by Mesu Andrews
The Ramessids. Violent. Ruthless. Their women remained in the Delta, never mingling with noblemen’s wives at the Gurob Harem. They were a lofty bunch—men and women alike—a strange breed of grandiose savage.
But Sebak hadn’t seemed that way. Strong, yes, but kind and thoughtful. Her only concern was his introduction to Ankhe and the wary eye he’d kept on her since.
A cabin door slammed behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know it was Abbi Horem. They’d met at dawn every morning of the journey at this very spot.
“Good morning, my treasure.” Abbi’s gravelly voice betrayed his sleeplessness. “I’m ready to get off this cursed ship.”
Anippe looped her arm with his, squeezing until he grinned. They began their stroll down the steps to the middle level. Mornings had become a special time to break their fast together while waiting for the others to join them. They’d talked of Ummi Amenia, the Hittites, and Tut, but today she needed to know about her husband.
“Tell me about Sebak, Abbi.” She gripped the handrail as they eased down the four steps. “Why did you choose him from all your soldiers?” She needed to know why the man she respected most chose this particular Ramessid.
They arrived on the middle-level deck and sat on opposite cushions beside a low-lying table. Abbi Horem signaled a Nubian to serve their meal. “Sebak’s abbi was a good friend and a valiant commander. He died too young from a senseless plague and left Sebak and his young uncle, Pirameses—also my good friend—to manage the twin estates of Qantir and Avaris.”
He gazed into the distance, perusing the sun-dried fields along the riverbanks. His head moved in rhythm with the heaving of the towmen. “On the battlefield, Sebak is fierce as Seth, god of darkness. His men call him Seth reborn. But in devotion to his troops—his family—only Pharaoh possesses more integrity, more peace. Sebak is a gentle giant, habiba, and he will be loyal to you till death.”
She reached across the table to grasp his hand, warmed by the description, but his expression changed, his eyes sharp as a flint knife.
“But never betray him—or me.” Anippe tried to ease her hand free, but her abbi held tight. “Your husband demands your loyalty, Anippe, as do I. You’ll become his eyes and ears at Avaris when he returns to battle. I’ve placed you in Sebak’s hands, and you must stay with him and honor him—no matter what happens.”
Rattled, she couldn’t think how to respond. Why the sudden intensity?
Thankfully, two servants arrived with their meal, and Abbi released her hand to steal a slice of cucumber before it reached the table. While slaves delivered silver goblets of grape juice and moon-shaped bread with a baked-egg center, she pondered her abbi’s words.
The Sebak she’d come to know during the past few days could never be Seth reborn. Seth, the god of chaos and darkness, killed and mutilated his own brother. Sebak could never be capable of such carnage—on or off the battlefield. Everything she’d seen in her husband proved Abbi Horem’s first description true. Sebak’s ma’at was balanced. Justice and truth walked before him as naturally as the sun greeted the moon. She’d have no trouble being loyal to him and Abbi Horem.
A bowl of stewed dates wafted the sweet scent of cinnamon upward, soothing her tension, untying her tongue. “Abbi, I’m not a betrayer, and I will honor the husband you’ve chosen for me. You and Ummi Amenia have been my only family, and I would never …”
The niggling concern she’d felt at news of the Amqa defeat mingled with Abbi’s final plea. “I’ve placed you in Sebak’s hands, and you must stay with him and honor him—no matter what happens.”
Tears filled her eyes, and she reached across the table and gripped Abbi’s hand. “Just because I’m Sebak’s wife doesn’t mean you can die in battle. Ten husbands cannot replace you. Those filthy Hittites—worms of the underworld—can’t get the better of you. You are General Horemheb, Prince Regent of the Two Lands, my abbi Horem …”
Her pent-up emotions strangled her final words, and tears dripped into her stewed dates.
Abbi Horem squeezed her hand and then dragged his cushion to Anippe’s side of the table to cradle her under his arm. “Oh, my little warrior, there’s not a Hittite born that can best me. Now, either cry harder and provide more water for the Nile, or dry your tears and let’s eat.” He chuckled and wiped her eyes with a linen cloth he drew from his belt.
She gave him a playful shove and pulled the steaming dish of dates closer. Whatever had sobered his expression earlier seemed washed away with her tears. He attacked his bread and dates like a starving soldier, and they settled into amiable silence.
The sun had risen over the eastern hills, and the ship rocked in rhythm with each heave of the oarsmen’s ropes. The sailors marched on shore alongside the barque, heeding the pilot’s commands in perfect rhythm. “Left, right, pull! Left, right, pull!”
The pilot’s command brought an especially solid heave, jiggling the scoop of dates off Abbi Horem’s bite of bread.
Anippe giggled and prodded Abbi Horem from his annoyance. “Here. Follow me.” She held her bread poised over the stewed dates, waiting for the ship pilot’s command. With the next “Left, right, pull,” Anippe mimicked, “Tear, dip, chew.” And then shoved a hunk of dripping goodness into her mouth. Chewing like mad, she hurried to tear the next morsel and ready it for dipping. “Tear, dip, chew,” she said with her mouth full, laughing, chewing, and swallowing at once.
They kept pace and were soon a laughing, chewing, silly mess with date juice streaking their chins. Neither heard Ankhe and Amenia descend the steps.
“Well, I’m glad your husband sailed on another ship,” Amenia huffed. “I’d be humiliated if he saw either of you like this.”
Abbi Horem fairly leapt from his cushion, grabbed Amenia’s waist, and kissed her soundly—smearing date juice all over her freshly painted face. Ankhe rolled her eyes, but Anippe giggled, loving the way her parents had always shown their love so freely. Would she and Sebak openly show their love to their—
Her stomach roiled at the thought of children. Heart racing, palms sweating, she felt the dates rumble in her gut. She could never have children. Never.
Abbi Horem released his wife and chuckled. “Today, we celebrate our daughter’s marriage, Amenia. We’re enjoying our last day of fun before we must be proper.”
He bounced his eyebrows, and Amenia’s stuffy armor crumbled. She licked her lips, tasting the date-juice deposit of Abbi’s kiss. “I’ll have some of that, please—in a bowl.”
Ankhe sullenly perched on the cushion beside Anippe. “I want grapes.”
Her three simple words drained the joy from Abbi Horem’s face.
Anippe recognized his gathering storm and waved over a servant, who had emerged from the galley. “Do we have more grapes aboard? Pharaoh’s sister desires grapes to break her fast.”
“The handmaid of Pharaoh’s sister desires grapes.” Horemheb sat on the cushion directly opposite Ankhe, his gaze burning a hole through her.
Ankhe stared at her sandals. Anippe wished for a moment’s peace, but life with Ankhe was like towing a ship up the Nile. Every step an effort. Each advance resisted.
“I believe I’d like grapes too,” Amenia said, trying to appease. The servant bowed low and eagerly disappeared behind the galley curtain.
Ankhe’s eyes pooled with tears in the silence. Amenia had spoken to her about Tut’s decision before they left Gurob. She’d ranted and raged, but what could anyone do? Why not accept it and make life better? But not Ankhe.
“I’m just as much a child of Kiya as Tut and Anippe. Why must I serve as Anippe’s handmaid?” Ankhe asked.
Abbi Horem released his frustration on a sigh. “You have refused every effort to train you in the ways of royalty, Ankhe. Instead of more beatings or a life in Gurob’s slave quarters, the merciful god Tut gave you to Anippe as her handmaid.”
“Merciful?” Ankhe blinked tears over her bottom lashes. “Tut isn’t merciful. He hates me as much as you do.”
Ankhe winced at Abbi Horem’s use of her full name.
“I simply wish you would rise above Pharaoh Akhenaten’s weaknesses—but I see no divine spark in you.” Abbi leaned over the table, a handbreadth from her face. “You will always be tasherit—your only purpose to save Senpa, should Anubis come prowling.”
“You never gave me a chance. You never changed my name.” Ankhe’s tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Abbi, please.” Anippe laid her hand on his arm, pressing for his attention. “Why don’t you give Ankhe a new name—like you gave me? Perhaps then—”
“No, enough about Ankhe.” He pulled his arm away and glared at his wife. “You see, Amenia, she’s done it again, this girl. She steals all the attention for herself and ruins Anippe’s happy day.” He poured out more complaints while the girls exchanged sorrowful glances.
Anippe’s heart broke for her sister, but what could she do? They were both in a prison, Anippe locked in Abbi Horem’s perfect approval, Ankhe in his perfect disdain.
Perhaps when Anippe was Amira of Avaris, she could give Ankhe a respectable title, and they could repair their damaged relationship.
Amira of Avaris. She still wasn’t sure what it entailed, but perhaps it could be a new start for both her and Ankhe.
Abbi Horem and Tut had alerted Anippe when the king’s barque approached Avaris just before dusk. Ankhe had accompanied her into their cabin to dress her in fine linen and apply her paints and jewelry. Now Anippe sat in seclusion. Waiting.
She heard footsteps on the deck outside her curtained doorway—heavy steps with a determined stride. Sebak.
Anippe held her breath and stood up. The curtain snapped aside.
Her husband’s expression was priceless. She’d never felt so beautiful, so adored, so cherished. Sebak approached as if she were Persian pottery and might break. He lifted her hand and kissed her palm, sending fire through her body.
“You are radiant.” He spoke in a whisper, affirming the sacred moment.
She ducked her chin, unable to answer, but forever grateful to Ankhe for her skills with paints and jewels.
Sebak tilted her chin up so she would meet his gaze. Anippe saw that his eyes danced with delight as he asked, “Are you ready to come home?”
Anippe swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, fighting tears. Home. Would Avaris ever feel like home?
He held her hand as they took their first steps but then stopped abruptly. Seizing her waist, he pulled her close and swept his lips over hers—never touching—only a breath between them. “I won’t taste those ochre lips until after the feast.”
He released her, panting—or was it her breathing she heard?
“Wait for me on the deck,” she said, voice gravelly. She cleared her throat and added, “I need a moment.”
Sebak nodded, letting his hand trail down her arm before stepping back through the curtain.
Anippe smoothed her pleated robe, trying to gather her wits. This man left her senseless. Heart pounding, sweat glistening, she inhaled and then blew out her breath slowly. “You are the Amira of Avaris, Anippe,” she whispered to herself. “Act like it.” She stepped into the cool night air to join her husband.
The remnant of the evening sun glinted off Sebak’s Gold of Praise collar; his smile was equally bright. He wore wide gold bands on both wrists and had exchanged the short kilt of a soldier for the longer, pleated shenti of an estate master. A fine linen shawl billowed from his shoulders, tied at his narrow waist.
“Does my appearance please you?” he asked, lifting his arm to escort her, and Anippe wondered if she’d spend her whole life breathless.
“Very much.” She placed her hand above the gold band on his wrist and allowed him to lead her around the corner of the barque’s deckhouse.
There, gleaming in the last rays of golden sunset, was Avaris—and it halted her. Lifting her hand to cover a small gasp, she felt her fingers tremble.
“It’s beautiful.” Her heart escaped on a whisper, her relief palpable.
The marshy landscape of Avaris reminded her of Gurob. Papyrus lined the sandy banks, with weeping willows bowing feathery branches over the water. A multitude of slaves and soldiers lined both sides of a dusty path leading up a distant hill toward a crowning limestone villa. King Tut and Queen Senpa had already begun their ascent with guards and musicians leading the way, while Abbi Horem and Ummi Amenia waited on the quay to accompany Sebak and Anippe. Ankhe stood with the other servants on the barque.
“So, you’re pleased?” Her husband’s voice was small, and he touched her hand, drawing her attention. “I want you to be happy here, Anippe.”
How could a giant sound like a child? Startled at his vulnerability, she grasped his hand. “I’m happy when you are with me.”
And it was true. If she could forever see her reflection in his eyes, she would never fear again. If she could always live in his embrace, she would never yearn for another.
But what would happen when he asked her to bear a child? What would happen when he returned to battle? What then … what then?
“Come, wife. Let me introduce you to your new household.”
7
The more [the Israelites] were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread; so the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites and worked them ruthlessly.
—EXODUS 1:12–13
The Hebrews had raised their hearts and voices to welcome Master Sebak and his bride when they disembarked Pharaoh’s royal barque. Even King Tut, seated on his gilded palanquin on six Medjays’ shoulders, had glanced over his shoulder to see the source of the ruckus. Master Sebak strutted as if he were the king of Egypt, his new bride at his side.
Mered chuckled at the memory. Sebak had been as nervous as a schoolboy when he’d docked his ship at midday to finalize preparations for the royal family’s arrival. True to his character, when the work was done, he’d permitted every Avaris slave—skilled and unskilled—to gather at the quay and welcome the royal guests. A grand entrance before the main event.
Mered hid behind an acacia tree in the villa’s garden entry, vicariously enjoying the wedding feast. The meal was long past. Musicians played a lively tune while dancers swirled veils around half-drunk guests. The dark date beer had been much appreciated. Mered must congratulate the brewer.
Sebak’s young bride was lovely—Amira Anippe, they would call her—and she looked like the goddess Isis in the wedding gown Mered had designed. It was the sheerest byssus sheath his shop had ever made, the Avaris symbol woven proudly into the selvage. The pleated sheath draped over an equally sheer gown with gold thread and precious stones sewn into the pattern of a palm tree—the Egyptian tree of life. The new amira had gasped when Mered presented it to her.
“Masterful,” she’d said. Sebak had squeezed Mered’s shoulder with approval—praise worth more than ten weeks’ allotment of grain.
“Don’t you have a wife at home?” A low voice startled Mered, and a strong hand whirled him around.
“Master Sebak.” Mered bowed deeply, ashamed of his spying. “Forgive me. I was … I wanted to see …”
A deep chuckle drew his gaze. “Get up, Mered. I’m not angry with you.”
Relief washed over Mered, and the joy on Sebak’s face emboldened him. “Your wife is beautiful, my lord. I pray El-Shaddai’s blessing on a long and happy life together.”
His master received the words graciously, as he did each time Mered mentioned his God.
Returning his attention to his bride, Sebak sighed. “She is beautiful, isn’t she—and it emanates from within, my friend.” His features clouded, and he nodded in the direction of his uncle, master of neighboring Qantir. He and Pirameses had been rivals since their fathers died, leaving the boys neighboring estates. “Not like Pirameses’s young wife. That woman poisons everything she touches. Our estates are too close to keep the wives apart, but I don’t want her tainting Anippe’s inner
ka.”
Mered nodded his agreement but wasn’t sure how he could help keep one amira from influencing another.
“Anippe plans to stay busy by using her design and weaving skills in your linen shop, my friend. Perhaps she’ll be too busy to learn the bad habits of Qantir’s amira.”
Startled at his master’s candor, Mered wasn’t sure which topic to address first—the Avaris amira in his workshop or the Qantir amira’s bad habits. He chose the safest. “I look forward to introducing the amira to our linen processes as soon as she’s ready, my lord.” In truth, he cringed to think of any Egyptian in his workshop, but he would try to be hospitable.
“Good. Good.” Sebak clamped a hand on Mered’s shoulder. “Anippe will come to trust you as I have, Mered. And if she feels comfortable in your workshop, she’ll spend less time in Qantir picking up bad habits from Pirameses’s wife.”
Mered knew the bad habits included entertaining traveling merchants and disposing of slaves as if they were fleas on a dog. El-Shaddai, guard our amira’s heart and give the Hebrews favor in her eyes.
Sebak stood mesmerized, gazing at the wedding feast. “Isn’t she stunning, Mered?”
“She is, my lord, and she seems quite taken with you as well.”
He turned, eyes bright. “Really? Do you think so? Because I think I love her.” The words tumbled out, seeming to surprise even him. “Can it be love when we met only a few days ago?”
“A heart follows no rules, my lord. My wife and I grew up together and were betrothed as children, but our love grows deeper each day.”
“I want to protect her, spend every moment with her. Her face fills my dreams, and her body beckons me—”
“Yes, well …” Mered cleared his throat, cutting off additional descriptions of his master’s passion. “Whether you love the amira now or a year from now, you’ll enjoy exploring every new experience with your wife.”
