The Pharaoh's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  Reluctantly, he sheathed his sword.

  Anippe began the march with her troops: a Medjay, a Ramessid, and a linen keeper. They arrived at the quay before the king’s barque docked. Since it was early harvest season, the Nile’s level was high enough to sail but low enough to give Anippe a chance to prepare her thoughts. The amira and her men waited on shore, twenty paces from the dock, watching the ships arrive and the first gangway thump onto sand.

  One nobleman and six soldiers mounted the plank, but Anippe halted them with her first words. “Any representative of the traitorous Vizier Ay is not welcome on this estate. Ay killed my brother, our good god King Tut, and he falsely accused and unjustly murdered the beloved Amira Amenia, wife of General Horemheb.”

  Oarsmen, soldiers, and slaves exchanged nervous chatter, the effect Anippe had intended. Let them wonder at her side of the story.

  The pompous nobleman, spokesman for Ay, opened and closed his mouth—repeatedly—seeming incapable of sound. He resembled a fish out of water rather than a herald.

  Gaining her first victory, she continued. “In moments, the hills behind me will fill with Ramessid guards. Debark and die.”

  Her final threat seemed to awaken the gaping fish. “Let me clarify our intentions, Amira. I am indeed here on Vizier Ay’s orders—but to implore you to return for the sake of Queen Senpa. The troop ships you see behind me were Vizier Ay’s attempt to ensure my safety. He anticipated your hostility, but wanted me to assure you again that our king’s fatal accident has been avenged—indeed, the woman you mentioned died on the very day the king himself journeyed beyond the horizon. Unfortunately, you left without a farewell to Queen Senpa, and now your sister grieves alone, feeling betrayed.”

  Anippe covered her mouth, silencing the cry that clawed at her throat.

  “Vizier Ay sent the king’s barque and this military escort to bring you, Princess Ankhe, and your son safely back to comfort Queen Senpa and attend King Tut’s burial celebration.”

  Mandai furtively grabbed her arm, whispering, “It’s a trap, Amira. The three of you and Queen Senpa are the only royal blood left to legitimize his right to the throne. We don’t know what he’s done with the queen.”

  The old fish took a step toward shore. Nassor drew his sword, but the nobleman’s guards drew their weapons masterfully. “Please, Amira Anippe. Vizier Ay has sent me to avoid bloodshed. Even the queen realizes she can use this tragedy for the good of Egypt. She plans to marry the Hittite prince Zannanza. Their union will join Egypt and Hatti as one nation—mending her broken heart and the rift between our nations.”

  “It’s not true! Senpa would never join Egypt with Hatti.” Anippe began trembling. “It’s another scheme that stinks of Vizier Ay. How can you be so cruel?”

  “I am no crueler than a sister who refuses to comfort her family or attend her brother’s crossing over. Come, Amira. Come with us.” Was it his feigned innocence that sickened her or the kernel of guilt his ruse exposed? “King Tut’s body is being reverently prepared for his journey beyond the horizon. He’ll be carried on the sacred barque to the Valley of the Kings and his heart presented to Anubis at the end of seventy days’ grieving. Surely you will attend the succession, when the new pharaoh receives the incarnation of Horus.”

  New pharaoh. The words were like a trumpet, clearing her clouds of grief, fear, and guilt. “I will attend the ceremony for the true successor when my abbi Horemheb arrives. He is prince regent. He is the divinely chosen son of Horus, and he will cut out your heart and offer it to Seth if you do not leave my estate immediately.”

  The nobleman chuckled. Then laughed. Then grew hysterical, drawing his whole crew and two troop ships into raucous amusement.

  And she couldn’t stop them.

  If they came ashore to take her by force, the Ramessids would fight valiantly—and lose. Had the gods given Mehy to her only to watch him die by her enemy’s sword? She bowed her head and waited for their laughing to stop.

  And it did—suddenly.

  Anippe glanced at the nobleman and then followed his gaze to the plateau behind her. It was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. The high flat plain separating Avaris and Qantir was filled with men—all toting glimmering shields or swords or daggers. The sun glinted gloriously off every piece of metal atop that high ground, making the gathered slaves and guards into a valiant army. Miriam had somehow rallied help from the Ramessids of Qantir.

  Feeling her courage surge, Anippe ventured a few half truths to challenge the nobleman. “Warn your vizier that the Delta estates have armed their Hebrew slaves, matching his army in number and valor. We’ve already sent word to General Horemheb, and Ramessids have cut off the vizier’s trade routes and communication through Egypt’s eastern border and the Great Sea. Tell Vizier Ay his communication with the Hittites is over. I’m sure Senpa’s marriage proposal was never her idea.”

  The old fish grinned. “The messenger was already sent to the Hittites six weeks ago.”

  Anippe could barely breathe. Already sent. Already sent. Already sent. Were they too late? If Ay’s plan succeeded, Egypt would become one of the Hittite empire’s vassal nations, robbed of independence, wealth, and their best soldiers. No doubt, Ay would become Egypt’s token pharaoh under Hatti’s iron thumb. Abbi Horem would be hunted like a criminal, and those loyal to him would be arrested, their lands seized.

  The nobleman ordered his guards back to the ship, and glistening black bodies pulled up the gangplank. They cast off immediately against the low tide, the pilot droning at the oarsmen, “Out, in, pull, out, in, pull …”

  Anippe stood like a statue until all three vessels were out of sight—and then collapsed into a heap, crying, trembling, babbling. Her three champions hovered near, trying to lift her, console her, help her.

  “Go away. Let me be.”

  Gentle arms scooped her up. She curled into a ball, her conveyance unknown, unimportant. All was lost.

  She awoke shortly before dusk in her bedchamber. Alone.

  24

  Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.

  —PROVERBS 22:6

  Anippe felt as if she’d been holding her breath for two weeks—since Nassor, Mered, and Mandai had left. The sounds of the linen shop soothed her most days, but not today. The amira of neighboring Qantir had requested a visit, and she’d arrive for the midday meal. It would be Anippe’s first meeting with Sitre alone, their first encounter since Anippe and Sebak’s wedding.

  Why now? The question haunted her.

  Fairly leaping from her stool, Anippe left her desk covered in figures and designs and went to find Miriam. The girl could be anywhere. Having proven skillful in roving, spinning, and beadwork, Miriam moved from station to station, helping wherever she was needed.

  Anippe found her chatting with the rovers. One knee tucked and the other leg splayed, Miriam rolled the dried flax fibers on her thigh, drafting fibers into thread and winding the thread onto broken shards of pottery.

  “Miriam, please find Ankhe and Mehy and send them to my chamber. I’ll meet them there in a few moments.” Anippe needed to hold her son to steady her shaky thoughts.

  The girl immediately set aside her project and bade the women farewell. Anippe approved their work before leaving and assured them of her appreciation. These were good people, hard workers. Mered’s linen shop could run itself. With the improvements made to the structure of the building, the workers seemed even more eager to please him—and their amira.

  Anippe hurried through the garden, past the main hall, and down the long corridor toward the residence chambers. She’d barely caught a whiff of the lotus blossoms, but perhaps the garden would be a nice place to host the meal with Sitre.

  Why did the amira of Qantir suddenly feel the need to be chummy?

  Sebak had warned Anippe at their wedding to stay away from the other amira. He’d said both his uncle Pirameses and Sitre might try to steal Avaris if
Sebak died in battle. Did Sitre know something about the war? Was that why she was coming today? Had something happened to Sebak?

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Anippe whispered to no one. The words echoed in the empty hallway as she approached the chamber of suites in the master’s wing. The four Ramessids snapped to attention when they saw her. She was still disappointed every time Nassor wasn’t guarding her door. She prayed to the gods he’d return from Sile fortress soon.

  A nameless Ramessid opened her chamber door without a word. Anippe walked in without a nod.

  “Ummi!” Mehy ran from the courtyard, through the sitting room, and captured her around the waist—making life worth living.

  Miriam followed closely behind. “He’s been anxious for you to walk through that door.”

  “There’s my big Ramessid prince.” Anippe swept him into her arms, snuggled him close and twirled him around to the sounds of giggles and squeals. Yes, this was what she needed.

  “He did it again.” Ankhe’s sour voice came from the courtyard, spoiling the moment. “He told the chamber guard his name was Moses.”

  Anippe closed her eyes and ceased her twirling but didn’t release her grip on Mehy. Ankhe had retreated into her impenetrable shell after their return from Gurob. Keeping to her chamber, she emerged only when the chamber guard accompanied her to Mehy’s lessons.

  “You’ve got to punish him, Anippe. We can’t just keep reassigning chamber guards to dead-man’s land. He needs to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Enough, Ankhe.” Anippe silenced her with a glare.

  Mehy whimpered and curled his arms to his chest, trying to distance himself from the angry ummi who held him.

  “It’s all right, my big boy. Ummi is cross but not with you. Forgive me for shouting.” Anippe looked at his pudgy hands. Both were immaculate—no dots. Fire shot through her again, but this time she controlled her temper. Trembling with rage, she set her son on his feet and nudged him toward Miriam. “Take Mehy to the bathhouse until I call for you.”

  “Yes, Amira.” The girl’s eyes went wide with fear. Perceptive child.

  Ankhe strolled into the sitting area, too arrogant—or stupid—to be afraid. “I don’t know why you’re yelling at me. It’s your son that needs to keep his Hebrew name—”

  Anippe slapped her into silence.

  Ankhe covered her cheek, shock turning to fury. “How dare you—” She tried to slap Anippe, but the Amira of Avaris caught her wrist—and then caught her other wrist.

  “I know you’re angry and hurt, Ankhe, but I’m grieving too. We both lost a brother, but my ummi was innocent. Amenia was tortured and killed.”

  “It’s true, and I’m sorry, but Amenia and Tut were our past, Anippe. Nassor was my future—my only future.” Ankhe’s lips trembled, her eyes glistening. When Anippe let go of her wrists, she turned away, wiping her cheeks.

  Anippe released a long, slow breath. Was she the one being selfish now? Ankhe had no one but her and Mehy. Another deep breath, and she placed both hands on her sister’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I hit you.”

  Ankhe shrugged her away, still resistant to touch.

  “You’ve always been smarter than me, Ankhe. It’s one of the reasons I allowed you to become Mehy’s tutor.”

  Ankhe whirled on her. “You allowed me to be his teacher so I’d keep your secret.” Her eyes sparked with the familiar anger.

  “In the beginning, it’s true, but you’ve become quite good at it. Mehy looks forward to his lessons with you. He can’t wait to see you each day.”

  The compliment seemed to soften Ankhe’s tone. “I love Mehy, but I don’t want to be his tutor for the rest of my life. I want a husband, Anippe, and children of my own. Surely, you can understand that.”

  “I do understand, but now your match must be determined by Sebak since you’re a servant in his household.”

  “I know.” Ankhe turned away again, wrapping her arms around herself. “I know.”

  Anippe walked across the sitting area to retrieve the goose-shaped box of kohl. She was waiting when Ankhe’s curiosity got the better of her and she turned around. “Mehy is to have three black dots on his hand every day to remind him of my love and Amun-Re’s protection. It is the one thing I require as a part of your lessons. Everything else you may decide, but choose wisely what you teach my Ramessid heir. When Sebak returns, your progress will determine his willingness to match you with Nassor.”

  Tears welled in Ankhe’s eyes as she nodded. Anippe knew better than to hug her, so a pat on the shoulder must suffice to show her love. “Your future is with me, Ankhe. You are sister of Anippe, who is Amira of Avaris, wife of Sebak, daughter of Horemheb.”

  Walking toward the courtyard, Anippe called for Miriam. “Bring Mehy back for a quick lesson.” Then she spoke softly to Ankhe. “I don’t need to punish my son to teach him not to use the name Moses.”

  Mehy followed Miriam toward the courtyard, his route far more circuitous. He chased a gecko, a butterfly, and a frog, and finally meandered to where the three females waited at the low-lying table in the palm shade.

  Anippe pulled him into her lap and transferred the wiggling gecko to Miriam’s care. “What is your name, habibi?”

  His dark brow furrowed. “Which one?”

  She smoothed the little creases from his forehead, realizing she should have explained this much sooner. “Did you know your ummi has two names like you do?”

  Wonder lit his sparkling brown eyes. “Who are you, Ummi?”

  “I am Anippe, but I was once called Meryetaten-tasherit.”

  “I like Anippe better.”

  She chuckled and hugged him close. “Me too, and I don’t talk about my secret name, Meryetaten-tasherit, with other people because—well, because it’s a secret name.”

  Pondering, he fell silent, his brow wrinkling again, this time into deeper lines. “Why must your Mariasniten-kanusit name be secret?”

  She choked back a giggle and thanked the gods he’d asked the question. Widening her eyes, looking right and left, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because even Amun-Re has a secret name.”

  “He does? What is it?”

  Ankhe sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s a secret. That’s the point.”

  Anippe shot a warning glare, cowing her belligerent sister. “We can’t know Amun-Re’s secret name because it will drain away his power. The more people who know our secret names, the less power we have.” She lifted her arm, exposing her muscle. “See how strong your ummi is? That’s because I don’t tell people my secret name.”

  Mehy’s immediate pout told her she’d bungled the lesson.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “You and Ankhe and Miriam already know my secret name. And Jochebed. And those three guards I told.”

  “But we’re the only ones, right?” She lifted his arm and felt his little muscle. “I think you could grow a big strong arm—if you don’t tell anyone else your secret name.”

  “Okay, Ummi.” He nestled against her. “Does anyone know Amun-Re’s secret name?”

  “Yes, habibi. Do you want to hear the story?”

  He nodded and yawned. She’d have to keep him awake. He didn’t have time for a nap before Qantir’s amira arrived.

  “The Lady Isis became vexed that the sun god Re still ruled all the gods—though he’d grown old and tired. But no one could defeat him because they didn’t know his secret name. One day Re spit on the ground, and Isis stirred his spit with Egypt’s black dirt and made a worm. When the noble Re walked in his splendor, as he did each day with the pharaohs and other gods, the black worm stung him—” Anippe jumped and tickled Mehy’s belly until he dissolved into giggles and squeals.

  “Go on, Ummi. Tell the rest.”

  “The great god Re opened his mouth but could not speak. His limbs burned, and his jawbones chattered. The worm’s poison worked its way through him. His companions—Hathor, Nun, Seth, and the great gods—could not help. Finally,
Isis drew near. ‘Tell me your secret name, divine father.’ And when he could no longer stand the torment, Re divulged the name, giving Lady Isis power over life, health, magic, and motherhood.”

  “So what is Re’s secret name, Ummi?” His eyes, full of wonder, gazed at her as if she herself were the great goddess Isis, knowing every answer of life.

  She hugged him and whispered, “Every ummi knows Re’s secret name, my son—but only you, me, and Miriam must know your secret name. Do you understand? You will lose all your power if anyone discovers the name Moses.”

  Anippe waited for Qantir’s amira in the garden, alerted by her guards that Sitre had sailed around the bend of their estates by skiff rather than cross dead-man’s plateau for her visit. Anippe wondered if the famously cruel amira had ever experienced the inhumanity of the plateau’s mud pits and fields.

  Hearing sandals clicking on tiles, Anippe’s heart raced.

  Ankhe leaned over and whispered, “Stop fidgeting with your jeweled belt.”

  Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to include Ankhe and Mehy in the meeting, but she thought her son might provide a welcome distraction if the conversation turned awkward. Miriam brought a pitcher of honeyed wine with a tray of fruit and cheese for refreshment.

  Pirameses’s wife, Sitre, appeared in the arched doorway, her shape as finely sculpted as an alabaster pitcher, and—according to Gurob gossip—her heart made of the same cold stone.

  Anippe stood to greet her, surprised when a little boy toddled around the corner, handmaid chasing him.

  “I told you to tend him,” Sitre barked at the maid, halting both her and the boy where they stood. The Qantir amira returned a practiced smile to Anippe. “Forgive our disruptive entrance.”

  The little boy, perhaps a year old, peered out from beneath thick, dark eyebrows—almost a single line shading his deep brown eyes. He reminded Anippe of Sebak. The boy had already spotted Mehy. His expression brightened at the sight of another little one.