The Pharaoh's Daughter (48 page)

Gathering her bowl from last night, she straightened what would become her space. A three-sided canopy of palm branches suspended by several poles, it provided shade in the day and protection from birds at night. A small piece of lamb's wool made an adequate headrest, and a woven woolen blanket helped turn away the night chill. It was more than she deserved.

Jered's canopy lay empty opposite her. Wasted space in this new sleeping arrangement, but she'd use it for storage so Mered and the children would have more room downstairs. Or perhaps Miriam would come up and sleep under the second canopy.

No! I refuse to need anyone.
She squeezed her eyes shut, reminding herself of her vow.
Breathe, live, work. That's all.

She rocked to her feet, removed the thatched opening in the rooftop floor, and noticed the cook fire already flaming, lamps already lit.
Why would someone be awake so early?
She stepped down the rickety acacia-wood ladder, not yet accustomed to the climb. Safely on the packed-dirt floor, she was startled to find Heber and Jeki sharing her sleeping mat. Jered and Ednah were awake with the adults—all standing in a huddle near the table, staring at her.

Had they decided to put her out? Her mouth went dry. “What? What is it?”

Mered stepped toward her, hands extended as if approaching a shy filly. He tried to reach for her hands, but she backed away, bumping against the ladder. “It's Miriam,” he said. “She's alive but badly beaten.”

She saw Jochebed, face buried in her hands, sobbing. Amram comforted her. Ednah, too, was weeping, but Jered stood with his arms folded across his chest.

She looked to Mered for answers. “Who beat Miriam?”

“Bithiah …” His tenderness was unnerving. Last night he wanted to feed her to the crocodiles, and this morning he treated her like Persian pottery.

“Who hurt her?”

“Mehy.”

The single word was like a nightmare replaying in her mind. She blinked but kept hearing her son's name.
Mehy. Mehy. Mehy.

Gentle hands shook her shoulders. “Bithiah, look at me. Look at me.” Mered's face was less than a handbreadth away. “Ednah was with Miriam when it happened. She's shaken, but she said Mehy had to do it. He saved Miriam's life.”

Confused and overwhelmed, she shrugged off his hands. “I don't understand. Why would Mehy hurt Miriam? I know he was angry when he found out Miriam was his sis—” Panic seized her when she realized Jered and Ednah—even Amram—might not know Mehy's true identity.

“It's all right. Everyone in this room knows Mehy is Moses.”

“Is that why he beat her?” she asked on a sob.

Mered pulled her into his arms, quieting her. “No. It's why he saved her.”

Jered's anger erupted. “You're why he beat her.”

“That's not true, Jered,” Amram intervened, cradling the boy's shoulders. “I'll not have you laying blame.”

Nameless tried to free herself from Mered's embrace, but he held her tight. “It wasn't your fault,” he said. “I know you were trying to protect Heber and Jeki.”

Understanding dawned, and panic overtook her. She flailed in his arms. “It was the snake charmer, wasn't it?”

“Stop fighting me.” His strong arms held her fast, quieting her thrashing. “I'll tell you everything if you'll calm down. Rest, Bithiah. Rest in my arms. Shh.”

His mercy was inescapable. Her strength vanished, and she crumpled to the floor.

Mered held her, speaking softly. “The guards noticed the snake charmer in the villa was assisting Hur instead of the children, and they grew suspicious. When they questioned the charmer, he showed them the jewelry he'd been given as wages. The guards took the pieces of jewelry to Mehy, who recognized them as his mother's.”

She began shaking her head before Mered finished speaking. “But Mehy knows Miriam wouldn't steal those things. He wouldn't—”

“Miriam confessed to stealing the jewelry.” Mered's tone was even, deliberate.

“What? No. Why would she do that?”

“Because if she denied it, Nassor would have searched the craftsmen's village—and found you.”

A wave of nausea nearly overwhelmed her. Ankhe's final words haunted her.
You did this to me!
Would Miriam scream the same? No, Miriam would do far worse. Miriam would forgive her.

She kept swallowing the bile and with it regret, shame, and self-loathing. Surely, if she had a name, she would be darkness itself. Had her darkness tainted her son?

Not Mehy. Mehy is good.

She lifted her gaze to Ednah. “Why didn't Mehy let a guard punish Miriam?”

“He did it to save her.” Ednah's voice was shaky but absent the judgment in Jered's gaze. “After Nassor landed the first blow, Mehy took away the foreman's cudgel and dismissed all the guards. He told Miriam he must make the beating look real—but he would leave her alive. And then he did this.” Ednah knelt beside Bithiah and Mered and held out her forearm, revealing a fresh burn in the shape of the Avaris estate symbol.

Nameless covered a sob. “Why? Why would he torture you?”

“Master Mehy said the brand would keep Miriam and me safe from other guards while he was at war. It marks us as his. He said Pirameses has started marking some of his slaves.” Ednah looked up, her eyes swimming in tears. “He hurt us to save us.”

The smell of burnt flesh was too much to bear. Bile rose in her throat, and Nameless ran out the door to vomit.

A tender hand pressed against her back, rubbing and patting, and then she heard Jochebed's voice. “Love forces us to choose, Bithiah. I chose to protect Moses in a basket on the Nile. You chose to protect Heber and Jeki, and
Miriam chose to protect you. If our motives are truly pure, the result is in God's hands.”

Shame kept her head bowed. “I don't deserve your forgiveness, Jochebed. Leave me alone.”

The older woman disappeared inside, and the one with no name stared at the brightening sky.
Life was truly relentless.
She would breathe. She would live. She would work.

Inhaling deeply, she returned inside to the averted glances of Mered and his firstborn. Amram and Jochebed had disappeared with Ednah into their adjoining room.

“Ednah will help Jochebed tend Miriam and Amram today,” Mered said. “I've asked Jered to help you with household tasks.”

Nameless crossed the room and scooped a cup of rough-ground grain into a pot, adding a pinch of salt. “I don't need help.”

“Regardless, he's staying. I'll send Heber and Jeki to stay with Shiphrah. They can play with Uri and Yael until it's time to help prepare the fields for sowing.” Mered reached for the pot of gruel and hung it over the fire to cook.

“Whatever you wish.” She bowed her head and tensed as his hands rested on her arms, his tenderness scalding her.

“I'll stay home instead of Jered if you need me.”

“No. You must prepare for the Lotus Feast. Please go.”

Only a moment's hesitation before his hands fell away. “I'll come home later to check on you.”

“I'll get water at the river.” Jered grabbed a water jug and was out the door before they could answer.

She lifted her eyes, forcing herself to speak. “Please take him to the shop with you. I can't deal with his hatred today.”

“He doesn't hate you.” Mered's eyes were pleading. “The truth is, he's so angry at everyone right now, I'm afraid to have him at the shop or near the villa. Please, Bithiah. He must stay home today.”

She bowed her head, nodding slightly.
Breathe. Live. Work.
“As you wish, Mered.”

After gathering two more jugs of water, Jered plopped the last one on the floor and started toward the roof ladder.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

He didn't answer, didn't even acknowledge her question.

She grabbed his arm and whirled him around. “Jered, please. I need your help making this week's beer.” Of all the household tasks, making beer was the one she hated most—even more than cleaning waste pots.

He rolled his eyes, but didn't refuse.

“You can have the rest of the nabk-berry bread if you help me,” she said.

Bribery seemed to work. Within moments, they were settled into a deserted clearing behind the first row of long houses.
Breathe. Live. Work.

She held the sieve over the flavoring vat, while Jered lifted the large amphora of fermented mash. “Pour slowly,” she said. “I don't plan to wash robes for three days, so no splashing.”

He started pouring. “I don't hate you.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn't respond.

“And it's not your fault Miriam was beaten. It's Mehy's. He could have found another way to punish her.”

Again she remained silent.

“Even if he did have to beat her, he didn't need to be so brutal. You should see her.” Jered poured faster as his fervor increased. “How could he do that to his sister? If you love someone, you don't hurt them.”

She shook her head and scoffed at his youth. “Those who love us hurt us most.” A huge lump of mash plopped into the sieve. “Slow down, you're splashing.”

He ignored her, the mash pouring out with his words. “But I love someone, and I would never hurt her. Father won't even let me talk about marriage until I hear from El-Shaddai.”

“Why are you in such a hurry to get married? You've only seen fifteen inundations.”

“I've been a skilled craftsman in the linen shop since I was twelve. I can support a family with wages in grain and linen.”

She looked away from the sieve of soupy sludge and found Jered's chest puffed, chin raised. He wasn't interested in dissenting opinions.

“Is the girl ready to manage a household?” she asked.

“She is of age, from the tribe of Judah, and her abba is a metal worker. Her family's women are respectful to their husbands, and most have borne sons.”

Jered listed her qualities as if they were workshop supplies. Did he think building a marriage was as simple as making linen? “A man will do what a man will do.”

“Exactly. Men choose a wife, and women bear children—as El-Shaddai intended when He created the world.”

His comment sliced her to the core. If bearing children was the purpose of women on earth, why did she still draw breath?

“Speak to your father, Jered. I have no answers.” Her throat tightened around the words, emotions blurring her view of the rapidly filling vat.

“I've tried, but he says I should seek El-Shaddai. What does that mean?”

Crumbled loaves clogged the sieve. Soupy, smelly goo rose to the top, overflowing.

“Wait, wait!” she cried.

Too late, the lovesick boy righted the amphora—leaving Anippe's arms and lap soaked in mash. She stood, dripping.

Wide-eyed, Jered whispered, “Bithiah, I'm sorry.”

He was sorry. What did he have to be sorry about? He was young and reckless, ready to love and live a real life. Nameless deceived others and lived only lies—and her life smelled like the mash that covered her.

“I'll wash at the river. You clean this up.”

“Yes, I will. I'm sorry.”

He was still apologizing as her feet kicked up dust, fleeing to the river. Fear, anger, and guilt clung to her like the mash on her robe. Too many people cluttered the shore near the long houses, so she ran farther down the bank among the reeds. Checking for crocodiles or water serpents, she saw none and waded into a secluded spot.

Waist deep. Chest deep. She walked until the water rose around her neck.

Why should she live? To Mehy, she was already dead. To Mered, she was a vile deceiver, and she'd nearly cost Miriam her life. Jered, Ednah, Heber, and Jeki would be better served by a real Hebrew mother. Perhaps one of the many village women who hated her for snatching the handsome linen keeper so soon after Puah's death.

Jered's profound declaration,
“Men choose a wife, and women bear children,”
had answered her lifelong restlessness. Now she knew. She had no purpose. When she refused to bear children, her life held no meaning, and the gods fought against her.

She held her breath, took another step, and her head dipped below the water. She waited for death to come.

And waited.

Her lungs convulsed.

Sudden panic turned her legs into sling shots, flinging her up from a watery grave. Relief was fleeting as the current, like a rope wrapped around her legs, robbed her of her footing. Gasping for air, she slapped the water wildly, gulping great mouthfuls of the river as she tried to keep her head above water.

“Bithiah!” a voice called, and then an arm surrounded her. “Stop fighting me! Stop fighting. Just stand.”

A strong grip pinned her arms at her side, holding her steady. Still gasping for air, she fought sobs and turned, clinging to her savior. Shaking uncontrollably, she buried her face in his shoulder, the smell of ben-tree oil as calming as the arms that held her.