by Mesu Andrews
“I assume by your objections you’d rather continue as my handmaid and forget this ridiculous scheme?”
Ankhe’s eyes narrowed, and she ground her words through clenched teeth. “No. I would rather be your son’s tutor.”
“Good.” Anippe tugged her finger away from the baby’s grasp and reached for Ankhe’s hand. “Come, sit with me on the cushions. Bring the baby’s basket.”
Reluctantly, Ankhe followed, dragging the dripping basket behind her. Her groaning drowned out the Nile’s rushing waters as they settled beneath the three-sided bathhouse.
“We’re going to make this work, Ankhe. Your rant gave me an idea.”
“I’m glad I could serve you, Amira.”
Anippe met her sister’s mocking with patient calm. “We could make the wet nurse a house slave and move her into the chamber beside mine. Remove her from everyone and everything she knows while she nurses my son for three or four years.”
Ankhe lifted a skeptical brow but didn’t immediately refuse. Progress. “What if the war ends and Sebak returns to find a Hebrew child as his heir?”
Anippe traced the damp curls on the baby’s head, considering her answer carefully. “You know many children don’t survive their first three years, Ankhe. And who knows how long the war will go on?” She swallowed the lump in her throat, refusing to imagine the worst for her son or her husband. “I won’t send word of my pregnancy to Sebak until we know how the war is going. I just think this baby is destined by the gods to be mine.” Lost in the deep pools of his brown eyes, Anippe caressed his cheek and counted his fingers and toes.
“Babies cry. What if he cries?” Ankhe reached over to tickle his belly.
“I’ve heard infants crying in the villa. I know some of the house slaves have babies.”
Ankhe sighed. “Three, and they’re exasperating.”
“Perfect. We’ll move the wet nurse today, and Puah can visit me regularly to give the appearance I’m under a midwife’s care.” She hugged Ankhe, scrunching the baby, causing him to fuss. “Here, take him.”
Thrusting the babe into Ankhe’s arms was pure genius. Anippe could see the walls around her sister’s heart crumble as his little hands reached for the shiny gold beads at the ends of her braids. The hard creases in Ankhe’s forehead relaxed, and her pinched expression eased to—well, almost a smile.
“Perhaps by the time Sebak returns from battle, he’ll see what a fine job you’re doing as his son’s tutor and make a marriage match for you with a Ramessid soldier.” The words were out before Anippe had calculated their impact.
Ankhe’s eyes glistened, and her cheeks shaded pink. “Do you think Sebak would really make a match for me?”
Heart thudding like chariot horses, Anippe forced a smile, hoping to instill more confidence than she felt. “Of course, he would. You’re my sister.”
Seeming satisfied, Ankhe began jabbering at the baby, fawning and cooing like a doting aunt.
Anippe tried to steady her breathing, panicked by the magnitude of her increasing deceptions. Oh mighty Hapi, protect this gift of life offered up from the Nile, for if my deceptions are discovered, not even Pharaoh will protect me.
13
The name of Amram’s wife was Jochebed, a descendant of Levi, who was born to the Levites in Egypt.
—NUMBERS 26:59
Too weary to lift his arms, Mered braced his elbows on his desk and lowered his head to remove the white linen wrap he wore. He’d endured a whole day’s summer sun to watch the amira’s private wall but never saw little Miriam escape. Had Ankhe taken her to the amira? Turned the girl over to chamber guards? He pressed his sweat-soaked linen against weepy eyes, grieving the precious child who’d helped him cook gruel this morning.
“Linen keeper, why aren’t you working?” The estate foreman’s voice cut through him like a knife.
Startled, Mered stood, knocking over his stool. “I’ve supervised my outdoor slaves all day.” He nodded toward the fading sunlight. “I needed to check some figures before going home.” Why was the foreman here anyway? Ramessids never invaded his shop.
“Well, you’re not going home yet. The amira sent me to tell you she wants two papyrus scrolls so she can draw designs for your weavers.” Mered noted crimson rising on the foreman’s neck and kept a wary eye on his hand, which fidgeted with the cudgel on his belt. “I don’t know why I’m suddenly the amira’s errand boy, but you’ve been told.”
Mered bowed promptly. “I’ll deliver the scrolls tonight—immediately.” He heard the man’s sandals retreat and then raised his head to watch him waddle from the shop. Short and wide, the estate foreman likely hadn’t walked from one side of Avaris to the other in years. He was most definitely not an errand boy.
So why send him? And what stirred the amira’s sudden interest in design?
Mered rubbed the confusion from his weary face and grabbed two blank scrolls. He didn’t care about the amira or the foreman. He cared only about getting home to Puah and checking on Miriam’s parents. They’d surely discovered the child missing by now, and perhaps he could offer some details of her disappearance—though his news would not be comforting.
“Good night, all.” He waved to the night workers as he left. They’d be towing, hackling, and roving flax fibers in the dimly lit workshop till morning, when the weavers and bead workers returned to resume their intricate projects in daylight.
His sandals tapped on the tiled pathways between buildings as Mered hustled to complete the errand and walk home before dark. Trekking down the craftsmen’s village hill at dusk was even more dangerous during inundation. Crocodiles sought higher ground when the rising Nile left its banks, and mother crocs were especially protective of their newly hatched young.
Passing through the garden, Mered noticed the blue lotus blooms already beginning to close for their night’s slumber. Like skilled craftsmen, they’d revive at dawn, warmed by the sun’s strong rays, to share their elegant beauty. Mered inhaled deeply, capturing a whiff of their lingering fragrance.
He turned down the long hallway leading to the villa’s private chambers, a worrisome thought only now starting to bloom. What if the amira’s summons was a trap? Mered’s feet slowed as his heartbeat quickened. And why had she sent the estate foreman with the message?
Stopping short of the residence hallways, Mered stared at the two blank papyrus scrolls in his hands, plagued by a more practical question. Did she even have a scribe’s set of reeds and pigment to write with?
He measured the fading rays of sunlight in the hallway’s high windows. Frustration rose as the sun fell. He must get home to explain about Miriam.
A few more hurried steps carried him to Master Sebak’s private chamber. Ramessid guards glared at him as if he was a pesky rat in the granary.
He held up the scrolls. “I’m delivering these to the amira.”
The largest guard pounded his sword hilt on the amira’s door, and the handmaid Ankhe peeked through a narrow opening. “It’s about time you got here, linen keeper. Come in.” She opened the door wider, revealing a dimly lit chamber.
Mered remained firmly rooted in the hall, extending the scrolls across the threshold. “I’ve no need to see the amira. You may give her these scrolls—”
The guard grabbed the back of his neck and shoved him through the door. Mered stumbled in behind Ankhe, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Tapestries hung like curtains across the open-air courtyard, making the few lamps in the master’s chamber seem like stars in a midnight sky.
“Follow me.” The amira’s sister walked toward the partitioned bedchamber, but Mered held his ground.
“I’ll leave the scrolls on the table and go.” He bent to deposit them on the low-lying table, refusing to be lured any further into whatever game the amira—or her sister—might be playing.
“Mered? Bring the scrolls into the bedchamber.” Puah’s voice. Why was his wife in the amira’s bedchamber?
Rushing past the lamp-toting sister, Mered
breached the partition to find his wife standing over Anippe, who looked pink-cheeked and healthy on her puffy mattress. Fire stirred in his belly, and he threw the papyrus on the bed. “Here are your scrolls, Amira. May I take my wife and go?” Mered reached for Puah’s hand, which she offered, but then she ducked her head.
Anippe’s kind expression turned cold. She reached for the blank scrolls—intentionally slowly—and unrolled the first, then reached for the second. She was in no hurry to answer a slave.
Anippe peered around Mered, searching in the dim light behind him. “Ankhe, why don’t you tell the linen keeper why I summoned him?”
He’d rather know what happened to Miriam. He’d rather hear that the amira’s deceptive ways were behind her.
Instead, he glared at Anippe while the handmaid spoke. “Master Sebak trusted you, and my sister thought she’d bring you into her confidence. She is with child, and your wife will care for her in the months leading to the delivery—but Anippe will remain sequestered in her private chambers.”
Mered’s shoulders sagged, his anger doused with shame. Master Sebak’s young bride had turned to him for support, and he’d failed her—failed Sebak. El-Shaddai, forgive me.
Anippe cast the scrolls across the bed, splayed open. “I wanted to draw designs since I won’t visit the linen shop until after Sebak’s heir is born.” Her fiery gaze burned a hole in him. “Perhaps it was an inconvenience for you to bring the scrolls. Perhaps another Hebrew would manage the linen shop more efficiently.”
On his knees before her last word was spoken, Mered was shaken to the core. “Please, Amira, forgive me. I’m not myself. I was in a hurry to get home tonight because I saw my little friend Miriam disappear behind your private wall today. Her mother, Jochebed, is a dear friend—”
“You saw Miriam enter my bathhouse?” Anippe’s anxious tone stopped Mered’s pleading.
He watched the three women exchange concerned glances, feeding his dread. “Please, can you tell me what happened to the girl?” he asked.
The amira’s stare was a silent threat that lingered into awkwardness. “I’m taking the girl as a house slave,” she said finally. “She pleased me.”
Ankhe’s eyes bulged. “Anippe, that’s not what we discus—”
The amira silenced her with a lifted hand and addressed Mered again. “You, linen keeper, will return to your shop and work through the night for your insolence. Your wife, Puah, will bring the girl to the villa immediately.”
Mered’s heart raced. Puah? Walking to the village alone at dusk?
Anippe smiled like a jackal. “I’m not without mercy, Mered. Puah can bring Miriam’s ummi to serve at the house as well. We’ll find some use for the woman.” Without warning, her expression turned to granite. “Now get out.”
Anippe’s heart was in her throat as Ankhe escorted Mered past the bedchamber partition to the door. It all made sense. The striking resemblance between Miriam’s and the babe’s eyes. Miriam returning with a wet nurse so quickly. Jochebed was Miriam’s mother—and the baby’s. Anippe rubbed her temples, doubts haunting her. What if Jochebed refused to give up her son at weaning time? And what about Mered—if he’d seen Miriam disappear behind the wall, had he seen the basket? He didn’t mention it. Surely if he’d seen the basket, he would have inquired. He certainly wasn’t shy about expressing his concerns. The chamber door slammed shut, and Puah jumped, reminding Anippe of her presence.
Ankhe appeared moments later. “Well, I think that went well. Puah didn’t have to lie to her husband, and the estate foreman knows you’re working on linen designs while sequestered.”
She picked up a scroll and rolled it up, securing it with the leather tie. “Perhaps the household won’t think their amira is completely mad.”
Anippe heard Puah sniff and noticed the woman wiping her cheeks. Perhaps she’d been too hard on the midwife’s husband. “Go get Jochebed and Miriam, Ankhe.”
With an indignant snort, her sister marched out of the chamber to retrieve the baby, the wet nurse, and the girl who had been waiting in the bathhouse. Alone now with Puah, Anippe could explain her decision to keep Mered at the shop tonight.
“Thank you, Amira.” Puah wiped away more tears, and Anippe’s confusion mounted.
“Why are you thanking me?”
“You could have ordered me to return home with your secret and lie with my silence or lie outright to Mered.” She sniffed, wiping her nose on a small piece of linen from her belt. “My husband can’t abide deceit. At least now he knows, but I didn’t tell the lie.”
Anippe cringed at the woman’s twisted gratitude. “I know I’m placing you in a difficult situation, Puah, but I’ll reward you well if we succeed.”
The midwife smiled through her tears. “I need no reward, Amira. I’m a slave. I do as I’m told.”
Ankhe arrived holding Miriam’s hand, and Jochebed followed, carrying the baby boy. Miriam bounced over to Puah, and Jochebed laid the babe in Anippe’s arms.
“You’re the boy’s ummi, aren’t you,” Anippe said.
Crimson crept up Jochebed’s neck. “I was his mother this morning, but you’re his ummi now.” She bowed and clasped her trembling hands.
Anippe traded a doubtful glance with Ankhe. Could they risk Jochebed’s attachment? What if, after nursing him for three years, she tried to steal him away or worse—tried to reveal the truth?
“I should be going.” Puah planted a kiss on Miriam’s head.
Unaware that she was now Anippe’s house slave, Miriam ran to her ummi Jochebed and clutched her waist. “I love you. Good-bye. I’ll see you when you’re done being a wet nurse.”
Jochebed knelt and steadied Miriam’s shoulders, an unnatural peace settling over them. “You be a good helper for Puah. Take care of your father and brother while I’m gone. When I come home, life will be as it has always been.”
Somehow, the woman’s words soothed Anippe’s fears. “If you recognize this baby is truly my son, Jochebed, both you and Miriam may stay and serve in the villa.”
Miriam clapped and bounced, and Jochebed let happy tears flow. “Thank you, Amira. Thank you.”
Ankhe rolled her eyes. “How can they be happy about being prisoners until your ruse is over?”
Miriam ceased her celebration. “What’s a prisoner?”
If Anippe wasn’t holding her new son, she would have pitched a vase at Ankhe’s head. She scooted to the edge of her bed and stood near the little girl, who had wide innocent eyes and lots of questions. “A prisoner is someone forced to stay somewhere they don’t want to be.”
“Like the Hebrews?”
Jochebed clamped a hand over her daughter’s mouth. “No, Miriam.” She bowed her head. “Please forgive her, Amira. Sometimes she doesn’t think before she—”
“Miriam, you must learn to think before you speak.” Anippe didn’t want to be cross with the girl, but lives were at stake. “The baby from the basket is now my son, but no one can know I found him in the Nile. Do you understand? We must let everyone think I’m pregnant and that this baby came from my own body. You will stay in the chamber next door with your mother while she nurses my son.”
Miriam struggled from her mother’s grasp. “But who’ll take care of father and Aaron?”
“I will, little one.” Puah knelt to meet Miriam face to face. “Mered and I will take good care of Amram and Aaron while you and your mother serve in the villa. But remember, you mustn’t tell anyone why you’re here.”
The little girl bobbed her head and bounced her curls. If innocence and beauty were rewarded, this girl would win a prize. Hopefully her discretion would develop with age.
“All right then.” Puah turned again to Anippe. “I’m sorry, Amira, but I really must go. It’s already dusk, and since Mered won’t be able to walk with me—” She covered her mouth, stricken. “I didn’t mean to accuse … or complain. You had every right to discipline—”
“Yes, I had every right, but I sent Mered to the linen shop be
cause I was hiding Jochebed and Miriam in the bathhouse.” She lifted her brow to make the point. “I commanded him to work through the night because of his insolence.”
Puah bowed and nodded. “I understand.” She fidgeted with her belt and waited.
Anippe noted the last shades of sunset and felt a twinge of guilt that she’d kept the midwife so long. “Ankhe will instruct Nassor to escort you home.” She turned to Ankhe. “Make sure he takes at least two other guards with him. I can’t have my midwife eaten by jackals or hyenas.”
Puah grinned, and Anippe felt a moment of connection with her. Could they ever be friends? What an odd thought.
“Thank you, Amira.” Puah bowed and then walked toward Jochebed, offering a meaningful glance. Their hands met and then released slowly as they parted. A tender and silent good-bye between two women who obviously knew the depths of friendship. What were their lives like in the Hebrew camp, away from Ramessids and masters and fear?
Little Miriam yawned, her mouth almost swallowing her face, and then growled as she exhaled.
“Miriam.” Jochebed seemed mortified. “Don’t be rude.”
Anippe chuckled but admired the Hebrew mother’s diligent training. “Perhaps it’s almost bedtime.”
“Yes. She and her little brother, Aaron, sleep and rise with the sun.”
A shadow of grief crossed the woman’s face at the mention of her son, and Anippe suddenly felt guilty for destroying this family. “I’ll pay you, Jochebed, for your service. I’ll send extra rations of grain, wine, oil—whatever your husband and son need while you’re gone.”
Jochebed drew Miriam into an embrace, her face fairly beaming. “Thank you, Amira, but there’s no need. You’ve given me Miriam.”
