The Pharaoh's Daughter (16 page)

“All right. Bring Puah to the villa, but don't tell anyone why you've come. Ankhe will meet you at the main entrance.”

Without hesitation, the little girl splashed into the bulrushes, ready to face the guards again if she must. “Wait,” Anippe shouted. “Not that way. You may leave through my chamber. There is a big guard named Nassor beyond the door. He won't hurt you if you tell him the amira is expecting you to return with the midwife.”

“Yes, Amira.” She bounced out of the water, hurrying up the path.

Anippe returned her attention to Ankhe—who stood like a withered lily, rubbing the red marks on her throat. “Look at me, Ankhe.”

Ankhe raised her gaze, jaw flexed, chin defiant. “Yes, Amira? How may your lowly handmaid serve you?” Her tone conveyed anything but service.

“You will rejoice with me that the Nile god, Hapi, gave me this child. I am Anippe,
daughter of the Nile
, and now the Nile has given me a son.” She studied the perfect babe in her arms. “You will become Sebak's heir, little one, and I will be the Amira of Avaris forever.”

“But that's not who you are.” Ankhe's cheeks bloomed bright red. “You're Meryetaten-tasherit, firstborn daughter of Kiya, a trick of the Great Wife Nefertiti to protect her daughter. You're a mockery, a lie.”

“No, Ankhe. That's who I was.” The infant fussed, sensing her tension. Anippe began to sway, calming him and herself. “Now I am this boy's ummi.”

“If you keep this child, our brother will kill it—and then kill you.”

“Our brother will never know. Neither will Sebak or any of our house slaves. Only you, me, and three Hebrews.”

“How do you know the Hebrews won't betray you when Sebak returns?”

“The slaves don't want this child murdered any more than I do. Who do you think placed him in this basket? They've hidden him for months—look at him. He's not a newborn.”

Ankhe smiled like a hungry jackal. “And why do you think they set him adrift today, Amira?”

Anippe had no answer. Why would they place a child in crocodile-infested
waters when they'd successfully hidden him for so long? Her confusion fed her sister's triumph.

“The Ramessids swept dead-man's land last week, and this week they begin inspecting the Hebrew craftsmen's houses.” Ankhe sneered. “Can't you smell the rot?”

“Rot? What are you talking—” The realization nearly buckled Anippe's knees. She'd smelled decay but assumed it came from the kitchens or rotting animals. Looking at the water surrounding her, she panicked and started to rush toward shore.

“Anippe, Anippe, don't worry.” Ankhe strolled toward the bathhouse, arriving on shore with the boy's basket in tow. “The river's floods swept the bodies downstream quickly. I haven't seen one since yesterday.”

Anippe covered a sob and tried to soothe the baby, who was crying again after her mad dash toward shore. She looked at Ankhe's cool demeanor. Was she a monster? How could she speak so casually of such horror? “What's dead-man's land?”

Ankhe turned and pointed to the hill overlooking the villa. “It's that huge plateau above us, where most of your Hebrew slaves are worked to death by numbskull Ramessid guards. The unskilled slaves live and work up there in the fields and mud pits. Most die before they're forty—from little food and much abuse.”

“How do you know all this, Ankhe?” Anippe's gentle sway had calmed the babe, but her calm fled when she saw a slow, sinister grin crease Ankhe's lips.

“I know this because I eat and sleep with house slaves, but my living arrangement is about to change. Isn't it, sister?” She reached out to touch the baby's curly hair, but Anippe pulled him away. Ankhe's expression turned cold. “I refuse to keep your secret unless …”

Anippe knew what Ankhe wanted. “I already told you, I can't free you. Tut specifically ordered you into servitude. We would both be punished if anyone discovered I'd restored your royal status.”

Ankhe didn't flinch. “I will become your son's tutor. It's not spinning or weaving, but it's
productive.
And I'll live in a chamber beside you instead of the
servant's quarters.” She stepped toward the babe again, a silent threat that moved Anippe back. “These are not requests. This is the price of my silence.”

Anippe laid her cheek against the baby's downy-soft hair. He was so warm, so sweet, so alive. Sebak needed an heir. She needed a baby. Most important of all, this baby would likely die if she sent him back to the Hebrews. She glanced at Ankhe again, who still waited for her answer. Ankhe was selfish and impulsive, but she'd never hurt anyone. Perhaps she would enjoy caring for a child.

“It's settled then,” Anippe said. “I'll find a different handmaid, and you'll begin helping me raise my son. When he's ready, you'll be responsible to teach him as we were taught by Tut's tutors.”

Genuine surprise stole Ankhe's smug expression. “How will we convince people he's Sebak's child? Your husband has been gone only a week, and this baby is already months old.”

“You said the servants already think I'm pregnant. I'll stay in my chamber, courtyard, and bathhouse until just before harvest. We'll say I'm overwhelmed with nausea at the slightest odor, or I'm too vain to be seen with a rotund figure. Let their wagging tongues paint whatever picture they like.”

“But in six months that boy will look even less like a newborn—and even as he grows, he'll always be taller, bigger, stronger than his age should allow.”

Anippe looked down at the curly headed babe, whose arms were already pudgy and healthy. “His abbi Sebak is taller, bigger, and stronger than most men.” She wrapped his chubby hand around her finger and cast a pleading gaze at her sister. “Ankhe, if we can keep his identity hidden for three or four years while he's with his wet nurse—”

“Three or four years, Anippe? Where will you hide him for three or four years?” Her voice squeaked, signs of an oncoming tantrum. “If you send him back to the Hebrew camp, the Ramessids will find him, and if you move him into the villa, everyone will know you have a baby—a week after you looked thin and beautiful, walking to the quay with your husband for the Feast of Lotus.” Her last words were delivered on a shout, and Anippe looked right and left, wondering how many dozens of slaves and guards heard her rant.

“I assume by your objections you'd rather continue as my handmaid and forget this ridiculous scheme?”

Ankhe's eyes narrowed, and she ground her words through clenched teeth. “No. I would rather be your son's tutor.”

“Good.” Anippe tugged her finger away from the baby's grasp and reached for Ankhe's hand. “Come, sit with me on the cushions. Bring the baby's basket.”

Reluctantly, Ankhe followed, dragging the dripping basket behind her. Her groaning drowned out the Nile's rushing waters as they settled beneath the three-sided bathhouse.

“We're going to make this work, Ankhe. Your rant gave me an idea.”

“I'm glad I could serve you, Amira.”

Anippe met her sister's mocking with patient calm. “We could make the wet nurse a house slave and move her into the chamber beside mine. Remove her from everyone and everything she knows while she nurses my son for three or four years.”

Ankhe lifted a skeptical brow but didn't immediately refuse. Progress. “What if the war ends and Sebak returns to find a Hebrew child as his heir?”

Anippe traced the damp curls on the baby's head, considering her answer carefully. “You know many children don't survive their first three years, Ankhe. And who knows how long the war will go on?” She swallowed the lump in her throat, refusing to imagine the worst for her son or her husband. “I won't send word of my pregnancy to Sebak until we know how the war is going. I just think this baby is destined by the gods to be mine.” Lost in the deep pools of his brown eyes, Anippe caressed his cheek and counted his fingers and toes.

“Babies cry. What if he cries?” Ankhe reached over to tickle his belly.

“I've heard infants crying in the villa. I know some of the house slaves have babies.”

Ankhe sighed. “Three, and they're exasperating.”

“Perfect. We'll move the wet nurse today, and Puah can visit me regularly to give the appearance I'm under a midwife's care.” She hugged Ankhe, scrunching the baby, causing him to fuss. “Here, take him.”

Thrusting the babe into Ankhe's arms was pure genius. Anippe could see the walls around her sister's heart crumble as his little hands reached for the
shiny gold beads at the ends of her braids. The hard creases in Ankhe's forehead relaxed, and her pinched expression eased to—well, almost a smile.

“Perhaps by the time Sebak returns from battle, he'll see what a fine job you're doing as his son's tutor and make a marriage match for you with a Ramessid soldier.” The words were out before Anippe had calculated their impact.

Ankhe's eyes glistened, and her cheeks shaded pink. “Do you think Sebak would really make a match for me?”

Heart thudding like chariot horses, Anippe forced a smile, hoping to instill more confidence than she felt. “Of course, he would. You're my sister.”

Seeming satisfied, Ankhe began jabbering at the baby, fawning and cooing like a doting aunt.

Anippe tried to steady her breathing, panicked by the magnitude of her increasing deceptions.
Oh mighty Hapi, protect this gift of life offered up from the Nile, for if my deceptions are discovered, not even Pharaoh will protect me.

Too weary to lift his arms, Mered braced his elbows on his desk and lowered his head to remove the white linen wrap he wore. He'd endured a whole day's summer sun to watch the amira's private wall but never saw little Miriam escape. Had Ankhe taken her to the amira? Turned the girl over to chamber guards? He pressed his sweat-soaked linen against weepy eyes, grieving the precious child who'd helped him cook gruel this morning.

“Linen keeper, why aren't you working?” The estate foreman's voice cut through him like a knife.

Startled, Mered stood, knocking over his stool. “I've supervised my outdoor slaves all day.” He nodded toward the fading sunlight. “I needed to check some figures before going home.” Why was the foreman here anyway? Ramessids never invaded his shop.

“Well, you're not going home yet. The amira sent me to tell you she wants two papyrus scrolls so she can draw designs for your weavers.” Mered noted crimson rising on the foreman's neck and kept a wary eye on his hand, which fidgeted with the cudgel on his belt. “I don't know why I'm suddenly the amira's errand boy, but you've been told.”

Mered bowed promptly. “I'll deliver the scrolls tonight—immediately.” He heard the man's sandals retreat and then raised his head to watch him waddle from the shop. Short and wide, the estate foreman likely hadn't walked
from one side of Avaris to the other in years. He was most definitely not an errand boy.

So why send him? And what stirred the amira's sudden interest in design?

Mered rubbed the confusion from his weary face and grabbed two blank scrolls. He didn't care about the amira or the foreman. He cared only about getting home to Puah and checking on Miriam's parents. They'd surely discovered the child missing by now, and perhaps he could offer some details of her disappearance—though his news would not be comforting.

“Good night, all.” He waved to the night workers as he left. They'd be towing, hackling, and roving flax fibers in the dimly lit workshop till morning, when the weavers and bead workers returned to resume their intricate projects in daylight.

His sandals tapped on the tiled pathways between buildings as Mered hustled to complete the errand and walk home before dark. Trekking down the craftsmen's village hill at dusk was even more dangerous during inundation. Crocodiles sought higher ground when the rising Nile left its banks, and mother crocs were especially protective of their newly hatched young.

Passing through the garden, Mered noticed the blue lotus blooms already beginning to close for their night's slumber. Like skilled craftsmen, they'd revive at dawn, warmed by the sun's strong rays, to share their elegant beauty. Mered inhaled deeply, capturing a whiff of their lingering fragrance.

He turned down the long hallway leading to the villa's private chambers, a worrisome thought only now starting to bloom. What if the amira's summons was a trap? Mered's feet slowed as his heartbeat quickened. And why had she sent the estate foreman with the message?

Stopping short of the residence hallways, Mered stared at the two blank papyrus scrolls in his hands, plagued by a more practical question. Did she even have a scribe's set of reeds and pigment to write with?

He measured the fading rays of sunlight in the hallway's high windows. Frustration rose as the sun fell. He must get home to explain about Miriam.

A few more hurried steps carried him to Master Sebak's private chamber. Ramessid guards glared at him as if he was a pesky rat in the granary.

He held up the scrolls. “I'm delivering these to the amira.”

The largest guard pounded his sword hilt on the amira's door, and the handmaid Ankhe peeked through a narrow opening. “It's about time you got here, linen keeper. Come in.” She opened the door wider, revealing a dimly lit chamber.

Mered remained firmly rooted in the hall, extending the scrolls across the threshold. “I've no need to see the amira. You may give her these scrolls—”

The guard grabbed the back of his neck and shoved him through the door. Mered stumbled in behind Ankhe, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Tapestries hung like curtains across the open-air courtyard, making the few lamps in the master's chamber seem like stars in a midnight sky.