The Pharaoh's Daughter (4 page)

“Today, you become an
amira
, Anippe.” Amenia's voice was gentle but firm. “From this day forward, you will have your own home, your own estate, your own husband.”

Morning light dimmed to gray, and Anippe fought tears again. “Me. An amira.”

“Your groom is waiting for you in the throne room with King Tut and your abbi Horem.”

“Has General Horemheb made a match for me too?” Ankhe came running from their adjoining chamber and knelt at Amenia's feet. “I'm only two
years younger than Anippe.” Hope glistened in her eyes, breaking Anippe's heart.

Gently but firmly, Amenia cupped Ankhe's chin. “No, child. General Horemheb is not your abbi. We've allowed you to live with us because Anippe is your sister, but it's up to your brother Tut to make a marriage match for you.”

The familiar cloud settled over Ankhe, and she cast an accusing glance at Anippe.
Betrayer!
Her eyes held the same look every time Abbi Horem hugged Anippe and each time Amenia spoke a tender word. Though Anippe had no part in the decisions that formed their lives, Ankhe blamed her—and yet clung to her.

“Perhaps I can talk to Tut and ask him to make a match for you too, sister,” Anippe said.

Ankhe rolled her eyes and stomped back to the chamber, flopped on her bed, and covered her head with the sheet.

Ummi Amenia turned Anippe's chin, demanding her attention. “Ankhe will adjust. You must hurry to the Throne Hall.”

They exited through the courtyard gate, then wove through the maze of harem apartments in silence until they emerged into a pillared corridor. Dawn's glow lit the limestone palace walls, and Anippe marveled at the sun god Re. How did he sail his sacred barque through the dark waters of night to bring them a new day every day? If she were a priest or a king, she would sacrifice an extra offering this morning. Did Ankhe see the same sunrise? Could she rise from her bed and find something for which to be thankful?

Beyond these walls, government officials slept in summer villas, while a peasant village readied its wares for another day of trade. Surrounding the sea of humanity was the Fayum's lush green marshlands—home to Egypt's big-game animals. Lions. Hippos. Wild oxen. Once each year Pharaoh arrived to free the noblemen from their civilized cages to hunt wild beasts.

Late each summer, noblemen left the Memphis Palace, where Egyptian men ruled the nation, and journeyed to the Gurob Harem, where Egyptian women ruled the men. The harem housed most of Egypt's royal women, related by blood or marriage to the king and his advisors. Their linen workshop
produced the finest cloth in the world, its quality and quantity outpaced only by Gurob's gossip.

Silence had escorted them to the end of the long corridor, and Anippe grew weary of the sound of squeaky leather sandals. “Ummi, can't you tell me anything about the man I'm going to marry?”

Ummi Amenia stopped at the threshold of the mosaic-tiled hallway leading to the Throne Hall and gathered Anippe's hands in her own. “Your abbi Horem has chosen one of his best soldiers as your husband. King Tut is torn between your abbi Horem's desperate measures and Vizier Ay's deception.” She released Anippe's hands, straightened her spine, and assumed an unfamiliar coolness. “You decide who to trust with your future.”

Amenia walked away, leaving Anippe to walk the mosaic-tiled corridor of the Throne Hall alone.

Anippe approached the Nubian guards at the throne-room doors, trying not to stare at their ebony chests glistening in the morning heat. Like most Medjay warriors, these guards wore leopard-skin loincloths, carried two-cubit-long flint-headed spears, and wore bands of beaded necklaces representing battle kills. These guards were inexperienced—only two beaded strands—but they were no less terrifying than the king's personal guard.

With a deep breath, Anippe mustered her courage, remembering Abbi Horem's assurance.
“The only thing fiercer than a Medjay's fury is his loyalty. Medjay friendship in life is Medjay friendship in death.”
They opened the heavy cedar doors as she approached, and she hurried through.

The heavy doors slammed shut behind her, echoing in the expansive hall constructed to resemble Pharaoh's luxury barque. The ceiling reached as high as the ship's expansive sail, white linen fluttering down from papyrus ropes draped pillar to pillar. The room itself measured from doors to throne the exact length of his ship from helm to rudder, and the blue faience tiles on which supplicants approached their pharaoh reminded all that King Tut—like the Nile—was Egypt's life giver.

Six men stood at the opposite end of a long crimson carpet—all staring at her. Two Medjays guarded her brother, Tut, from behind his elevated throne, while Vizier Ay waited at the carpet's threshold. Abbi Horem stood across from Ay with a handsome soldier, clearly the man she was to marry.

Utterly still and painfully flushed, Anippe was sure her heart pounded hard enough to bounce the gold and turquoise clasp on her chest.

A steward's voice boomed behind her, nearly startling her out of her sandals. “Enter, Princess Anippe, into the presence of the good god, King Tutankhamun, strong bull, pleasing of birth, one of perfect laws, who pacifies Upper and Lower Egypt, who wears both crowns and pleases the gods, great of the palace of Amun, lord of—”

“Enough!” Tut crashed his flail against his armrest. “Leave us.”

Anippe glanced over her shoulder to be sure no one else lurked. The steward slipped out the door, and she was suddenly alone at the far end of the crimson carpet.

Tut swatted his flail against the armrest again. “Come, Anippe. We have important matters to discuss.”

She bowed in deference, swallowing what she would have said five years ago—before he was a god.
He must be in one of his moods again.
Tut had been especially volatile since his wife and half-sister, Senpa, miscarried their first child while visiting nobility in the Delta. He'd ordered his queen to recuperate at Gurob, where their sisters and Amenia could minister to her weary body and grieving ka—that part of every human that lives forever.

As Senpa shared details of her painful loss, Anippe battled memories of Ummi Kiya's death and the baby brother that never drew breath. Senpa had been nearly full term when her travail began while at the Delta estate of Qantir. Hebrew midwives tried but couldn't save Senpa's baby girl, a baby too malformed to survive. With quiet sobs, she'd spoken of the pressure a king and queen feel to produce an heir. Amenia had hoped to calm her. “
You're both young
,” she'd said. But even Anippe knew a king wasn't pleasing to the gods until his wife bore a son.

Anippe tried to make her feet move toward Tut's throne. They wouldn't budge.

Her brother almost looked like a god today, seated on his gilded throne, wearing the double crown of Egypt's Two Lands. His eyes were painted with kohl—the sign of Horus a bold stripe toward his temple and a downward curl
toward his cheekbone. Pharaoh's golden collar—inlaid with rubies, lapis, and jasper—gleamed around his neck. But it hung like a millstone on his dark brown shoulders. She ached for him, for the children they once were.

Abbi Horem walked toward her, arms open, breaking the awkward silence. “Come, my treasure. Welcome your abbi home.”

She hurried to his familiar warmth and safety, snuggling into his chest—caring nothing about her eye paints or his perfect white robe. “I've missed you, Abbi. Why can't you come home more often?”

Abbi Horem set her upright and held her shoulders, looking hard into her eyes. “When I am at war, I stay at war; and when I am at home, I am fully yours.”

Tucking her under his protective wing, they approached King Tut together. She didn't dare look at the handsome soldier, but she could feel his gaze on her.

Vizier Ay nodded politely when she and Abbi Horem halted beside him at the edge of the crimson carpet. Ay was as old as the general but quite handsome for his age. Many in the harem found his dove-colored eyes appealing. Anippe found his light eyes eerie and believed the tall, slender vizier to be a jackal in fine linen. His gaze roamed her form freely, making her shiver.

Repulsed, Anippe stepped toward the throne, head bowed. “Life, health, and peace to the divine son of the great god Horus. I have come as you commanded, most revered brother Tut. How may I serve—”

“Tell her, Horemheb. Tell my sister why you took your best soldier from a crucial battle in order to plan her wedding.”

She glanced up and saw a sheen of sweat on Tut's brow, his jaw muscle dancing. Why was he angry at Abbi Horem? Did he disapprove of the man Abbi had chosen?

Abbi's expression was more than battle weary. Fighting Hittites for ten months could account for fatigue, but his countenance revealed a deeper agony. “As you wish, my king.” He cast a burning glare at the vizier before softening his gaze for Anippe. “It is time for the House of Horemheb to unite with the House of Rameses.”

He nudged the officer forward, joining his hand with Anippe's.

The House of Horemheb?
Before Anippe could ponder the statement further,
the soldier's large hand engulfed her own. She looked up and found his eyes devouring her. The strength of his bearing moved her back a step.

Abbi Horem gripped her arm and moved her close again. “Anippe, my treasure, this is your husband, Commander Sebak. He is my best officer, Master of Horse, and he is honored among the great Ramessid military family.” He turned a threatening glare at the vizier. “Sebak and his Ramessid guards will protect you at his estate in the Delta.”

“In the Delta?” Anippe jerked her hand away. “But I don't want to live in the Delta. I want to stay in Gurob with Ummi.”

She saw the Master of Horse raise an eyebrow but couldn't tell if he was amused or angry. She didn't care.

“Mery.” The quiet name from her past stopped her like a slap. Tut hadn't called her
Mery
since Abbi Horem adopted her.

She bowed her head, letting the ebony spirals of her wig hide her gathering tears. “Yes, my king?”

“You will do as General Horemheb commands.” His tone was suddenly resigned, the anger gone. Why? What had changed?

Anippe dared lift her eyes to the god on the throne and saw the same blank expression that shadowed Tut's face on the day he married Senpa. “Our lives have never been our own, sister. Horemheb has always protected us—me on Egypt's throne and you, when he adopted you and named you
Anippe
.” He paused, staring hard at Horemheb, and finally nodded what seemed like silent gratitude before returning his attention to Anippe.

“Honored daughter of General Horemheb and beloved sister of the good god King Tut—I proclaim Sebak, commander of the Ramessids, is your husband this day. The royal family will attend the wedding feast at Sebak's Avaris estate in the Delta upon the completion of the king's royal Fayum hunt.” Then, leaning forward to address Sebak, Tut's eyes narrowed, sharpening the sign of Horus. “Commander Sebak, Horemheb's fears for Anippe may be unfounded, but she is not only his treasure—she is Pharaoh's beloved sister. Protect her or die.”

Anippe wanted to scream,
No! I don't know this man, and I don't know the Delta!
But she remained silent, an obedient daughter, sister, woman.

Sebak stepped closer and placed a possessive hand at the small of her back. “It is my honor and pleasure to protect Anippe, great god of the Two Lands. Every Ramessid in the Delta will see that she is safe at Avaris.” His voice rumbled low, and his intimate touch sent a surge of fear through her.

Anippe knew little of the Delta except that it contained Hebrew slaves, grain fields, and Egypt's fiercest soldiers—the Ramessids. And Senpa's baby had died there.

She peered up at the giant beside her and looked into his warm brown eyes. They sparkled and laughed. Could eyes laugh? Perhaps not, but the lazy grin on his face was infuriating.

He reached for her hand, cradled it like a fragile glass bead, and placed a tender kiss on her palm.

Fire raced up her arm. She snatched her hand away, and her breaths came in short, quick gasps. Was it the commander's nearness or Tut's rising anger?

The king glared at his vizier. “General Horemheb left the battlefield because he believed you were a threat to my sister. I'd like to assure him this is untrue, but how can I, when I hear rumors of your conspiracy with Nakhtmin in Nubia?”

“I am as loyal to you as I've always been, great and mighty son of Horus,” the vizier protested. “My messages to the commander in Nubia were to arrange my daughter's marriage. I, like General Horemheb, feared for my daughter's safety here at Gurob and took steps to safeguard her from those loyal to the general.”

“Those loyal to the general?” Tut's voice squeaked like a boy becoming a man. “Is no one loyal to King Tut anymore?” His words echoed in the near-empty hall, a reminder that Tut was Amun-Re, god of the sun on earth.

A shiver crept up Anippe's spine. Tut had been acting more like Abbi Akhenaten lately—impulsive, easily agitated—all signs of an unbalanced
ma'at.
The seasons, the sun and moon, justice, truth, and relational harmony hinged on the divine equilibrium of the earthly
Lord of Ma'at
seated on Egypt's throne.

As Anippe's concern mounted, Tut breathed deeply, crossed the golden crook and flail against his chest, and stared into the distance. She could almost see him return the balance of ma'at.

“General Horemheb, do you have proof that Vizier Ay has been involved in any treasonous activity?” Tut asked.

“Vizier Ay has amassed too much influence in southern Egypt. By marrying his daughter to Commander Nakhtmin, he secures military allegiance with the Nubians in Cush and purchases goodwill for every southern trade route to the Red Sea. The whole Nubian army is at his disposal, which means my family—and your throne—is at risk should he decide to raise a rebellion.”