ISHAQ
I was whistling, glancing at the bouquet of papyrus flowers in my hand. The yellow sedges were my wife’s favourite. Their umbels had powerful visual appeal to her, she said when I asked why she loved them. On special occasions or not, I brought her them whenever I could gather them, after I ran errands for our mistress. I wanted to see the smile breaking on her face each time I brought her a handful. She would always give me a kiss as a reward. And that kiss would always lead to the union of our bodies.
Having her in my life, and in my hut alone, was bliss. Thanks to our generous mistress, our days were filled with happiness.
“Are you happy, Ishaq?” Queen Cleopatra asked me one afternoon. Her laugh, after telling her an unusual jest, died.
We were in her private bathing chamber,
