by Mesu Andrews
The gate held, and Nubians didn’t float.
Mered served General Horemheb roast goose with leeks and onions for his evening meal that night—last night. The general complimented his supply chief on his resourcefulness and guaranteed Mered a place in his administration “when this ugly business is over.” Mered just wanted to go home.
Before dawn, Horemheb rallied silent Ramessid troops, with Commander Pirameses leading the army inside the fort, while guards lowered Mandai down the northern side of the wall into a skiff waiting among the crocodiles. He was pulled safely to shore by Nubian soldiers, compatriots who would soon exact their revenge on Ay and his wicked commander, Nakhtmin.
Weary of Nakhtmin’s abusive treatment of their wives and children, the Nubian army was eager to mete out vengeance. Mandai had worked three years to build secret alliances with his Nubian brethren in the south, and they’d pledged allegiance to Pharaoh Horemheb—the god Mandai served.
At dawn, Ay initiated another attack. More arrows, spears, and Nubians slaughtered by crocodiles—and then Site’s gate opened wide. Commander Nakhtmin led the advance. Even the arrogant Vizier Ay rushed toward the moat banks to watch what would surely be his final victory.
Mered would never forget the violence of this day, watching from the barbican as every soldier—Nubian and Ramessid—turned their rage on two men. But General Horemheb had forbidden them to kill Ay or Nakhtmin. So the troops in their battle fury turned on the crocodiles—and each other.
Senseless. Meaningless. Dead Ramessids and Nubians littered the land, their blood turning the Nile red. And Horemheb called it victory.
The courtyard of Sile fortress hummed below with weary, wounded, yet “victorious” Nubian and Ramessid soldiers. General Horemheb had outsmarted and undone his enemy and seized Egypt’s throne—at great price.
Mandai stood at Horemheb’s right shoulder, cut and bruised, but his bearing as regal as any king. The soon-to-be-deified king sat on a limestone throne, tapping his fingers, waiting for a signal that his captives were ready to be presented. Finally, Pirameses swung open the prison’s wooden gate and shoved two bloodied figures through the sea of battered soldiers. The prisoners were spit on, shoved, and bludgeoned.
“Enough!” Horemheb shouted, silencing the crowd. Pirameses enlisted help to drag the prisoners before their new king.
Mered and twelve other slaves huddled around the barbican window, peering down on a proceeding they need not hear to understand. Ay and Nakhtmin faced death. The only question was how. Beheaded? Flayed? Diced?
Horemheb spoke calmly, too calmly for slaves in a three-story barbican to hear. Ay began to wail, his wiry form doubled over, groveling at the feet of a man with no heart. Commander Nakhtmin rested on his knees, head bowed. Evidently, the commander expected the sentence Horemheb had pronounced.
“We leave for Avaris tomorrow!” Horemheb shouted, lifting his hand in triumph, and the courtyard of soldiers cheered.
Mered’s heart skipped a beat when Pirameses reached for the prisoners and dragged them away. No execution? Why weren’t they killed? A terrible dread crept up his spine, made worse by Mandai’s slumped shoulders and distant stare.
Mered knew his friend and sensed his disapproval. If Mandai was disturbed by Horemheb’s ruling, the fate of Ay and Nakhtmin must be horrible indeed.
AVARIS ESTATE, DELTA
Anippe sat beneath the shady palm tree outside the linen shop, sharing her midday break with Puah. Miriam tended Ednah, Puah’s little girl, while Jered and Mehy fought an imaginary war with wooden swords. The midwife had become a good friend, bringing her son Jered to play with Mehy after the young master completed his morning lessons with Ankhe. Perhaps history was repeating itself. Mered had often told Anippe that he sat beneath this tree to comfort young Master Sebak after the death of his abbi—and now Mered’s son played with the heir of Avaris under the same tree after Sebak died.
No matter that Mehy wasn’t really Sebak’s son—or did it matter? Had the gods punished her for her deception?
Mehy and Jered thwacked their wood-and-papyrus swords, blocking blow for blow. Jered was smaller but quicker, and Mehy’s sword was heavier to wield.
“Take that, Ramessid.” Jered poked at the same time Mehy dodged, and Mehy brought his sword down on the young Hebrew’s arm.
“Ouch!” Jered ran to Puah, who set aside her bread to inspect her son’s war wound.
Anippe gave her most disapproving frown to her little victor. “Mehy, you mustn’t play so rough. Apologize to Jered.”
“Ramessids don’t apologize for winning a battle.” At nearly eight, Mehy’s logic was faultless.
Puah tugged on Anippe’s sheath, giggling. “He has a point, Amira.” Then she turned to her son. “When an enemy—even a playtime enemy—bests you, you must bow and congratulate him. It is the honorable way to lose.”
“There is no honor in losing, Mother.” Jered’s tears perched like gemstones on his cheeks.
Anippe covered a grin and whispered, “He has a point, Puah.” She lifted her voice to include both boys. “Come sit with us on the mat. We’ll teach you to play Hounds and Jackals.”
She turned to find Puah gathering her bowls into her basket. “Amira, we can’t stay any longer. Jered must join the other children in the villa. Shiphrah’s husband, Hur, is ratting and plugging snake holes today.” Puah waved Miriam up the hill. “Bring Ednah. We must go.”
Anippe had noticed Hebrew children wandering about the villa and had shuddered at the thought. The inundation chased rats and snakes out of their nests near the banks and into the villa and granaries.
Mehy sidled close, staring wide eyed at his friend. “Has anyone ever been bitten?”
“Not often, Master Mehy.” Puah’s eyes were kind, her voice gentle. “Hur is very good at his job. He trains the little ones to distract the snakes while he snares them, and he gives the children large bundles of rags to press into the rat holes. Their arms are small enough to fit inside, protected by the rags.”
Anippe shivered. “Why must Jered help? There are plenty of other Hebrew children.”
Puah knelt, her features as stern as Anippe had ever seen. “Jered helps because he is a slave and a child of slaves. We do what we must—as our ancestors did.”
Puah’s words were harsh but true—as was her life. Anippe averted her gaze, ashamed to have offered favoritism to a woman of such character. An idea struck her in the awkward silence. “Puah, I could hire one of the snake charmers that travel the Nile this time of year. The Gurob Palace used their services because the Nubians worshiped snakes and refused to kill them.”
“No, Amira, please. Hur’s talent for ratting is considered skilled labor. As long as both he and Shiphrah are skilled workers, they’re assured a place in the craftsmen’s village.”
“I can speak with Nassor and make sure Hur and Shiphrah stay—”
“No, Amira.” Anger flashed in Puah’s eyes, but she regained her composure before continuing. “Jered and I can’t stay with you any longer. I’m your friend but also your slave. We can blur the lines between us, but we can’t erase them. A slave and her son can provide entertainment while the amira lounges for a meal, but if I linger too long, Hebrews will resent me and Egyptians will mock you.”
Without being dismissed, Puah gathered her children and hurried toward the craftsmen’s village.
Mehy snuggled close to Anippe and turned his tear-filled eyes upward. “Did they leave because I hurt Jered? I didn’t mean to, Ummi. I’ll apologize. Ramessids apologize to their friends.”
She hugged him close. “No, Mehy. Puah and Jered left because they’re good friends who love us. You can apologize when you see Jered tomorrow.” She lifted his hand, pointing to the three dots. “The great god Re will give us both wisdom to deal with our friends wisely.” She kissed the top of his smooth head and tugged his princely lock.
Movement downhill by the quay stole her attention. A lone figure trudged uphill, and she shielded her
eyes from the sun’s glare.
“Mered.” His name slipped out on a whisper.
“Mered!” Her son turned and shouted, running toward the linen keeper.
Anippe saw Puah, halfway to the craftsmen’s village, turn at the commotion and stop. Hands to her face, she stilled and then scooped Ednah into her arms and ran back toward her husband. Jered ran after them and hugged his parents’ legs. Mehy joined the family circle.
“Mehy, come back. Let them have this time.” Anippe turned away to hide the gaping void in her heart. Oh, how I wish Sebak could return to hold me in his arms. Mehy grabbed her waist, and she fell to her knees, rocking him. He would be her only reminder of Sebak’s love—though even Mehy was an illusion. Had anyone truly been hers, or had the gods cheated her completely?
“Hello, Amira.” Startled by the familiar male voice, she released Mehy and stood. Mered smiled broadly, Puah and Jered tucked under each arm. “Are you well?”
She bowed her head, unable to answer.
“Come, Mehy,” Puah gently coaxed. “Your ummi and Mered must speak of workshop business.”
Mehy’s warmth left her side, and Anippe shivered in the midday heat.
Mered sat on the ground, seeming too weary to stand. “I have a beautiful family, don’t I?”
Anippe chuckled. “You do indeed.”
Mered’s eyes shone with pride, but the light faded quickly, as did his smile. “I’ve been sent ahead of Pharaoh Horemheb’s procession. They’ll arrive in five days—allowing time for Ay’s daughter, Mutnodjmet, to be brought to Avaris from the Gurob Harem.”
“Mutno?” Anippe knelt beside him. “Why would Vizier Ay’s daughter come to Avaris?”
Mered looked like an old man. Deep lines were etched around his eyes, and his mouth was drawn down in uncharacteristic gloom. “Your abbi Horemheb plans to marry Mutnodjmet—after he kills Ay and her husband, Nakhtmin, before her eyes.”
“That’s not funny, Mered.” Anippe sat beside him but kept her distance. “Your humor has grown dark since you’ve been with the army.”
His expression was chiseled stone. “Nothing has been funny for three years, Amira.”
Angry now, she glared at him. “My abbi Horem wouldn’t marry Mutno, and he certainly wouldn’t stoop to the level of torture you describe—”
“Perhaps your abbi Horem wouldn’t.” His voice lowered in disgust. “But I assure you, Pharaoh Horemheb will most certainly do as he promised—and more.” Mered held her gaze, unflinching and cold.
Swallowing her anger, she reminded herself of all Mered had endured and dismissed his outrageous claims. After leaving to deliver a message, he’d been caught in the snare of master schemers. “I’m sorry, Mered. This war has ruined many lives.”
He seemed to soften—perhaps remembering the atrocities she’d seen in her royal life. “As Horemheb’s deputy, it’s my duty to make arrangements for the feast.”
“A feast?” Anippe grimaced. “You see? Why would Abbi Horem order a feast if he planned to murder prisoners?”
Mered’s shoulders slumped, and he offered her a weary smile. “Amira, I have one request.”
“Name it.”
“May I spend one night with my wife before I move to the villa?”
“Move to the villa? Why would you move to the villa? You’re a linen keeper. You live in the craftsm—”
“I am Pharaoh Horemheb’s new deputy. As his chief aid, I must tend the details of his succession, and then I’ll live at the Memphis Palace.”
Anippe covered a gasp. “Mered, no. I won’t allow it. You’re my linen keeper, and that’s the end of it.”
His features hardened again. “No one says no to Pharaoh Horemheb, Amira. I beg you—don’t risk your life for me.”
“Horemheb can’t have you!” Puah slammed the bread dough into the kneading trough and shoved both fists into it. “Let him choose another chief aid. Surely someone else in Egypt knows how to export papyrus and import wine.”
Mered sat on their reed sleeping mat, watching his wife. She perched on her knees over a mound of leavened dough, rhythmically kneading and turning, swaying back and forth. His pulse quickened, and his desire stirred. “Did you say something?”
She continued her rant, but he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t take his eyes off the beautiful woman he’d married years ago.
He interrupted, “Where’s Ednah?”
“Shiphrah took her for the afternoon so I could catch up on household chores. She and Hur still haven’t been able to conceive—”
“Where’s Jered?”
Wiping sweat from her forehead, Puah left floury traces above her left eyebrow and sat back on her heels. “Hur came shortly before you returned from the linen shop and gathered all the little ones. Jered will be ratting at the villa until sunset.” She resumed her task, the slow, methodical knead, turn, fold. “He said five villa cats died, and he’s late plugging rat holes in the granary this year, so the cobras may have already made nests in the villa and laid eggs.”
Mered thought of their seven-year-old son meeting a rat or cobra and shivered, but every Hebrew child was needed for the task.
“Puah.” He left the sleeping mat and crouched behind her.
“Perhaps if you ask Anippe to intercede on your behalf, you won’t have to go to Memphis. Or maybe—”
He nudged aside her head covering and kissed the back of her neck.
Her breath caught, interrupting her for only a moment. “Why is Horemheb wasting time in Avaris with a feast? Not that I’m anxious to lose you, but perhaps El-Shaddai will use this time to intervene and make a way for you to stay here, and—”
Mered tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “I’ve missed you, wife.” He silenced her with a kiss. Her body relaxed into his embrace, and her emotional defenses came tumbling down.
Weeping, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he kissed the tears from her cheeks. “I can’t let you go again.”
He lifted her into his arms, and she clung like a wet robe to his body. Laying her on their sleeping mat, he nestled close and pulled her into the bend of his form. “El-Shaddai is our dwelling place, my love. We will dwell in Him together and endure whatever comes.”
28
The words of their mouths are wicked and deceitful;
they fail to act wisely or do good.
—PSALM 36:3
Anippe waited in her chamber, heart racing. Why was she so nervous to welcome Abbi Horem—the man who deemed her his treasure, the one who’d protected her since she was a child? But his expression had been so distant, so impersonal, when his royal procession disembarked at Avaris’s quay yesterday. Had she offended him? Somehow disappointed him?
Fear bound her chest. Had he somehow discovered the deception of Mehy’s birth?
A loud knock nearly sent her running. Nassor pushed open the door slightly, asking permission to enter. Permission granted, he slipped through and nodded his morning greeting. “Do you want me to attend during Pharaoh’s visit? Or should I wait outside your chamber door?” He searched her eyes as if he could read the troubled ka behind them. Perhaps he could.
Nassor had become her champion among the Ramessids while Sebak and Mered were gone. Their friendship, like Nassor himself, wasn’t dazzling or bejeweled, but rather simple and sturdy. As she did under her favorite palm tree near the linen shop, she rested in the shade of Nassor’s protection. It was all she needed of a man. She had Mehy, but Ankhe had no one.
“I’d rather you go check on Ankhe. Since Mered’s news of Abbi’s return, she tutors Mehy and then hides in her chamber. I think she’s avoiding me.”
His expression clouded. “Your sister doesn’t want to see me, Amira.” He focused on a distant spot on her chamber wall, jaw muscle dancing.
“Would you care to explain why, Captain?”
“Perhaps Ankhe should be the one to inform you of the … misunderstanding.” He glanced at Anippe and then turned back to the wall, nervous as a bird in a fowler
’s snare.
Anippe’s cheeks warmed. Surely Ankhe hadn’t chosen the day of Horemheb’s visit to spew a jealous tirade at Nassor. She’d been quiet and shy in his presence for three years. “Tell me, Nassor.”
“Your sister had imagined that she and I would someday marry.” His nervous laughter and dazed expression confirmed his utter astonishment. “How could she think it? I’ve barely talked to her except while supervising her lessons with Master Mehy. She’s lovely, but I have nothing to offer a wife.”
“Ankhe needs only to be loved, Nassor.” The words were out before Anippe could restrain them.
They hit her captain like a blow. “I’m afraid I love another,” he said, reaching for her hand. The longing in his eyes startled and terrified her.
“No, you can’t. You mustn’t.” Anippe broke from his grasp and turned away, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Nassor, you may wait outside the door. Please announce Pharaoh Horemheb with a knock before you admit him to my chamber.”
What else could she say? She could never love Nassor. He was Ankhe’s or no one’s.
She tried to steady her breathing, waiting in the lingering silence for the captain’s retreating footsteps. Finally, she heard shuffling and the quiet click of the door closing. Releasing the breath she’d been holding, Anippe collapsed onto her couch, heart pounding wildly.
How could she have been so blind? Poor Ankhe. She’d tried to tell Anippe that Nassor wanted more, but Anippe refused to listen, wouldn’t believe it. How could she face her sister—and Nassor—every day with this constant tension?
A knock put an end to her questions. She must greet her abbi—the man soon to become a god. Perhaps a god could untangle her jumbled world.
Miriam appeared at her side, having returned from alerting the kitchen slaves to re-create the sentimental meal she and her abbi had shared on King Tut’s barque on their way to Avaris all those years ago. “Tear, dip, chew!” They’d laughed and eaten their bread and stewed dates. The sweet memory calmed her as Egypt’s soon-to-be king entered her chamber.
