The Pharaoh's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  “Anippe, you look radiant.” Senpa leaned down to kiss her cheek and brushed Jered’s head, fighting tears of her own.

  Tut smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sister. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m getting stronger each da—” Anippe’s words died when she saw Abbi Horem and Ankhe emerge from the shadowy chamber. Ankhe’s right cheek was red with a distinct white handprint. Abbi Horem’s neck was crimson, his nostrils flared with rage.

  The moment he saw Anippe, though, his demeanor changed. “Habiba, you look well.” His determined steps led him to her side. Lips parted in wonder, his eyes locked on the babe in her arms. “Is this my grandson?”

  Anippe offered her cheek for Abbi’s kiss. “Isn’t he beautiful? Won’t Ummi Amenia be pleased?”

  “She will indeed, my treasure.” He squeezed her shoulder, infusing her with love and strength.

  When she glanced up at her brother and sisters, Abbi Horem’s love felt like a grinding stone around her neck. Ankhe glared daggers at the general and his adopted daughter, while Tut and Senpa couldn’t even look at the babe in her arms. By the gods! Why did Tut bring Senpa back here? Hadn’t their sister suffered enough without returning her to the villa where she’d miscarried two infants? Awkward silence wrapped them in a shroud.

  Ankhe sat behind Anippe’s left shoulder and reached for the silver pitcher of grape juice. She made her way around the table, filling gem-studded silver goblets with shaky hands. “Will you lead the preharvest hunt in the Fayum again this year, brother?”

  Anippe bowed her head, cringing at her sister’s familiarity with Egypt’s god on the throne. Would she never learn?

  Abbi Horem rose and removed the strap securing his dagger. “A handmaid never addresses Pharaoh with such familiar—”

  “Sit down, Horemheb.” Tut waved his general off and squinted at his untoward sister. “You are a handmaid because you are a fool, Ankhe. If you ever address me as ‘brother’ again, I will feed you to the crocodiles.”

  Ankhe lowered her gaze, chastened but not silenced. “Oh worthy and good god, Tut—pleasing of birth, Ruler of Truth, Lord of all, who wears both crowns of Egypt.” She waited for her brother’s nod before continuing. “Delta crocodiles might find me less than tasty after so much Hebrew baby flesh.” Tut raised an eyebrow. “What do you know of Hebrew babies in the Nile, Ankhe?”

  “I know the Ramessid captain reported to Anippe that the Hebrew midwives ignored your order, and the estate patrols are the ones throwing the slave babies to the crocodiles—oh great Pharaoh, mighty god of Two Lands.”

  Senpa glanced at Anippe from the corner of her eye, like a shy mare fearing the whip. Tut’s gaze followed, burning a hole through the Amira of Avaris. “Is this true, Anippe? Have the Hebrew midwives ignored my order?”

  Anippe’s heart was in her throat. She dared not look over her shoulder at Puah. Would Tut recognize her? “I have been in my chamber all these months of my pregnancy, great son of Horus. Perhaps the Ramessid captain seeks glory stories to compare when the real soldiers return from battle.” She waved his concern away with the fly trying to nibble on her cheese and dates.

  “The captain spoke truth,” Ankhe said. “I saw for myself this morning when I found one of our house slaves—Ephah—with a baby boy hidden in her chamber.”

  Anippe felt the blood drain from her face. Why would Ankhe draw attention to Ephah unless … “I will do it myself, Captain,” Ankhe had told Nassor when he threatened to throw Puah’s son in the Nile. Anippe trembled at Ankhe’s cold stare.

  “Anippe had taken a second handmaid,” Ankhe explained. “We discovered the woman had a baby boy, and I threw him in the Nile this morning. Captain Nassor sent the girl to work in dead-man’s land as punishment for her disobedience. She’ll work the mud pits on the plateau between Qantir and Avaris and be dead within a year.”

  Senpa covered a gasp. Anippe thought she might be sick.

  Tut seemed utterly satisfied. “Well done, Ankhe. Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

  Ankhe lifted her goblet of juice, toasting her brother’s praise.

  Abbi Horem reached for Anippe’s hand beneath the table and gently squeezed it. Even a grizzled soldier recognized depravity when he saw it. “Queen Senpa, do you bring any news from the Gurob Palace?” he asked.

  Anippe tried to regain her composure while the others spoke of parties and politics and people she cared nothing about. How could Ankhe cast an innocent child into crocodile-infested waters and send a woman—even an annoying slave—to dead-man’s land? She stole a glance at her little sister and found her grinning, eyebrow arched, a look of satisfaction firmly etched on her features. What was she becoming? There seemed to be no sign of remorse or conscience.

  “Unfortunately,” Queen Senpa was saying, “I had no idea you’d join us here, General. I’m sure Amenia would have accompanied me if she’d known.” Her gaze dropped to her goblet, watching the deep red liquid swirl during another awkward moment.

  Abbi Horem cleared his throat. “I’ll write a scroll for you to deliver to my wife—if you don’t mind being our messenger, Queen Senpa. I’m afraid a soldier’s wife grows accustomed to long absences.”

  “Of course, General. I’d be honored to be your messenger.” Senpa turned her attention to Anippe. “Does Sebak know about his heir?” Her eyes barely brushed the baby. She hadn’t truly looked at him once.

  Casting a wary glance at Abbi Horem, Anippe sighed. “A Delta messenger has delivered only one message since Sebak left. I was able to send word of my pregnancy, but I’m sure Abbi will inform him about the birth of our son.”

  The general drew a long, slow sip from his goblet, avoiding comment on the lack of communication from Sebak. Was it so much to ask that her husband at least acknowledge she carried his child? A stab of guilt shot through her. Even if it wasn’t his son.

  “We didn’t even know you were pregnant, Anippe.” Queen Senpa reached out to touch the baby’s cheek, the effort seeming to rob her joy. Tears twisted her expression and drained away her dignity. “The king’s messenger whisked me away before I could prepare a gift for him.” She covered a sob and tried to meet Anippe’s gaze. “But Amenia sends her love.” She buried her face in her hands, unable to speak.

  Tut motioned to the queen’s attendants. “Take her to our chamber.” Her two maids helped her rise and led her from the courtyard. Tut’s jaw muscle danced to a silent tune until Anippe’s chamber door slammed shut. “Our sister still grieves the loss of our second daughter. Please forgive her rudeness.”

  Anippe’s emotions were rising as well. Anger. Fear. Regret. “Was it rude to voice her offense to someone she loves and trusts, my god and sovereign brother? I obviously hurt Senpa when I neglected to send news of my pregnancy to Gurob.”

  Abbi Horem squeezed her hand again, this time not so gently. Had she spoken as foolishly as Ankhe? Perhaps, but she couldn’t stomach any more of Tut’s cruelty. Ay had jaded her tender, sweet brother’s heart.

  Tut’s eyes narrowed, and she thought her fate sealed. “Your wisdom pleases me, little sister. Senpa was indeed rude, as your good god decreed, but only because of her hysteria.” While Anippe was enjoying her reprieve, the king turned to Abbi Horem. “I will now voice my offense to you, General, because you are someone I have trusted since my earliest memory.”

  Abbi Horem humbly nodded. “I am honored, great and honorable son of Horus.”

  “You questioned my edict against the Hebrew male newborns the last time we met here in Avaris. Do you remember?”

  “I remember.” Abbi Horem met his gaze. “Perhaps Vizier Ay has proven more faithful than me, my king. These last months, we’ve made slow progress against the Hittites, and I could only deliver thirty-eight captives to serve in your copper mines. The rest of Mursili’s army escaped north into Canaan.”

  Anippe pressed her lips against baby Jered’s downy black hair to keep from asking about Sebak. Was he in Canaan then, or had he chased the enemy
all the way back to the Hittite capital of Aleppo?

  Tut’s kohl-rimmed eye-of-Horus sharpened his gaze like the hawk he portrayed. “You are the most honorable man I know, Horemheb, and I have reminded Vizier Ay of that very fact. I sent him with my blessing to confer with Commander Nakhtmin and visit his daughter Mutnodjmet at the Nubian fortress. I grew weary of his constant squawking.”

  “My king, again I implore you to be cautious. If Ay and Nakhtmin conspire against you, they could attack from the south—”

  Tut lifted his hand, silencing further comment. “I chose you as my successor, Horemheb, but I am Egypt’s ruler. You will no longer treat me as a child. I know Ay’s tricks, and I know your propensity to honk like a mother goose. I’ve become much wiser while you’ve been fighting Hittites.”

  A rueful grin from Abbi Horem loosened Anippe’s grip on Jered. She hadn’t realized she was squeezing him, but his growing discomfort escalated from fuss to full-throated howl.

  Puah was there instantly with open arms, and Anippe offered up the hungry little treasure. “Why don’t you feed him and then bring him back after our midday meal?” The midwife-turned-wet-nurse bowed and turned to go.

  “Wait.” Tut examined the wet nurse too closely. “Aren’t you one of the midwives I ordered to kill the Hebrew baby boys?”

  Puah shot a panicked glance at Anippe. “Yes, my lord.”

  Jered’s cries had become inconsolable. Anippe leaned toward her brother and abbi. “He won’t stop that awful wailing until she feeds him.”

  King Tut offered a begrudging nod but pinned his sister with a stare. “I want to speak with both midwives after the child eats. What were their names?”

  “Puah and Shiphrah.” Anippe felt her world beginning to crumble.

  17

  Then the king of Egypt summoned the midwives and asked them, “Why have you done this? Why have you let the boys live?” The midwives answered Pharaoh, “Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women; they are vigorous and give birth before the midwives arrive.”

  —EXODUS 1:18–19

  Mered ate his midday meal beneath the palm tree outside his linen workshop, remembering his boyhood chats with young Master Sebak. He missed his friend. If Sebak were here, he’d know how to manage the king. Sebak and General Horemheb would conceive a plan that honored their king but protected human life—or at least they’d try, as they’d done six months ago, when the edict was first handed down. Mered banged his head against his favorite tree, hoping to jostle an idea. Nothing came.

  He needed to see Puah. She was his life and breath. They’d never been apart this long, and he felt like his heart had been ripped from his body—still beating, but trapped in the amira’s chamber, while he lived a meaningless life at the linen shop.

  “Master Mered!” Miriam came sprinting from the shop, her curls bouncing and bare feet kicking up dust. “Pharaoh found out Puah didn’t kill the babies, and the big black soldiers took her to the main hall for judgment.”

  He stood but staggered back, her words hitting him like a blow. As reality sank in, he saw six Nubian guards exit the main entrance of the villa.

  Miriam saw them too and blinked big round tears over her bottom lashes. “They’re going to get Shiphrah, too. Master Mered, you must warn Shiphrah. Save her.”

  Mered dragged his hand through his hair. What should he do? His heart said go to Puah, but he might actually have time to warn Shiphrah. The six Medjays turned toward the craftsmen’s village. If he left now, he could beat them to Shiphrah.

  He knelt down, embracing Miriam and whispering against her ear. “Run to the amira and tell her I’ve gone to warn Shiphrah. Have her stall the king’s judgment.”

  She kissed his cheek. “I will.” And she was off.

  Mered watched her for only a moment before checking the Medjay’s progress. They’d almost reached his workshop, but he could run while they marched. He may not be able to fight six Medjay warriors, but he could annoy them—which might provide enough time for Shiphrah to escape and Anippe to help Puah somehow.

  Mered sprinted over the distance, kicking up dust all the way down the hill. He arrived at the corner of the first longhouse, looked back, and saw the Medjays closer than he expected. Shiphrah and Hur’s rooms were at the end near the river, a few doors past Mered’s. He’d never make it in time to get Shiphrah out to safety. His only hope was a diversion. He must hope Shiphrah heard the commotion, realized the danger, and fled. El-Shaddai, make my mind and body strong to protect your faithful midwife.

  The rhythmic sound of the Medjay’s marching reached him, and their leader gave hand signals, assigning each warrior one of the six mud-brick structures. Good. They don’t know where she lives. Most of the skilled laborers were at work in the villa, or at their kilns, shops, or ovens. Those who remained in the village were old women tending children—and Shiphrah, the midwife who delivered those children.

  Mered watched the chief Medjay round the corner of his building. With a deep breath and a quick prayer, the linen keeper set out to chat with a man who appeared more bent on action than words.

  Anippe sat on her mattress, mirror in hand. “How could you kill a baby, Ankhe—and send Ephah to dead-man’s land?”

  “What else could I do? Nassor knew Ephah had a child, and I didn’t send her to dead-man’s land. Nassor did.”

  “Why did you even mention it to Tut?”

  “Would you rather our brother heard of the midwives’ disobedience from Nassor?”

  Anippe wiped the last remnants of kohl from her eyes. She’d cried most of it off after Tut and Abbi Horem left. “I suppose it would have been worse coming from Nassor, but did you see Tut’s face? He knows something isn’t right. Do you think he suspects the baby isn’t mine? He’s a god, you know.” She laid the mirror aside and fell back on her bed. “Oh, why did we think we could deceive him?”

  “He’s no more a god than you or I. He’s a spoiled boy, manipulating those who taught him to manipulate.” Ankhe continued her embroidery, completely unconcerned by her heresy and treason.

  “You will be crocodile food if anyone hears you.”

  A frantic, pecking knock on their door startled Ankhe. Perhaps she was more concerned than she appeared.

  Anippe lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s your executioner.”

  Ankhe rolled her eyes, put down her sewing, and stomped toward the door.

  Miriam scooted past her and sprinted across the room into Anippe’s arms. “Mered has gone to the village to warn Shiphrah. He says you must stall King Tut’s judgment of Puah.”

  Anippe couldn’t move. She stared at the sobbing little girl and wished she could comfort her. But stall King Tut’s judgment? Was she mad? “Little one, Pharaoh is a god, and a god cannot repeal his law once it is spoken. His law will stand, and I can do nothing to change it.”

  “Tut isn’t god. El-Shaddai is the one true God.” Miriam’s stormy expression stirred Anippe’s anger.

  “Well then, pray to your one true god to save the midwives—and us—because if Puah and Shiphrah tell the whole truth, we’ll all die.” The moment the words were spilled, Anippe regretted them. Fear replaced Miriam’s anger and broke Anippe’s heart.

  Ankhe wrenched the child’s arm and dragged her toward the door. “Yes, pray to the Hebrew god I hear so much about. Let him deliver the midwives.”

  “Release her.” Anippe spoke in barely a whisper, but Ankhe heard and released the girl.

  Miriam fled back to Anippe, this time clutching her feet. “Thank you. Thank you, Amira.”

  “Don’t thank me, Miriam. I’ll do what I can, but right now you must tell Jochebed to hide with Moses and baby Jered in my private bathhouse. You stay with them. It’s the last place Pharaoh will search for a Hebrew baby boy.”

  King Tut sat on the gilded throne from his palanquin, transferred to Avaris’s main hall as a makeshift throne room. Horemheb sat at his left, Senpa on his right. Anippe had been standing at the entrance, awaiting Tut’s invitati
on to enter, for what seemed like hours. He refused to acknowledge her until Shiphrah was dragged in, her knees bloodied because of the Medjay’s long and hurried strides.

  Anippe kept her eyes focused on the villa’s garden, remembering her wedding feast, Sebak’s touch, and Amenia’s kindness. Only good thoughts should accompany her to the underworld. Surely that was where she’d witness today’s sunset—from the judgment halls of Ma’at, where Anubis would weigh her heart on his scales of justice. There was little doubt which way the scales would tip.

  “You may enter, Amira of Avaris.” Tut’s voice boomed in the modest villa only half the size of the Memphis Palace.

  Desperation set Anippe’s feet in motion. Invitation or no, she must speak on behalf of the two women who’d become more than her slaves. “Please hear me, Oh mighty son of Horus.”

  But before she could fall at the king’s feet, Abbi Horem rushed to gather her under his protective arm, forcing her to stand. “Anippe has obviously overtaxed herself—only days after bearing her son. I’m sure you’ve discerned the undeniable ma’at resting on your sister—her newborn son proof of the gods’ pleasure. May I escort her to my chair, mighty Pharaoh, so she may rest while witnessing your mercy toward her midwives?”

  Silence. Anippe’s legs trembled beneath her heavy linen robe.

  “Your daughter may sit at my left, but I have yet to determine if the midwives deserve mercy.”

  “Thank you, good and mighty king.” Abbi Horem guided her—fairly lifted her—to the chair and stood behind her, in line with the king’s Medjays.

  Puah and Shiphrah stood before the king between their escorts, hands bound.

  “Come.” Tut’s repeated invitation surprised Anippe, and she wondered who else would fall under her brother’s judgment this day.

  She covered a gasp when she saw Mered dragged in, face bruised, lip bleeding.

  Tut glared. “Control your emotions, sister.”