The Pharaoh's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  Shiphrah appeared with two-year-old Yael on her hip. “I’ll take Puah home to rest.”

  “You’re finally here,” Mered said.

  She scowled at his unwelcoming greeting and pointed to a secluded spot near the linen shop. “We were standing over there. Hur needed to work too, so he’s already taken Uri and gotten Heber from your shop. Ednah should probably go too.”

  Mered kissed his daughter’s forehead. “You’ll find Hur at the granaries, but enter the villa through the linen shop. There’s too much chaos at the main entry.” She pecked his cheek with a kiss and hurried toward the shop.

  When Mered returned his attention to Puah, Shiphrah was examining her belly, pressing one hand on top, moving it, and pressing it again. The midwife lifted an eyebrow and waggled her head. “Maybe labor, maybe not. I’ll stay with her and keep her quiet.” She winked at Mered and smiled. “Calm down, Abba. We know what we’re doing.”

  The women giggled and walked down the path to the craftsmen’s village, leaving Mered to take linen orders from the fussy Gurob Harem women. This was the shop’s busiest month of the year.

  Anippe waited in her chamber for Miriam. This was the one area of the villa she’d refused to let Abbi Horem update or expand—her bedchamber, courtyard, and private path leading to the bathhouse. This was her sanctuary. Memories of Sebak still lingered. The basket in which she’d found Mehy now held her most precious jewelry. Though she only visited Avaris for one month each year, it was still home.

  And it belonged to her and Mehy—despite Abbi Horem’s indifference to her wishes. Were it not for the weekly replies from Memphis, she might think the king cared nothing about her at all.

  Anippe had begun weekly correspondence with her abbi at Mutno’s prompting, but the disciplined communication had become beneficial on many levels. Mutno’s standing in Abbi Horem’s eyes had improved as the queen hoped, and the other women at Gurob saw her weekly scrolls as opportunity to gain the king’s favor through Anippe—making them eager workers in the linen shop.

  But Abbi Horem had taken liberties at Avaris beyond Anippe’s approval. Building projects. Added military presence. Even an Egyptian peasant population that made Avaris more a city than a family estate.

  A knock, and her chamber door opened. Miriam. Anippe glimpsed two new Ramessid guards before the door closed.

  Frustrated, she lashed out at her maid. “Where is Nassor? Why hasn’t he come to report on the condition of the estate?”

  “He’s reporting to Pharaoh Horemheb.”

  Anippe clenched her fists and drew in a calming breath. “I am the Amira of Avaris. Why does Abbi Horem build his own wing and hear my estate foreman’s reports?”

  Miriam stood with head bowed. “I’m sorry, Amira.”

  “Send one of those chamber guards in.”

  “Yes, Amira.” Miriam hurried to the door and returned with an extremely young and terrified-looking Ramessid.

  “Bring Mered—the chief linen keeper—to my chamber immediately.” Would the child-guard even know Mered’s name?

  “Yes, Amira.” The guard turned to go, forgetting to bow—and then realizing his error, returned with wide eyes and a hurried nod. Then he fled like a rat to its hole.

  The door slammed shut, and Miriam’s eyes rounded like saucers. Anippe gawked at her, then at the door—and both of them burst into laughter.

  When their laughter calmed to sighs, Miriam brushed Anippe’s arm, reassuring her of her friendship. “Are you willing to share what troubles you, Amira?”

  Anippe moved to her feather-stuffed mattress, and Miriam followed—their usual spot for a chat. “It’s not about Nassor’s report. I’m nervous about seeing Abbi Horem again, and I want my visit with Mehy to go well.” She stared at the beautiful Hebrew girl who had become closer than a sister. “And I know I should find a husband for you, but the truth is—I don’t want to lose you.”

  “I’m your friend, Amira, but I’ve always known I must be your slave first. If you do not wish me to marry, I will not marry.” Miriam turned away, evidence of her suppressed yearning.

  “And because I’m your friend, I cannot deny the longing I hear in your voice.” Anippe tugged Miriam’s chin toward her. “Is there a young man I should choose as your husband?”

  The girl’s cheeks instantly pinked, and she scooted off the bed, busying her hands with unpacking baskets and arranging jars. “I wouldn’t know. I saw him briefly when we returned three years ago. He may be married by now.”

  Anippe’s heart broke. She hadn’t even considered Miriam’s age when she took her to Gurob. “How old are you?”

  “I’ve lived eighteen inundations.” Miriam paused, silent for several heartbeats. “Well past the age of most girls who marry.”

  It was true, but … “It’s not too late.”

  Miriam turned and met Anippe’s gaze. “If El-Shaddai wills it, I will marry. I’ll leave it to Him—and you.”

  A knock on the door ended their conversation before Anippe could discover the name of Miriam’s young man. Perhaps Mered would know.

  She assumed her best angry-amira voice. “Come!” Mered entered, followed by the young Ramessid. “Thank you, guard. You may go.”

  She didn’t know the child-guard’s name and didn’t want to. He at least remembered his bow this time and closed the door gently behind him.

  Mered alternated glances from Miriam to Anippe, a sheepish grin fixed firmly in place. “Is someone dying? The guard said I was needed immediately.”

  “I called you here for a report on the linen shop, but another matter requires immediate attention.” Anippe trained her features, refusing to giggle or even smile. “Miriam, why don’t you go visit Amram and Jochebed this afternoon? Meet me at the quay when Abbi Horem’s barque arrives for the feast this evening.”

  “Thank you, Amira.” Miriam fled from the room, leaving Anippe alone with her linen keeper.

  Anippe strolled to the chair in her courtyard—not completely private, but away from prying eyes and ears. She didn’t want to be all the way down at the river alone with any man. Not even Mered.

  “That was very thoughtful, Amira. Amram and Jochebed will be thrilled to see Miriam.” Mered sat in the chair opposite, resting his elbows on the ebony table between them. He licked his lips, cleared his throat, and smoothed his robe. “Before we discuss your concern, I wondered if I might ask you a question.”

  Surprised at her friend’s nervousness, her curiosity was piqued. “Of course, Mered. Anything.”

  “Well … have you considered …” Again he hesitated, courage flagging. “Have you considered a husband …”

  “Have I considered a husband?” Shocked, she placed a hand over the warmth creeping up her neck. “Mered, I don’t think you should speak to me about a husba—”

  “No, I meant have you considered a husband for Miriam?” After he finally spit out the words, he started to chuckle and dissolved to a laugh.

  Recovering from near humiliation, Anippe laughed with him until all the awkwardness melted into easy silence. “It’s good to be home, Mered.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Amira—and just in time to welcome our new little one.”

  “I spotted you and Puah as my sedan chair entered the villa. She appeared to be due any minute.” Mered’s nod confirmed it, and Anippe let the warmth of their friendship rekindle. “I’m glad you mentioned Miriam’s marriage. That was the other matter I wanted to talk with you about. Do you know who might be a suitable match for her?”

  “I have an idea, but may I ask her parents before I suggest him?”

  Thrilled, Anippe reached across the table and squeezed his hands. “That’s a good idea.”

  “When do you need to know?”

  “After Abbi Horem’s first feast, things settle into our summer rhythm. We can talk about Miriam’s betrothal and wedding then.”

  Mered nodded but seemed distant somehow. Was he thinking about Puah? The linen shop? Anippe couldn’t read his mood
s as easily as before. This warming-up period was awkward each year, when her old friends felt like new friends for a few days.

  “How does Mehy like school?” Mered asked.

  His change of topic rattled her. Mehy rattled her. “My son no longer visits me at Gurob. He and Sety are inseparable, so he’ll see me only at Avaris because Sety lives in neighboring Qantir. Our feast tonight celebrates his graduation from the Kap.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t heard.”

  Good. Perhaps he hadn’t heard that Mehy and Sety had become bullies at school, using Mehy’s size advantage to abuse anyone who ridiculed his stuttering.

  “After his summer here at Avaris, he’ll begin military training under Pirameses at Sile fortress. He and Sety will be separated then, but we’ll let Pirameses deal with the boys’ tantrums.” She noticed a shadow cross Mered’s features. “It seems impossible that my little Mehy is old enough to carry a sword, doesn’t it?”

  “I remember when Pirameses and Master Sebak began their training. It wasn’t an easy time.”

  Anippe’s heart twisted. Was it the mention of her late husband, or that Mered knew Sebak in ways she didn’t? “Tell me more about Sebak, Mered. When did you first become close?”

  “Master Sebak and I grew close when his parents died from the Ramessid plague.”

  “He mentioned that illness wiped out many of his relatives, but I didn’t know he was in military training with Pirameses at the time.”

  Mered paused, seeming to taste each word before releasing it. “Your husband was a good man, Amira. Pirameses and Horemheb tried to make him a monster, calling him Seth reborn—but he was a man, who in the end recognized his need for a God bigger than Seth, Egypt’s fickle god of chaos.”

  Anippe still ached at the thought of Sebak’s death. More than anything, she wished she could have comforted him, held him, given him the love in death he’d given her in life. Would she ever love again? Abbi Horem had asked her in repeated correspondence if she’d consider marriage to this nobleman or that retired soldier. She appreciated his request. He could have forced her. But to his credit, he respected her refusals. She wanted a man of honor like Sebak—like Mered.

  A wave of grief overwhelmed her, and memories came unbidden. Ummi Amenia, Tut, and Senpa—lives taken too soon, loves lost without cause.

  Mered’s touch on her hand startled her. “Amira, I’m sorry. I’ve made you sad. This is a day of rejoicing. You’ll see Mehy soon, and Pharaoh Horemheb.” He offered a kind smile and a scrap of linen from his belt.

  She dabbed her tears and forced a happy tone. “You’re right, Mered. I must focus on the joy of my reunion with Mehy.”

  But she would never rejoice at Abbi Horem’s return. Even after years of practiced smiles and lying eyes, she refused to feign affection for the abbi she once loved. He’d forfeited his right to her heart when he traumatized her son.

  Mehy’s stuttering was a constant reminder of Pharaoh Horemheb’s cruelty.

  32

  [Mered’s] wife from the tribe of Judah gave birth to Jered … Heber … and Jekuthiel.

  —1 CHRONICLES 4:18

  The sun had almost set by the time the king’s barque docked at Avaris. Anippe waited at the front of the crowd, Miriam behind her. Nassor stood on her right, representing the estate. Mered on her left, representing the craftsmen. The other workshop chiefs lined the quay, and the hillside was filled on both sides with slaves, peasants, and soldiers, ready to welcome the royal men from Memphis.

  Mered leaned close. “You don’t really think Gurob linen will ever outshine Avaris byssus, do you, Amira?”

  She elbowed him—hard. Their friendly rivalry had raged for years. “Wait till you see Pharaoh’s dancers.”

  Her focus never left Abbi Horem’s oncoming procession. Pirameses, the honored fan bearer, stirred the sweet scents of the bouquets in the royal attendants’ hands. Twenty priests of Seth, dressed in leopard-skin robes, followed the first tier of dancers—women dressed in pure Gurob byssus.

  “Not bad for the new Gurob quality, eh, linen keeper?” Anippe couldn’t hide her grin.

  “Absolutely stunning.” Mered inclined his head, a tribute from a master.

  Tears stung her eyes. Why was she so emotional today? She’d spent most of the afternoon weeping over Sebak and Ummi Amenia, Tut and Senpa. Mered handed her a patch of linen again for her tears, and she grinned. He was the best friend she had—besides Miriam—and Miriam would soon be married. More tears.

  After the dancers and priests came the king’s advisors. Then the face she’d longed for. Mehy sat astride a sleek black stallion. Sety rode a matching white steed. Both mounts were arrayed in brightly colored plumes and gold braiding. The boys threw flower petals over the crowd—though Anippe thought they seemed to be throwing them at the crowd. Evidently, the twelve-year-old and nine-year-old weren’t happy with their assigned task.

  Mehy’s eyes met hers as he tossed her a fully budded mandrake and winked. Her heart melted. He was as mischievous as a prowling tomcat, but she adored him.

  “Amira, look at Ankhe.” Mered noticed her sister in the procession before she did. Ankhe looked worn beyond weary. “Have you received word of an illness?”

  “No.” Anippe felt her stomach roil at the sight of Ankhe’s despair. Her sister wasn’t ill. She was heartsick. Abbi Horem had informed the other royal tutors that Ankhe was the daughter of heretic King Akhenaten, making her five years at the Kap a journey through the underworld.

  Now that Mehy had graduated, Anippe would petition Abbi Horem for Ankhe’s transfer to Gurob. Perhaps she could find a retired soldier who would treat her sister kindly.

  Anippe fell in step behind the procession, following it to the villa to greet her guests. She’d asked Queen Mutno to wait at the main entrance and welcome the royal guests until Anippe saw them safely disembarked. More guests would arrive through the day tomorrow, but the royals were here and accounted for.

  Nassor escorted her up the hill. “I haven’t had the opportunity to personally welcome you home, Amira. Forgive me.”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “I don’t forgive you or Abbi Horem. I want Avaris returned to the way it was when I left five years ago.”

  His momentary look of panic subsided when he saw her smile. “Life was simpler then, wasn’t it?”

  Apparently he thought she was teasing. She wasn’t, but she’d become as talented as any Gurob noblewoman at playing royal games.

  “Would you be sure the chief steward places Ankhe and Mehy in guest chambers near my wing of the villa?” she said. “I’d like to visit with them both tonight, and I don’t want to seek out guards to escort me across the complex to do it.”

  “I’ll make sure their guest rooms are near your chamber, but it’s never any trouble for a guard to escort you, Amira.” He tilted his head, speaking for her ears alone. “I no longer guard your door, but I would respond immediately if summoned.”

  Her stomach lurched. The last thing she needed was an emotional confrontation. “Thank you, Nassor.” Anippe quickened her step and pretended to see someone she knew. It was the safest escape.

  As she watched the flurry of arriving guests, Anippe glimpsed the king’s double crown disappearing into the main-hall entry, the queen beside him. Noblemen and their wives made grand spectacles of happy—and not so happy—reunions after months of government duty kept the men and women in separate palaces. But Anippe scanned the crowd for one face only.

  “Mehy!”

  He was already chasing Sety around the central fountain, but the sound of her voice captured his attention. “Ummi!” Both boys ran toward her. Mehy won the race—everything was a competition between them—and her son encircled her waist in a crushing hug. “Can I sleep in Sety’s chamber at Qantir this summer?”

  Breathless, Anippe pushed him away—and pried the invisible dagger from her heart. “Why would you stay with Sety when your home is Avaris?” She tried to keep her tone even, to make a logical argument, not an
emotional plea.

  It mattered little. Her son’s exuberance faded, his attention fixed on a rock he kicked between his sandals. “There’s n-n-nothing fun to do here. Pirameses will wake us with sword d-drills and make us run through m-m-mud pits with slaves.”

  Disappointment. Anger. Nervousness. These were the triggers of his stuttering.

  She forced a smile and placed a hand on each sweaty boy’s head, turning them toward the villa. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, we greet Pharaoh because he’s waiting to see us.”

  She wanted to voice the thoughts of a martyred ummi—even if you don’t seem happy to see your ummi, Mehy—but she refrained, at least until he asked about leaving Avaris again.

  They entered Horemheb’s new audience hall, and Mandai immediately captured Anippe’s gaze. The king’s chief Medjay stood on the elevated dais behind Abbi’s left shoulder, his single nod filling Anippe with the warmth of his friendship. She offered a discreet smile in return and approached the throne. The chamber steward grunted and grumbled, frantic with his first day of official visitors.

  Anippe bowed and silently instructed both boys to do the same. Their etiquette was flawless, a deep bow at the waist and eyes averted—never challenging the incarnate god.

  “The great son of Horus has returned home,” she said. “The sunshine of mankind, the radiance of the great god Re, who has brought light to the Two Lands and graces his royal daughter with his presence. Welcome great king, good god, revered abbi. My heart is overflowing at the mere sight of you.”

  “Rise, my treasure, and embrace me.”

  Guests filed into the hall, creating a low hum, while Anippe climbed the two stairs to Abbi Horem’s throne. She hugged him, and glanced over his shoulder at Queen Mutno’s pained smile. Despite Mehy’s cool reception, Anippe’s summer would certainly be more pleasant than the queen’s. Abbi Horem had grown less violent but was never kind to her.