The Pharaoh's Daughter (20 page)

At dawn, a Ramessid guard had invaded Mered's home again, this one with a message. Puah would remain at the villa to care for the amira indefinitely. Delivery complications required a midwife's constant care. No mention of their newborn son, Jered. Amram prayed as Mered wept.

Trumpets had called the Hebrews to the quay moments later to welcome the king who had murdered their sons. Mered had considered staying home. He cared little about the pomp of a visiting king and cared even less about King Tut.

“Come, we can walk together.” Amram had squeezed his shoulder. “I'll wake Aaron, and we'll get him a crust of bread and cheese to eat on the way.”

The royal parade approached Mered and Amram, two runners with staves pressing back the curious crowd, while the king's Medjay bodyguard ordered all slaves to their knees. Ramessid soldiers lined the path to enforce the Hebrews' honor for this dishonorable king.

Musicians danced, strummed lyres, and clanged sistrums. Royal maids carried baskets of blue lotus, crushing and throwing the petals aloft, filling the air with their scent. The king's gilded palanquin fairly floated on the shoulders
of eight Nubian giants, Medjays who'd undoubtedly sent enemies scampering for fear of their size alone. Tut's throne boasted figures of a lion and a sphinx as armrests, monster and myth subdued under a boy-god's power. Pharaoh sat beneath a hawk-shaped canopy, its outspread wings a supposed symbol of truth and justice.

Mered scoffed.
Where was justice for my son and Amram's? At the bottom of the Nile in a watery grave?

King Tut passed by, never acknowledging those who knelt before him—those whose lives he'd destroyed on a whim.

When Mered thought he could stand the farce no longer, he saw the beautiful Queen Senpa, borne atop another set of Medjay shoulders. She was radiant in her waist-length braided wig woven with gold and fine jewels. Cheeks pink, dignified, lips parted in a genial smile as she acknowledged with a nod those kneeling on both sides of the path. She appeared fully recovered from her last visit to Avaris. And her gown—of course, Mered noticed—was the fine pleated linen from the palace at Gurob.

Stunning, but not as fine as the byssus woven in Avaris. The Ramessid wives of Qantir followed the lovely queen, arrayed in robes and sheaths from Avaris's shop that outshone the queen's. The husbands had paid dearly to adorn their women like royalty. Master Sebak would be pleased to return and find his uncle Pirameses's gold in the coffers.

The noblemen of Qantir paraded behind their women, most of them retired soldiers now serving as the king's officials and priests of Seth. Some carried staffs with a hawk's head, while other staffs bore the head of a jackal—Anubis, ruler of their underworld. Appropriate, considering the death and destruction rained down on Delta slaves.

The sun glinted off the Ramessids' gold collars, blinding Mered for a moment. He lifted his hand to shade his eyes. Who were the men at the end of the procession?

He recognized the stately General Horemheb.

In full dress armor, the general wore the Gold of Praise collar and a daunting expression. Behind him marched a train of filthy men chained together—necks, hands, and feet—bloodied and barely strong enough to climb the hill.
El-Shaddai, have mercy on them.
Were they Hittites? More importantly, was Master Sebak providing rear guard?

Mered ached to stand above the bowing slaves, to find his master following the prisoners—but his yearning was as brief as the line of captives. Two, maybe three dozen men. No wonder General Horemheb appeared solemn. A train of captives less than a hundred long would be an embarrassment to the experienced soldier. Why had he displayed them at all?

And to Mered's own disappointment—no Master Sebak at rear guard.

The procession moved toward the villa, and slaves slowly dispersed to resume their duties. Mered returned to his workshop, still bothered by General Horemheb's appearance. There'd been no messenger announcing his arrival. Did Anippe even know her abbi Horem was here?

The royal visit was soon lost in the daily tasks of running his workshop. Accounts needed settling, and flax seed needed sowing. El-Shaddai gave them few daylight hours during these last weeks before harvest, and without Puah to go home to, perhaps he'd work through the night. Hours passed in a haze of workers' rhythmic melodies in time with the
thwack
of the weavers' shuttles. When Mered finally lifted his weary body from his stool and stretched, he felt every crack and pop.

“Quiet!” The estate foreman shouted from the doorway. Stillness descended, and Mered sensed almost a smile from the sour old rat. “Master Sebak has a son, and Avaris is host to Egypt's king and prince regent. Sing about that, you filthy slaves.” He turned and disappeared into the night, and the linen shop erupted in celebration.

Though he gave no report on the amira's health, Mered felt sure she must have come through the birth safely. Perhaps the complications the guard spoke of at his home this morning were minor. Perhaps Puah wouldn't need to stay at the villa after all. Perhaps …

Crossing his arms to make a pillow on the desk, Mered lowered his weary head.
Perhaps Master Sebak will return to see his son.

Struck like lightning by a thought, Mered's head popped up, eyes blinking, mind whirring. “Vizier Ay,” he whispered to no one.

Vizier Ay hadn't been in King Tut's retinue. Why? Master Sebak had said
the conniving vizier never left the king's side. General Horemheb's dispirited bearing flashed in his memory—and the meager offering of prisoners. Dread crawled through him like a creeping vine.

He reached for his reeds and pigment. He might as well work on inventory and designs since he couldn't sleep with a seed of fear growing in his belly.

Anippe hosted the first family meeting in her private courtyard. Three days had passed since the king's entourage arrived. Ankhe had stayed away, ominously silent, leaving Anippe to enjoy the quiet seclusion of Jochebed and Puah's company with Moses, Miriam, and baby Jered. Senpa was the only royal family who had tried to see her. The queen had appeared late last night—after the babies were sleeping—to suggest this morning's light meal.

Jochebed, Moses, and Miriam were safely hidden in their chamber behind a tapestry covering their adjoining door. Anippe and Puah waited with little Jered on cushions in the sitting area and were startled by a quick knock and Ankhe's abrupt entry.

Anger stirring, Anippe rose to meet her, waiting till the door closed to release her ire. “You are no longer my handmaid, so you have no right to barge in—”

“Oh, but I am your handmaid, dear sister.” Ankhe offered an exaggerated bow and rose with a cold stare.

“What do you mean?” Dread coiled around Anippe's heart. “You're my son's tutor. I'll find another handmaid.”

“While our brother is here,
I
am your handmaid.” Her smile looked like a cobra baring its fangs.

A loud knock startled Anippe, and she jumped like a desert hare.

Ankhe inclined her head. “I'll answer your door, Amira. Why don't you and your wet nurse proceed to the courtyard and prepare to meet your guests.”

Swallowing hard, Anippe turned toward the courtyard. Puah had already gathered her straw-stuffed cushion and the baby and was on her way. Heart pounding, mind spinning, Anippe tried to imagine what scheme Ankhe had engineered for her benefit at this morning's meeting.

Anippe took her place at a low-lying marble table, and Puah transferred baby Jered to the amira's arms. The surrogate wet nurse retired to a palm tree three paces away to lounge an appropriate distance from royalty. Kitchen slaves had already set the table with silver platters and goblets, a pitcher of grape juice, stewed dates, bread, and goat cheese. Simple fare elegantly presented.

King Tut entered first, Queen Senpa's hand draped on his left arm. Each had two attendants. Anippe's heart leapt at the sight of her family. Tears choked her, but she blinked them away, trying to preserve the eye paints Miriam had helped her apply that morning.

“Anippe, you look radiant.” Senpa leaned down to kiss her cheek and brushed Jered's head, fighting tears of her own.

Tut smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Sister. How are you feeling?”

“I'm getting stronger each da—” Anippe's words died when she saw Abbi Horem and Ankhe emerge from the shadowy chamber. Ankhe's right cheek was red with a distinct white handprint. Abbi Horem's neck was crimson, his nostrils flared with rage.

The moment he saw Anippe, though, his demeanor changed. “Habiba, you look well.” His determined steps led him to her side. Lips parted in wonder, his eyes locked on the babe in her arms. “Is this my grandson?”

Anippe offered her cheek for Abbi's kiss. “Isn't he beautiful? Won't Ummi Amenia be pleased?”

“She will indeed, my treasure.” He squeezed her shoulder, infusing her with love and strength.

When she glanced up at her brother and sisters, Abbi Horem's love felt like a grinding stone around her neck. Ankhe glared daggers at the general and his adopted daughter, while Tut and Senpa couldn't even look at the babe in her arms.
By the gods! Why did Tut bring Senpa back here?
Hadn't their sister suffered
enough without returning her to the villa where she'd miscarried two infants? Awkward silence wrapped them in a shroud.

Ankhe sat behind Anippe's left shoulder and reached for the silver pitcher of grape juice. She made her way around the table, filling gem-studded silver goblets with shaky hands. “Will you lead the preharvest hunt in the Fayum again this year, brother?”

Anippe bowed her head, cringing at her sister's familiarity with Egypt's god on the throne. Would she never learn?

Abbi Horem rose and removed the strap securing his dagger. “A handmaid never addresses Pharaoh with such familiar—”

“Sit down, Horemheb.” Tut waved his general off and squinted at his untoward sister. “You are a handmaid because you are a fool, Ankhe. If you ever address me as ‘brother' again, I will feed you to the crocodiles.”

Ankhe lowered her gaze, chastened but not silenced. “Oh worthy and good god, Tut—pleasing of birth, Ruler of Truth, Lord of all, who wears both crowns of Egypt.” She waited for her brother's nod before continuing. “Delta crocodiles might find me less than tasty after so much Hebrew baby flesh.” Tut raised an eyebrow. “What do you know of Hebrew babies in the Nile, Ankhe?”

“I know the Ramessid captain reported to Anippe that the Hebrew midwives ignored your order, and the estate patrols are the ones throwing the slave babies to the crocodiles—oh great Pharaoh, mighty god of Two Lands.”

Senpa glanced at Anippe from the corner of her eye, like a shy mare fearing the whip. Tut's gaze followed, burning a hole through the Amira of Avaris. “Is this true, Anippe? Have the Hebrew midwives ignored my order?”

Anippe's heart was in her throat. She dared not look over her shoulder at Puah. Would Tut recognize her? “I have been in my chamber all these months of my pregnancy, great son of Horus. Perhaps the Ramessid captain seeks glory stories to compare when the real soldiers return from battle.” She waved his concern away with the fly trying to nibble on her cheese and dates.

“The captain spoke truth,” Ankhe said. “I saw for myself this morning when I found one of our house slaves—Ephah—with a baby boy hidden in her chamber.”

Anippe felt the blood drain from her face. Why would Ankhe draw attention to Ephah unless … “
I will do it myself, Captain
,” Ankhe had told Nassor when he threatened to throw Puah's son in the Nile. Anippe trembled at Ankhe's cold stare.

“Anippe had taken a second handmaid,” Ankhe explained. “We discovered the woman had a baby boy, and I threw him in the Nile this morning. Captain Nassor sent the girl to work in dead-man's land as punishment for her disobedience. She'll work the mud pits on the plateau between Qantir and Avaris and be dead within a year.”

Senpa covered a gasp. Anippe thought she might be sick.

Tut seemed utterly satisfied. “Well done, Ankhe. Perhaps there's hope for you yet.”

Ankhe lifted her goblet of juice, toasting her brother's praise.

Abbi Horem reached for Anippe's hand beneath the table and gently squeezed it. Even a grizzled soldier recognized depravity when he saw it. “Queen Senpa, do you bring any news from the Gurob Palace?” he asked.

Anippe tried to regain her composure while the others spoke of parties and politics and people she cared nothing about. How could Ankhe cast an innocent child into crocodile-infested waters and send a woman—even an annoying slave—to dead-man's land? She stole a glance at her little sister and found her grinning, eyebrow arched, a look of satisfaction firmly etched on her features. What was she becoming? There seemed to be no sign of remorse or conscience.

“Unfortunately,” Queen Senpa was saying, “I had no idea you'd join us here, General. I'm sure Amenia would have accompanied me if she'd known.” Her gaze dropped to her goblet, watching the deep red liquid swirl during another awkward moment.

Abbi Horem cleared his throat. “I'll write a scroll for you to deliver to my wife—if you don't mind being our messenger, Queen Senpa. I'm afraid a soldier's wife grows accustomed to long absences.”

“Of course, General. I'd be honored to be your messenger.” Senpa turned her attention to Anippe. “Does Sebak know about his heir?” Her eyes barely brushed the baby. She hadn't truly looked at him once.