The Pharaoh's Daughter (35 page)

“Oh, I see,” he chuckled. “And who will oversee Avaris linen production while Gurob benefits from your expertise?”

She left her chair, knelt beside him, and placed her forehead against his hand. “Mered has a wife and children here in Avaris, Abbi. Please don't take him away from them.”

He yanked his hand from her grasp. “He is a slave, Anippe. Property. He performs a service, a duty, a task—and he's quite good at getting what I need when I need it.”

Anippe lifted her head but remained on her knees. “Why not employ Tut's Keeper of the Treasury?”

“Because he also served Ay, my enemy. How can I trust him?”

“Use his knowledge of Ay's activities to serve your purpose. Demand that he defile the tomb he builds for Ay. Wipe away every trace of Nakhtmin's military victories. No one knows Egypt better than the man who built King Tut's thriving kingdom and raided temples for despicable Ay. Use him like a pet crocodile.”

Abbi's bushy eyebrows drew together, but he didn't argue, a hopeful sign that gave her courage to continue.

“The man who served Tut—and Ay—can keep records, plan ceremonies, and organize the nation, but he can't love Mered's wife and child. And Mered can't hunt political jackals in Memphis, Karnak, and Thebes when he's never sailed south of the Delta.”

Leaning back in his chair, Abbi tilted his head, examining her closely. “You've changed, my treasure.”

“As have you, Abbi.”

Continued silence left her time to lift his hand to her lips, and he returned her smile. “Don't think I'm fooled by your scheming, but I will agree to your requests. Ankhe will tutor Mehy. You will oversee the linen shop at Gurob, and Mered will remain in Avaris.”

She bowed her head, hiding her satisfaction. “Thank you, Abbi.”

“But you must agree to my wishes.” His words stirred her dread and drew her gaze. “You will befriend my new wife, Mutnodjmet, at the Gurob Harem and keep me apprised of her activity.”

Anippe's stomach knotted. “Your new wife?” She'd been so sure Mered was mistaken when he told her. “Surely, you don't mean Mutno, Ay's daughter—”

“At tomorrow's feast, I take Mutno as my bride.” He leaned forward, his teeth clenched. “She'll watch her abbi and husband die at my hand and spend the rest of her life in the bed of a man who loathes her. Tomorrow night, everyone will know what happens to those who betray Pharaoh Horemheb.” He kissed her cheek and stood. “I'll let myself out.”

Anippe crumpled to the ground, trembling at his unwitting threat.

Mered wanted to run, to leave Egypt—at least until Horemheb was finished with his cursed vengeance. Would Horemheb's violence ever cease?

Mered sat beside an empty throne on an elevated dais, waiting for the feast to begin. Tonight would be his last official act as Horemheb's chief aid, and then—thanks to the amira—he would return to his duties as chief linen keeper of Avaris.

Mandai and another Medjay, dressed in warrior finery, scanned the room for danger while Ramessid soldiers stood guard around the perimeter and at every exit. Despite the threatening undertones, a celebrative hum rose from those gathered for Horemheb's victory feast. Mered's chest grew tighter with each breath, and each heartbeat felt like a rock tossed into sand.

Ramessid officers and wives mingled with Memphis noblemen and their Gurob wives. The women's tables on Mered's right were crowded with audacious, fleshy old women trying to feel youthful and impress young men. The scented wax cones atop their wigs had begun to melt. The perfume in the wigs and that on overscented bodies combined to fill the air with enough perfume to choke a lotus.

One table of women, however, was not chatting, cackling, or boasting. Queen Senpa stared into the distance, with Anippe and Ankhe seated on her
right and left. Ay's daughter, Mutno—and Horemheb's bride-to-be—sat beside Anippe, apparently visiting the same distant land as Queen Senpa. Pirameses's wife, Sitre, sat beside Ankhe, hiding her bruised face in the shadows. Her husband had obviously discovered her indiscretions. The five women had been placed directly right-center of the throne, across from the king's table with his officers.

Several noblemen who'd been faithful to Ay also attended tonight's celebration. Some arrived by force, some by choice. Soon-to-be-king Horemheb was giving them one chance, this night, to determine with whom their loyalties lay. He'd invited as many officials as the Avaris main hall could seat—all to witness his first official acts as the imminent son of Horus.

Horemheb and Pirameses rose from their table of officers and ascended the small, elevated dais. The victorious general took his place on Tut's gilded throne—Horemheb's throne now. Pirameses, wearing his Gold of Praise collar, took the vizier's customary position, and Mandai stood as his chief Medjay. Mered sat on the platform at the right of Horemheb's feet, ready to record any notes that must be made of the night's events.

El-Shaddai, please stop this. And if You will not, then protect me—Your servant.

Horemheb's herald banged a chime bearing the king's coiled cobra at its peak. “Enter the honorable son of Sebak and son of Pirameses.”

Mehy and Sety appeared at the entrance, wide-eyed and fearful. Anippe had mentioned that Sety's ummi had visited Avaris occasionally, offering the boys a chance to play together. Mered had cringed at first, remembering Master Sebak's warning about Sitre, but he was thankful Mehy had a friend tonight. Seeing the boys side by side, he noticed that Sety's resemblance to the Ramessids was striking. Mehy had definitely inherited the amira's olive skin tone and sandy-brown eyes.

Flanked by two Medjays in full battle gear, the boys peered around ostrich-plumed bows and muscled ebony thighs. The towering soldiers coaxed them with quiet whispers and even smiled during their stroll toward the throne. At the end of the crimson tapestry, the warriors knelt before their regent and pressed the boys to the same posture.

“Your abbis served me well, boys. You may rise to face me.” Horemheb leaned forward, his kindness settling them, though little Sety reached for Mehy's hand. “Sety, your abbi Pirameses will be my vizier—the second-most powerful man in Egypt. What do you think of that?”

Four-year-old Sety looked at his ummi first, and then studied Pirameses from head to toe. “My abbi plays swords wif me. I wike him.”

The guests chuckled warmly, as did the king. “I've never heard higher praise. I'm happy you approve.”

Turning to his grandson and namesake, Horemheb's expression grew sober. “Mehy, your abbi Sebak was the bravest man I've ever known. He was murdered by cowards, who will soon pay for their treachery. You are my grandson and the son of a great warrior. I have high hopes for you.”

Mehy bowed, wordless, too timid to meet Horemheb's gaze.

“Boys, you may stand beside my chief aid, Mered. I want you to see what I'm going to do to the men who killed Mehy's abbi.”

Anippe covered a gasp, then lunged toward her son, but Ankhe pulled her back. Mered felt bile rise in his throat but silently reached for the boys. He could only hold them during this madness. He glanced at the women's table to see Ankhe whispering to Anippe, who had gone completely pale.

Horemheb turned to the herald. “Bring in the prisoners.”

Two men were dragged to the doorway, their hands and feet bound in chains. Nassor was one of the guards tugging the first prisoner slowly up the aisle, allowing every table to assess the bald and blood-soaked man. His legs had been broken, and he hung limp between the Ramessids. His once-handsome face was almost unrecognizable except for his beaklike nose. Vizier Ay was the first spectacle this evening.

Sety whimpered, and Mehy began to tremble when more Ramessids followed with a second prisoner draped over their arms.

Mered circled their waists and whispered, “You can close your eyes but don't turn your head, or Horemheb might notice you're not watching. Make him think you're watching.”

Ay's daughter, Mutno, buried her head in her hands, moaning, and Anippe leaned over to comfort her. The second prisoner was Nakhtmin. Mutno would
see both her abbi and her husband die tonight—and then be forced to marry the man who killed them. Mered kept swallowing, fearful he might be sick.
El-Shaddai, keep me strong for the boys in my arms.

Both prisoners, now hanging between soldiers before the throne, seemed only half conscious. Did they even know where they were?

Mered glanced again toward Anippe. She was shaking her head violently at him, mouthing a message.
No! No! No!
What did she expect him to do? Little Sety's eyes were now fixed on the bloody prisoners, while Mehy stood trembling, eyes closed.
El-Shaddai, give me wisdom.
Both Mered's arms were firmly planted around the boys' waists, his writing utensils at their feet.

My writing utensils.

“Victorious Horemheb, may I approach for a private matter?” Mered's words quieted every other sound in the hall. Keeping his head bowed, he waited for death or assent.

“What?” Horemheb growled, and Mered practically leapt from his cushion to whisper so only the would-be king could hear. “May I send the boys to their ummis? I can't write your judgments with them trembling in my arms.”

He paused, studying Mered, but on this last day as chief aid, Mered didn't dare meet Horemheb's gaze.

“The boys will stand with my Medjays so my chief aid can record the proceedings.”

Mered bowed.
El-Shaddai, please comfort the children where I have failed.

As the boys walked behind the throne to Mandai and the king's other bodyguard, Horemheb announced to the crowd, “Ramessid boys will be warriors and must see what we do to those who betray Pharaoh.”

And then his judgment began.

“The Gold of Praise is Egypt's highest military honor—one Vizier Pirameses wears proudly tonight. While fighting Hittites, we've learned of another military honor, called the Gold of
Valor.
” He signaled Nassor to place a long board in front of the prisoners. The other guards held them while Nassor tethered the prisoners' right arms tightly across it. “Pirameses, take the hands of our enemies and claim your Gold of Valor.”

The new vizier drew a long, heavy sword from his belt and brought it down with a sickening
thwack.

“Nooooo!” Anippe screamed and others joined her. The prisoners writhed in their chains. Horror filled the air as the two little boys whimpered, trying to turn away, but the Medjay bodyguards held them fast, forcing their eyes to witness the savagery.

“We will bury their hands at Avaris.” Horemheb sounded almost gleeful. “Sebak's estate will forever hold captive the right hands of Ay and Nakhtmin, while they wander the underworld maimed for their treachery.” He stood and shouted at the terrified noblemen and their wives. “Would anyone care to join them?”

Mehy and Sety clawed at the Medjays, crying out for their ummis. Guards restrained Anippe and Sitre to keep them from their children, while the other women wept into their hands. Except Queen Senpa—her expression remained unchanged, her eyes still distant. Was she even breathing?

“Queen Senpa.” Horemheb's voice resounded in the hall like a shout.

Anippe shoved a guard away, then grabbed Senpa's arm as she pleaded with Horemheb. “No, don't take her. Please. It wasn't her fault—”

The queen quieted Anippe, and the whole room grew silent as a tomb. “Death is my only escape, sister.” She pulled her arm away, and two guards escorted her to stand before the throne.

Mered's hand trembled as he dipped his writing reed into water to wet the pigment. What should he write on this scroll? How could he record insanity? Ay and Nakhtmin still writhed on the crimson carpet, now dark red with blood, while a lovely young queen awaited undeserved death. Horemheb was a madman. How could he force two small boys to watch things from which even Medjays turned their faces?

“Go to your ummis.” Horemheb's gruff command startled Mered's hand, scratching a black line across the papyrus. Perhaps that was the record of this night. Blackness. A record bearing a meaningless black mark amid cold details.

The boys ran behind the throne—to avoid the bloody scene before it—and
fell into their ummis' arms. Mered watched their reunion and heard three sudden
thwacks
nearly in unison. He squeezed his eyes shut, not needing to look at the scene to know what lay at the foot of the throne.

Senpa, Ay, and Nakhtmin were dead and would—according to Egyptian belief—wander the underworld without their heads.

Mered recorded on the papyrus the three names and then glanced toward the royal women's table once more. Anippe and Sitre bent over their hysterical sons, and Ankhe sat somberly eating a pomegranate. Mutno stared at the back wall—much like Senpa had done moments before.

“Mutno, come to me.” Horemheb's voice, so full of hate, sent a chill up Mered's spine.

When guards reached for Mutno's arms, she fought them. Screaming, fighting, kicking, biting—like a she-jackal she battled.

And Horemheb laughed.

Escorted to the throne amid the stench of blood and vomit, Mutno was no longer Ay's daughter, no longer Nakhtmin's wife. The guards threw her to the carpet between the corpses. She lay there and wept.

“Mutno, you are now my wife—and soon will be Queen of Egypt. Dry your tears, my sweet. I'll do no worse to you than your abbi Ay did to my late wife, Amenia.” He addressed Nassor. “Take her to my guest chamber, and use your cudgel to prepare her for my arrival.”