by Mesu Andrews
“Stay on those knees,” Puah scolded when Jered pushed to his feet to run. “You may chase all you like—as long as you chase on your knees.”
Brilliant. Mothers were creative geniuses when keeping children safe at play.
“Gruel is ready.” Jochebed placed seven clay bowls on the table, each filled with steaming porridge. Their families had begun eating together while Jochebed served in the villa and Puah cooked for Amram and Aaron. They’d grown used to the company, and Jochebed gladly helped when she returned. Family of the heart was as thick as blood.
The sound of shuffling feet outside warned Mered of an intruder before the doorway curtain stirred.
“Mered, we need Puah at the quay.”
“Ankhe?” Mered was on his feet in an instant, the children cowering at their mothers’ skirts. “Why? What happ—”
“Mandai is hurt. They’re waiting at the quay.” She looked for Miriam and motioned toward Mehy. “Take him to Anippe’s chamber. Now.”
Mered cast a quick glance at Puah, who was already gathering healing herbs in a basket. He couldn’t wait any longer. “I’ll run ahead and see if I can help.”
“I’m going too,” Ankhe said. “Puah knows the way to the quay.”
Mered followed Ankhe out the door and up the hill toward the villa. He’d never seen the girl genuinely rattled, but fear made her run like a desert hare. He could barely keep up.
“Ankhe, what happened?”
“Vizier Ay tried to kill Tut. He accused Amenia of treason.” She gulped for breath at the top of the hill and pointed toward the quay and their small skiff. “Mandai was injured trying to save her. We barely escaped. We drifted with the current at night, and Anippe and I helped Nassor paddle during the day.” Mered ran down the hill, where Anippe and Nassor hovered over Mandai, who leaned against the side of the boat with a blood-stained bandage wrapped around his abdomen.
Nassor bent to one knee and greeted Mered with a burning stare, but the Medjay smiled at his approach. “Linen keeper, your prayers worked. Your one god proved beyond doubt who sawed the axle.”
Mered bent over, gulping air, his side aching from the run. “Perhaps you should have … been more specific … about my prayer. I didn’t know you planned to fight the saw.”
“Mered, thank you for coming.” Anippe was pale and trembling. Without her face paints, she looked like a little girl. “Help Nassor carry Mandai to the villa.”
“Of course, Amira. Which chamber?”
“Put him in Miriam’s chamber. She and Mehy can sleep in my sitting area.” Tears spilled over her bottom lashes. She turned to Nassor. “Who can we trust to send word to Abbi Horem?”
Nassor tilted his head, gentle compassion from a rough-spun cloth. “Don’t worry, Amira. You’re safe now. Every Ramessid in the Delta is loyal to General Horemheb. We protect our own—and you are Master Sebak’s own.”
Her composure crumbled with Nassor’s tender promise. Ankhe promptly cradled her sister’s shoulders and turned toward the villa. “The men can wait for Puah at the quay. You need to rest.”
Confused—and more terrified because of Ankhe’s kindness—Mered looked to Nassor for an explanation. “What happened at Gurob?”
“A slave has no need to know.”
Mandai raised a brow, glancing from the Ramessid to the Hebrew and back. “I see you two have met.” He reached for Nassor’s shoulder and waited for the captain to meet his gaze. “This linen keeper can be annoying, it’s true, but he is a good man and the amira trusts him. You would be wise to trust him too.”
Not the most glowing recommendation Mered could’ve hoped for, but the Medjay’s words seemed to soften Nassor’s hard stare. With a deep sigh, he sat down and shoved off his wig, wiping perspiration from his bald head and face. He rested his arms on his knees and waited for Mered to sit.
For Nassor, it was as cordial as he could be to a Hebrew slave. Mered felt privileged and sat.
“We arrived at Gurob at sunset on the third day,” Nassor began, “and the amira spoke with King Tut briefly—enough to confirm Ay’s guilt in the so-called hunting accident. But he had no proof. At a banquet that night, Vizier Ay accused General Horemheb’s wife of treason.” Nassor turned to Mandai, indicating the rest of their story was his to tell.
“Amira Amenia is most certainly dead by now—probably King Tut as well. I must leave tonight to warn General Horemheb of Ay’s treachery.” Mandai tried to stand, and both Mered and Nassor tried to help him. The Medjay stumbled, and Mered caught his chest, barely missing the gash on his belly. The warrior cried out.
Mered looked over his shoulder, wondering what was keeping Puah. She should have been here by now.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight, Medjay.” Nassor’s commanding voice allowed no argument. “Help me lift him, Hebrew. Your wife can find her patient at the villa.”
The two men braced the injured warrior and began walking uphill.
Nassor looked toward the plateau separating Avaris from Qantir. “We must alert the Ramessids on both estates and then spread the word to all Delta fortresses. Ay will attack Avaris first, then other estates, and leave the fortresses until last.”
“Attack Avaris?” Mered’s heart leapt to his throat. “We’re an estate full of unarmed slaves and a few guards. Why would he attack us?”
“If the vizier can seize estates, he gains wealth and resources while crushing Ramessid morale. As I told the amira, every Ramessid is loyal to Horemheb, but if Ramessid families are butchered before Horemheb returns with his army, Ay has won the war before the battles really begin.”
Mandai winced. “Stop, please.” He removed his arms from their shoulders and braced his hands on his knees. “Nassor is right. I won’t be well enough to travel on the river tomorrow, but the Delta estates and fortresses must be warned immediately.” He stood and gripped Nassor’s shoulder. “You must alert the Delta, while I warn General Horemheb. The last report sent to King Tut said Horemheb’s army was deep in Hittite territory on their way to Kadesh. I’ll travel with the next merchant caravan that leaves Avaris and find a ship headed to Byblos. By then, my wound will have healed, and I can cut across the mountains to find the general.”
Mered began shaking his head before Mandai finished speaking. “No merchant will allow a Medjay warrior—an injured Medjay warrior—to join his caravan or board his ship. Traders are suspicious by nature, my friend. You need someone who looks like a trader and thinks like a merchant to win their trust and get you on their ship.”
Nassor and Mandai glanced at each other and then back at Mered with conspiratorial grins.
Mered realized he’d sealed his own fate. “Oh, no. I can’t go. Who will run the linen shop?” Even as he spoke, he knew Anippe could do it. She knew every process and could write better than he.
“You do look like a merchant, linen keeper.” Nassor squeezed his shoulder.
“But I—”
“It’s not a request.” Nassor’s good humor was gone. “The Medjay said you were a good man who could be trusted. I’m a Ramessid guard allowing a Hebrew slave to leave Master Sebak’s estate. Can I trust you to do this?”
Mered swallowed hard. The thought of escape hadn’t occurred to him. “Of course, you can—” A sudden realization stole his breath. “A Phoenician merchant is scheduled to pick up his order of linen tomorrow. He always travels with a large caravan.”
Mered saw the same wonder he felt dawn on the faces of his comrades. Is it more than coincidence, El-Shaddai? Is it Your will that I go with Mandai?
“It’s settled then.” The Medjay gathered his human crutches and resumed their trek up the hill. “Nassor will warn Delta estates and fortresses and return to Avaris to keep our guards on alert. Mered and I will leave—”
“Tomorrow,” Mered said with a wry grin.
Mandai chuckled. “Perhaps this one god of yours is worth praying to after all, linen keeper. Can he bring a physician to Avaris to tend my wound?”
�
��He probably could, but I think He’s provided Hebrew midwives for the task instead.” Mered nodded toward two women approaching from the craftsmen’s village. “Puah must have called for reinforcements. It appears she brought your old friend to help, Mandai. Remember Shiphrah—the midwife you arrested?”
Fear washed over the Medjay’s face, drawing a full belly laugh from Nassor.
23
When the child grew older, she took him to Pharaoh’s daughter and he became her son. She named him Moses, saying, “I drew him out of the water.”
—EXODUS 2:10
Anippe held Mehy close, inhaling the comforting scent of a sweaty, happy, healthy little boy. His head hadn’t been shaved during his few days in the craftsmen’s camp, so fine fuzz grew around his princely lock. Anippe brushed her cheek against the soft growth. Her boy was rumpled and joyful. Balm to her soul.
Miriam had been waiting in their private chamber when Anippe and Ankhe stumbled in from the quay. Anippe had nearly collapsed with relief at the sight of her son. Ankhe turned on her heel and retreated to her private chamber. Anippe didn’t have the strength to beg her to stay. Perhaps Ankhe needed time to grieve alone.
“Please, Amira, come sit on your couch.” Miriam had poured a bowl of cool water and washed Anippe’s travel-weary form, ministering to her body and soul.
The chamber was quiet now—except for Miriam’s lovely Hebrew tune. She sat spinning flax fibers at Anippe’s feet, while Anippe rocked her sleepy boy on the embroidered couch.
“Amira, shall I take Moses for a nap at the bathhouse?”
Anippe looked down to see if he was sleeping. His lids were heavy, but he was still awake—just quietly resting on her chest. Her heart melted and tears came. “No, Miriam. I need to have him close.”
In the stillness of that moment, Anippe could almost forget they could soon be fighting for their lives. She must prepare her handmaid for the possibilities. “Miriam?”
The girl looked up, innocence framed between shocking brown curls. “Yes, Amira?”
Anippe swallowed her rising panic. “You must never let anyone hear you call him Moses. Do you understand?”
“I understand. My mother warned me of the same thing before we stayed in the Hebrew village. We never called him Moses in front of father or Mered.”
Anippe’s heart twisted at the thought. Mehy had lived in the same rooms with his real father, and the man didn’t even know it. She shook her head to regain focus. “That’s very good, Miriam. Now, do you know what to do if we’re ever in danger—for instance, if an enemy ship docked at the Avaris quay? Do you know how to call for help?”
Miriam blinked several times, her expression unchanged. “No, Amira. I don’t think I do.”
“If it ever happens, you should take Prince Mehy and run across dead-man’s land to the Qantir estate.” Anippe resumed rocking her son, holding him tighter as she spoke. “If a guard tries to stop you, tell them who Mehy is—Master Sebak’s heir. They’ll let you pass.”
“All right.” Without further comment, Miriam resumed her spinning and humming. Anippe breathed deeply, trying to slow her heartbeat to its normal rhythm. The tune Miriam sang was haunting but lovely, and Anippe closed her eyes and let the music sooth her soul. Her rocking slowed.
A knock on the door startled them both.
Miriam jumped up to answer it, peeked to see who was there, and then opened the door. The three men Anippe had left at the quay walked in.
“Mandai, you’re supposed to be in the next chamber, resting.” But their expressions told her rest was out of the question. “Miriam, perhaps you should take Mehy to the bathhouse now, while I talk with Mered, Mandai, and Nassor.”
Mehy clung to Anippe’s neck when Miriam tried to take him. His cries tugged at Anippe’s heartstrings and unleashed a new wave of tears from her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said to her visitors. “I can’t seem to stop crying since I returned to Avaris.”
Mered patted Mehy’s back as Miriam carried the boy toward the bathhouse. “It sounds as if you were quite brave, Amira. You’re entitled to tears.”
Anippe sniffed and looked up as she tried to regain control, then she steadied herself with a deep breath. “All right, what is it?”
Mandai took a step forward, spokesman for the group. “We have a plan to protect you and Mehy here at Avaris, as well as the other estates and fortresses in the Delta.”
“But what about Abbi Horem? He must be told—”
Mandai silenced her with an upraised hand. “Yes, Amira. We have that arranged too.” He paused, swallowing hard, and exchanged a glance with Nassor.
Anippe’s anxiety soared. When had this Medjay ever been nervous? “So tell me.”
Nassor was the brave one. “I leave immediately to alert Qantir and other Ramessids in the Delta. Mandai knows the whereabouts of the general and his army, but because of his injury, he’ll travel by ship with a merchant’s caravan.”
“That’s where my help is needed.” Mered knelt before her, drawing her attention. “There’s a trader scheduled to pick up his order of royal robes, sheets, curtains, and other items tomorrow. Since he trusts me, I’ll ask to travel with his caravan for certain business I must conduct in Phoenicia. Mandai will act as my personal guard.”
“What? No. You can’t all three leave me.” Anippe sounded like a spoiled child, but she didn’t care. “What if Ay attacks while the only three men I trust are tramping across the Delta—and into Phoenicia?
Mandai knelt beside Mered. “Nassor will return after he’s alerted the Delta estates and fortresses.”
Nassor joined them on his knees. “I’ll alert the Sile fortress first and ask if they’ve received any word from the general. It’s the last Delta fortress on Egypt’s eastern border, and if General Horemheb has gotten wind of Ay’s treachery and started his return, he would stage his defense from Sile.” His tone softened, showing the compassion she knew lay hidden within him. “I’ll enlist the help of Sile guards to help me spread the word, which will bring me back to Avaris sooner.”
Anippe could only nod. She turned away, overcome with emotion, and her three friends rose from their knees and turned to go. Shoulders slumped, they looked defeated. She couldn’t let them go feeling as if they’d betrayed her when they were among the bravest men she knew.
“Thank you.” The words tumbled out on a sob.
Each one turned, offered a smile, a bow, and a gaze that promised, I will see you again.
Mered had returned home after the difficult meeting with Anippe and encountered an even more difficult meeting with his wife.
“Why must you go, Mered?” she said through tears. “You’re not a soldier. You’re not even a real merchant. You’ve never even bartered in a city market.”
He tried reason, explanation, even bribery. All failed.
“I will come back to you, Puah.” He leaned in for a kiss, but she shoved him away. Wounded, he held his temper but knew he needed to leave before he said something he’d regret. “I’m going to the shop so I can brief the amira on upcoming orders and daily tasks. I’ll probably be late tonight.”
As he moved the curtain aside to leave, a clay lamp shattered on the wall beside his head.
“Tell the amira I said hello,” Puah snapped.
He’d never seen her so angry—or so frightened.
His fear matched hers, though he’d never tell her. El-Shaddai, guard my wife and child while I’m away. Bring me back to them—safely and soon.
He trudged toward the workshop, heart heavy in the midday heat. As he topped the hill, he caught a glimpse of the villa’s main entrance, where Mandai and Nassor were gathered. The Medjay looked refreshed, a fresh linen robe covering his new bandage.
Mered lifted his hand in greeting, and Mandai waved him down to join them. Nassor didn’t sneer or threaten him with a cudgel. It was progress.
Mandai’s wide smile greeted him. “See the bandage under this linen robe?” He pointed to the neatl
y tied wrap beneath the sheer byssus. “I told your wife about our mission, and she was so angry, I asked the other midwife to dress my wound.”
Mered’s eyebrows peaked. “You thought Shiphrah—the midwife you arrested—was the safer option to dress your wounds?”
Nassor’s booming laughter echoed down the hillside. “You were doomed, my friend, no matter which woman tended you.”
Mandai ducked his head, becoming serious. “Those women were very kind to me, Mered. You’ve all been very kind.”
They stood in weighty silence until Nassor spoke. “I warned Avaris’s estate foreman of possible attack and then apprised the guards on the plateau of the situation. I’ve just returned from Qantir. Their estate foreman has placed more guards on the lookout for Ay’s war ships.”
“You’ve accomplished much in a morning.” Mered smiled at the coarse but efficient Ramessid.
“I meant it when I promised the amira I’d get back as soon as possible. I’m leaving now for Sile.”
Mandai gathered Mered under his arm. “We’ll walk you down to the quay.”
“Wait,” a female voice called from behind them. Anippe appeared, Miriam and Mehy in tow. “We’ll come with you.”
As the spontaneous farewell group started toward the quay, Miriam pointed to a sailing mast in the distance. “Is that the king’s barque?”
The question, like a hammer to Mered’s chest, stopped him where he stood. All four adults shielded their eyes from the harvest sun, trying to distinguish the ship through the waves of heat. Was that one sail—or three?
“You should go with Miriam and Mehy, Amira.” Mandai drew his sword. “It is not the king’s barque only. I see the sails of two troop ships accompanying it. These men did not come to talk.”
This was her chance to run. It made sense to hide at Qantir until the fighting was over—perhaps escape on a ship, north to the Great Sea. But she was Horemheb’s daughter.
“An army knows how to fight. A woman knows how to talk. Abbi Horem always said surprise is the best weapon when you’re outnumbered. They expect your sword, Mandai. They don’t expect my words.” She pressed against his hand, pointing the weapon at the ground.