The Pharaoh's Daughter (12 page)

But she did it for love. She adored Sebak. Why place her life at risk—their days on this earth together at risk?

“I'll get the Hebrew robes and head coverings while you remove your paints,” Ankhe said, eyes sparking with mischief. “I'll do anything to disgrace your pompous husband.”

Anippe watched Ankhe go, and a wave of foreboding washed over her. For
the first time in her life, she needed Ankhe and must rely on her discretion. Would their secret draw them closer, or was Anippe a fool to trust a girl who seemed incapable of caring for another?

Mered sat alone at the table in their one-room home, listening as his wife shuffled baskets, rearranged clay pots, and poured out her pain. Though married only two years, he'd known her all his life, and this woman needed to work while she ranted.

“I won't do it. I'll die before I'll kill another living soul. And a baby? Who does King Tut think we are? Midwives don't kill babies. We witness their first breath of life, that's what we do. And furthermore, who does King Tut think he is—taking the sovereign decision of life and death into his mortal hands? Yes, I said mortal. A pharaoh is no more divine than my right—”

“I couldn't agree more.” Anippe's voice brought Mered out of his chair.

“Amira.” He nearly knocked over the table as both he and Puah fell to their knees, faces in the dust, arms extended. “My wife and I apologize if we offended—”

“You may rise.” Anippe's presence filled their small room, but …

Trying not to stare, Mered glanced repeatedly at his master's new bride and her handmaid—neither wearing paints or fine linen or wigs. They looked … well, thoroughly Hebrew. Their complexions matched Puah's olive tone.

“May we offer you pomegranate wine or gold beer?” Puah stepped forward, nudging Mered aside since his voice seemed to have left him. “I'm sorry we have no grape wine or dark beer to serve your taste.”

“Thank you, no. My sister, Ankhe, is the handmaid who summoned you and Shiphrah to attend Queen Senpa. Do you remember Ankhe?”

Mered watched his wife nod tentatively, her trembling fingers laced together at her waist.

“Good, then you know how we found your home. I'm not here to cause trouble. I simply need your help—but you can't tell Master Sebak.”

At that moment, Mered's world shifted. Deception had come to Avaris,
and its name was Anippe. He took a step toward her, palms upturned, pleading. “My amira, Puah and I are happy to help you—always—but Master Sebak loves you and would do anything for you. He's told me so himself.”

Tears pooled in her eyes. Her jaw set like Aswan granite. The epitome of an inner clash. “What I do, Mered, I do to ensure a long and happy life with my husband. Your only role will be to periodically deliver a package to me from Puah. In return, I'll double your grain and cloth allowances and give you a larger dwelling.”

He bowed, careful to keep his tone humble. “Thank you, Amira, but were quite content. Our master has always been generous.” He waited, hoping he hadn't offended the woman who held Sebak's heart in her hand.

“Return to the linen shop, Mered—now—while I speak privately with your wife.”

He shot a panicked glance at Puah, who studied her hands and refused to meet his gaze. Mered kissed her temple and hurried out, squeezing past the amira's sister, who blocked the doorway.

“Remember, Mered,” Anippe said as he reached the threshold, “complete secrecy. Your wife's life depends on it.”

He stumbled through the door and down the path toward the villa, torn by love for his wife and loyalty to his master. Who was this young bride who'd stolen Master Sebak's heart and brought Egypt's chaos to Avaris? Sebak had avoided political turmoil by focusing on his career, but now royalty shared his bed and threatened his slaves.
El-Shaddai, hear my cry. Protect us from the schemes of our new amira.

Anippe's heart was in her throat as Mered left his home. She'd never threatened a slave and never spoken so rudely to a man. Puah stood across from her, mirroring Anippe's posture. Hands clasped tightly in front to steady their shaking. But Anippe was the instigator—and the amira—and she must take the next step.

“Puah, I need your help. Can we sit down and talk?”

The midwife motioned Anippe toward the table, offering their single
chair. “Please, sit there. I'll get you something to drink, and maybe some dried fish or dates.” Puah kept her head bowed, nervously shuffling through baskets. She grabbed a clay pitcher and spilled water onto the dirt floor around three clay cups, her hands trembling too violently to pour.

Ankhe loomed by the door, but Anippe walked over to the frightened midwife and guided her to the lone chair. “Puah, please. Come talk with me.”

Puah sat, hands folded, head bowed. “I won't kill Hebrew babies. I won't.”

Anippe crouched before the young woman, capturing her gaze. “I'm not here about my brother's edict.”

“Well, your brother's edict is my whole world.”

The anger reflected in Puah's unshed tears revealed a tough side Anippe respected. “Perhaps we can improve each other's worlds.” She stood, towering over the Hebrew for her next revelation. “I refuse to endure what I witnessed in Senpa's chamber this morning, and you're going to ensure I don't have to.” Puah's head shot up. “I can't promise you'll never miscarry. Only El-Shaddai gives the breath of life.”

“You can make sure I don't get pregnant, Puah. The wives at Gurob Harem used a poultice for their interludes with traveling merchants. It always worked.”

“Nothing always works, Amira. Only a barren woman is sure she'll never conceive.” Puah's voice had gone flat. She began tracing random figures on the table.

“But you know of this poultice? You or Shiphrah could provide the ingredients and teach me to use it—without Sebak knowing?”

The midwife's hand stilled on the table. “How long will you refuse to bear his child?”

Anippe's cheeks burned. Why did she feel shamed by a Hebrew midwife's question? “How long will you refuse to kill Hebrew babies?”

Puah laughed without mirth and resumed making circles with her fingers on the table. “Grind together dates, acacia-tree bark, and honey to make a paste, and then coat a wadding of sheep's wool with the concoction. Insert it shortly before …” The midwife met Anippe's gaze. “Now, how will you improve my world, Amira? Can you keep Hebrew babes alive—while we keep your womb dead?”

THREE MONTHS LATER

Anippe stared at the ceiling in dawn's pink shadows and wiped her cheeks, defeated by the sleepless night—her last night to feel Sebak's warmth beside her for who knew how long. She removed her neck rest and rolled to her side, laying her cheek against her outstretched arm, careful not to crease the spirals of her wig. She couldn't let Sebak awaken to a rumpled, puffy-eyed wife on his last morning at home.

When had she fallen in love with this honorable and gentle man?

His temper hadn't flared since those first days of marriage. The gods must have conspired against their happiness. What other explanation could there be? Senpa's miscarriage. Tut's ridiculous decree. Abbi Horem nearly replaced as prince regent.

But two weeks after Senpa's miscarriage, the royals left, and though Anippe missed her family, she was relieved when Ankhe's disposition improved. She clung to Anippe in their aloneness, which translated to Sebak as long-overdue respect. He seemed pleased, and the sisters were closer than they'd been since childhood.

Anippe watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he slept. He was beautiful, rugged, flawlessly flawed. Long, black lashes fringed almond-shaped lids. His nose turned slightly at a knot halfway down, where it had been broken in
battle. A scar intersected his right brow. They'd been married only three months, but she couldn't imagine life without him. She'd dreaded his return to battle since the day she married a soldier.

Dread became reality today.

A messenger from Abbi Horem had arrived yesterday while Anippe and Sebak lounged in the garden. Dusty and weary, he had demanded to speak with Sebak immediately—and privately. They disappeared into the villa. Anippe waited only moments before seeing the messenger hurry away toward the Ramessid barracks. When Sebak returned to his couch in the garden, his whole countenance had changed.

“General Horemheb has recalled me to duty, habiba.” He spoke matter-of-factly into the distance. “I leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Why so soon? Where are you going?”

Slowly, he turned his head, appraising her with empty eyes. Her gentle husband was gone. “I go when I'm called, and you must never ask where.”

She reached for his hand, and he recoiled.

“I'm going to the stables for a while.” He towered over her, jaw flexing, breathing hard. “I'll meet you in our chamber for the evening meal. We'll talk more then.” Looking away, he wiped both hands down the length of his face and expelled a long sigh before returning his attention to her with a softer voice. “I'll be better then.”

Anippe could only nod, fighting the tears clawing at her throat as he walked away.

She had discovered a horrendous truth yesterday. Sebak's heart was hers, but his mind and body belonged to Egypt.

Tears threatened again this morning as she watched him sleep. Why was she so emotional?
Lady Isis, goddess of motherhood, please don't play tricks with me.
Anippe had used Puah's poultices faithfully and had given herself to her husband freely. In return Anippe had interceded with her husband on behalf of the midwives, and the Ramessid troops swept only the unskilled village for newborn Hebrew males. Granted, it was only partial protection from Pharaoh's edict.

Had Puah also provided only partial protection in her herb bundles?
Is that why my red flow is a week late in coming?
Her interrupted cycle had not gone unnoticed. Sebak, eager for children, had been counting the days.

Nightmarish visions of Senpa and Ummi Kiya played in Anippe's mind, while fresh tears slid across her nose and into her braided wig. The man softly snoring beside her was the best man she knew. To raise his child would be a privilege, a feat that would surely make her ka feather-light on the eternal scale of Anubis.

But why risk death and separation from Sebak, when they could adopt as Horemheb and Amenia had done? Truly, she loved children, and since taking steps to prevent conception, her arms had ached all the more to hold a child of her own.

But I'm protecting Sebak and myself from the separation of death.
The argument sounded reasonable in the dark shadows of her mind, but in the light of day it was deceit—betrayal—plain and simple.

As if sensing silent turmoil, her husband stirred. His waking filled the room with life as his head turned in the carved turquoise neck rest. The lazy grin she loved lit his sleepy face. “Are you watching me?”

Without warning, he rolled over and pinned her to the bed, enveloping her with his arms, his scent, his love.

“I'm memorizing your face before you leave me …” Her voice broke, and the tears started.

She tried to turn away, but his elbows trapped her wig in place while her face slid left. Her eyes were suddenly cloaked in darkness and her right ear framed by the elegant black tresses.

Sebak roared with laughter and snatched off her wig, burying his kisses in the ticklish spot on her neck.

She felt absolutely naked but couldn't stop giggling or push him away. “Stop! Please, stop.”

Before she could utter more protest, he silenced her with a kiss—playful at first, then slow and gentle. When he pulled away, she clung to him, pressing her cheek against his to hide her ugliness.