by Mesu Andrews
Ankhe rolled her eyes and stomped back to the chamber, flopped on her bed, and covered her head with the sheet.
Ummi Amenia turned Anippe’s chin, demanding her attention. “Ankhe will adjust. You must hurry to the Throne Hall.”
They exited through the courtyard gate, then wove through the maze of harem apartments in silence until they emerged into a pillared corridor. Dawn’s glow lit the limestone palace walls, and Anippe marveled at the sun god Re. How did he sail his sacred barque through the dark waters of night to bring them a new day every day? If she were a priest or a king, she would sacrifice an extra offering this morning. Did Ankhe see the same sunrise? Could she rise from her bed and find something for which to be thankful?
Beyond these walls, government officials slept in summer villas, while a peasant village readied its wares for another day of trade. Surrounding the sea of humanity was the Fayum’s lush green marshlands—home to Egypt’s big-game animals. Lions. Hippos. Wild oxen. Once each year Pharaoh arrived to free the noblemen from their civilized cages to hunt wild beasts.
Late each summer, noblemen left the Memphis Palace, where Egyptian men ruled the nation, and journeyed to the Gurob Harem, where Egyptian women ruled the men. The harem housed most of Egypt’s royal women, related by blood or marriage to the king and his advisors. Their linen workshop produced the finest cloth in the world, its quality and quantity outpaced only by Gurob’s gossip.
Silence had escorted them to the end of the long corridor, and Anippe grew weary of the sound of squeaky leather sandals. “Ummi, can’t you tell me anything about the man I’m going to marry?”
Ummi Amenia stopped at the threshold of the mosaic-tiled hallway leading to the Throne Hall and gathered Anippe’s hands in her own. “Your abbi Horem has chosen one of his best soldiers as your husband. King Tut is torn between your abbi Horem’s desperate measures and Vizier Ay’s deception.” She released Anippe’s hands, straightened her spine, and assumed an unfamiliar coolness. “You decide who to trust with your future.”
Amenia walked away, leaving Anippe to walk the mosaic-tiled corridor of the Throne Hall alone.
3
The products of Egypt and the merchandise of Cush … they will come over to you and will be yours.
—ISAIAH 45:14
Anippe approached the Nubian guards at the throne-room doors, trying not to stare at their ebony chests glistening in the morning heat. Like most Medjay warriors, these guards wore leopard-skin loincloths, carried two-cubit-long flint-headed spears, and wore bands of beaded necklaces representing battle kills. These guards were inexperienced—only two beaded strands—but they were no less terrifying than the king’s personal guard.
With a deep breath, Anippe mustered her courage, remembering Abbi Horem’s assurance. “The only thing fiercer than a Medjay’s fury is his loyalty. Medjay friendship in life is Medjay friendship in death.” They opened the heavy cedar doors as she approached, and she hurried through.
The heavy doors slammed shut behind her, echoing in the expansive hall constructed to resemble Pharaoh’s luxury barque. The ceiling reached as high as the ship’s expansive sail, white linen fluttering down from papyrus ropes draped pillar to pillar. The room itself measured from doors to throne the exact length of his ship from helm to rudder, and the blue faience tiles on which supplicants approached their pharaoh reminded all that King Tut—like the Nile—was Egypt’s life giver.
Six men stood at the opposite end of a long crimson carpet—all staring at her. Two Medjays guarded her brother, Tut, from behind his elevated throne, while Vizier Ay waited at the carpet’s threshold. Abbi Horem stood across from Ay with a handsome soldier, clearly the man she was to marry.
Utterly still and painfully flushed, Anippe was sure her heart pounded hard enough to bounce the gold and turquoise clasp on her chest.
A steward’s voice boomed behind her, nearly startling her out of her sandals. “Enter, Princess Anippe, into the presence of the good god, King Tutankhamun, strong bull, pleasing of birth, one of perfect laws, who pacifies Upper and Lower Egypt, who wears both crowns and pleases the gods, great of the palace of Amun, lord of—”
“Enough!” Tut crashed his flail against his armrest. “Leave us.”
Anippe glanced over her shoulder to be sure no one else lurked. The steward slipped out the door, and she was suddenly alone at the far end of the crimson carpet.
Tut swatted his flail against the armrest again. “Come, Anippe. We have important matters to discuss.”
She bowed in deference, swallowing what she would have said five years ago—before he was a god. He must be in one of his moods again. Tut had been especially volatile since his wife and half-sister, Senpa, miscarried their first child while visiting nobility in the Delta. He’d ordered his queen to recuperate at Gurob, where their sisters and Amenia could minister to her weary body and grieving ka—that part of every human that lives forever.
As Senpa shared details of her painful loss, Anippe battled memories of Ummi Kiya’s death and the baby brother that never drew breath. Senpa had been nearly full term when her travail began while at the Delta estate of Qantir. Hebrew midwives tried but couldn’t save Senpa’s baby girl, a baby too malformed to survive. With quiet sobs, she’d spoken of the pressure a king and queen feel to produce an heir. Amenia had hoped to calm her. “You’re both young,” she’d said. But even Anippe knew a king wasn’t pleasing to the gods until his wife bore a son.
Anippe tried to make her feet move toward Tut’s throne. They wouldn’t budge.
Her brother almost looked like a god today, seated on his gilded throne, wearing the double crown of Egypt’s Two Lands. His eyes were painted with kohl—the sign of Horus a bold stripe toward his temple and a downward curl toward his cheekbone. Pharaoh’s golden collar—inlaid with rubies, lapis, and jasper—gleamed around his neck. But it hung like a millstone on his dark brown shoulders. She ached for him, for the children they once were.
Abbi Horem walked toward her, arms open, breaking the awkward silence. “Come, my treasure. Welcome your abbi home.”
She hurried to his familiar warmth and safety, snuggling into his chest—caring nothing about her eye paints or his perfect white robe. “I’ve missed you, Abbi. Why can’t you come home more often?”
Abbi Horem set her upright and held her shoulders, looking hard into her eyes. “When I am at war, I stay at war; and when I am at home, I am fully yours.”
Tucking her under his protective wing, they approached King Tut together. She didn’t dare look at the handsome soldier, but she could feel his gaze on her.
Vizier Ay nodded politely when she and Abbi Horem halted beside him at the edge of the crimson carpet. Ay was as old as the general but quite handsome for his age. Many in the harem found his dove-colored eyes appealing. Anippe found his light eyes eerie and believed the tall, slender vizier to be a jackal in fine linen. His gaze roamed her form freely, making her shiver.
Repulsed, Anippe stepped toward the throne, head bowed. “Life, health, and peace to the divine son of the great god Horus. I have come as you commanded, most revered brother Tut. How may I serve—”
“Tell her, Horemheb. Tell my sister why you took your best soldier from a crucial battle in order to plan her wedding.”
She glanced up and saw a sheen of sweat on Tut’s brow, his jaw muscle dancing. Why was he angry at Abbi Horem? Did he disapprove of the man Abbi had chosen?
Abbi’s expression was more than battle weary. Fighting Hittites for ten months could account for fatigue, but his countenance revealed a deeper agony. “As you wish, my king.” He cast a burning glare at the vizier before softening his gaze for Anippe. “It is time for the House of Horemheb to unite with the House of Rameses.”
He nudged the officer forward, joining his hand with Anippe’s.
The House of Horemheb? Before Anippe could ponder the statement further, the soldier’s large hand engulfed her own. She looked up and found his eyes devouring her. The strength of
his bearing moved her back a step.
Abbi Horem gripped her arm and moved her close again. “Anippe, my treasure, this is your husband, Commander Sebak. He is my best officer, Master of Horse, and he is honored among the great Ramessid military family.” He turned a threatening glare at the vizier. “Sebak and his Ramessid guards will protect you at his estate in the Delta.”
“In the Delta?” Anippe jerked her hand away. “But I don’t want to live in the Delta. I want to stay in Gurob with Ummi.”
She saw the Master of Horse raise an eyebrow but couldn’t tell if he was amused or angry. She didn’t care.
“Mery.” The quiet name from her past stopped her like a slap. Tut hadn’t called her Mery since Abbi Horem adopted her.
She bowed her head, letting the ebony spirals of her wig hide her gathering tears. “Yes, my king?”
“You will do as General Horemheb commands.” His tone was suddenly resigned, the anger gone. Why? What had changed?
Anippe dared lift her eyes to the god on the throne and saw the same blank expression that shadowed Tut’s face on the day he married Senpa. “Our lives have never been our own, sister. Horemheb has always protected us—me on Egypt’s throne and you, when he adopted you and named you Anippe.” He paused, staring hard at Horemheb, and finally nodded what seemed like silent gratitude before returning his attention to Anippe.
“Honored daughter of General Horemheb and beloved sister of the good god King Tut—I proclaim Sebak, commander of the Ramessids, is your husband this day. The royal family will attend the wedding feast at Sebak’s Avaris estate in the Delta upon the completion of the king’s royal Fayum hunt.” Then, leaning forward to address Sebak, Tut’s eyes narrowed, sharpening the sign of Horus. “Commander Sebak, Horemheb’s fears for Anippe may be unfounded, but she is not only his treasure—she is Pharaoh’s beloved sister. Protect her or die.”
Anippe wanted to scream, No! I don’t know this man, and I don’t know the Delta! But she remained silent, an obedient daughter, sister, woman.
Sebak stepped closer and placed a possessive hand at the small of her back. “It is my honor and pleasure to protect Anippe, great god of the Two Lands. Every Ramessid in the Delta will see that she is safe at Avaris.” His voice rumbled low, and his intimate touch sent a surge of fear through her.
Anippe knew little of the Delta except that it contained Hebrew slaves, grain fields, and Egypt’s fiercest soldiers—the Ramessids. And Senpa’s baby had died there.
She peered up at the giant beside her and looked into his warm brown eyes. They sparkled and laughed. Could eyes laugh? Perhaps not, but the lazy grin on his face was infuriating.
He reached for her hand, cradled it like a fragile glass bead, and placed a tender kiss on her palm.
Fire raced up her arm. She snatched her hand away, and her breaths came in short, quick gasps. Was it the commander’s nearness or Tut’s rising anger?
The king glared at his vizier. “General Horemheb left the battlefield because he believed you were a threat to my sister. I’d like to assure him this is untrue, but how can I, when I hear rumors of your conspiracy with Nakhtmin in Nubia?”
“I am as loyal to you as I’ve always been, great and mighty son of Horus,” the vizier protested. “My messages to the commander in Nubia were to arrange my daughter’s marriage. I, like General Horemheb, feared for my daughter’s safety here at Gurob and took steps to safeguard her from those loyal to the general.”
“Those loyal to the general?” Tut’s voice squeaked like a boy becoming a man. “Is no one loyal to King Tut anymore?” His words echoed in the near-empty hall, a reminder that Tut was Amun-Re, god of the sun on earth.
A shiver crept up Anippe’s spine. Tut had been acting more like Abbi Akhenaten lately—impulsive, easily agitated—all signs of an unbalanced ma’at. The seasons, the sun and moon, justice, truth, and relational harmony hinged on the divine equilibrium of the earthly Lord of Ma’at seated on Egypt’s throne.
As Anippe’s concern mounted, Tut breathed deeply, crossed the golden crook and flail against his chest, and stared into the distance. She could almost see him return the balance of ma’at.
“General Horemheb, do you have proof that Vizier Ay has been involved in any treasonous activity?” Tut asked.
“Vizier Ay has amassed too much influence in southern Egypt. By marrying his daughter to Commander Nakhtmin, he secures military allegiance with the Nubians in Cush and purchases goodwill for every southern trade route to the Red Sea. The whole Nubian army is at his disposal, which means my family—and your throne—is at risk should he decide to raise a rebellion.”
Ay began shaking his head, smiling, mocking. “All unfounded accusations, my king.”
Tut raised an eyebrow at Horemheb. “Proof, General. Have you any proof?”
Anippe waited for Abbi Horem to produce the messenger Ummi Amenia had mentioned—or perhaps the papyrus scroll his soldiers had confiscated. To her surprise and disappointment, Abbi Horem’s shoulders slumped, and he began massaging the back of his neck. She felt her stomach tighten into a knot.
“The soldier who carried messages between Ay and Nakhtmin met with an untimely accident on one of his missions, my king. I believe it was no accident, but I cannot prove it.” Abbi leveled a sharp gaze at the vizier and then returned his attention to Tut. “I have never lied to you, good god and divine son of Horus. You are the beat of my heart and my life giver. You must believe me. This man is deceiving you.”
Tut held his gaze for several heartbeats, but Ay’s nervous laughter invaded the silence.
“A gripping speech, General, but how can I be held responsible for every soldier that meets with an ‘untimely accident’?” He spread his hands before the king, penitent. “My every act is done in the name of the good god, King Tut, and for the greater good of our united Two Lands. I don’t deny communications with Commander Nakhtmin. He crushed a Cushite rebellion, and together we’ve successfully increased trade routes through our southern border, importing more gold, precious stones, and spices than ever before. Is it any wonder I wished to match him with my daughter?”
The vizier lost a measure of his good humor when he turned on Abbi Horem. “Tell us, General, how many Canaanite vassal nations have your Ramessid troops recaptured from the Hittites? Have you neutralized their threat to Egypt’s trade routes or secured our eastern border?”
Abbi’s fiery temper fizzled, and Anippe’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t realized the Hittites threatened their major trade routes. Tut didn’t appear surprised by the accusations, but he was certainly feasting on the vizier’s honeyed tongue.
And Ay had more honey to offer. “Did the general report his glaring defeat at Amqa and the Hittites’ rapidly growing forces?”
Sebak slipped his arm around Anippe’s waist, moving her away from the general and vizier. He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, “This just became dangerous.”
When she saw her brother’s expression, Anippe was thankful for Sebak’s concern.
Abbi, too, must have recognized the danger. “I’ve sent messengers with regular reports to King Tut, keeping him apprised of the Hittite situation. Our good god Tut knows I fight only for him—and would die for him.”
“Your loyalty is touching, but it won’t save Egypt if the Hittites block trade on both land and sea.” King Tut looked every bit the angry god. “Why would you deceive me about the Amqa defeat, Horemheb?”
Abbi Horem went to one knee. “My beloved and mighty king, I have never deceived you. I received word of Vizier Ay’s repeated messages to Nubia soon after the Amqa defeat, and I had to act quickly to secure your life and Anippe’s future. Don’t you remember the extra guards I sent to the Memphis Palace for your protection along with the messenger telling of my plans for Anippe’s marriage?”
“I remember the messenger said nothing of defeat or a burgeoning Hittite army!” Tut slammed his flail against the armrest again, and everyone fell to their knees, heads bowed. His
tone was barely controlled rage. “Vizier Ay has assured us his messages were to arrange his daughter’s marriage. What assurance can you give, General, that Anippe’s marriage isn’t simply a distraction to conceal news of defeat?”
Vizier Ay was the first to gather his courage and lift penitent hands. “Perhaps the general didn’t want to alarm our king prematurely.” He stood then, taking on a conciliatory tone. “You see, mighty king, every nation the Hittites conquer adds to their military strength because they force the opposing troops to serve them to build their army. They defeated the Mitanni kingdom, then swept into Syria, captured the Phoenician coastline, and are now pressing into our Canaanite vassal states. Our general undoubtedly has a plan to stop the Hittite war machine.” Ay stood, towering over Horemheb, who remained on his knees before Pharaoh. “Tell us, General, can you stop the Hittite war machine, or is Amqa the first of many defeats?”
Anippe held her breath, waiting for Abbi Horem’s anger to erupt. Instead, he rose slowly and met the vizier nose to nose. “Do you think you can counsel me on the Hittites? Are you a war-torn general who mixes blood with beer after a battle? No, Vizier. You play with wooden soldiers and clay swords. I refuse to discuss military strategy with you.”
“General.” Tut’s voice intruded on the advisors’ private war. “You will discuss your plan to re-conquer Amqa with both Vizier Ay and me. How can I trust either of you when you won’t trust each other?”
The Throne Hall grew deafeningly still, the silence trumpeting Tut’s authority. Finally, he spoke to the newlyweds. “Anippe and Commander Sebak, you may rise.”
Sebak helped Anippe stand, his callused hands somehow gentle on her oiled and scented skin.
“Commander Sebak, you will escort my sister to her chamber. After this short meeting with my advisors, we begin the Fayum hunt. I’m tired of talking. I want to kill something—something with four legs, preferably, not two.”
Anippe cast a worried glance at Abbi Horem and back at her brother.