by Mesu Andrews
Horemheb wore a long linen shenti cinched by a jeweled gold belt at the waist, his torso covered by a byssus linen overshirt. His Gold of Praise collar remained his only adornment until the incarnation of Horus indwelled him at the coronation in Thebes. Once a god, he would wear the robes and crowns of Egypt’s Two Lands, carry the crook and flail, and be the representation of the many gods on earth.
“Greetings, my most honored Abbi Horem, victorious general, and imminent king of Egypt’s Two Lands. I am delighted to bask in your presence and anxious to hear of your conquests.” She bowed deeply, waiting to be embraced.
“You may rise.” He walked past her toward the courtyard, followed by Mandai and another Medjay.
Feeling as if she’d been slapped, Anippe caught her breath and glimpsed Nassor’s wounded expression as he disappeared behind her chamber door.
Regret battled with angst as Anippe hurried to catch up with her guests. “Please be seated, and your Medjays may sit on the cushions.” Anippe pointed Miriam toward the brightly colored pillows stacked nearby, and the girl immediately placed them on the tiles for the soldiers.
“My men stand.” Abbi lowered his bulk into a wooden chair, his expression as empty as the table.
Anippe nodded at Miriam, the signal to serve their meal. “I hope you haven’t eaten. We’ll have bread and stewed dates like we shared on our journey from Gurob before my marriage feast—”
“I’ve already broken my fast, Anippe. There’s no time for such nonsense.”
Miriam stopped three paces behind him. Anippe shooed her away, while Abbi continued with his agenda.
“Mehy is to be educated at the School of the Kap in Memphis with other noblemen’s sons,” he announced. “He’ll leave with me at the end of the week. Mered will arrange it.”
Anippe’s heart leapt to her throat. “No.” Respectful but firm, she lifted her chin and waited for the storm.
Abbi Horem’s face flushed, but he remained equally calm. “Leave us. All of you.” The Medjays took Miriam and exited. Abbi’s expression remained fixed on a distant nothing. “You will never again contradict or disobey me with others present.” He slammed his fist onto the ebony table. “Is that clear?”
Anippe jumped but remained composed. “Why are you angry with me?”
“Because you defied me!” He shoved the table with his foot, sending it sailing across the tiles.
She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to be cowed by his fury, and then opened them with renewed calm. “I’m sorry, but it’s more than my refusal of Mehy’s schooling. You’ve been angry since you stepped foot on this estate.” She held his gaze without flinching. “I ask again, why are you angry with me?”
They stared at each other, neither blinking.
And then her defenses began to crumble, an inner trembling becoming visible. By the gods, why can’t I be strong in Abbi’s presence?
“I’m not angry with you.” He bolted from his chair as if fleeing from Anubis himself and walked down the tiled path toward her bathhouse.
Anippe blinked back tears, knowing he wouldn’t respond if she became emotional. Smoothing her linen robe, she breathed deeply and pursued the soon-to-be king.
He stood at the shoreline not far from where she’d found Mehy in the Hebrew basket. Her heart nearly failed. Did he know? Had Ankhe told him?
Abbi walked into the water and brushed his hand over the reeds, seeming almost wistful. “It’s my fault, Anippe. Tut, Amenia, and Sebak are dead, Senpa married to Ay, and Egypt in chaos—all because I let Ay outmaneuver me.” He looked at her, worn, weak, and weary. “I won the war—but at too great a cost. I’ve failed so many people. I failed you, my treasure.”
She fell into his arms, years of forbidden tears flowing—and he didn’t push her away. He rubbed her back, one strong hand nearly covering the span between her shoulder blades. This was the abbi she knew. This man would never take Mered from Avaris or sentence Ankhe to a life of loneliness.
Anippe’s mind began to spin with possibilities, and her tears dried. “You are the best man I know, Abbi, and the deaths of our loved ones aren’t your fault. Is a cobra at fault when it eats a rat? Or a cat when it eats them both? War steals lives, Abbi, but the war is over. Can’t we live again?”
He grasped her arms and held her at arm’s length, a glimmer of hope in his gaze. “Do I detect a plan?”
She chuckled and twisted away, spying a nearby cloth to wipe the smeared kohl from her face. “I would not be Horemheb’s daughter if I did not negotiate for a favorable outcome.”
Abbi came alongside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “And you are my daughter, Anippe.” He kissed her head as they ambled back to the courtyard and the broken ebony table. Abbi sheepishly pointed at his destruction. “I’ll have Mered send a replacement when we’ve settled into the Memphis Palace.”
“Let’s talk about Mered for a moment.” Anippe wished Miriam had brought the stewed dates. Now would be a good time to distract Abbi Horem with food. “When you stole my linen keeper to make him your supply chief—”
“I didn’t steal—”
Anippe lifted her hand, halting his protest. “Let me finish. In Mered’s absence, I’ve maintained the workshop despite Ay’s attempts to bolster Gurob Harem’s linen trade by blocking our access to southern merchants from Arabia and Cush. I, in turn, blocked all Gurob’s access to northern trade routes through the Delta and from the Great Sea.”
Abbi clapped his hands. “That’s my little warrior.”
She nodded, acknowledging his praise. “So while the production at Gurob’s workshop shrank, struggling to import goods and export their linen, our Avaris workshop has grown to twice Gurob’s size—so my merchant spies tell me.” Abbi reached for her hand. “I’m proud of you, my treasure.”
Anippe let his goodwill simmer like a well-seasoned stew. She planned to ask for three favors in hopes of securing two. First, the decoy. “I’ve been able to concentrate fully on the linen shop because Ankhe has been a remarkable teacher for your grandson—”
“I’ll not have—”
She lifted her hand to silence him again. “We must reward her faithfulness by honoring Sebak’s promise to match her with a Ramessid soldier now that the war is over.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but what did it matter? Anippe was confident Abbi Horem would refuse.
“Ankhe is not now and has never been my concern.”
“But she is mine, Abbi.”
“Then do what you like with her.”
Ah yes. The answer she’d hoped for. “My decision is that she remains Mehy’s tutor while he attends the School of the Kap in Memphis.”
Abbi Horem’s eyes narrowed to slits, the goodwill she’d amassed draining away. “You would send a woman to teach your son at a noblemen’s school?”
“I would send King Tut’s sister, who was educated by the king’s personal tutors, to instruct Pharaoh Horemheb’s grandson at the Kap.” She wanted to elaborate, to list every good and logical reason, but instead sat in quiet confidence despite the churning she felt inside.
Abbi Horem’s gaze unnerved her, but to falter would imply weakness and might leave Mehy unattended in Memphis—without Ankhe to inform Anippe about his daily life and care. And if Ankhe could prove herself to Abbi Horem as a valuable tutor, perhaps he would match her with another tutor—or Nassor, if he agreed in time.
“Are you so intent on coddling your son that you’ll provide Mehy with a nursemaid till he graduates from the Kap? Will you become his military trainer at Sile when he turns twelve?” Abbi Horem’s voice rose with each word.
Sensing his frustration, she lightened her tone. “Thank you for offering, but no. I can’t hold on to my son forever, you know.” His expression lightened—almost a grin—and she knew it was time to press her final request. “I’ll be too busy at the Gurob Harem—reviving their linen business.” It was her perfect escape from Nassor’s misplaced affection.
“Oh, I see,” he chuckled. “And who wi
ll oversee Avaris linen production while Gurob benefits from your expertise?”
She left her chair, knelt beside him, and placed her forehead against his hand. “Mered has a wife and children here in Avaris, Abbi. Please don’t take him away from them.”
He yanked his hand from her grasp. “He is a slave, Anippe. Property. He performs a service, a duty, a task—and he’s quite good at getting what I need when I need it.”
Anippe lifted her head but remained on her knees. “Why not employ Tut’s Keeper of the Treasury?”
“Because he also served Ay, my enemy. How can I trust him?”
“Use his knowledge of Ay’s activities to serve your purpose. Demand that he defile the tomb he builds for Ay. Wipe away every trace of Nakhtmin’s military victories. No one knows Egypt better than the man who built King Tut’s thriving kingdom and raided temples for despicable Ay. Use him like a pet crocodile.”
Abbi’s bushy eyebrows drew together, but he didn’t argue, a hopeful sign that gave her courage to continue.
“The man who served Tut—and Ay—can keep records, plan ceremonies, and organize the nation, but he can’t love Mered’s wife and child. And Mered can’t hunt political jackals in Memphis, Karnak, and Thebes when he’s never sailed south of the Delta.”
Leaning back in his chair, Abbi tilted his head, examining her closely. “You’ve changed, my treasure.”
“As have you, Abbi.”
Continued silence left her time to lift his hand to her lips, and he returned her smile. “Don’t think I’m fooled by your scheming, but I will agree to your requests. Ankhe will tutor Mehy. You will oversee the linen shop at Gurob, and Mered will remain in Avaris.”
She bowed her head, hiding her satisfaction. “Thank you, Abbi.”
“But you must agree to my wishes.” His words stirred her dread and drew her gaze. “You will befriend my new wife, Mutnodjmet, at the Gurob Harem and keep me apprised of her activity.”
Anippe’s stomach knotted. “Your new wife?” She’d been so sure Mered was mistaken when he told her. “Surely, you don’t mean Mutno, Ay’s daughter—”
“At tomorrow’s feast, I take Mutno as my bride.” He leaned forward, his teeth clenched. “She’ll watch her abbi and husband die at my hand and spend the rest of her life in the bed of a man who loathes her. Tomorrow night, everyone will know what happens to those who betray Pharaoh Horemheb.” He kissed her cheek and stood. “I’ll let myself out.”
Anippe crumpled to the ground, trembling at his unwitting threat.
29
The Lord is my strength and my defense;
he has become my salvation.
He is my God, and I will praise him,
my father’s God, and I will exalt him.
—EXODUS 15:2
Mered wanted to run, to leave Egypt—at least until Horemheb was finished with his cursed vengeance. Would Horemheb’s violence ever cease?
Mered sat beside an empty throne on an elevated dais, waiting for the feast to begin. Tonight would be his last official act as Horemheb’s chief aid, and then—thanks to the amira—he would return to his duties as chief linen keeper of Avaris.
Mandai and another Medjay, dressed in warrior finery, scanned the room for danger while Ramessid soldiers stood guard around the perimeter and at every exit. Despite the threatening undertones, a celebrative hum rose from those gathered for Horemheb’s victory feast. Mered’s chest grew tighter with each breath, and each heartbeat felt like a rock tossed into sand.
Ramessid officers and wives mingled with Memphis noblemen and their Gurob wives. The women’s tables on Mered’s right were crowded with audacious, fleshy old women trying to feel youthful and impress young men. The scented wax cones atop their wigs had begun to melt. The perfume in the wigs and that on overscented bodies combined to fill the air with enough perfume to choke a lotus.
One table of women, however, was not chatting, cackling, or boasting. Queen Senpa stared into the distance, with Anippe and Ankhe seated on her right and left. Ay’s daughter, Mutno—and Horemheb’s bride-to-be—sat beside Anippe, apparently visiting the same distant land as Queen Senpa. Pirameses’s wife, Sitre, sat beside Ankhe, hiding her bruised face in the shadows. Her husband had obviously discovered her indiscretions. The five women had been placed directly right-center of the throne, across from the king’s table with his officers.
Several noblemen who’d been faithful to Ay also attended tonight’s celebration. Some arrived by force, some by choice. Soon-to-be-king Horemheb was giving them one chance, this night, to determine with whom their loyalties lay. He’d invited as many officials as the Avaris main hall could seat—all to witness his first official acts as the imminent son of Horus.
Horemheb and Pirameses rose from their table of officers and ascended the small, elevated dais. The victorious general took his place on Tut’s gilded throne—Horemheb’s throne now. Pirameses, wearing his Gold of Praise collar, took the vizier’s customary position, and Mandai stood as his chief Medjay. Mered sat on the platform at the right of Horemheb’s feet, ready to record any notes that must be made of the night’s events.
El-Shaddai, please stop this. And if You will not, then protect me—Your servant.
Horemheb’s herald banged a chime bearing the king’s coiled cobra at its peak. “Enter the honorable son of Sebak and son of Pirameses.”
Mehy and Sety appeared at the entrance, wide-eyed and fearful. Anippe had mentioned that Sety’s ummi had visited Avaris occasionally, offering the boys a chance to play together. Mered had cringed at first, remembering Master Sebak’s warning about Sitre, but he was thankful Mehy had a friend tonight. Seeing the boys side by side, he noticed that Sety’s resemblance to the Ramessids was striking. Mehy had definitely inherited the amira’s olive skin tone and sandy-brown eyes.
Flanked by two Medjays in full battle gear, the boys peered around ostrich-plumed bows and muscled ebony thighs. The towering soldiers coaxed them with quiet whispers and even smiled during their stroll toward the throne. At the end of the crimson tapestry, the warriors knelt before their regent and pressed the boys to the same posture.
“Your abbis served me well, boys. You may rise to face me.” Horemheb leaned forward, his kindness settling them, though little Sety reached for Mehy’s hand. “Sety, your abbi Pirameses will be my vizier—the second-most powerful man in Egypt. What do you think of that?”
Four-year-old Sety looked at his ummi first, and then studied Pirameses from head to toe. “My abbi plays swords wif me. I wike him.”
The guests chuckled warmly, as did the king. “I’ve never heard higher praise. I’m happy you approve.”
Turning to his grandson and namesake, Horemheb’s expression grew sober. “Mehy, your abbi Sebak was the bravest man I’ve ever known. He was murdered by cowards, who will soon pay for their treachery. You are my grandson and the son of a great warrior. I have high hopes for you.”
Mehy bowed, wordless, too timid to meet Horemheb’s gaze.
“Boys, you may stand beside my chief aid, Mered. I want you to see what I’m going to do to the men who killed Mehy’s abbi.”
Anippe covered a gasp, then lunged toward her son, but Ankhe pulled her back. Mered felt bile rise in his throat but silently reached for the boys. He could only hold them during this madness. He glanced at the women’s table to see Ankhe whispering to Anippe, who had gone completely pale.
Horemheb turned to the herald. “Bring in the prisoners.”
Two men were dragged to the doorway, their hands and feet bound in chains. Nassor was one of the guards tugging the first prisoner slowly up the aisle, allowing every table to assess the bald and blood-soaked man. His legs had been broken, and he hung limp between the Ramessids. His once-handsome face was almost unrecognizable except for his beaklike nose. Vizier Ay was the first spectacle this evening.
Sety whimpered, and Mehy began to tremble when more Ramessids followed with a second prisoner draped over their arms.
Mered circled
their waists and whispered, “You can close your eyes but don’t turn your head, or Horemheb might notice you’re not watching. Make him think you’re watching.”
Ay’s daughter, Mutno, buried her head in her hands, moaning, and Anippe leaned over to comfort her. The second prisoner was Nakhtmin. Mutno would see both her abbi and her husband die tonight—and then be forced to marry the man who killed them. Mered kept swallowing, fearful he might be sick. El-Shaddai, keep me strong for the boys in my arms.
Both prisoners, now hanging between soldiers before the throne, seemed only half conscious. Did they even know where they were?
Mered glanced again toward Anippe. She was shaking her head violently at him, mouthing a message. No! No! No! What did she expect him to do? Little Sety’s eyes were now fixed on the bloody prisoners, while Mehy stood trembling, eyes closed. El-Shaddai, give me wisdom. Both Mered’s arms were firmly planted around the boys’ waists, his writing utensils at their feet.
My writing utensils.
“Victorious Horemheb, may I approach for a private matter?” Mered’s words quieted every other sound in the hall. Keeping his head bowed, he waited for death or assent.
“What?” Horemheb growled, and Mered practically leapt from his cushion to whisper so only the would-be king could hear. “May I send the boys to their ummis? I can’t write your judgments with them trembling in my arms.”
He paused, studying Mered, but on this last day as chief aid, Mered didn’t dare meet Horemheb’s gaze.
“The boys will stand with my Medjays so my chief aid can record the proceedings.”
Mered bowed. El-Shaddai, please comfort the children where I have failed.
As the boys walked behind the throne to Mandai and the king’s other bodyguard, Horemheb announced to the crowd, “Ramessid boys will be warriors and must see what we do to those who betray Pharaoh.”
And then his judgment began.
“The Gold of Praise is Egypt’s highest military honor—one Vizier Pirameses wears proudly tonight. While fighting Hittites, we’ve learned of another military honor, called the Gold of Valor.” He signaled Nassor to place a long board in front of the prisoners. The other guards held them while Nassor tethered the prisoners’ right arms tightly across it. “Pirameses, take the hands of our enemies and claim your Gold of Valor.”