The Pharaoh's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  “As you wish, Amira.” He bowed and was gone without a second glance at Ankhe. Either he was good at hiding his interest, or Ankhe was headed for heartbreak.

  The door clicked shut behind him, and Ankhe was on her feet and growling. “You must let Nassor stay with Mehy and me today. There’s no reason to leave him lingering at your chamber door when Mehy and I could benefit from his protection.”

  “His protection? Is that all you hope to gain from the captain, Ankhe?” Anippe’s teasing fell flat.

  Ankhe’s amiability fled, swallowed up by her familiar defenses. Anger. Bitterness. Indifference. “I’m sure I’ll gain nothing. You always make sure of that.”

  “That’s not true, Ankhe. It’s not my fault that you refuse to—”

  “That I refuse to beg for favor from arrogant men who hate me?”

  Anippe shook her head. It was always the same story with Ankhe. She was always the victim. Never at fault. “Do you think Nassor can make you happy, Ankhe?”

  “Well, he can’t make me any more miserable than I am as your handmaid or Mehy’s tutor.”

  Anippe felt as if she’d been slapped. How could anyone be miserable in the presence of her son? He was light and joy and life—but it was normal for Ankhe to want a son of her own. Her heart softened, seeing her defiant sister as a lonely young woman in need of a man to love her.

  “All right, Ankhe. I’ll talk to Nassor today, find out if he’s worthy of the king’s sister. If I approve, I’ll write to Tut and ask him to make the match. But I must also be convinced you truly love Nassor before I give my approval. I won’t have you wreaking havoc as wife of my villa captain.”

  Ankhe’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve always been worthless to you and Tut. I won’t expect Mered to design a wedding dress yet.” She turned and marched toward the bathhouse, calling to Mehy over her shoulder. “Come, little one. We’re already late for your lesson.”

  Anippe watched her go, heart twisting. She wanted Ankhe to be happy, to be loved. But could Ankhe receive it? Would she?

  Miriam tugged on Anippe’s robe, bringing her back to the moment. “Do you want me to stay with Mehy and Ankhe today, Amira?” Her message was clear. She feared for Mehy when Ankhe was angry. This slave girl knew better than most how dangerous Ankhe could be.

  “No, Miriam. I’ll send a chamber guard down to watch over Mehy.”

  Anippe opened her door and motioned for Nassor.

  “Yes, Amira?”

  “I’d like you to escort me to the linen shop, but I want your best man, the most trustworthy Ramessid on the estate, to watch over my sister and son today.”

  “As you wish, Amira.” He bowed and left, returning quickly with an older guard about the same age as Abbi Horem. Had Nassor chosen the best Ramessid to guard her son—or a soldier who wouldn’t steal Ankhe’s heart? She hoped to learn the answer by asking Nassor to introduce the new chaperone.

  “Master Mehy, this is my friend, Akil,” Nassor said, approaching Ankhe and Mehy near the bathhouse. “He’ll take good care of you and Ankhe today.” Nassor gave no indication of his feelings, but he nodded and smiled at Ankhe before turning to go. Ankhe beamed, seeming pleased that if Nassor wasn’t staying, at least Anippe would pursue Ankhe’s match.

  Her sister was smitten. Perhaps she could even learn to love.

  After returning to Anippe’s rooms, Nassor opened the chamber door and allowed little Miriam to go first. The girl’s bouncing curls and sweet songs led him and Anippe up the main corridor. Thankfully, Miriam was distracted and wouldn’t care about the adult conversation Anippe needed to broach with her captain.

  “Nassor,” Anippe began haltingly, “you’ve been my chamber guard since Master Sebak and I married, and you never seem to go home.” She chuckled, feeling awkward. “Isn’t there a wife who misses you? Children? A dog or cat?”

  His lips curved into a tentative smile. “No, Amira. I live in the soldiers’ barracks and take short naps in the villa’s servant quarters.”

  No wife or home. This could be good. If Tut offered him a home as part of Ankhe’s dowry, Nassor’s circumstances would improve considerably.

  “I see. You must get lonely.”

  When he didn’t answer, Anippe glanced up at the big man beside her and found his smile replaced with a grim expression. “Master Sebak trusts me to protect you, Amira. I couldn’t … I would never betray his trust by inappropriate—”

  “Oh no. I didn’t mean …” Anippe pressed her palms against her cheeks, feeling the heat. Shaking her head, she tried to explain without giving away Ankhe’s secret. “I heard one of the servant girls talking. She seemed quite taken with you, and I just wondered if …”

  He sighed, and his grin returned. “Don’t worry, Amira. I’m not like other Ramessids. I’d rather bed a jackal than a Hebrew.”

  His comment, meant to reassure, broke Anippe’s heart. How could a man who seemed so kind and gentle harbor such hatred for another human being? She felt the blood drain from her face, remembering the way Nassor had shoved his sword hilt in Mered’s belly the night he’d offered to help find Jochebed.

  Turning away, she pretended to peruse the garden as they walked the sandstone path to the linen shop in silence. Nassor’s comments might not have bothered Ankhe, but how could Anippe allow such a coarse man to marry her sister?

  “Good morning, Amira.” Mered greeted her, carrying a scroll with a half-finished design on it. “I’ve been working on this all morning, but I can’t envision the angle of the palm branches.”

  Captain Nassor stood behind her, waiting. The amira seemed distracted, perhaps even upset. She said, “Thank you, Nassor. That will be all.” After a curt nod, the captain walked away, and Anippe heaved a sigh.

  “Is everything all right this morning, Amira?” Mered kept an eye on Anippe but also glanced around for Miriam. The little girl was a walking banner, her activity revealing the mood of the amira’s chamber each morning. If trouble plagued the amira’s world, Miriam stayed near, attentive and sensitive to her needs. If the morning had progressed smoothly, Miriam flitted from station to station in the linen shop, chatting and entertaining Mered’s workers.

  “All is well, Mered. I’m a little tired, that’s all.” The amira reached for the design scroll. “Let’s look at this partial palm tree.”

  Mered listened to her ideas, watching her creativity bloom as her countenance brightened. Whatever had worried her on her arrival was lost in the world of linen. She set aside the scroll, content with her planned design.

  “Miriam is learning quickly.” Anippe nodded toward the girl, who flitted between workers like a bee gathering pollen. “She doesn’t miss Jochebed as much when she’s here with the other Hebrews.”

  Mered was struck by his amira’s compassion. What other master would care about the feelings of a little slave girl? Jochebed had returned safely to Amram and Aaron two weeks ago, but she and Puah shared many tears over Miriam’s absence. Puah kept Jochebed busy at home, spoiling their son Jered and helping with daughter Ednah. Their home felt more complete with Jochebed there. If only Miriam could return to them someday.

  “I think the others enjoy having Miriam here as much as she enjoys learning.” Anippe giggled as she watched one of the bead workers sewing beads into the little girl’s hair.

  Mered sighed. “Our busy little bee should be visiting every station, not lingering too long at any one.” He crossed his arms and tried to scowl.

  Miriam had learned to wait near the men hackling flax fibers with sharp-toothed combs and then rush their finished product to the women twisting fibers into long roves. She sometimes helped wind roves around pottery pieces, filling baskets to the rim, and then she’d lug the baskets to spinners, who used spindle and whorl to create various weighted threads. Finally, the cheerful little bee buzzed huge spools of thread to the men at the massive vertical looms to be woven into the heart and soul of Egyptian commerce. The Avaris estate symbol would only be woven into byssus linen—fab
ric so sheer and white, even the clouds grew envious.

  “She must learn to listen more than she talks. I won’t have her disturb my workers.” Mered lifted an eyebrow and left his stool.

  He found Miriam chatting with his best rover and guided her away. Kneeling before her, he schooled his features and met her big brown eyes. “Good rovers are essential to linen making. You must watch quietly to learn the skill, not distract them with stories about flowers and butterflies.” He walked away, hiding a grin, and returned to his desk.

  Anippe raised a brow. “That was supposed to be firm?”

  “Well, I didn’t jab her with a cudgel, if that’s what you mean.” His teasing robbed the amira’s good humor. “I’m sorry, Amira. I didn’t mean to …”

  Anippe studied her hands, rubbing at a stray mark of pigment from the design. “Nassor is a good man. He doesn’t know you, Mered. I’m sure if he’d known you were trying to help find Jochebed—”

  Worried by his amira’s sudden silence, Mered followed her gaze and saw a dirty, weary Medjay running toward them.

  The Nubian fell at Anippe’s feet. “Forgive me, Amira, but you must come quickly to the Gurob Palace. Our great King Tut, mighty son of Horus, has met with an unfortunate accident and commands your immediate presence.”

  “What happened? How seriously is he injured? What kind of accident?”

  The Medjay lifted his gaze. “The axle of his chariot snapped while he was pursuing a lion in the annual Fayum hunt. The bone in his leg broke through the skin, and now his body rages with fever.”

  Anippe’s sorrow transformed to suspicion, then to fury. “How can an axle just snap?”

  “We must leave within the hour, Amira. I will accompany you to the Gurob Palace, and we will both find the answers we seek.” He held her gaze, communicating more with his silence than with his words.

  Anippe bolted from the shop without a word, not even a tear. Mered could barely breathe at the implications of the Medjay’s report.

  The warrior stood, towering over the linen keeper. “Your face healed without scars.” He nodded and turned to leave, but Mered stopped him.

  “Wait, please.” Looking more closely, Mered recognized him as the guard who’d beaten him before arresting Shiphrah. “Please, you should eat before you begin your return journey to Gurob.” Mered stood, motioning the Nubian to follow toward his favorite palm tree. “You can share my midday meal.”

  “Why offer food to a man who beat you?” He offered a wry grin. “Is it poisoned?”

  “Maybe if I’d known you were coming.” Mered grabbed the basket of bread and gold beer Puah had packed that morning and walked toward the north door.

  The Nubian followed, still cautious. Outside he inhaled deeply, seeming to enjoy the view of the Avaris quay. When he reached the palm tree, he folded his legs beneath him, and rested his back against the tall, jagged trunk—keeping his spear nearby.

  Mered opened the basket and offered the whole portion of bread and beer Puah had packed. “May I ask your name?”

  The Medjay looked at the proffered food and then back at the quay. “No.”

  “No, I can’t ask, or—”

  “No, I don’t want all your food. My name is Mandai.”

  Mered shoved the bread at him again. “Mandai, take the food. It sounds like your long journey is only half over. You’ll have another two days on the Nile to return to Gurob.”

  “Three days because it’s against the tide—longer if the amira insists on stopping at night.” Mandai accepted the bread and beer with a gracious nod and ate ravenously.

  “What do you mean if the amira insists? If Anippe doesn’t insist, Ankhe most certainly will. It’s suicide to travel on the Nile after dark.”

  The Medjay paused between bites. “My orders were to bring Anippe. King Tut mentioned nothing of the other sister.”

  Mered shook his head, suddenly feeling deep sympathy for the unsuspecting warrior.

  Mandai noticed and paused chewing again. “Out with it, Hebrew.”

  “Ankhe is a warrior like you’ve never seen before. You should prepare for a battle.”

  Mandai grinned and took a final swig of beer. “You keep making linen, and let me get the amira to Gurob safely to comfort her brother.” His hunger now satisfied, curiosity piqued. “Why do you help a soldier of the king who beat your face and arrested your friend?”

  “Because you serve the king as I serve my amira. They are human, like you and me, and each of us must answer before El-Shaddai for our sins.”

  “This El-Shaddai—he is your Hebrew god?”

  “He is the one true God.”

  Mandai turned his gaze on the quay and was quiet for many heartbeats. “You should tell your one god to help me find the man who partially sawed through King Tut’s axle. Pharaoh’s accident was no accident.” The Medjay turned raging eyes on the linen keeper. “And if you tell anyone I said so, you will meet your god very soon.”

  21

  Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him;

  do not fret when people succeed in their ways,

  when they carry out their wicked schemes.

  —PSALM 37:7

  Anippe saw the Gurob quay as the sun was setting and nudged Ankhe off her shoulder. “Wake up, sister.”

  Their small papyrus skiff had left Avaris two days ago after midday. When Ankhe heard Tut had summoned only Anippe, she tied herself to the skiff, daring Mandai to—as she put it—“touch the king’s sister and die.” They’d needed a second oarsman when Ankhe insisted on coming, so Anippe asked Nassor. Ankhe was thrilled.

  “Did you bring a mirror?” Ankhe tried to neaten the smudged kohl around her eyes.

  “No, I didn’t bring anything except food for our journey.” Anippe bit her tongue to keep silent. Could anyone be that self-absorbed? “Go find Ummi Amenia or Senpa. They’ll have a cursed mirror, and you can tell them we’re here. I’m going to see Tut.”

  The skiff slid onto the sandy bank, and Anippe sprang to her feet before Ankhe could whine.

  “Let me help you.” Nassor offered his hand, but Ankhe grabbed her shoulder, almost toppling them both into the river.

  “Don’t forget, Anippe. Don’t forget to ask Tut …” Ankhe cast a shy glance at Nassor and lowered her voice. “Please, Anippe. I’m begging you.” No threats. No tricks. Ankhe’s pleading seemed utterly guileless in that moment—and Anippe would do anything she could to make her sister happy.

  But where was Ankhe’s concern for Tut? She hadn’t asked about Tut’s condition once except to inquire if he was strong enough to write. Mandai had looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, but Anippe knew Ankhe needed their brother’s written marriage match if he couldn’t make the match in person.

  Mandai jumped to the bank and gripped Anippe’s elbow, fairly pulling her from the skiff. “Hurry, Amira. I hope we’ve arrived in time.”

  Anippe could only nod her agreement—and her gratitude. Mandai and Nassor had rowed against the tide for two days and nights, stopping only to relieve themselves and swat an occasional crocodile. How could she repay their kindness?

  She was panting by the time they entered the king’s residence. Anippe had never been invited into the House of Adoration, Tut’s inner sanctum, the room he shared only with Senpa. But Mandai escorted her past every guard in the palace, returning their salutes and hardening his stare.

  “These are Vizier Ay’s men.” He spoke in a whisper, his focus and gait unchanged.

  Anippe’s heart skipped at the mention of Abbi Horem’s fiercest enemy. The handsome governor hadn’t come to Avaris with the other royals when Anippe had feigned Mehy’s birth—and Tut had regained his wits in Ay’s absence. Why was Ay back in the king’s favor—or was he?

  They arrived at ebony double doors inlaid with lapis and ivory and trimmed in gold. Mandai spoke to the two Medjay guards in their native tongue, raising his voice when they obviously refused Anippe entry. One of the guards disappeared into the chamber,
returned quickly, and then bowed low as he opened the door for the king’s sister.

  Anippe nearly retched at the stench. A serving maid quickly handed her a sachet of crushed lotus petals to hold over her nose. Tut lay in his bed, his left leg wrapped to twice its normal size and elevated on pillows. Vizier Ay sat in a gilded chair on the other side of the bed, writing with reeds and pigment. Four Medjays and three priests of Amun-Re surrounded Tut, while a physician and two handmaids busied themselves in the chamber.

  The vizier stood when she entered, offering a cursory bow. His dove-gray eyes roamed the length of her, and Anippe wished she’d worn rough spun instead of byssus linen. “Your brother will be happy to see you when he wakes—if he wakes.”

  Anointing oil glistened on her brother’s head and face, beading on his fevered brow. Without the kohl-black eye of Horus extending from brow to temple, he looked like a little boy.

  Overcome with anguish, Anippe leaned down to hug him—but halted suddenly and turned to the physician. “Will I hurt him if I touch him?”

  He looked to Ay for the answer. Anippe wanted to scream. Why ask him? Has he learned a priest’s magic arts while I’ve been in Avaris?

  Still raging inwardly, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Amira, sit in this chair.” Mandai had placed it near the bed. Again, his kindness overwhelmed her.

  “Thank you.” She gratefully complied and lifted Tut’s hand, leveling a malicious glare at the vizier. “How long since he last woke? Have you summoned Abbi Horem?”

  “He opened his eyes yesterday but was barely coherent. I summoned you when the infection began a few days ago. Surely you sent messengers to the general.” A sinister smile creased his light-brown face, extending his beaklike nose over his top lip.

  “Why would I send a message to the prince regent? That’s your job, Vizier.”

  Ay leapt to his feet, leaning over the bed, grinding out his words. “My job is to protect Egypt from children and fools who would idly watch it dwindle or lose it to savages.”

  His gaze held her, daring her to look away. Anippe’s heart pounded at his veiled confession. Tut was the child and Abbi Horem the fool, and Ay was obviously determined to have Egypt’s throne. How could she fight him alone?