The Pharaoh's Daughter (11 page)

A villa slave had summoned Puah before dawn, saying Queen Senpa was cramping and needed help immediately. Master Sebak's grief told Mered the cramping had worsened—the king and queen had lost another child.

Pounding footsteps scattered Mered's thoughts. General Horemheb marched toward them from the villa as if to battle.

“You must warn the other Ramessids, Sebak. Ay has poisoned the king's mind against your Hebrews and commanded the midwives to kill all newborn
slave boys. Ay said doing so would restore Tut's lost ma'at and heal Senpa's womb.” Horemheb crossed his arms over his chest, stretching the leather bands on his biceps. “I think it'll make your Hebrews more unruly and drain our already stressed military resources.”

“Puah?” Mered spoke his wife's name without thinking, drawing both soldiers' attention.

“Yes, Puah was one of the midwives.” The general stepped closer, examining Mered as if he was judging horseflesh. “Who is she to you, and why are you—a Hebrew—pretending to be Egyptian?” His hand moved to the hilt of his dagger. “We kill Hebrews who try to escape.”

Sebak stepped between them. “Puah is Mered's wife, and he is my Chief Linen Keeper. He wears our workshop's finest robes to display quality to traveling merchants. If his wife is in danger, Mered's mind is on his wife. Without Mered's attention, the linen shop suffers. Without Avaris linen, Delta trade declines.”

General Horemheb's face was set like stone as he eyed Mered from the top of his Egyptian-cropped hair to the hem of his pleated linen robe. The only things missing were a wig and face paints. “You will follow me, linen keeper—now.”

The general whirled toward the villa, and Sebak nudged Mered forward, falling in step behind them. Was he being arrested—or worse?

Within moments they arrived in the villa's main hall, where General Horemheb approached King Tut. Mered fell to his knees, while Master Sebak towered above his right shoulder. Vizier Ay stood at Pharaoh's right, with Puah and Shiphrah beside him, their faces streaked with tears.

Mered cautiously peeked up and saw Puah's face brighten when she saw him but fade the moment Pharaoh spoke.

“Why have you returned, Horemheb? I've made my decision, and it's firm. You'll not change my mind.” Tut reclined on the cushion where he'd celebrated the marriage feast last night. “You're the one who taught me to seek ma'at at all costs, Horemheb. Ay has simply suggested killing male Hebrew babies as an efficient method to achieve it.”

Horemheb stepped forward and fell to one knee, head bowed. “Oh great
Pharaoh, one of perfect laws, who pacifies the Two Lands; Lord of all, who wears crowns and pleases the gods; Ruler of Truth, who pleases his father Re—your will is my command, and I am your obedient servant. I have not come to argue but to help balance the counsel of your wise vizier. As you say, ma'at is only achieved when our king hears both sides of an argument.”

Tut's eyes narrowed, and he leaned over the low-lying table. “Like uneven water jugs on a shoulder bar, the Hebrews in our Delta have unbalanced Egypt's Two Lands. By their deaths, we will balance the nation—and Senpa will bear my son.”

Mered gulped, thankful to be hiding his expression with a bow. How could the king speak of life and death when he'd seen so little of it in his fifteen years?

“And Queen Senpa will bear a fine son, oh good god.” Horemheb's voice was gentle, sincere. The change of tone was like a slap, and something akin to shame averted Tut's gaze as the general continued. “If it pleases my king, may I introduce Mered, Commander Sebak's Chief Linen Keeper and husband of Puah, the midwife.” Sebak nudged Mered, who maneuvered on his knees to flank Horemheb.

“Why would I care to meet a Hebrew slave?”

“Because this is the man who will comfort his distraught wife after she kills Hebrew baby boys. Mered is the overseer of the second most productive linen workshop in Egypt. How will the chaos of mass killing affect your Delta linen production? And if the slaves should try to rebel, the Ramessids would, of course, quash the rebellion—but at what cost? Must I assign greater military resources to Delta settlements when I need every available soldier to fight the Hittites?” He bowed his forehead to the tiled floor. “Please, my king, listen to me. Can't you see that Ay is trying to unsettle your ma'at, not restore peace—”

Tut slammed both hands on the table and stood. “It's you, Horemheb, who unsettles me.”

Everyone collapsed to their knees, bowing in the crushing silence. Only the desperate panting of the grieving king echoed in the room. “Rise,” he said in a low growl.

Every supplicant stood, but no one dared speak. Silence drew into awkwardness.

Finally, Tut addressed his general again. “You view Egypt through the wary eyes of a would-be king, but Vizier Ay sees Egypt's king and his would-be heir. You protect Egyptian linen, but you've forgotten to defend Egypt's king.” The young king struggled against his emotions, his cheeks quaking. “General Horemheb, Commander of Egypt's Armies and Prince Regent of the Two Lands, I see another more worthy of this throne. I hereby revoke your—”

“No!” A woman's high-pitched cry sliced the air. Amira Anippe emerged from the hall and fell at Tut's feet. “Please, incarnate Horus, healer of the Two Lands, and beloved brother of my heart. I beg you to wait until your grief has passed. Don't change a decision in darkness that you made in light. You and I watched Abbi Akhenaten rule Egypt with emotion and whim, but you have ruled with wisdom and forethought. Senpa needs you now. Let your strong leaders—General Horemheb and Vizier Ay—tend your nation while you tend your queen.”

Mered heard only heavy breathing and silent yearning in a room filled with Egypt's future.

King Tut strummed his sister's spiraled wig, offering her a sad smile. He kissed her cheek and stood, turning his attention once more to his prince regent. “General Horemheb, you will leave my presence tonight. Return to battle the Hittites, while I tend my wife and rule my nation. You remain prince regent until I have an heir.” He glared at the midwives. “And I'll have an heir as soon as you fling every male Hebrew newborn into the Nile. Now leave me.” Turning to Ay, his features softened. “The vizier will accompany Senpa and me to Memphis when the queen regains strength to travel.”

Shiphrah and Puah hurried out of the hall, and Mered furtively touched Sebak's arm to beg leave.

The king must have noted the motion, for he barked, “All of you—get out.”

Mered needed no further prompting. He fairly ran to his wife, who had already fled to the garden on their way home. “Puah, Shiphrah—wait.”

Both women turned, eyes red-rimmed, tears streaming down their cheeks.
Puah ran into her husband's arms, while Shiphrah stood quaking beside them. “How can we kill the very lives God gave us to deliver? If we disobey Pharaoh, we die; but if we sin against El-Shaddai, we suffer Sheol forever.”

Mered gathered Shiphrah into his arms as well, and the three formed a tight circle of grief.

“I can't kill a baby,” Puah whispered, “I can't.” She buried her sobs in his chest.

Heartbroken, Mered held both midwives, praying silently for their strength and wisdom.
El-Shaddai, how can You let this happen? Protect Your people, Israel.

Startled by a hand on his shoulder, Mered whirled to see Sebak and Anippe looking almost as distraught as the Hebrews. “My lord,” Mered began, “I was just … I … may I escort Puah and Shiphrah home before returning to the linen shop?”

“Of course, Mered. Take them back to camp and stay with Puah if she needs you—”

“Wait.” Anippe wriggled away from the master's protective arm. “I could go with them, Sebak, and get instructions from Shiphrah on how to care for Senpa while she's here.”

Sebak appeared as confused as Mered felt. “The midwives will care for Queen Senpa. An Egyptian amira doesn't stroll into a slave camp, my love. It simply isn't done.”

Mered watched the amira carefully. She acquiesced, allowing Sebak to corral her waist, but she wasn't satisfied. Her sharp glances and fidgeting fingers told Mered this amira wanted to follow the midwives for more than instructions on Queen Senpa's care.

Master Sebak cleared his throat, gaining Puah's and Shiphrah's attention. “You two must begin now to obey the king. Every male newborn from this moment forward goes into the Nile. I'll send the first regiment of soldiers this afternoon to take a census of all Hebrew children. We will enforce this—even in the skilled craftsmen's village.” He looked at Mered then, their roles as slave and master never more distinct than in this moment. “I'm sorry, my friend.”

Anippe walked in Sebak's shadow through the garden, past the empty main hall, and down the hallway toward their bedchamber. He hadn't spoken or touched her since they left Mered and the midwives. Nassor, the Ramessid at their doorway, saluted him and pushed open their cedar door. Sebak pressed the curve of her back, encouraging her to enter first.

“Thank you, Nassor,” Anippe said as she passed.

Ankhe was waiting beside a tray of grapes and honeyed dates, goat cheese, and various nut-breads. She kept her head bowed but gave no sign of retreat.

“Get out,” Sebak growled.

Ankhe stepped forward, intense and defiant as she'd always been with Abbi Horem.

“Thank you, Ankhe.” Anippe moved between her sister and husband, guiding Ankhe toward the door. “I'll call for you after Sebak and I have finished our meal.” She raised her eyebrows, hoping to communicate the wisdom of surrender.

Ankhe left quickly but not quietly. The door slammed, and Sebak turned on Anippe, sparks like a flint stone in his eyes.

“I will not tolerate her disrespect. She needs the strap, Anippe, and I will administer it so she'll never need it again.” He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close. “It's the most merciful thing to do, my love. She's like a wild mare unwilling to be broken. She must learn—”

Anippe pulled her husband's head down and kissed him into silence. His anger channeled into passion, and for a moment, she thought he'd consume her.

“Wait, wait, please.” She pushed him away.

Like a man awakened from deep dreams, he opened his eyes and focused on the face held between his hands. “I waited twenty-one years to take a bride—and so I took her. In my life I must wait for kings and generals and armies to reach terms. Why must I wait for my wife?” He wasn't angry—yet—simply anxious. Like a little boy begging for honey cakes.

How could she tell him he must wait because she was terrified of bearing his child? The women at Gurob Harem spoke of herbs and leaf packs to prevent a man's seed from bearing fruit, but she must get to the midwives to obtain the items.

“I must go to Senpa,” she said. “You gave the midwives permission to return home, and Amenia was with her all night.”

She saw desperation in his eyes. And then came the anger.

He swept her aside. “I'm going to the stables.”

The door slammed shut behind him, and Anippe was alone. Abbi Horem would return to battle today. Tut, Senpa, and probably Ummi Amenia would return to Memphis as soon as Senpa was well enough to travel. Anippe would be left in this strange villa enduring a selfish sister and a good husband with a bad temper.

She sank onto her feather mattress and sorted out her options. They were few. If she tried to speak to the midwives while they tended Senpa, someone in the villa might overhear her request and tell Sebak.

“
Never betray him
,” Abbi Horem had warned. A cold shiver shook her in the midday heat. Sebak had wanted to give Ankhe the strap for disrespect. What would he do to his wife for cheating him out of an heir?

Ankhe.
A new thought launched her from the bed. Ankhe knew where the midwives lived because she'd summoned them for Senpa. She could lead Anippe to the slave camp to speak privately with Shiphrah and Puah.

“An Egyptian amira doesn't stroll into a slave camp,”
Sebak had said. She did if no one knew she was Egyptian. Anippe's and Ankhe's skin was lighter than most Egyptians because Ummi Kiya was a princess from the Mitanni
kingdom, given to Abbi Akhenaten as a treaty bride. Their daughters both inherited Kiya's sandy-brown eyes and brown hair, rather than Egyptian dark browns and blacks. Without fine linen, a wig, and face paints, Anippe could pass for a Hebrew—at least for a little while.

She hurried to the gathering area of her chamber and rang the Hathor-shaped chime, summoning her maid. Ankhe arrived grim faced and squint eyed.

“You can pout all day about Sebak's temper, or you can join me on an adventure.” Anippe watched Ankhe for the slightest sign of consent.

“What adventure?”

“Find rough-spun Hebrew robes for both of us. We'll remove our cosmetics. No wigs either. We need Hebrew women's head coverings too. They'll help hide our thin hair. You're taking me to the midwives.”

“Why should I?”

“Because, like it or not, you're my handmaid, Ankhe.”

The sisters stood locked in a stare. What thoughts whirled behind Ankhe's eyes? Rage. Rebellion. Bitterness. These were the only emotions Ankhe seemed capable of feeling.

Anippe squeezed her eyes shut, hating herself for what she was about to say. “If you help me deceive Sebak, you'll rob him of a child.”

She opened her eyes and found Ankhe smiling. The glee on her sister's face was nauseating.

“And if I refuse to help you?” Ankhe asked.

“If you refuse, I'll let Sebak train you with his strap.”

Ankhe lifted her chin defiantly, considering the ultimatum, but she showed no sign of surprise or disgust at Anippe's blatant manipulation. Anippe was sickened by it. She'd become everything she hated about Egyptian royalty—conniving and controlling.