The Pharaoh's Daughter (34 page)

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.”

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.

Horemheb wore a long linen shenti cinched by a jeweled gold belt at the waist, his torso covered by a byssus linen overshirt. His Gold of Praise collar remained his only adornment until the incarnation of Horus indwelled him at the coronation in Thebes. Once a god, he would wear the robes and crowns of Egypt's Two Lands, carry the crook and flail, and be the representation of the many gods on earth.

“Greetings, my most honored Abbi Horem, victorious general, and imminent king of Egypt's Two Lands. I am delighted to bask in your presence and anxious to hear of your conquests.” She bowed deeply, waiting to be embraced.

“You may rise.” He walked past her toward the courtyard, followed by Mandai and another Medjay.

Feeling as if she'd been slapped, Anippe caught her breath and glimpsed Nassor's wounded expression as he disappeared behind her chamber door.

Regret battled with angst as Anippe hurried to catch up with her guests. “Please be seated, and your Medjays may sit on the cushions.” Anippe pointed Miriam toward the brightly colored pillows stacked nearby, and the girl immediately placed them on the tiles for the soldiers.

“My men stand.” Abbi lowered his bulk into a wooden chair, his expression as empty as the table.

Anippe nodded at Miriam, the signal to serve their meal. “I hope you haven't eaten. We'll have bread and stewed dates like we shared on our journey from Gurob before my marriage feast—”

“I've already broken my fast, Anippe. There's no time for such nonsense.”

Miriam stopped three paces behind him. Anippe shooed her away, while Abbi continued with his agenda.

“Mehy is to be educated at the School of the Kap in Memphis with other noblemen's sons,” he announced. “He'll leave with me at the end of the week. Mered will arrange it.”

Anippe's heart leapt to her throat. “No.” Respectful but firm, she lifted her chin and waited for the storm.

Abbi Horem's face flushed, but he remained equally calm. “Leave us. All
of you.” The Medjays took Miriam and exited. Abbi's expression remained fixed on a distant nothing. “You will never again contradict or disobey me with others present.” He slammed his fist onto the ebony table. “Is that clear?”

Anippe jumped but remained composed. “Why are you angry with me?”

“Because you defied me!” He shoved the table with his foot, sending it sailing across the tiles.

She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to be cowed by his fury, and then opened them with renewed calm. “I'm sorry, but it's more than my refusal of Mehy's schooling. You've been angry since you stepped foot on this estate.” She held his gaze without flinching. “I ask again, why are you angry with me?”

They stared at each other, neither blinking.

And then her defenses began to crumble, an inner trembling becoming visible.
By the gods, why can't I be strong in Abbi's presence?

“I'm not angry with you.” He bolted from his chair as if fleeing from Anubis himself and walked down the tiled path toward her bathhouse.

Anippe blinked back tears, knowing he wouldn't respond if she became emotional. Smoothing her linen robe, she breathed deeply and pursued the soon-to-be king.

He stood at the shoreline not far from where she'd found Mehy in the Hebrew basket. Her heart nearly failed. Did he know? Had Ankhe told him?

Abbi walked into the water and brushed his hand over the reeds, seeming almost wistful. “It's my fault, Anippe. Tut, Amenia, and Sebak are dead, Senpa married to Ay, and Egypt in chaos—all because I let Ay outmaneuver me.” He looked at her, worn, weak, and weary. “I won the war—but at too great a cost. I've failed so many people. I failed you, my treasure.”

She fell into his arms, years of forbidden tears flowing—and he didn't push her away. He rubbed her back, one strong hand nearly covering the span between her shoulder blades. This was the abbi she knew. This man would never take Mered from Avaris or sentence Ankhe to a life of loneliness.

Anippe's mind began to spin with possibilities, and her tears dried. “You are the best man I know, Abbi, and the deaths of our loved ones aren't your fault. Is a cobra at fault when it eats a rat? Or a cat when it eats them both? War steals lives, Abbi, but the war is over. Can't we live again?”

He grasped her arms and held her at arm's length, a glimmer of hope in his gaze. “Do I detect a plan?”

She chuckled and twisted away, spying a nearby cloth to wipe the smeared kohl from her face. “I would not be Horemheb's daughter if I did not negotiate for a favorable outcome.”

Abbi came alongside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “And you are my daughter, Anippe.” He kissed her head as they ambled back to the courtyard and the broken ebony table. Abbi sheepishly pointed at his destruction. “I'll have Mered send a replacement when we've settled into the Memphis Palace.”

“Let's talk about Mered for a moment.” Anippe wished Miriam had brought the stewed dates. Now would be a good time to distract Abbi Horem with food. “When you stole my linen keeper to make him your supply chief—”

“I didn't steal—”

Anippe lifted her hand, halting his protest. “Let me finish. In Mered's absence, I've maintained the workshop despite Ay's attempts to bolster Gurob Harem's linen trade by blocking our access to southern merchants from Arabia and Cush. I, in turn, blocked all Gurob's access to northern trade routes through the Delta and from the Great Sea.”

Abbi clapped his hands. “That's my little warrior.”

She nodded, acknowledging his praise. “So while the production at Gurob's workshop shrank, struggling to import goods and export their linen, our Avaris workshop has grown to twice Gurob's size—so my merchant spies tell me.” Abbi reached for her hand. “I'm proud of you, my treasure.”

Anippe let his goodwill simmer like a well-seasoned stew. She planned to ask for three favors in hopes of securing two. First, the decoy. “I've been able to concentrate fully on the linen shop because Ankhe has been a remarkable teacher for your grandson—”

“I'll not have—”

She lifted her hand to silence him again. “We must reward her faithfulness by honoring Sebak's promise to match her with a Ramessid soldier now that the war is over.” It wasn't the whole truth, but what did it matter? Anippe was confident Abbi Horem would refuse.

“Ankhe is not now and has never been my concern.”

“But she is mine, Abbi.”

“Then do what you like with her.”

Ah yes.
The answer she'd hoped for. “My decision is that she remains Mehy's tutor while he attends the School of the Kap in Memphis.”

Abbi Horem's eyes narrowed to slits, the goodwill she'd amassed draining away. “You would send a woman to teach your son at a noblemen's school?”

“I would send King Tut's sister, who was educated by the king's personal tutors, to instruct Pharaoh Horemheb's grandson at the Kap.” She wanted to elaborate, to list every good and logical reason, but instead sat in quiet confidence despite the churning she felt inside.

Abbi Horem's gaze unnerved her, but to falter would imply weakness and might leave Mehy unattended in Memphis—without Ankhe to inform Anippe about his daily life and care. And if Ankhe could prove herself to Abbi Horem as a valuable tutor, perhaps he would match her with another tutor—or Nassor, if he agreed in time.

“Are you so intent on coddling your son that you'll provide Mehy with a nursemaid till he graduates from the Kap? Will you become his military trainer at Sile when he turns twelve?” Abbi Horem's voice rose with each word.

Sensing his frustration, she lightened her tone. “Thank you for offering, but no. I can't hold on to my son forever, you know.” His expression lightened—almost a grin—and she knew it was time to press her final request. “I'll be too busy at the Gurob Harem—reviving their linen business.” It was her perfect escape from Nassor's misplaced affection.