The Pharaoh's Daughter (5 page)

Ay began shaking his head, smiling, mocking. “All unfounded accusations, my king.”

Tut raised an eyebrow at Horemheb. “Proof, General. Have you any proof?”

Anippe waited for Abbi Horem to produce the messenger Ummi Amenia had mentioned—or perhaps the papyrus scroll his soldiers had confiscated. To her surprise and disappointment, Abbi Horem's shoulders slumped, and he began massaging the back of his neck. She felt her stomach tighten into a knot.

“The soldier who carried messages between Ay and Nakhtmin met with an untimely accident on one of his missions, my king. I believe it was no accident, but I cannot prove it.” Abbi leveled a sharp gaze at the vizier and then returned his attention to Tut. “I have never lied to you, good god and divine son of Horus. You are the beat of my heart and my life giver. You must believe me. This man is deceiving you.”

Tut held his gaze for several heartbeats, but Ay's nervous laughter invaded the silence.

“A gripping speech, General, but how can I be held responsible for every soldier that meets with an ‘untimely accident'?” He spread his hands before the king, penitent. “My every act is done in the name of the good god, King Tut, and for the greater good of our united Two Lands. I don't deny communications with Commander Nakhtmin. He crushed a Cushite rebellion, and together we've successfully increased trade routes through our southern border, importing more gold, precious stones, and spices than ever before. Is it any wonder I wished to match him with my daughter?”

The vizier lost a measure of his good humor when he turned on Abbi Horem. “Tell us, General, how many Canaanite vassal nations have your
Ramessid troops recaptured from the Hittites? Have you neutralized their threat to Egypt's trade routes or secured our eastern border?”

Abbi's fiery temper fizzled, and Anippe's stomach twisted. She hadn't realized the Hittites threatened their major trade routes. Tut didn't appear surprised by the accusations, but he was certainly feasting on the vizier's honeyed tongue.

And Ay had more honey to offer. “Did the general report his glaring defeat at Amqa and the Hittites' rapidly growing forces?”

Sebak slipped his arm around Anippe's waist, moving her away from the general and vizier. He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, “This just became dangerous.”

When she saw her brother's expression, Anippe was thankful for Sebak's concern.

Abbi, too, must have recognized the danger. “I've sent messengers with regular reports to King Tut, keeping him apprised of the Hittite situation. Our good god Tut knows I fight only for him—and would die for him.”

“Your loyalty is touching, but it won't save Egypt if the Hittites block trade on both land and sea.” King Tut looked every bit the angry god. “Why would you deceive me about the Amqa defeat, Horemheb?”

Abbi Horem went to one knee. “My beloved and mighty king, I have
never
deceived you. I received word of Vizier Ay's repeated messages to Nubia soon after the Amqa defeat, and I had to act quickly to secure your life and Anippe's future. Don't you remember the extra guards I sent to the Memphis Palace for your protection along with the messenger telling of my plans for Anippe's marriage?”

“I remember the messenger said nothing of defeat or a burgeoning Hittite army!” Tut slammed his flail against the armrest again, and everyone fell to their knees, heads bowed. His tone was barely controlled rage. “Vizier Ay has assured us his messages were to arrange his daughter's marriage. What assurance can you give, General, that Anippe's marriage isn't simply a distraction to conceal news of defeat?”

Vizier Ay was the first to gather his courage and lift penitent hands. “Perhaps the general didn't want to alarm our king prematurely.” He stood then,
taking on a conciliatory tone. “You see, mighty king, every nation the Hittites conquer adds to their military strength because they force the opposing troops to serve them to build their army. They defeated the Mitanni kingdom, then swept into Syria, captured the Phoenician coastline, and are now pressing into our Canaanite vassal states. Our general undoubtedly has a plan to stop the Hittite war machine.” Ay stood, towering over Horemheb, who remained on his knees before Pharaoh. “Tell us, General, can you stop the Hittite war machine, or is Amqa the first of many defeats?”

Anippe held her breath, waiting for Abbi Horem's anger to erupt. Instead, he rose slowly and met the vizier nose to nose. “Do you think you can counsel me on the Hittites? Are you a war-torn general who mixes blood with beer after a battle? No, Vizier. You play with wooden soldiers and clay swords. I refuse to discuss military strategy with you.”

“General.” Tut's voice intruded on the advisors' private war. “You will discuss your plan to re-conquer Amqa with both Vizier Ay and me. How can I trust either of you when you won't trust each other?”

The Throne Hall grew deafeningly still, the silence trumpeting Tut's authority. Finally, he spoke to the newlyweds. “Anippe and Commander Sebak, you may rise.”

Sebak helped Anippe stand, his callused hands somehow gentle on her oiled and scented skin.

“Commander Sebak, you will escort my sister to her chamber. After this short meeting with my advisors, we begin the Fayum hunt. I'm tired of talking. I want to kill something—something with four legs, preferably, not two.”

Anippe cast a worried glance at Abbi Horem and back at her brother.

Tut winked at her. “I'll return the general safely to Amenia if your new husband promises he'll ride in my chariot for the hunt. I get to chase lions and wild oxen once a year, and I think Sebak can improve my luck. If I miss the beast with my arrow, perhaps Sebak can snare it with his bare hands.”

Sebak smiled and bowed. “Anything my king commands.” He gently touched the hollow of Anippe's back, nudging her toward the door.

“Snare it with his bare hands?”
The same hand so tenderly placed on her back? With each step, Anippe's panic grew. She'd only just met her husband,
and they expected her to leave Gurob forever to live in his Delta estate? That meant only a few days left at Gurob. Her family would accompany her to Avaris for a feast and then leave her alone. Alone—in the Delta—with Hebrews and goats and Ramessid soldiers who snared beasts with their bare hands?

“Wait!” Anippe fled back to the throne and clutched Tut's feet. “Please, son of Horus, mighty of birth, good god and just ruler of the Two Lands, please let Ummi Amenia and Ankhe come with me to Avaris. Please don't exile me to the Delta without my family.”

Tut's fingers strummed the spirals of her wig, and she looked up to see his tender smile. “Would you feel better if I sent Ankhe with you?”

Relief washed over her like a wave. “Yes, brother, and Ummi too.”

His smile died, and he slid from his throne and lifted her to meet his gaze. In a whisper, he confided, “Amenia must return to the Gurob Harem. Horemheb needs her here to—” His words seemed to drown in whatever worries lay behind his eyes. “We must trust the general's judgment on this.” He brushed her cheek and resumed his throne and his regal bearing. “Ankhe will remain in Avaris after the wedding festival as my sister's handmaid.”

“What? My handmaid? No, she's our—”

Tut's expression—hard as granite—stopped her. He was the god-king again. “Ankhe refuses to act like royalty, Anippe, so she'll live like peasantry. Perhaps a Ramessid taskmaster can teach her respect where others have failed.”

How could Anippe face Ankhe with the news? She'd promised to intercede with Tut about a marriage match, but she'd forgotten, and now it was too late. Consigned to servitude, Ankhe would feel betrayed once more. Anippe stood like a pillar, feeling guiltier than ever.

“Anippe, my treasure.” Abbi Horem appeared beside her. “The divine son of Horus has given you in marriage to the man I've chosen. Sebak is your husband now, your family. He's a good man.” Abbi Horem led her back to Sebak and placed her hand in his again, and the big man's fingers closed over it.

She refused to look up. How she wished for her bronze mirror so she could set her features in Tut's empty stare. Resignation. Obligation.

Removing her hand from Sebak's grasp, she smoothed her linen sheath,
sliding both hands down the curves of her form. Finally, she lifted her gaze to meet her husband's.

The warm brown eyes of a giant welcomed her. His lips, parted slightly, seemed poised to speak but fell instead into that same lazy smile she'd seen before. He wore the short, tightly-curled wig of a military officer, and around his neck hung the coveted Gold of Praise—the highest achievement in Pharaoh's army. How had he distinguished himself? Tut must favor him to bestow such a gift.

Beneath that gold collar lay the muscled chest of a soldier. Bronze arms with leather bands tensed under a sheer linen shirt—the quality of cloth matching that of Gurob's workshop. Might he have a sister in the harem?

Without permission, he tilted her chin up. “May I escort you now?” Mischief played in his tone, and for a moment she considered slapping him.

“What is my name, now that I'm your wife?” she asked instead.

He tilted his head, brow furrowed. “I will call you Anippe, but our servants will call you ‘
Amira
.' ”

Another name.
Without answering, she turned and hurried toward the doors.
Like the waters of the Nile, I will swell and flood and rage. I am Anippe, Amira of Avaris.

Mered stepped outside Avaris's bustling linen workshop, inhaling the cool evening air. Harvest would begin in a few short weeks. He leaned against his favorite palm tree and watched a gentle night breeze stir the weeping willows down the hill by the Nile, promising relief after a brutal summer's heat. There'd been no breeze, and the Nile's flood had measured lower than he could ever remember.

“Get back to work, linen keeper.” The estate foreman appeared, slapping his cudgel into his palm. “You may dress like an Egyptian, but don't forget you're a slave.”

Mered stared at the weapon, his answer a whisper. “I must coordinate with the bakery and brewery for the wedding feast.” He hadn't been beaten in years. The guards saved their physical brutality for the unskilled workers. The craftsmen received a different kind of torture. “Master Sebak ordered festival bread baked in clay molds of his patron god, Seth, and special recipes of beer.”

“Why would Master Sebak tell his chief linen keeper of these special wishes and not me? I'm his estate foreman.”

The foreman's look was threatening—a jackal's face with a long snout and close-set eyes. Why had he come to the linen shop tonight? Ramessids seldom interfered with Avaris's best-selling commodity.

Mered chose his words carefully. “Master Sebak understands the estate
foreman has more important matters to attend to than a wedding feast. He said I shouldn't bother you with mundane details.” Mered held his breath while the foreman chewed on a papyrus stalk, rolling it from one side of his mouth to the other. Perhaps he looked more like a cow than a jackal.

“Go on, then. Get to the bakery and brewery, but this wedding feast better be perfect, Hebrew.” The foreman strolled away in the rising moonlight, and Mered released the breath he'd been holding.

He looked over his shoulder to be sure the foreman wouldn't hear. “This wedding feast will be perfect,” he whispered, “but not because of your threats.” He would do it for Master Sebak.

Mered had grown up serving as apprentice to his father in Avaris's linen shop, which was connected to the main villa by a tiled path. Young Sebak, tired of his studies, had often sought out Mered for sparring with wooden swords. When disease swept through both Avaris and the neighboring Qantir estate, killing nearly half the Ramessid dynasty, it was Mered who comforted young Master Sebak after his parents' deaths.

The night breeze lifted Mered's shoulder-length hair, refreshing him. He ran his hand along the jagged trunk of their favorite palm tree. He and Master Sebak had spent hours talking beneath this tree after Master Sebak's parents died. They talked about everything that summer. Slavery. War. Women. Life—and death. And they still shared a close bond—as close as an Egyptian and Hebrew could have.

So it didn't matter that Mered hadn't been home for two days or that his body ached and his mind was muddled and begging sleep. Master Sebak's wedding feast would be perfect because he was a good man who deserved to be happy.

Mered walked back into the linen shop and through the main villa to get to the estate's bakery and brewery. After dark it wasn't safe to prowl the grounds because of the jackals and hyenas. He'd weave through the garden and then through the villa's kitchen instead.

The bakery and brewery slaves would still be hard at work. No doubt they hadn't been home in two days either. Perhaps Mered would check the granaries while he was on the south side of the villa. His friend Hur was in charge of
ratting and snake disposal. The villa cats kept the rats and vipers controlled well enough for Master Sebak, but he was a soldier, gone most of the time. With a new amira coming to live at the villa, perhaps Hur should do a thorough inspection.

The smell of freshly baked bread and fermenting mash told Mered the bakery and brewery were as busy as his linen shop. He heard some sort of clay vessel crash to the tiled floor. Then came shouting, a
thwack
, and a scream. His stomach knotted. Ramessid guards hovered in the bakery and brewery, eager for samples, their constant presence a looming threat to the slaves. Nervous hands made slippery fingers, and Ramessid whips were ever ready to lash.