by Mesu Andrews
Mered nodded, contemplating how much to confide about his days as supply chief in Horemheb’s army. Did this boy realize the level of depravity he was about to encounter? “Does Vizier Pirameses ever talk about your abbi Sebak, the role he played in the battles fought with your Jad Horem?”
Mehy turned slowly, his cheeks white as natron powder. “What do you know of Abbi Sebak’s role in battle, Mered?”
Mered’s heart broke. “I was the supply chief who helped get needed provisions to King Horemheb’s army the last time they marched on Kadesh.”
The boy returned his gaze to the quay. “I am the son of Sebak, Seth reborn. I know what is expected of me on the field of battle, Mered.”
El-Shaddai, please, no. Mered grabbed Mehy’s shoulders, shaking him. “You are not Seth reborn, and your abbi was a kind and gentle man. He was plagued by demands, tormented by his choices. Men are not gods, Mehy. There is only one God, and His name is El-Shaddai.”
Mehy shrugged off Mered’s hands and sniffed back tears. “Sit back, Mered.”
The linen keeper pressed himself back against the tree. He waited, head bowed, for his master’s verdict. Had he gone too far?
“I go to battle representing my ancestors, Mered. Abbi Sebak and Ummi Anippe will be watching from the underworld. Jad Horem will remain in Memphis to implement his Great Edict and ensure the rebuilding of Egypt, so I am the only member of our family that can fight. I must bring them honor. I must be Seth reborn.” He reached for Mered’s hand and squeezed it gently. “I must be who they’ve trained me to be, my friend.”
Anger, guilt, and submission churned in Mered’s belly. He yearned to tell Mehy the truth. You’re the son of a faithful Hebrew who loves El-Shaddai and trusts Him with your life. Instead, he wiped the moisture from his cheeks and tried to ignore the deep ache inside. “Of course, Master Mehy. I will pray to El-Shaddai for your protection—just as I prayed for your Abbi Sebak. Is there any way I can help prepare for your journey?”
“I want to see Miriam.”
Startled, Mered tried to imagine a benign reason a handsome fifteen-year-old soldier would want to see a beautiful twenty-one-year-old slave girl. “Of course. She works for me in the linen workshop. You can see her there any—”
“No. She must come to the villa … to my bathhouse. Tonight.”
Mered swallowed his rising panic. Master Mehy’s interest would be worse than Nassor’s—if he intended what most Egyptian men intended when they summoned a Hebrew slave girl. Did Mehy know she was his sister? As an Egyptian prince, did he care?
Before Mered could form a well-phrased question, the master stood and offered his hand to help his linen keeper stand. “Make sure she arrives before dusk. I’ll have guards escort her home when I’m finished with her.” Mered accepted the proffered hand, and Mehy pulled him to his feet, pointing to the gifted leather braid around the linen keeper’s wrist. “I will make you proud when I fight the Hittites, Mered.”
He walked away, his broad shoulders and powerful stride reminding Mered of a younger Amram. “El-Shaddai, protect your handmaiden, Miriam,” he whispered.
“Protect Miriam from what?”
Mered whirled to find Jered’s face clouded with anger. He lifted his hands to explain—or at least form a plausible half truth.
But Jered forgot Miriam when he saw the braided leather band around his father’s wrist. “Where did you get this?” He glanced down the hillside path, where Master Mehy was just entering the villa. “Mehy gave you this? Why does Bithiah have two of these hidden under her sleeping mat?”
“How do you know what she has hidden under her mat?” Mered was indignant at his son’s snooping but also anxious to divert his intuitive mind.
“I may sleep on the roof, Father, but I’m a part of this family, and I know more than you think about what does and doesn’t happen on Bithiah’s sleeping mat.” Comprehension dawned on his features—at first gentle like the early inundation and then the flood of his fury. “Bithiah is the amir—”
Mered clamped his hand over Jered’s mouth, grinding out his threat between clenched teeth. “If you are the grown man you claim to be, you will consider the many lives at stake—and you’ll never speak those words again.”
37
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
—ISAIAH 43:1
Bithiah had been awake most of the night, waiting for Miriam’s return and worrying about her two youngest boys. At times like these she missed Ankhe. She would have woken her and chattered on about her fears. Turning to cuddle with three-year-old Jekuthiel, she whispered into his dreams. “You will not plug rat holes at dawn, my precious boy—and neither will Heber.”
The moon was well past its zenith, and she still wasn’t sure how she’d keep that promise. The plan would undoubtedly involve deceiving Mered, since he’d refused her repeated pleas to exempt their boys from the task.
“My children will do their duty like all other slave children,” he’d said.
Well, other slave children didn’t fill the hole in her heart as Jeki and Heber did. She’d cried until she was sick when Heber had helped Hur previously. Tomorrow would be the first time Jeki was old enough to share in the awful task.
A heavy-footed pair of soldiers drew near their outer curtain and halted. Bithiah lifted Jeki’s sleep-sodden arm from her throat and eased off her mat in time to meet Miriam at the doorway.
Miriam gasped. “Why are you still awake?”
Bithiah grabbed her arm and led her back outside. “I wanted to hear what happened with Mehy.” She refused to believe Mehy would harm Miriam—as Mered feared—but Ramessid training changed people. Bithiah peered into Miriam’s troubled eyes. “Are you all right?”
“He wanted me to sing for him.”
Relief came like a wave, and Bithiah pulled Miriam into a fierce embrace. But the girl was shaking. Bithiah released her. “What happened? Something’s wrong.”
“Mehy also asked me about El-Shaddai, and—”
“He wants to believe in the Hebrew God?”
“His questions were only about the Hebrews, Bithiah. Mehy asked if I knew his Hebrew parents. He asked me about the day you found him on the Nile.” Tears pooled on Miriam’s lashes, and Bithiah swallowed her rising panic.
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him his Hebrew nursemaid, Jochebed, was his mother—and mine. I was the sister who followed his pitch-covered basket among the reeds until he was safe in the arms of Pharaoh’s daughter.” Miriam blinked, sending a stream of tears down her cheeks. “He ordered me to leave—and then he begged me to stay.” She hugged Bithiah again, sobbing quietly into her shoulder. “He’s so alone, so confused and afraid.”
Her heart breaking, Bithiah held her and remembered the three dots she used to draw on Mehy’s hand. How she wished she could reassure him of her presence now and tell him of the Hebrew God that Mered said was greater than Re. “He’s not alone, Miriam. Did you tell him?”
She nodded. “Of course. I told him El-Shaddai had preserved his life for a purpose, but he laughed and said the gods had better hurry with their purpose because he’ll surely die before seeing his eighteenth inundation.”
“Die?” Bithiah pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length. “Why does he think he’ll die?”
“Mehy must walk in Sebak’s sandals and become Seth reborn when Pirameses engages the Hittites next month. He told Mered when he gave him this year’s training award—”
“The Hittites?” Bithiah felt her face drain of color.
Miriam’s furrowed brow lifted in dawning regret. “I’m sorry. I thought Mered told you. I’m sure he just didn’t want you to worry.”
Bithiah’s trembling began in her legs and crawled up her spine. Mered had come home from the workshop with Mehy’s braided leather around his wrist—joyful and winsome, but weary from a long day. He’d gone to bed early. She should have known something was wron
g.
Why had she stayed awake half the night, worrying about her intended deception? At least her lies would protect Mered’s children, not send a son to battle. “Should I try to see him, Miriam? Would it help Mehy to know he’s not alone?”
“Mehy was furious when he discovered I’d kept the secret of his Hebrew parents from him. I don’t know how he’d react if he found out you and Mered have deceived him too.”
The truth burned in Bithiah’s chest. Her presence now would only intensify Mehy’s pain. And what if he meted out his wrath on Mered and the children? No, for everyone’s sake, she would continue as Bithiah—and for Jeki and Heber’s sake, she would deceive her husband. She couldn’t prevent Mehy from going to war, but she would keep her little boys’ arms out of rat holes.
She squared her shoulders and offered her hand to Miriam. “Come, dear one. You need some rest. We caught up on most of our household chores yesterday, so you can accompany Mered to the shop in the morning.”
“I don’t mind helping you, really. I could—”
“No, I insist. Mered came home especially worn out tonight. I think he needs help preparing for the Lotus Feast next week.”
Miriam laced her arm through Bithiah’s. “All right. I’ll go with Mered, but I enjoy helping you. In fact, I think I prefer our quiet days at home.”
They entered Bithiah’s dark room, the sounds of sweet snores and heavy breathing assuring them the children were still dreaming.
“Good night, Bithiah.” Miriam slipped beyond the dividing curtain to her family’s rooms.
It would be a good night only if Bithiah could devise a plan to keep Heber and Jeki from ratting.
Dawn finally cast its lavender glow through their single window, and Bithiah untangled herself from Jeki’s sleeping form again. Tiptoeing to the rickety ladder leading to their roof, she climbed up and peered over the palm-covered mud-brick rooftop. Mered slept under one canopy and Jered under a second. Her husband stirred on his mat, and she ducked down, heart pounding. With a calming breath, she popped her head above the roof again and reached out to touch his foot.
Mered jumped to his feet, bumping his head on the canopy, and saw her at the opening. “What’s wrong?” he said, loud enough to wake the gods.
“Father?” Jered sat up on his mat.
Bowels of Anubis, he’s awake. Bithiah pressed her finger against her lips and then ducked out of sight, hoping Mered would reassure Jered.
“It’s nothing, son. Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you for breakfast.” Mered approached the opening where Bithiah waited, pulling his robe on over his tunic.
Bithiah hurried down the rungs, feeling her cheeks warm. She’d never seen her husband in his undertunic. Flustered already, she waited by the curtained doorway and fled outside the moment he saw her. He followed, as she’d hoped.
Mered slipped around the curtain and stared down at her with pleasure. “You wanted to talk alone?” He took a step nearer, his hands sliding down her arms, stealing her breath.
She shuddered, part cool morning breeze, part nerves.
He pulled her into a gentle embrace, sliding his hands up and down her back. “You’re shivering. I can go back in and get our wool blanket.” He pressed his lips against her ear, his nearness making her head swim. “I’ll go to the roof and wake Jered. He and Ednah can collect dung chips for the fire. We could watch the sunrise from the roof. It’s beauti—”
“The boys!” Her words echoed in the stillness.
Mered jumped as if she were a viper and he, just bitten. “What about the boys?”
“My boys are too tired to help Hur with ratting after digging trenches in the garden yesterday.” She was still shivering, and her delivery was less than convincing.
He leaned against the doorjamb, crossed his arms, and grinned. “Your boys?”
If he wasn’t so annoyingly handsome, she would be angry at his swagger. “All right, our boys are not teasing cobras with a dead rat on a stick and then shoving old linen into their nests. It’s ludicrous to place children in such dan—”
His lips were on hers, silencing her. He cradled her head gently but firmly. Sudden and decisive. And then he released her. “Thank you for loving our sons.”
She had no response. Three years, and he’d never kissed her. And then he picked today, when she’d decided to deceive him? Of course, she loved their sons.
He brushed her lips with another kiss. “But they are Hebrew children, and they must take their turns at ratting like other slave children. It’s scary and unpleasant, but we trust El-Shaddai with their lives.” He shoved aside the curtain as if the conversation was over.
“How can you entrust them to a god who sends my son to battle the Hittites?”
He halted midstride, his playfulness gone like the morning mist. Slowly, deliberately, he faced her—no kiss this time. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Mehy. How did you find out?”
“Miriam told me last night when she came home.”
His concern deepened. “Is she all right? What did Mehy want with her?”
She glanced right and left to be sure no one else would hear. “He was curious about his Hebrew heritage. He questioned Miriam, and she told him the truth.”
Panic flooded his face. “About you?”
“About her and Jochebed. Mehy doesn’t know you and I continue the deception.” She saw a web of unspoken thoughts cloud his eyes.
His hands fell from her shoulders, and he stepped away, the distance between them making her shiver. “How did he react to the truth?”
“Miriam said he was hurt, angry.”
Mered stared at his bare feet for a moment and then cradled her elbows, drawing her near. Bithiah thought he meant to hold her again, but he merely bent to whisper, “I think we should tell him, Bithiah—about you, about us. I hate deceiving him when I believe El-Shaddai could use the truth to encourage him.”
She stood like a pillar, confusion warring with longing. Everything within her ached to see Mehy again, but what would he do when faced with the truth? She’d seen what Ramessid training did to a man. What if Mehy had become like them?
“No, Mered. I couldn’t bear it if he hurt you or one of our children.”
He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his tenderness wringing her heart. “If fear robs us of truth, faith never has a chance to grow. Trust El-Shaddai, Bithiah. He saved your life and ours when He brought you to me.” He leaned down for a kiss, but she turned away.
“You mean trust the god who took Mehy from me and killed Puah in childbirth?”
His affection withered, and he scrubbed his face with both hands and gave her a hard stare. “Someday, El-Shaddai will prove Himself to you, but until then, I will trust Him for both of us. Jeki and Heber go ratting at the villa today, and I’ll wait to see Master Mehy’s mood to determine if today is the day we reveal our secret.” He stood glaring down at her, waiting for her challenge.
She wanted to scream. She wished she could rant and demand he change. But Mered’s faith was the bedrock of the man—and the man was the bedrock of her life. She would simply follow the plan she devised last night. Her children were not poking at snakes or reaching into rat holes today, and according to Miriam, Mehy’s mood should keep Mered at a distance.
Lowering her head, Bithiah pretended submission. “I’m sorry I don’t share your faith in El-Shaddai, but our sons need rest. Jeki and Heber are exhausted after helping Miriam and me prepare the new garden site for sowing season. Please, let them sleep this morning, and then I’ll ask Shiphrah to take them to the villa for ratting when she takes Uri. She won’t mind.”
Mered lifted her chin up, searching her eyes. “If you say Shiphrah will deliver them to the villa, I believe you.”
Without flinching, she held his gaze. “Perhaps I’ll put on a wig and byssus robe and take the boys to the villa myself—and appear to Mehy as Anippe, raised from the dead.” She meant to tease, but her humor fell flat.
“Such a reckless de
ed would kill us all.” Mered pulled her into his arms again and laid his cheek atop her head. “When we tell Mehy the truth, we’ll do it gently. He’ll understand why we’ve kept it from him so long, and he’ll be relieved to know his ummi is alive.”
Could Mehy really be relieved? She hadn’t anticipated anything but anger and feelings of betrayal.
Mered brushed her cheek with his fingers and released her. “We’ll let our little boys sleep. You start the fire, and I’ll get Ednah and Jered to help me gather water.” He leaned down and kissed her gently, thoroughly. “I love y—your way with our children.”
Breathless, Bithiah hurried inside before Mered noticed the heat in her cheeks and before the fire in her veins betrayed her. Did he almost say, I love you? For three years, she’d kept him at a distance. Still terrified of childbearing, she would rather deny him than confront her deepest fear.
She couldn’t risk loving Mered, but loving his children gave her another chance at being Ummi—the one name in her life she’d loved more than any other. She’d been terrified as Meryetaten-tasherit, betrayed as Anippe, and abandoned as Amira. Bithiah could never deceive Mered, but as Ummi, she could do anything to protect her children.
Mered let the morning sun warm his left shoulder, purposefully wading through the receding shoreline of inundation’s last days. Jered, Ednah, and Miriam walked ahead of him, silent and pensive, as was he. These morning walks to the workshop gave him time to think—of El-Shaddai, his family, and the woman he called Bithiah. Would she really ask Shiphrah to take their boys to the villa?
He blew out a deep sigh. Can I ever trust her fully when our marriage is based on a lie?
In the early days, he’d grieved Puah deeply and felt relief at Bithiah’s coolness. Now he wondered if a lie was more comfortable than the truth for Bithiah. How would she respond if he told her his feelings were changing—deepening? Sometimes sharing the truth seemed harder than living the lie.