by Mesu Andrews
Horemheb stopped when he noticed Mered shaking his head. “You could make it back for the burial, but Vizier Ay has already set a plan into motion that makes your succession impossible.” Mered took a deep breath, feeling like a cat surrounded by tethered dogs. “Ay sent a messenger to the Hittite prince, proposing he marry Queen Senpa to unite Egypt with Hatti.”
He braced himself, waiting for someone to slice his throat for reporting the news.
Instead—silent disbelief. Egypt’s three top soldiers exchanged glances, eyes sharp, jaws clenched.
Horemheb spoke with icy calm. “Sebak, Pirameses. You two are the best. First initiative, intercept Ay’s messenger. If we’re too late—may the gods forbid it—you must kill the Hittite prince and his escort before they reach Egypt for the wedding.” Both commanders nodded, and Horemheb gazed from beneath his bristly gray brows. “How many men do you need?”
Pirameses answered, checking each assertion for Sebak’s approval. “We’ll be more effective with fewer men—ten at most. Sebak will take five along the sea, and I’ll take five through the mountains. We’ll meet at the Hittite capital, Aleppo. If neither of us intercepts Ay’s messenger on our way, it means we must kill the bridegroom prince and his escort on our way back to the Delta.”
Mered’s heart was in his throat. How could they suddenly be calm? They spoke of murder and missions like he spoke of flax and linen. This world of war was insanity, and though he had wanted to help, he was grateful to know nothing of this life.
General Horemheb massaged the back of his neck. “I’ll leave enough troops in Kadesh to maintain what we’ve gained in this campaign. We’ll break camp for the Sile fortress at dawn. I hope we have enough supplies for the journey.”
Mered’s heart skipped a beat. Finally, something he could help with. “Isn’t Damascus a day’s journey south? If you can spare a few soldiers and wagons to guide me, Mandai and I can gather supplies and rejoin your troops on the way to the Delta.”
The general’s forehead wrinkled, giving his short black wig a bounce. “That would greatly relieve my supply-line troubles. You’ve just joined the army, linen keeper. We’ll rest tonight and proceed with our duties at dawn.”
Mered couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Joined the army?
Master Sebak grabbed his arm and Mandai’s. “Both of you come with me.” He shoved them toward the ladder and the hole in the floor. Sebak was calmer but still ill mannered.
One step onto the ladder’s rung, and Mered cried out, earning him heated gazes from every soldier. “I’m sorry, but my feet hurt.”
General Horemheb grinned. “You’d better toughen him up by dawn, Sebak. He’s a soldier now.”
Mered climbed down, biting his lip against the pain until he tasted blood. Sebak led him and Mandai out of the fortress to a nearby copse of trees and a two-room tent near the river, guarded by four Ramessid soldiers. Nodding to the guards, Sebak ducked his head and marched inside, Mered and Mandai close behind.
“Are you hungry?” he asked abruptly, shoving a half-eaten loaf of bread at them.
The visitors sat on woven reed mats and ate in silence while Sebak paced. Like a caged beast, he walked the length of both rooms and back again, removing his weaponry and pieces of armor as his expression twisted in unspoken conflict. The spear went first, then a blood-stained cudgel and throwing stick. He hung his bow and quiver of arrows on the center tent pole, and then stood over Mered, silently staring down at him.
Mered rose, still chewing his last bite of bread. “May I assist you, master?”
Sebak lifted his right arm, revealing the laces of his bronze-plated breast piece. Mered fumbled to untie them.
“Why did you come? And—by the gods, Mered—why did you offer to go to Damascus?” Sebak shoved Mered aside and loosened the laces himself. Then he pulled off the breast piece and threw it across the tent, turning his back to his visitors.
Mandai stood. Mered sensed his protectiveness and was grateful. “We needed to gain passage on a merchant’s ship, and Mandai knew how to find you. Besides, I knew you and General Horemheb would trust the message from my lips.” He stepped nearer to Sebak. “Anippe has learned to run the linen shop. I hadn’t intended to volunteer as the general’s supply chief, but the workshop at Avaris will endure.”
“I don’t care about linen. I needed you to protect my wife!”
Mandai stepped between them, but Mered nudged him aside, fear subsiding at his master’s transparency. “Your wife is well protected. We left her in the care of an honorable Ramessid.”
Sebak’s eyes went cold. “If he touches her, I’ll kill them both while you watch—and then I’ll slaughter Puah and everyone you care about. A woman cannot live without her husband for so long and remain faithful. Look at Sitre. She’d be dead if she were my wife.”
Mered gulped for air and felt the ground swim beneath him. Who was this man? What had happened to the Sebak he knew? “Anippe loves you. She yearns for your return and wants no other man.”
The commander waved him away as if he were a fly on a horse’s rump.
Mered grabbed his muscled arm. “No, you will listen to me.”
Sebak drew back to strike his friend but stopped before the blow. He suddenly looked like a little boy, terrified of a bad dream, and Mered’s heart broke.
Avaris’s Chief Keeper of Linen voiced the forbidden question. “Why have you not come home to your wife—even for a short visit?”
The commander stared at Mered long and hard, and then began trembling. He looked down at his hands and rubbed at the dried blood still clinging from battle. “I can’t live in both worlds, Mered.” He rubbed harder, frantic now. “It took months after I left Anippe to sear my conscience—to take out a man’s eyes without remorse, to do what no other commander will do to get information we need to conquer our enemy. I am Seth reborn. I am darkness and chaos.” He grabbed his linen keeper by the throat, lifting him from the ground. “Shall I come home to visit my wife and son? Should they know Seth reborn?”
Mered slapped at Sebak’s forearm, but it was Mandai who stomped the commander’s foot and kneed his gut to break his hold. Sebak landed a blow against Mandai’s jaw, and the Medjay fell hard, unmoving. Sebak shook with fury, and Mered waited for a fist to end him.
But Sebak leaned close, grinding out the vow. “I will return to my wife and son when I can be the man they deserve—but not before.”
He marched from the tent, leaving Mered panting.
26
In their hearts humans plan their course,
but the Lord establishes their steps.
—PROVERBS 16:9
Anippe eased into the cool waters of the Nile that had risen to her bathhouse, enjoying the solitude of midday while Ankhe worked with Mehy in the garden on his first hieroglyphs.
The inundation had been rich this year, bringing its fertile black deposits from the southern lands beyond Nubia. Raging in its early northward journey, it calmed to glorious rushing waters in the Delta’s marshland. Avaris would sow their crops within days.
Or will we? She gazed beyond her privacy wall to the quay and wondered if Ay would attack now that his ships could easily sail into the Delta’s swollen branches of the Nile. The Ramessids had posted guards where the Nile split into seven channels—north of Memphis—each a separate path to fearful estates and Ramessid fortresses on alert. Would Abbi Horem’s troops arrive in time?
Would her husband ever return to her? Perhaps he’d taken another woman in the camp. She’d heard some soldiers did—some even had families with their “war wives.” Anippe dipped her head beneath the water so no one could see her cry.
When she emerged, Mehy ran down the slope toward the bathhouse, waving a papyrus toy boat. “Ummi! Ummi! Look what Ankhe made for me today.”
Ankhe followed him, Nassor not far behind.
The Ramessid captain had returned six months ago from Sile, reporting no news from Egypt’s army in Palestine. Anippe knew he was lying as all
men did when speaking of war, but Nassor’s return had settled Ankhe—a welcome relief amid greater tensions. Though he still seemed oblivious to Ankhe’s affection, his presence seemed enough to satisfy her for now.
“It’s a boat. Do you like it?” Mehy rushed into the water to show her his treasure. “I’m going to find a baby pigeon and put it in the boat to sail across the Nile.”
Anippe redirected him toward shore and knelt down beside her growing boy. He was four inundations old now by public reckoning—nearly five, truth be told.
“Why would you sail a baby pigeon across the Nile in a boat, Mehy? Won’t the ummi bird miss her little chick?”
“Perhaps, but Ankhe says maybe a jackal will find the baby bird and raise it as its own.”
Ankhe arrived with a smirk on her face. “Doesn’t that sound like a story for the gods, Anippe? A simple pigeon found in the Nile, raised by a jackal.”
Anippe’s heart skipped, but she struggled for calm in Nassor’s presence. “Perhaps Nassor could make you a wooden sword today.” She raised an eyebrow at her faithful captain, who nodded his consent. “It’s time you learned how to protect your ummi, young man.” Mehy dropped the boat and was already skipping away with Nassor when Anippe grabbed Ankhe’s arm. “How dare you!”
“I’m simply preparing him for the truth when it comes out—and it will come out, Anippe. How do you expect to keep this secret when your husband and the general return? Mehy looks nothing like Sebak. His skin is olive, not deep brown; his hair brown, not black. And he doesn’t have the Ramessid brow.”
“He has our complexion, the coloring of Ummi Kiya—the Mitanni princess.”
Ankhe laughed. “Surely you’re joking.”
Anippe stepped closer, growling. “I’m deathly serious.”
“Amira.” Nassor’s voice startled her.
She turned toward the villa. “Mered?”
He stood on the tiled path between her chamber and the bathhouse, looking worn and weary.
But alive.
Abandoning decorum, she ran to greet him and threw her arms around his neck, sobbing.
Even Nassor offered him a smile. “Welcome home, Hebrew. Where’s Mandai?”
Anippe released him, suddenly frightened. “Yes, where’s Mandai?”
“He’s safe, guarding General Horemheb.” Mered tilted his head, compassion in his gaze. “Your abbi Horem sends his love, Amira.”
No mention of her husband. Perhaps Sebak had given up feigning love for his wife at home.
Mehy peered around Nassor’s leg, and Mered leaned over, offering a smile. “Greetings, Master Mehy.”
“I remember you,” the boy said, beaming. “You’re Jered’s abbi. I stayed at your house in the slave village.” He hugged Mered’s knees.
“I remember you too. Have you seen Jered and Ednah lately? Or Puah?”
“No. I’ve been busy learning.”
“I see. Well, learning is very important because someday you’ll be master of Avaris.”
Mered’s words struck Anippe like a blow. “Master of Avaris.”
When Mered met her gaze again, she knew before he spoke. “I have news that I’d like to share without Mehy hearing.” He glanced at Nassor. “But you should stay.”
Anippe whispered around the emotion lodged in her throat. “Ankhe, take Mehy into the villa.”
“Please, Ummi. I want to talk to Mered too.”
“Mehy, go!” Anippe shoved him toward her sister, his wounded expression inconsequential in light of Mered’s glistening eyes.
Ankhe hurried the boy toward the villa, glancing over her shoulder with each step. Mered’s chin began to quiver, his cheeks quaking. Before he spoke a word, Anippe’s knees gave way. Mered caught her before she fell and then produced a papyrus scroll tucked in a fold of his robe.
She stared at the papyrus and then into the eyes of the friend she trusted. “You tell me.”
He lowered her to the ground, and Nassor sat with them. Mered cleared his throat and met her gaze. “Master Sebak and five other men were ordered to kill the Hittite prince before he reached Egypt to marry Queen Senpa. Sebak’s troops intercepted the prince, who was escorted by fifty men. They killed Prince Zannanza, but”—Mered’s voice broke—“Master Sebak was killed as they made their escape.” He reached for her hand. “He loved you, Amira.”
Sobbing, she shook her head. “No, Mered. If he loved me, he would have come home. Even Pirameses came home to visit a wife who cares nothing for him.”
“He was protecting you, Amira.” Mered dropped his head, shaking it as if fighting his own thoughts. When he looked up again, tears stained his cheeks. “You wouldn’t have known the man he’d become. Have no doubt that your husband loved you with his last breath.”
Anippe closed her eyes, not sure if Mered’s words made Sebak’s death easier or harder. But the reality was all too clear. Sebak was gone forever.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Ankhe staring anxiously from the courtyard while Mehy chased a butterfly. When the sisters’ eyes met, Anippe offered silent regret—Sebak wouldn’t return to make Ankhe’s marriage match. Ankhe’s features hardened, and she stormed into the chamber. Ankhe’s first response was always anger—Anippe’s was fear.
Her son abandoned his butterfly chase and began tapping a stick on clay tiles to a silent beat. Happy and carefree, Mehy had never known his abbi. How could he grieve? But who would teach her son honor, courage, and integrity? Anippe turned to the two men before her. Nassor could teach him to be a Ramessid, but he couldn’t teach Mehy to be a man.
She squeezed Mered’s hand, the man who’d known her husband best. “At least you’re home now, my friend. You can return to your family and the workshop.”
“No, Amira.” Mered shook off her hand and wiped his face. “General Horemheb requires my presence as his supply officer.”
“But I need you here.” Fear rose to panic. “Sebak warned me that Pirameses might try to take Avaris from me if something ever happened to him.”
Nassor reached for her hand. “The general wouldn’t let that happen, Amira.” His eyes flashed with knowing. “You’re safe under my care.”
A cold shiver worked up her spine, and she pulled her hand away. “What aren’t you telling me, Nassor? Did you know about Sebak’s death?”
“No, Amira, I didn’t know about the master’s death; however, I received a message from Pharaoh Horemheb yesterday that I was now estate foreman of Avaris. I’m sure Pirameses wouldn’t interfere with an estate over which Pharaoh himself has taken charge.”
“Pharaoh himself has taken charge.” The words stung with betrayal.
Anippe’s fear settled into simmering fury. “My abbi has taken both my linen keeper and my estate from me, then? Is that it?”
Nassor shrugged. “Who are we to question the mind of a god, Amira?”
Anippe wanted to scream, “He is no god!” If Tut had been a god, why hadn’t he healed himself? If Abbi was a god, why couldn’t he kill Ay?
She looked at Mered, who sat studying his hands. “Where is the army? Is Abbi at least bringing them back to the Delta to protect us?”
“I am to report to the Sile fortress tomorrow.”
Anippe felt as if he’d slapped her. “Sile? Abbi Horem is within a day’s journey, and he didn’t come here himself?”
Nassor brushed her arm. “He is deeply engaged with his campaign against Vizier Ay. A man at war cannot pause to visit a woman.”
Anippe swiped at her tears but couldn’t keep her cheeks dry. “War is no excuse.” She turned to Mered, temper rising. “War shouldn’t drive Sebak away from his wife. War shouldn’t keep Abbi Horem from seeing those he loves.”
“Your abbi offers no excuses for his actions, Amira.” Mered’s features hardened. “Pharaoh Horemheb answers to no one.”
The deep lines on Mered’s features revealed more than physical exhaustion. Six months as Abbi Horem’s supply chief had aged him, changed him. He was a man in need of home.
“Go home to Puah and your children, my friend, but come to the villa to say good-bye before you leave in the morning.”
“Thank you, Amira.”
The two men helped her to her feet, and Nassor cradled her elbow, offering support as she walked on shaky legs toward her private chamber. Ankhe appeared at the door and looked first at Anippe—and then at Nassor’s hand so tenderly placed. Ankhe’s face reddened, and she fled the chamber, slamming the door behind her.
Nassor and Mered exchanged a shrug, but Anippe knew too well the suspicions now brewing in her sister’s mind. Ankhe had opened her heart to only one man, and he was standing at Anippe’s side. She had no interest in Nassor, but would Ankhe believe her? Had her sister already realized that Sebak’s death meant the death of her marriage match?
27
Though I cry, “Violence!” I get no response;
though I call for help, there is no justice.
—JOB 19:7
THREE YEARS LATER
SILE FORTRESS, DELTA, EGYPT
Mered watched the buzzing courtyard of Sile fortress from his perch in the barbican—the north defensive tower—where he and twelve other slaves had taken refuge during Ay’s surprise attack. Three days ago, Ay’s son-in-law, Commander Nakhtmin, successfully breached the Ramessid fortress north of Memphis and sailed his troops through all seven branches of the Nile into the Delta marshlands—at least that was what Ay boasted through his messenger when his troops surrounded Sile.
Commander Nakhtmin had brought Nubian soldiers to feast on his grandest victory, Medjays from Cush he’d trained himself. Nakhtmin’s army advanced toward Sile by land and ship, halted abruptly by a flood-swollen moat teeming with lively crocodiles.
Only one gate opened to Horemheb’s inner sanctum. The high walls of Sile were fortified three layers thick with sand and stone and Hebrew mud brick. After two days of Nakhtmin’s useless arrows, rocks, and spears, the commander sent a whole battalion of Medjays into the crocodile-infested moat. Perhaps he planned to march across their floating corpses and tear Sile’s gate from its Hittite-iron hinges.