by Mesu Andrews
The sound of soldiers came from the hallway, spears tapping the tiles as they marched. This sounded like more than the two guards who always stood at their doorway. This sounded like a full troop. Tut looked at Anippe, afraid, and Anippe grabbed Ankhe’s hand. Her little sister didn’t pull away this time.
General Horemheb appeared at the doorway, his big shoulders touching the sides and his head too tall to enter without ducking. He looked scary in his battle armor—until he saw Anippe and winked.
She wasn’t afraid anymore. Her abbi would protect her against anything. He’d loved her and spoiled her since the day Amenia introduced them.
But when he saw Ankhe, his face turned as red as a pomegranate. He scowled at the tutor. “Why is my daughter seated with the little baboon? You have been told to keep them apart.”
Before the tutor could answer, Abbi Horemheb grabbed Anippe’s arm, lifted her from the bench, and landed her back on the stool beside Tut. Anippe’s eyes filled with tears. Abbi was always rough with Ankhe but never Anippe—never his little habiba. She sat straight and tall beside Tut, blinking her eyes dry, trying to be the princess Abbi wanted her to be.
When her abbi returned to the doorway, Anippe noticed two other people standing with the soldiers—a beautiful lady and Vizier Ay. Abbi Horem hated the vizier. Maybe that was why he’d lost his temper.
Who is that pretty woman with them? The woman wore a long, pleated robe, fastened at her shoulder with a jeweled clasp. Her braided wig fell in layers with pretty stones woven through it on gold thread. Anippe studied her face. She looked familiar, but she wasn’t one of Amenia’s friends who visited the Memphis Palace.
Vizier Ay took three steps and stopped in front of Tut and Anippe’s table. “Pharaoh Akhenaten has journeyed beyond the horizon. The priests have begun the customs of Osiris.”
Tut straightened and hid his shaking hands under the table. He was quiet for awhile, breathing as if he’d run along race. When his breath came smoothly again, he said, “The good god Akhenaten will cross the night sky and warm us with the sun each day.” His voice quaked. He was trying hard to be brave, but Anippe knew how much Tut loved Abbi Akhenaten. The weight of Egypt now rested on her brother’s slim shoulders. “When do we sail for the burial ceremony?”
Vizier Ay tilted his head and smiled, as if Tut had seen only five inundations. “We have much to discuss with you, divine son, but first I would have you meet your new wife.”
“Wife?” Tut squeaked and then peered around the vizier at the woman. Anippe’s big brother withered into a shy boy. He motioned for General Horemheb’s approach and then beckoned him close for a whisper. “I have no need of a wife, Horemheb—not yet.”
Abbi Horem leaned down, eye to eye. “Divine son and beloved prince, a young king needs three things to rule well: a teachable ka, wise advisors, and a good wife.” He tilted his head toward the pretty lady at the door. “Senpa is your good wife. Ay and I are your advisors. And you have demonstrated teachability. You are both humble and powerful. I am honored to bask in your presence, most favored son of Aten.”
Tut’s throat bobbed up and down, perhaps swallowing many words before the right ones came to mind. A bead of sweat appeared on his upper lip while everyone waited for him to speak.
“How old is she?” Ankhe blurted out the question Anippe wanted to ask but didn’t. Tut’s eyebrows rose, clearly awaiting an answer.
Abbi Horem’s face turned red again, and he slammed his hand on Ankhe’s table. “You will be silent unless asked to speak.”
Ankhe raised her chin in defiance but didn’t say another word.
Vizier Ay guided the pretty woman toward the table where Tut and Anippe sat. “Divine prince, meet your wife, Ankhe-Senpaaten. She is your half sister—daughter of Akhenaten and Nefertiti. You may call her Senpa.”
Anippe stared at Nefertiti’s daughter. All their lives, they’d been warned of Nefertiti’s evil. Now Tut must marry one of her daughters? How could they ask it of him? Senpa was beautiful, but she was ancient—at least twenty inundations, maybe twenty-five. How could a ten-year-old be a husband to a twenty-year-old queen?
Anippe shivered and earned a stern glance from Abbi Horem.
Vizier Ay cleared his throat and nudged Senpa aside. “Divine son and ruler of my heart, we have many details to discuss regarding the burial ceremony and your coronation. Perhaps you, in your great wisdom, could dismiss your sisters to Amenia’s chamber to plan the wedding festival?”
“Yes, you may go.” Tut’s voice sounded small.
Anippe wanted to stay, but Abbi Horem was already instructing a contingent of guards to escort them to Amenia’s chamber.
“Wait!” Anippe’s outburst quieted the room. “If it pleases my dear abbi, I would ask one question.” She stood and bowed to her abbi, using her best courtly manners to gain his pleasure before asking what burned in her belly.
“You may ask it, my daughter.”
Lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, she tried to speak as a king’s sister—not as sister to a crown prince. “Will Ankhe and I remain here at Memphis Palace with Tut and Senpa after their marriage?”
Vizier Ay laughed, startling Anippe from her composure.
Abbi Horem turned her chin gently, regaining her attention. “No, little habiba. Tut will remain here at the Memphis Palace with me and Vizier Ay. However, Senpa, Amenia, you, and Ankhe will relocate to the Gurob Harem Palace with the other noblemen’s wives and children. The king’s officials visit Gurob several times a year. You’ll enjoy helping in the linen shop and have many little girls to play with.”
Anippe worked hard to keep her smile in place, but her heart felt ripped in two parts. First Ummi Kiya and now Tut? Would the gods take away everyone she loved?
She bowed slightly to her abbi and then reached for the scroll on which she’d drawn Tut’s name—a memento of their last class together.
The tutor blocked her path, hand outstretched. “I’m sorry, Princess. I can’t let you keep that scroll.”
“But why? I—”
Ankhe jumped to her side, grabbed the scroll, and hid it behind her back. Abbi Horem snatched it away, gave it to the tutor, and raised his hand to strike Ankhe. Anippe stepped between them, halting the general’s hand.
Grabbing Anippe’s shoulders, he shook his head. “You protect her too much, habiba. She must learn to behave as a princess.” He hugged her tight and kissed her cheek. When he stood, towering above Anippe and Ankhe, he addressed them both. “You can no longer write your brother’s name in hieroglyph. He is now divine, and his name is sacred. Only royal scribes may write the six-part name of a king within an oval cartouche. Now, my guards will escort you to Amenia’s chamber with Senpa.”
Anippe obeyed without argument. She looked over her shoulder as they left, wondering when Tut would become a god. This morning they’d laughed and teased and even raced from their chambers to the schoolroom. She’d almost beaten him. Surely a god could run faster than a girl.
Tut sat utterly still, expressionless, listening to his advisors. Perhaps that was what a god looked like—empty.
Anippe made sure Ankhe was behind her and then followed the beautiful daughter of Nefertiti down the open-air corridor to the women’s chambers. Losing herself in the sound of chirping birds and sandals on tile, she breathed in the smell of lotus blossoms as they passed a garden pond.
Like the waters of the Nile, I will flow. I am Anippe, daughter of … Horemheb and Amenia.
2
With cunning they conspire against your
people; they plot against those you cherish.
—PSALM 83:3
FIVE YEARS LATER
Anippe lingered in half-lucid sleep, dawn’s light as vexing as a knot in her loom. Gurob’s Harem Palace was nestled in Egypt’s marshy Fayum, gloriously still before daylight. Only the sound of a lark’s distant trill and mosquitoes’ constant humming nibbled the edges of Anippe’s consciousness.
“Daughter, get up. H
urry, you must get dressed.” Ummi Amenia shook her shoulder. “Your brother summoned you to the Throne Hall—immediately.”
“What’s so urgent?” Anippe bolted to her feet, causing her head to swim. She closed her eyes and reached for the bed, but Ummi yanked her back to her feet.
“No, don’t sit down. You must get dressed.” Shuffling her toward the clothing baskets and pegs, her ummi continued honking like a mother goose. “Take this robe to the maid. She’s waiting in the courtyard to apply your paints.” Ummi Amenia draped a freshly pleated gown over Anippe’s arm, then turned her shoulders and gave her a little shove. “I’ll bring the new linen sheath. You must look perfect this morning.”
“Why must I look perfect for Tut?” Growling under her breath, Anippe looked longingly at her younger sister, who still lay quietly on her back, wig hanging neatly, head suspended by the carved turquoise neck rest. “Why wasn’t Ankhe summoned to see the king? Why does she get to sleep until midday?”
Ummi Amenia nudged Anippe toward the adjoining courtyard. “You sound like a six-year-old, habiba. You’re a grown woman now. Fourteen-year-olds don’t whine.”
Anippe stopped midstride and turned, arms folded. “Why am I a grown woman when you want me to do something, but I’m acting like a little girl when I want something?”
Chuckling, Amenia cupped Anippe’s cheek. “My habiba, Pharaoh Tut has a special edict that will prove you are grown. Now, please, let our maid dress you.” Her tenderness quieted Anippe’s complaints, and she pecked her ummi’s cheek with a kiss, surrendering to the inevitable.
They continued beyond four papyrus-shaped pillars into their private courtyard, where their Nubian maid waited beside an embroidered couch. The morning sounds of birds and frogs and breeze-swept palms distracted Anippe while the maid began her practiced ministrations.
Anippe lifted her arms to give up her sleeping coverlet and receive the sheer linen robe over her head. The sheath came next, draped under her right arm and over her left shoulder, with a gold and turquoise clasp at the base of her throat. Anippe lifted her long spiraled wig so Ummi Amenia could affix the menat to counterbalance her heavy gold and gemstone collar. Dressing complete, the three women moved in concert to prepare for the finishing touches. While Anippe reclined on her couch, Ummi Amenia reached for the basket of bracelets, and the maid gathered her pots of ointments and paints.
This Nubian had served Amenia, Anippe, and Ankhe since they’d arrived at Gurob five years ago. She spoke little and smiled much. Her eyes sparkled from within, though Anippe couldn’t imagine how a slave could be happy.
With the first stroke of malachite beneath Anippe’s bottom lashes, Ummi Amenia cleared her throat. “Your Abbi Horemheb has returned from the Hittite battle.”
Anippe bolted upright, nearly toppling the pot of malachite paste from the maid’s hand. “Why? Was he injured? Are the Hittites invading?” For months they’d heard only of Egypt’s losses, and the general never left a battle unless summoned.
Calmly, Amenia pressed Anippe’s shoulders back against the couch and with a single nod instructed the Nubian to resume her duties. “Your abbi Horem is unharmed. He arrived late last night, and he’s waiting to see you in the throne room with King Tut.”
Momentary delight gave way to dread. Anippe would soon see the two men she loved most, but what could be urgent enough to bring her abbi home? “Why would Abbi Horem come to the Harem Palace? He hates women’s gossip, and he’s never enjoyed the king’s annual hunt in the marshes.”
Ummi Amenia’s slight hesitation spoke louder than her words. “He’s come to see you, habiba.”
Anippe’s eyes remained closed, submitting to the maid’s practiced hand, but her insides began to tremble. “Have I done something to displease him, Ummi? Are you angry with me?” Fear coiled around her heart. They’d adopted her years ago. Had they tired of her?
“No one is angry with you, habiba. You are our treasure.” Amenia rested a quieting hand on her arm. “And because we treasure you, we must protect you and provide a husband for you.”
Anippe swallowed hard. Ummi had spoken of providing a husband before, but each time Anippe had laughed and teased Ummi Amenia toward another subject. This morning felt different.
She heard a shuffle beside her and opened her eyes. Ummi Amenia crouched on the maid’s stool, her face hovering near.
“Do you trust Abbi Horem and me to do what’s best for you, daughter?”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Anippe could only nod. Seeming appeased, Ummi relinquished the low stool to the maid once more. Anippe gratefully hid behind closed eyes and remembered the last time this kind woman asked her, “Do you trust us to do what’s best for you?”
Amenia had crouched in front of the royal linen closet on the day Ummi Kiya died, coaxing Mery into her arms. Meryetaten-tasherit. The name had taunted Anubis and filled her with fear every day of her life—until General Horemheb and Amenia gave her a new name.
Would a husband change her name too? Would he love her like Abbi Horem and Ummi Amenia had?
Anippe’s heart nearly stopped. A husband will expect children! Panic started in her belly and rose into her chest, tingling and burning. Ummi Kiya’s lifeless eyes and the baby’s gray body raged in her memory.
A soft linen cloth dabbed Anippe’s cheek. “Habiba, you mustn’t cry. You’ve always known we would make a good match for you someday. This marriage is for your protection—for the protection of Egypt’s Two Lands.” Amenia’s gentle voice unleashed more tears. “Shh, now. No more tears. Your maid will paint your lips and cheeks while I dry your eyes.”
Anippe drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then pouted her lips for the maid’s expert application of red ochre. Ummi dried her eyes, taking care to remove whatever remained of the smeared malachite.
While the maid painted Anippe’s lips, she forced herself to think of anything but childbirth. Did Ummi say this marriage would protect Egypt? Surely Abbi wouldn’t match her with a foreign prince in some treaty and send her far away. Tears threatened again, but she swallowed back the emotion. Ummi was right. She’d always known the day would come when she would be forced to marry.
With freshly painted lips, Anippe formed her question. “Please, Ummi. Tell me why Abbi Horem returned from battle to order this marriage and how my wedding feast will protect Egypt’s Two Lands.”
Anippe sensed a commotion beside her and opened her eyes. Amenia had taken the paints from the maid and commandeered her stool. “Please awaken Ankhe and dress her in the chamber. I’d like to speak with Anippe alone.”
The Nubian bowed and obeyed, hurrying out of the courtyard. Anippe sat up on her couch, and Amenia lowered her voice to a whisper. “The Hittites are not our only enemies, habiba. One of your Abbi’s messengers intercepted suspicious correspondence between Vizier Ay and Commander Nakhtmin in Nubia.”
Anippe had heard of Nakhtmin. “The same commander that’s marrying Vizier Ay’s daughter? The women of Gurob have talked about nothing but the wedding festival since the inundation. Perhaps the correspondence was about their upcoming marriage.”
Amenia stroked her cheek with a good-natured grin. “Women speak of wedding festivals, habiba. Viziers and commanders do not. Vizier Ay seeks control of Commander Nakhtmin’s Nubian slave army. If Ay coordinates a rebellion, Egypt is divided, and Tut’s reign is over.”
“He wouldn’t dare!”
“Powerful men crave more power, and Vizier Ay is more dangerous than the Hittites right now, so your abbi Horem returned to the Gurob Palace to protect your brother from an enemy he doesn’t yet recognize.”
Amenia pressed Anippe’s shoulders back against the couch. Anippe closed her eyes for the final touches of kohl around her eyes. She lay quietly for several heartbeats, considering the broader scope of life and death and the part she’d play in Egypt’s history.
“Who is my husband, and how will our marriage bring peace?”
“I would rather your abbi Horem intr
oduce him to you. But know this, daughter. Your abbi loves you and has chosen the man best suited for your future—and for the future of Egypt.”
Anippe heard the clattering of paint pots and applicators as Ummi Amenia replaced the items on a silver tray. “Almost done. Sit up, habiba. Let me put on this gold-braided headband.” She fitted a hammered-gold weave over Anippe’s wig and held up a polished-bronze mirror. “What do you think?”
Anippe stared at her reflection. Long braids punctuated by gold beads were accented by the golden headband resting above her brow. Deep green malachite danced beneath her sandy brown eyes, and perfect kohl bands extended from her upper lids to her temples. “You painted my eyes like yours, Ummi. I look … grown up.”
“Today, you become an amira, Anippe.” Amenia’s voice was gentle but firm. “From this day forward, you will have your own home, your own estate, your own husband.”
Morning light dimmed to gray, and Anippe fought tears again. “Me. An amira.”
“Your groom is waiting for you in the throne room with King Tut and your abbi Horem.”
“Has General Horemheb made a match for me too?” Ankhe came running from their adjoining chamber and knelt at Amenia’s feet. “I’m only two years younger than Anippe.” Hope glistened in her eyes, breaking Anippe’s heart.
Gently but firmly, Amenia cupped Ankhe’s chin. “No, child. General Horemheb is not your abbi. We’ve allowed you to live with us because Anippe is your sister, but it’s up to your brother Tut to make a marriage match for you.”
The familiar cloud settled over Ankhe, and she cast an accusing glance at Anippe. Betrayer! Her eyes held the same look every time Abbi Horem hugged Anippe and each time Amenia spoke a tender word. Though Anippe had no part in the decisions that formed their lives, Ankhe blamed her—and yet clung to her.
“Perhaps I can talk to Tut and ask him to make a match for you too, sister,” Anippe said.