The Pharaoh's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  The smell of burnt flesh was too much to bear. Bile rose in her throat, and Nameless ran out the door to vomit.

  A tender hand pressed against her back, rubbing and patting, and then she heard Jochebed’s voice. “Love forces us to choose, Bithiah. I chose to protect Moses in a basket on the Nile. You chose to protect Heber and Jeki, and Miriam chose to protect you. If our motives are truly pure, the result is in God’s hands.”

  Shame kept her head bowed. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Jochebed. Leave me alone.”

  The older woman disappeared inside, and the one with no name stared at the brightening sky. Life was truly relentless. She would breathe. She would live. She would work.

  Inhaling deeply, she returned inside to the averted glances of Mered and his firstborn. Amram and Jochebed had disappeared with Ednah into their adjoining room.

  “Ednah will help Jochebed tend Miriam and Amram today,” Mered said. “I’ve asked Jered to help you with household tasks.”

  Nameless crossed the room and scooped a cup of rough-ground grain into a pot, adding a pinch of salt. “I don’t need help.”

  “Regardless, he’s staying. I’ll send Heber and Jeki to stay with Shiphrah. They can play with Uri and Yael until it’s time to help prepare the fields for sowing.” Mered reached for the pot of gruel and hung it over the fire to cook.

  “Whatever you wish.” She bowed her head and tensed as his hands rested on her arms, his tenderness scalding her.

  “I’ll stay home instead of Jered if you need me.”

  “No. You must prepare for the Lotus Feast. Please go.”

  Only a moment’s hesitation before his hands fell away. “I’ll come home later to check on you.”

  “I’ll get water at the river.” Jered grabbed a water jug and was out the door before they could answer.

  She lifted her eyes, forcing herself to speak. “Please take him to the shop with you. I can’t deal with his hatred today.”

  “He doesn’t hate you.” Mered’s eyes were pleading. “The truth is, he’s so angry at everyone right now, I’m afraid to have him at the shop or near the villa. Please, Bithiah. He must stay home today.”

  She bowed her head, nodding slightly. Breathe. Live. Work. “As you wish, Mered.”

  After gathering two more jugs of water, Jered plopped the last one on the floor and started toward the roof ladder.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge her question.

  She grabbed his arm and whirled him around. “Jered, please. I need your help making this week’s beer.” Of all the household tasks, making beer was the one she hated most—even more than cleaning waste pots.

  He rolled his eyes, but didn’t refuse.

  “You can have the rest of the nabk-berry bread if you help me,” she said.

  Bribery seemed to work. Within moments, they were settled into a deserted clearing behind the first row of long houses. Breathe. Live. Work.

  She held the sieve over the flavoring vat, while Jered lifted the large amphora of fermented mash. “Pour slowly,” she said. “I don’t plan to wash robes for three days, so no splashing.”

  He started pouring. “I don’t hate you.”

  She raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond.

  “And it’s not your fault Miriam was beaten. It’s Mehy’s. He could have found another way to punish her.”

  Again she remained silent.

  “Even if he did have to beat her, he didn’t need to be so brutal. You should see her.” Jered poured faster as his fervor increased. “How could he do that to his sister? If you love someone, you don’t hurt them.”

  She shook her head and scoffed at his youth. “Those who love us hurt us most.” A huge lump of mash plopped into the sieve. “Slow down, you’re splashing.”

  He ignored her, the mash pouring out with his words. “But I love someone, and I would never hurt her. Father won’t even let me talk about marriage until I hear from El-Shaddai.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry to get married? You’ve only seen fifteen inundations.”

  “I’ve been a skilled craftsman in the linen shop since I was twelve. I can support a family with wages in grain and linen.”

  She looked away from the sieve of soupy sludge and found Jered’s chest puffed, chin raised. He wasn’t interested in dissenting opinions.

  “Is the girl ready to manage a household?” she asked.

  “She is of age, from the tribe of Judah, and her abba is a metal worker. Her family’s women are respectful to their husbands, and most have borne sons.”

  Jered listed her qualities as if they were workshop supplies. Did he think building a marriage was as simple as making linen? “A man will do what a man will do.”

  “Exactly. Men choose a wife, and women bear children—as El-Shaddai intended when He created the world.”

  His comment sliced her to the core. If bearing children was the purpose of women on earth, why did she still draw breath?

  “Speak to your father, Jered. I have no answers.” Her throat tightened around the words, emotions blurring her view of the rapidly filling vat.

  “I’ve tried, but he says I should seek El-Shaddai. What does that mean?”

  Crumbled loaves clogged the sieve. Soupy, smelly goo rose to the top, overflowing.

  “Wait, wait!” she cried.

  Too late, the lovesick boy righted the amphora—leaving Anippe’s arms and lap soaked in mash. She stood, dripping.

  Wide-eyed, Jered whispered, “Bithiah, I’m sorry.”

  He was sorry. What did he have to be sorry about? He was young and reckless, ready to love and live a real life. Nameless deceived others and lived only lies—and her life smelled like the mash that covered her.

  “I’ll wash at the river. You clean this up.”

  “Yes, I will. I’m sorry.”

  He was still apologizing as her feet kicked up dust, fleeing to the river. Fear, anger, and guilt clung to her like the mash on her robe. Too many people cluttered the shore near the long houses, so she ran farther down the bank among the reeds. Checking for crocodiles or water serpents, she saw none and waded into a secluded spot.

  Waist deep. Chest deep. She walked until the water rose around her neck.

  Why should she live? To Mehy, she was already dead. To Mered, she was a vile deceiver, and she’d nearly cost Miriam her life. Jered, Ednah, Heber, and Jeki would be better served by a real Hebrew mother. Perhaps one of the many village women who hated her for snatching the handsome linen keeper so soon after Puah’s death.

  Jered’s profound declaration, “Men choose a wife, and women bear children,” had answered her lifelong restlessness. Now she knew. She had no purpose. When she refused to bear children, her life held no meaning, and the gods fought against her.

  She held her breath, took another step, and her head dipped below the water. She waited for death to come.

  And waited.

  Her lungs convulsed.

  Sudden panic turned her legs into sling shots, flinging her up from a watery grave. Relief was fleeting as the current, like a rope wrapped around her legs, robbed her of her footing. Gasping for air, she slapped the water wildly, gulping great mouthfuls of the river as she tried to keep her head above water.

  “Bithiah!” a voice called, and then an arm surrounded her. “Stop fighting me! Stop fighting. Just stand.”

  A strong grip pinned her arms at her side, holding her steady. Still gasping for air, she fought sobs and turned, clinging to her savior. Shaking uncontrollably, she buried her face in his shoulder, the smell of ben-tree oil as calming as the arms that held her.

  Mered lifted her and held her close to whisper against her wet hair. “What were you doing out there?” His voice broke, and he fell onto the shore, pressing his cheek against her head. “You can’t leave me, Bithiah. Please, you can’t leave us.”

  Waves of shame rolled over her. He knows. He knows what I tried to do. She rol
led away from him and buried her face in the sand. “Take me to Nassor. Tell him you found me in the village. You’ll be a hero. I’ll be dead. Please, Mered. Please …” Tears robbed her of her voice.

  “Shh. Quiet, now.”

  He lifted her into his arms and began walking. She closed her eyes and hid her face against his chest, shame clinging to her like her wet robe. Voices called Mered’s name, but he continued his march, silent, leaving unanswered questions in their wake. Was he taking her to Nassor as she asked?

  “Is she all right?” Jered’s voice was panicked. “I thought she was washing off the mash.”

  “I need a dry robe and cloths to dry her. Bring them to the roof.” Mered entered their home and set her feet beside the ladder. “Climb,” he told her. It wasn’t a request.

  Numb and quaking, she obeyed, and he followed.

  “Father can we come? Is Mother all ri—”

  “Heber, you and Jeki return to Shiphrah and have her tell the village women that Bithiah is all right. Your mother needs rest today.”

  Your mother. The name was a lie. She was neither their mother nor Mehy’s.

  Clutching Mered’s robe, she pleaded through sobs. “Let me die. Please, let me go.”

  He wrapped her in a ferocious embrace. “You are Bithiah, daughter of God, bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh. I will hold fast to you above all others.” He kissed the top of her head, pressing his cheek against it. “I will never let you go.”

  Her knees turned to water, and he caught her as she fell, then carried her to the canopied reed mat. She turned her back, unable to face such kindness.

  Footsteps approached. “Here, Father.” Jered’s voice. “Bithiah, I’m sorry if I upset you. I …”

  She heard his hurried retreat as she curled into a tight ball. Did he think her despair was his doing? “It’s not his fault. Don’t let him think it’s his fault.”

  Mered sat beside her. “Miriam cried and pleaded the same about you this morning.” He made her sit up, facing him. Gently pushing off her headpiece, he stroked her cheek as he moved to her belt.

  Panic rose, her breathing ragged.

  “Bithiah, I’m just going to help you change into a dry robe.” He cupped her cheek and then started untying her belt.

  “Please, please, Mered, no,” she cried, trembling violently. “I don’t want to die in childbirth. I can face a sword, but please, Mered, I can’t have a child.”

  He pulled her close, held her as she poured out years of fear and pain.

  “Ummi Kiya. She left me. Babies die. Ummis die. Senpa—so much suffering. Abbi cut off her head. Puah—good and lovely Puah. They die, Mered. They all die. If I love you, I’ll die, Mered. If I love you … I’ll die.”

  He rocked her and cried with her until they could cry no more.

  39

  And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.

  —HEBREWS 11:6

  Mered sat on his roof beside his wife’s sleeping form, watching the once-quaint estate of Avaris whirl and spin in preparation for the Lotus Feast. He’d asked Jered to take over at the linen shop for the rest of the day. The boy would have chewed pottery if he thought it would help Bithiah. “Father, I don’t know what I said to upset her. I only mentioned my love for Sela and our hope to be married.” Assuring him that he wasn’t at fault, Mered had sent him to the workshop to focus on linen. It had always helped Mered when his heart and mind ached.

  Guilt seemed a heavy load in their small household. Mered winced at the memory of calling his wife Anippe. He’d chastised her more harshly because he’d been burdened by his own deceptions. How he wished he could remove his words from her memory. But words spoken were like the Nile—ever-present but washed clean by a new season. El-Shaddai, let it be so.

  Bithiah stirred, long lashes fluttering. She was so beautiful.

  She bolted upright. “Why are you still here?”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because I sent Jered to the shop—and because I love you.”

  She shook her head and scooted farther away, putting an arm’s length between them. “Mered, no. Don’t.”

  “I already do, and I apologize for the words I spoke in anger.”

  Silence lingered. She kept shaking her head, sniffing from time to time.

  He peeked beneath her silky, black curls. “May I ask you one question?”

  She laughed through her tears, finally looking up. “Ask me anything now. I blurted out things I’ve never told anyone else.” She bowed again, still shaking her head.

  “Remember that day when Ay’s ship docked at the quay? If his troops had come ashore, and one of the soldiers had tried to take Mehy, what would you have done?”

  Her head stopped shaking, and she slowly lifted her gaze. “I would have stopped him.”

  “How? You’re a woman. He was a soldier. He would have had weapons.”

  “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t let him have my son.”

  “Would you have died to save Mehy’s life?”

  She didn’t answer. She stared intently at her fidgeting hands.

  “What if Nassor came into the craftsmen’s village and started beating Heber or Jeki?”

  “You said only one question.”

  He chuckled and repositioned himself beside her. Shoulders touching, he leaned in close. “Answer this one, and then no more questions.”

  She relaxed against him. “Then, yes, I would reveal my identity to Nassor and try to save Heber and Jeki.”

  Mered whispered against her ear. “How is giving your life during birth so much different?”

  His wife was quiet. Moments passed. She shed no tears. She seemed lost in the commotion of Avaris’s preparations at the quay. The king’s barque and the Gurob Harem ship would arrive soon.

  But she was peaceful. Thank You, El-Shaddai.

  “The gods taunt us, you know.” Her tone was laced with bitterness. “In a perfect moment like this, I look at the quay below and remember our lives will be invaded too soon. They give a moment and then snatch it away.”

  Mered felt her shoulders tense and the slight tremble of her body. He laid her on the mat, hiding the world outside their rooftop. “Help me understand how Egypt’s gods taunt, and I’ll explain how El-Shaddai remains faithful in good days and bad.”

  She tried to turn away. “Never mind.”

  “I do mind.” He lay at her side, careful not to trap her but intent on loving her. “We will never again live at a distance, you and me.”

  She swallowed hard. “What if I’m still afraid to die? What if I’m still afraid to love you?”

  He nuzzled her neck, letting silence console her as he prayed for wisdom. Had Meryetaten-tasherit ever been loved without condition? Horemheb had adopted Anippe to gain power, and Sebak had married her to bear children. Even Mered needed her to care for his children. She believed every man demanded something from her in return for his love. Could he truly love her without demands?

  “I will love you, Bithiah, until I draw my last breath—even if we never consummate this marriage.” He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, and felt her body relax beside him. Breathless, he pulled away before his passion took him too far. “But can you control your desire?” He chuckled, teasing her with a bounce of his eyebrows.

  With a slight moan, she laced her fingers through his hair and pulled him into a hungry kiss. Sudden passion nearly scorched them both, memories of the marriage bed fanning to flame every caress.

  “Wait, my love, wait. Are you sure?” he asked.

  His caution was answered by her desperate embrace and whispered “I love you”—words he drank in like a desert wanderer. The world below them forgotten, Mered and his bride enjoyed the tender awakening of newlyweds and tasted of love until morning.

  Dawn tinged the eastern sky in brilliant pinks and orange. Bithiah lay in the bend of Mered’s arm—yes, Bithiah. Nam
eless no longer, she felt like a daughter of God. Why? How had Mered’s love assured her of El-Shaddai’s care?

  She listened to her husband’s steady breathing in the morning stillness. Steady—that was Mered, and somehow she knew El-Shaddai was steady too. The gods of Egypt were fickle and changed with the teller of the legends. But El-Shaddai didn’t change. He was mysterious, to be sure, but the solid faith of Mered, Miriam, Jochebed, and Amram was more certain than the flowing of the Nile. When had Bithiah ever known certainty?

  Not until Mered. If any of her children were in danger, she would certainly give her life for theirs. She pressed her hand against her stomach and drew in a deep breath. If a child grew inside her, she would willingly give her life to see its first breath. Mered’s reasoning had calmed her like the voice of El-Shaddai. Fear still threatened, but it didn’t consume.

  Only once before had she given herself to a man without first taking the precaution of herb bundles. Her wedding night with Sebak had been both terrifying and exquisite. He hadn’t forced her, but she’d had no choice, really. To deny her groom on their wedding night would have shamed Anippe and her family.

  Sebak. Her heart constricted. Had she betrayed Mered by thinking of her previous husband after sharing their first night of intimacy? Mered’s tenderness had overwhelmed her, healed her, revived her. How could a man be strong and yet so gentle? She draped her arm over his chest to feel the slow rise-and-fall of his breath as he slept.

  He turned and wrapped his leg over her. Entwined. “Bithiah.” Her name came in a sleepy whisper, and he smiled.

  Relief washed over her. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized she was terrified he might whisper Puah’s name in his sleep. Tears came quickly though she thought her eyes had run dry. Trying to wipe them away before soaking his arm, she woke him fully.

  “What? What’s wrong?” He instantly hovered over her, cradling her head, his countenance stricken. “Why are you crying? Are you afraid? Should we have stopped? I’m sorry, Bithiah.”