Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

The men left the ship and the king was alone. Despite all the reasons he had to rejoice, he was despondent and ill at ease. His struggle had been crowned with outright victory, his mighty enemy had knelt to him, and tomorrow Apophis would load his belongings and flee to the deserts from which his people came, in submission to irreversible Fate. So — why — was it that he could not rejoice? Or why was it that his joy was not pure and complete? The critical moment had come, the moment of farewell forever. Even before this moment, he had been truly despairing, though she was there, on the small ship. What would he do tomorrow should he return to the palace of Thebes, while she was taken to the heart of the unknown desert? Could he let her go without fortifying himself with a look of farewell from her? “No!” responded his heart, and smashing the shackles of resignation and pride he rose and left the cabin, whence he took a boat to the captive princess's ship, saying to himself, “Whatever reception she gives me, I will find something to say.” He climbed up to the ship and went to the chamber, where the guards saluted him and opened the door. Heart beating, he crossed the threshold and cast a look around the small, simple chamber. He found the captive sitting in the center of the room on a divan. She seemed not to have been expecting his return, for astonishment and reproach showed on her lovely visage. Ahmose examined her with a deep look and found her as beautiful as ever, her features just as they had been on the day when they were engraved on his heart on the deck of the royal vessel. He bit his lip and said to her, “Good morning, Princess.”

She looked up at him with eyes that still held their astonishment and seemed not to know what to reply. The king did not wait long but said in a quiet voice and an inexpressive tone, “Today you are released, Princess.”

Her face indicated that she had understood nothing, so he said again, “Do you not hear what I say? Today you are released, free. Your captivity is at an end, Princess, and you have a right to go free.”

Her astonishment increased and hope appeared in her eyes. She said impatiently, “Is it true what you say? Is it true what you say?”

“What I say is an accomplished fact.”

Her face lit up and her cheeks reddened. Then she hesitated for a second and enquired, “But how can that be?”

“Aha! I read your eager hopes in your eyes. Are you not hoping that your father's victory is the reason for your regaining your liberty? That is what I read. But it is his defeat, alas, that has put an end to your enslavement.”

She was tongue-tied and said not a word. He informed her briefly of her father's envoys’ proposals and what had been agreed. Then he said, “And soon you will be taken to your father and journey with him wherever he journeys. So this is a blessed day for us.”

Shades of sorrow enshrouded her face, her features froze, and she looked away. Ahmose asked her, “Do you find your sorrow at the defeat greater than your joy at your release?”

She replied, “It behooves you not to gloat over me, for we shall leave your country as honorable people, just as we lived in it.”

Ahmose said with visible disquiet, “I am not gloating over you, Princess. We ourselves have tasted the bitterness of defeat and these long wars have taught us to acknowledge your courage and bravery.”

Comforted, she said, “I thank you, King.”

For the first time, he heard her speak in tones empty of anger and pride. Affected, he said to her, smiling sadly, “I see that you call me ‘King,’ Princess.”

Turning her eyes away, she replied, “Because you are the king of this valley, without any to share it with you. I, however, shall never be called ‘Princess’ after today.”

The king was even more affected, for he had not expected her unyieldingness to soften in this way. He had thought that she would become yet more arrogant in defeat. He said sadly, “Princess, the experiences of this world are a register of pleasure and pain. You have experienced life in its sweetness and bitterness and you still have a future.”

With amazing serenity she said, “Indeed, we have a future, behind the mirages of the unknown desert and we shall meet our fate with courage.”

Silence reigned. Their eyes met and he read in hers purity and gentleness. He remembered the lady of the cabin, who saved his life and fed him the nectar of love and tenderness. It was as though he were seeing her for the first time since then and, his heart shaking violently, he said earnestly and sadly, “Soon we will be parted and you will not care. But I shall always remember that you — were uncivil and harsh — with me.”

Sadness showed in her eyes and her mouth parted in a slight smile as she said, “King, you know little about us. We are a people who find death easier to bear than abasement.”

“I never wanted to abase you. But I was deluded by hope, misled by my misplaced confidence in a standing that I believed I had in your heart.”