort of holding himself back from hovering about the chamber and its occupant or of distracting himself from his obsessive desire for her, despite his displeasure and anger. Anger does not destroy love, but conceals it briefly, just as mist may cloud briefly the face of a polished mirror, after — which it is gone and the mirror's original purity returns. He did not, therefore, give in to despair and would say to himself consolingly that maybe it was remnants of defeated pride and fallen conceit from which she suffered, that maybe her anger would go away and then she would discover the love that lay behind the outward show of hatred and relent, submit, and give love its due, just as she had anger. Was she not the one in the cabin, who had saved his life and granted him sympathy and love? Was she not the one who had become so upset by his absence that she had written him a message of reproof to hide the moans of suppressed love? How could these emotions of hers wither just because of an upsurge of pride and anger?

He waited until the late afternoon, then shrugged his broad shoulders, as though making light of the matter, and went to the chamber. The guard saluted him and made way, and he entered with great hopes. He found her seated unmoving and silent, dejection and ennui showing in her blue eyes. Her dejection pained him and he said to himself, “Thebes for all its vast-ness was too narrow for her, so how must she feel now that she is a prisoner in this small chamber?” He stood unmoving before her and she straightened her back and raised her insolent eyes to him. He asked her gently, “How was your night?”

She did not answer and lowered her head to look at the ground. He cast a longing look at her head, shoulders, and bosom and repeated the question, feeling at the same time that his hope was not far off, “How was your night?”

She appeared not to want to abandon her silence, but raised her head sharply, and said, “It was the worst night of my life.”

He ignored her tone and asked her, “Why? Is there anything you lack?”

She replied without changing her tone, “I lack everything.”

“How so? I gave orders to the officer charged with guarding you to…”

She interrupted him with annoyance, “Don't even bother to speak of such things! I lack everything I love. I lack my father, my people, and my liberty. But I have everything that I hate: these clothes, this food, this chamber, and these guards.”

Once again he was stricken by disappointment and felt the collapse of his hopes and the disappearance of all he longed for. His features hardened and he said to her, “Do you want me to release you from your captivity and send you to your father?”

She shook her head violently and said vehemently, “Never!”

He looked at her in amazement and confusion but she resumed in the same tones, “So that it not be said that the daughter of Apophis abased herself before the enemy of her great father or that once she needed someone to comfort her.”

Aroused by anger and exasperation at her conceit and pride, he said, “You are not embarrassed to display your conceit because you feel sure of my compassion.”

“You lie!”

His face turned pale and he stared at her with a harsh look and said, “How callow you are, you who know nothing of sorrow or pain! Do you know the punishment for insulting a king? Have you ever seen a woman flogged? If I wished, I could have you kneeling at the feet of the least of my soldiers begging for pardon and forgiveness.”