The Pharaoh's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  “Nubia? Why are you going to Nubia?” Mered thought of his pregnant wife at home. She wouldn’t be happy about her son going so far away.

  “Jad Horem is sending me to Nubia for my protection.” Mehy waved away Mered’s concern. “Back to Nassor’s transfer. Do you know of a more trustworthy Ramessid officer to replace him—one who could manage the estate and treat the Hebrews fairly in my absence?”

  Mered considered the few Ramessids he knew who were both honest and kind. Most men of higher character served as military officers or noblemen. “There is one man, Gadiel. He oversees the peasant market and to my knowledge has never taken a bribe.”

  “Gadiel. I remember him.” Mehy nudged Mandai aside, winding the last reed around Mered’s hand. “When our friend here leaves, send for Gadiel. I’ll inform him of his new position as estate foreman. He has much to learn before I leave for Nubia tomorrow.”

  Mandai stood over them and laid a hand on Mehy’s shoulder. “You should tell the linen keeper about Nubia. Perhaps Mered’s one God can help us. I’ve seen his prayers work before.”

  Mehy sighed and rolled his eyes, but Mered noted a slight grin. “Even my Medjay speaks of El-Shaddai.”

  “Perhaps you could start by telling me about your injury,” Mered suggested. “I’ve heard stories from my linen workers, but I’d rather hear the truth from you.”

  Mehy tucked in the end of the reed, securing the wrap around Mered’s hand. He sat on the ground beside the couch and sighed again, seeming weary beyond his years. “The stories are undoubtedly grander—and happier—than the truth, my friend. Mandai was commander over both Sety and me. We encountered heavy Hittite resistance along the coastal route. Sety lost a chunk of his thigh to a Hittite swordsman. I tried to pull him to safety, but the same warrior slashed open my shoulder. Mandai rescued us both.” He recited the story like a merchant reading a supply list.

  “At least you’re alive, Mehy, and your courage to help Sety sounds remarkable.”

  “Vizier Pirameses doesn’t think it so remarkable. He blames both Mandai and me for his son’s injury. Sety will walk again but never fight. Jad Horem made him high priest of Seth’s temple in Qantir, and his ummi Sitre chose a bride. They marry within the month. Pirameses is furious.”

  His countenance faded into resignation. “Jad Horem named me Son of Cush—governor of Upper Egypt. I think he meant to remove me from Pirameses’s fury. Instead, he stirred it further because Pirameses—who was vizier over both Upper and Lower Egypt—is now my equal. That’s why I leave tomorrow for the Nubian fortress of Buhen with Mandai as my bodyguard.” He laughed without humor, too cynical for a boy of eighteen. “And Nassor will become the new Seth reborn. He’s more suited for the role than I ever was.”

  Mered could only stare at the miracle before him. A Hebrew babe, saved in a basket, reared a prince, and raised to Pharaoh’s right hand. “Do you remember any of the stories Jochebed or Miriam told you growing up?”

  Mehy tilted his head and grinned. “That’s an odd question. I remember a few. Why?”

  “Do you remember the story of Joseph? His Egyptian name was Zaphenath-Paneah.”

  Mehy’s geniality fled, his face suddenly pale. “I know Zaphenath-Paneah’s policies allowed migrant Canaanites—Hyksos—to rule Lower Egypt until the Ramessids expelled them.” He stood, signaling their meeting’s end. “Don’t ever mention his name again. Jad Horem has protected me from Pirameses thus far, but if you compare me to this Joseph, no one can save me.”

  Mandai patted Mered’s shoulder and then pointed to his hand. “Change the reeds each day, and rest your hand. It should heal in a few weeks, my friend.”

  “Thank you.” Mered pushed himself off the couch, gaining a little help from both men. He turned to Mehy and squeezed his shoulder. “I won’t mention the Hebrew’s name to you again, Master Mehy, but I will never stop mentioning your name to El-Shaddai. May my God bless you and keep you and be gracious to you. May His face shine on you and give you peace.”

  He turned to go, praying his last words would seep into the boy’s soul on his long journey to Nubia.

  Bithiah sat in the only chair they owned and measured her growing hips by how much they hung over the seat. She felt like a hippopotamus and almost certainly looked like one—though she couldn’t be sure since Mered had hidden her bronze mirror the day he found her crying at her reflection. If persistent swelling, constant burping, and endless sweating were previews of childbirth, Shiphrah should simply drown her in the Nile at the first contraction. Her fear of death had been consumed by abject misery.

  “Mama, where should I put the parched grain?” Ednah stood at the curtained doorway with her cute round belly, two heavy trays of grain in hand. How could anyone be so lovely while pregnant?

  “Set it by the cooking pots. We’ll shuck it when we’re finished making beer.” She appraised her daughter’s youth and grace and wondered again why El-Shaddai had allowed her—a grandmother—to conceive a child. Since she no longer believed in Egyptian gods or their tricks, she must trust in El-Shaddai’s good plan. “Did your father say when he’d be home?”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. He sent Jeki with a message earlier. They’re working late to prepare kilts for a troop ship leaving tomorrow.”

  Bithiah’s heart skipped. “A troop ship? Did he say what troops or where they’re going?”

  Ednah’s features fell, and she waddled over to kneel before her mother. “I’m sure if Mehy is involved, Father will tell you when he comes home. Let’s stay busy so we don’t think about it.” She reached for the flavoring vat and sieve. “Here, you hold the sieve, and I’ll pour the mash.”

  Bithiah would gladly stay busy as long as she could sit in the chair. Positioning the flavoring vat at her feet, she picked up the sieve and set it on the vat, bracing her forearms on her knees to relieve her aching back. Not an easy position when a pyramid pressed on her insides.

  “Ready, Mama?” Ednah held the heavy amphora aloft, waiting for Bithiah’s signal to pour.

  “All right. Pour.”

  The chunky, fermented sludge was almost more than Bithiah could stomach, especially in their stifling one-room home. She much preferred doing this chore outside, but her swollen legs and added bulk made squatting impossible.

  “Are you frightened, Mama? About the labor, I mean.”

  Ednah’s words raked Bithiah’s heart like a hackling comb. What could she say? Yes, it’s been the single paralyzing fear that’s ruled my life.

  “No, of course not. We’ll be fine. Shiphrah and Miriam are excellent midwives and have delivered hundreds of healthy babies.”

  “You’re not even a little frightened?” Ednah’s voice was small, breaking down Bithiah’s defenses.

  She’d considered before that both she and Ednah had lost their mothers in childbirth, but Bithiah had never asked her about Puah’s death. Had the girl witnessed it?

  “The truth?” She looked away from the sieve for a moment, and Ednah nodded. Sighing, Bithiah braced herself to relive it. “I was five when I watched my ummi die trying to birth my little brother. Neither of them survived. I’ve been terrified of childbirth most of my life, Ednah.” She fell silent while the girl kept pouring. That was all she could say about Ummi Kiya. “What do you remember about Puah’s death, habiba?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Ednah spoke, her voice gravelly. “I didn’t see Mama die, but I heard her cries—and then I heard the silence.” Tears glistened like gemstones on her dark lashes. “Is it terrible that I’m scared?”

  Bithiah wanted to drop the sieve and hug her precious girl. “No, habiba. It’s not bad. You’re not bad, but fear—unchecked—can make you do wrong things. Fear can overwhelm you and imprison you—as it did me all my life.”

  “How did you stop?” Ednah reached for a stick to clear a chunk blocking the sieve. “Stop being afraid, I mean?”

  “El-Shaddai has worked from within, growing my faith with every kick of this baby in my womb.
Egyptian gods of gold or stone are external and can’t work within to give me peace. If I lose my life while giving life—well, I’ve felt God’s pleasure. And that’s enough for me.” Bithiah heard her words as if someone else said them. “I don’t think I knew how I felt until I spoke it out loud.” Ednah smiled and propped the amphora against her belly, using a stick to dislodge a few more clumps. “I’ve felt joy at every kick and hiccup as well, but I’m not ready to die yet, Mama.” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”

  Before Bithiah could comfort or console her daughter, a sudden gush wet the chair beneath her. “Ednah, stop!”

  Eyes wide, the girl placed the amphora on the floor. “Did I spill that?”

  Bithiah felt her first contraction and breathed as Shiphrah had instructed. It passed quickly, and she grinned at Ednah. “I think you should find Shiphrah or Miriam and tell them my water broke.” She shoved away the vat of beer—just to be safe—and then stood, sending another gush of liquid to the floor.

  “I’m going!” Ednah rushed out the door, leaving Bithiah alone.

  She examined her home as if seeing it for the first time—or perhaps it would be the last. Would she die as she’d always feared? Though the thought gave her pause, she still felt the peace she’d described moments ago.

  Miriam appeared with Ednah on her heels, took one look at the floor, and giggled. “I’ll get Shiphrah. We’re having a baby today.”

  Miriam disappeared again, but Ednah came in and gently cradled Bithiah’s elbow. “What do we do now?”

  “We pray to the one God.” Bithiah brushed the girl’s cheek, trying to ease her tension. “I was Pharaoh’s daughter and King Tut’s sister—daughter and sister to supposed gods. But I watched them face death, habiba, and neither of them displayed the peace I feel now. Only one God offers freedom from the fear of death.”

  Ednah’s eyes widened. “You’re not afraid? Even now?”

  Another contraction seized her, doubling her over this time. Breathing wasn’t helping. Bithiah ground out words through gritted teeth. “I’m not afraid, but I want your father here—now!”

  Ednah released her and ran out the door, leaving Bithiah grasping for the chair. El-Shaddai, I’m not afraid, but I am asking for help. Please bring Shiphrah and Miriam quickly. And Mered. I don’t want to deliver my baby without my husband’s calming presence.

  42

  One of Mered’s wives gave birth to Miriam, Shammai and Ishbah.… These were the children of Pharaoh’s daughter Bithiah, whom Mered had married.

  —1 CHRONICLES 4:17–18

  Shiphrah’s face was grim, and Bithiah’s contractions layered one on top of the other with little relief between.

  “Please, I need Mered.” Wild with panic and pain, Bithiah squirmed on the birthing stool and pressed against Miriam’s chest. “Find him before I die. He needs to know I love him, that I believe in El Shaddaaaaahhhh …”

  The urge to push overwhelmed the searing pain, and Miriam rocked forward with Bithiah over the bricks. A steaming bowl of hot water sat beneath her to ease delivery.

  It wasn’t working.

  “Gently, Bithiah. Push gently.” Shiphrah’s calm and tender voice grated on Bithiah’s nerves.

  “I’m going to rip out your tongue!”

  Miriam shushed her, but Shiphrah chuckled. “Yes, my friend, most women feel that way about now.”

  A wave of nausea swept over her, and Bithiah retched into a bowl Shiphrah had placed beside her. “Please, make it stop,” she said, wiping her mouth. “I don’t want to have this baby.”

  “Your labor has progressed quickly, Bithiah.” Shiphrah exchanged a concerned glance with Miriam and pasted on a smile.

  “Aaaaahhhhhh!” Another urge to push robbed her of dignity.

  “Gently, Bithiah, gently.” Shiphrah patted her knee.

  Ednah burst through the doorway, supporting her belly with both hands. “He’s coming. Father’s coming.”

  “Shiphrah, check on Ednah.” Bithiah’s contraction was starting again, but she saw pain on her daughter’s face. “Ednah, are you all riiii …” She bore down uncontrollably.

  Mered slapped aside the curtain and limped toward her, his right hand wrapped with reeds. He’s been beaten! Near hysteria, Bithiah reached out for him amid her pushing, begging him to come nearer.

  “I’m here, my love. I’m here.” He knelt beside her until her pain lessened and then quickly replaced Miriam as Bithiah’s back support. Months ago, when Mered told Shiphrah he planned to assist with the delivery, she’d refused. But he had explained the milestone of faith this birth represented for his wife. Hesitant but understanding, Shiphrah agreed.

  Shiphrah pierced him with her gaze. “What took you so long? She’s progressing too fast.”

  “She’s fine. She’s going to be fine.” Mered whispered in his wife’s ear, “I’m here now, my love. You’re fine. We’re fine.”

  “What happened? Who hurt you-oouuuu …”

  Another pain overtook her, and Mered rocked forward. He sucked in a deep breath, his pain as evident as hers, but she couldn’t stop to ask him more. Ednah huddled in the corner with Miriam, panting through a contraction.

  “Aahh, El-Shaddai, help those I love,” Bithiah cried out as the contraction ebbed.

  Shiphrah chuckled and patted her leg. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that from a laboring mama.” She looked at Mered and lifted a brow. “We’ll tend to you after we welcome your baby into the world. Care to tell us what happened?” Another pain overtook Bithiah, and Shiphrah began her instructions again. “Lean forward with her Mered. Push, push, push, Bithiah. With all your strength now that Mered’s here.”

  She’d already been pushing with all her strength, but she was weakening. She could feel it. Falling against Mered when her contraction eased again, her head lolled against his chest. “Please, how’s Ednah? Please.”

  Mered’s strong arms cradled Bithiah as the urge to push seized her once more. His whisper strengthened her resolve. “Push, my love. Miriam will care for Ednah, and El-Shaddai will give you strength to deliver the baby He created. You were born for this moment—to deliver this baby. Our baby. Push, Bithiah. Work with your Creator. Bring our child home.”

  The urge, still painful, seemed less foreign now. When the intensity passed, she relaxed into his strong chest, resting in the security of El-Shaddai.

  Shiphrah nodded at Mered, glowing approval from the weary midwife, and then patted Bithiah’s knee again. “Bithiah, on the next push, listen carefully to Mered.”

  As the pushing continued, Shiphrah’s voice became indistinct droning. Bithiah melted against Mered’s chest, counting his heartbeats until the next urge seized her.

  His words came quick and clear. “Gently at first, wife. Now harder—Shiphrah is guiding the head. Now harder, harder …”

  With her last bit of strength, Bithiah pushed a new life into their world and fell back into her husband’s arms.

  “It’s a boy!” Miriam squealed and then tied two clean strips of linen to the cord, four finger-widths from the babe. She withdrew her small flint knife and severed the cord, passing the little one to Shiphrah, who waited to rub him with salt and wine.

  Laughing and crying, both Mered and Bithiah reveled in their miracle, while their squalling boy announced his objections to his new home.

  “I can’t explain it, but I know El-Shaddai delivered our son.” Bithiah brushed her husband’s cheek, looking over her shoulder at his weary expression.

  “You did it, Mama.” Ednah appeared at her side, beaming, cradling her baby brother. “He’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.”

  Bithiah reached for the babe. “He can be the most beautiful until yours comes along.”

  “Which will likely be tonight or tomorrow,” Miriam said, poking her head over Ednah’s shoulder. Ednah winced and grabbed her belly. Miriam walked her around the crowded little room, coaching her breathing, encouraging her to relax.

  Joy an
d wonder filled Bithiah as she laid their new son on her chest, letting him nestle, skin against skin. The sensation was indescribable, unforgettable—but she’d felt it before. She’d held another squalling babe against her naked body eighteen years ago. Bithiah looked across the room at the young woman who’d appeared to her first as a little girl with riotous curls and round brown eyes, following a basket on the Nile.

  Mered knelt beside her. “We haven’t talked about a name yet. Hebrew mothers usually name their children.”

  Smiling, Bithiah felt the nudge of El-Shaddai’s blessing. “Good. I have an idea.”

  Shiphrah paused in her cleaning and called over Ednah and Miriam. “Choosing a child’s name is like forming his future. It must be right.”

  Bithiah’s heart seized at the truth she knew too well. With tears in her eyes, she held out her hand to Miriam, calling her close. “His name will be Miryam, like the little girl who delivered my first child in a basket on the Nile, for he is beloved and wished for as the name implies.”

  Tears glistened on her friend’s lashes as droplets of the Nile had beaded on her curls that day so long ago. Miriam leaned down to embrace her but hesitated. “Give little Miryam to his father so I can hug my friend.”

  Chuckling, Mered lifted the babe from his mother’s chest. When Bithiah had received hugs from all three women, she found her husband cooing to their son.

  “You are loved. You are wished for. You are a miracle, our little Miryam.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Finding Pharaoh’s Daughter

  When writing this biblical novel, I began with a central unquestionable fact, grounded in God’s Word. Exodus 7:7 tells us Moses was eighty years old when he returned to Egypt as God’s human instrument of deliverance for Israel.

  Scholars quibble, argue, and flat-out rant about the date of the Exodus; however, two dates emerge above the rest. Both 1450 BCE and 1250 BCE have merits and pitfalls, but 1 Chronicles 4:17–18 helped me decide on 1250 BCE.

  One of Mered’s wives gave birth to Miriam, Shammai and Ishbah the father of Eshtemoa. (His wife from the tribe of Judah gave birth to Jered the father of Gedor, Heber the father of Soko, and Jekuthiel the father of Zanoah.) These were the children of Pharaoh’s daughter Bithiah, whom Mered had married. (emphasis added)