The Pharaoh's Daughter (38 page)

Anippe tamped down her rising revulsion at the life of manipulation she must abide to be successful at Gurob. “And what do you expect from me in return for your valuable influence?”

“A weekly correspondence with your abbi Horem, singing my praises. Tell him how we've become close friends, partners in the linen workshop, confidantes.” She bowed her head, fidgeting with her hands, but couldn't hide the
quiver in her voice. “I long ago gave up hope that any man would love me, but I cannot abide a life of hatred and abuse.”

She gently dabbed bruised cheeks before lifting her gaze. “Don't ever let Horemheb give you to another husband. Marriage will destroy you—inside and out.”

FIVE YEARS LATER

In less than five years, King Horemheb and Vizier Pirameses had transformed the Feast of Lotus at Avaris and Qantir into the most coveted royal festival in Egypt. Stretching the traditional day into a full month of celebration, Egypt's wealthiest noblemen brought their whole families during the last month of inundation to enjoy some relaxation before sowing season began.

The king's barque delivered the men to Qantir, where they engaged in military drills and sport until the evening feasts. A short sail around the bend took them to neighboring Avaris, where they rejoined their wives, who had enjoyed a day of gossip and shopping in the peasants' markets and the famed linen workshop.

Mered and his family stood shoulder to shoulder with Hebrew slaves and Egyptian peasants, all awaiting the arrival of the Gurob Harem ship. He scanned the sea of faces on the hillside above and below, to the north toward the craftsmen's camp, and even south toward the new peasants' village. He didn't see Shiphrah and Hur—or their children, Uri and Yael. The Lord had opened the chief midwife's womb, and she hadn't been on time since.

“They'll be here.” Puah elbowed him in the gut. “Hur promised he'd pick
up the boys for ratting here at the quay so you could go straight to the shop. He'll be here.”

Mered kept looking. They'd told the midwife and her husband where to look for them in the crowd—beside the palm tree outside the linen shop—but Avaris's bulging population made connections difficult.

“Here comes the ship.” Jochebed pointed to the Gurob Harem barque rounding the corner. “We get to see our Miriam.” She hugged Amram, and his eyes misted with happy tears. Even Aaron, with his wife and baby, stood on tiptoe to see the barque with its oarsmen gliding into the quay.

“Let's get closer to the dock.” Ednah jumped and clapped, taking a step into the roiling crowd.

Mered snagged her hand and pulled her back. His ten-year-old daughter was fearless, having grown up in her mother and Jochebed's protective shadow. “You're staying here to help with your little brother until Hur and Shiphrah join us.” Their son Heber had arrived nine months after Mered's return from military duty.

Ednah pouted, but Puah grabbed her hand and placed it on her belly. “Feel this. Your brother is kicking me again.”

Ednah's pouting fled, and Mered rested his arm around his pregnant wife's shoulders. “How do you know it's a boy?”

She stretched up on her toes and whispered in his ear, “This one is more active than all three of the others combined. I'm sure he's a boy.” She kissed his cheek and wiped the sweat from her brow.

Mered squeezed her tighter. His wife looked tired today. He watched her prance and giggle with Ednah, anticipating the ship's arrival. Should she be jumping like that when the baby was due any day?

“Father, please let me go back to the shop.” Jered, in contrast, was completely bored. He'd known Anippe only as a summer master for almost half of his twelve years, and Mehy had ignored him since becoming close friends with Sety at the School of the Kap in Memphis. His grumpy eldest son hated crowds. “I haven't finished beading the queen's byssus gown for tomorrow night's feast.”

“Take your little brother along, but don't let him play in the beads.” The
last time four-year-old Heber visited the workshop, he brought home an emerald and buried it.

“Here they come!” Puah squeezed Mered's arm as if she were kneading bread.

They watched the oarsmen ease skillfully up to the dock and cast papyrus ropes ashore to waiting servants, who hurriedly tied the ship to the pier. The gangplank thumped in the sand, and Nubian slaves with cubit-long staves cleared the path in front of the first gilded palanquin.

Mered covered his eyes, shading them against the midday sun. Queen Mutno sat enthroned above six Medjays' shoulders, her gaze focused uphill. The once-quaint villa had been expanded in both size and grandeur by Pharaoh Horemheb's orders. The new king had also required a row of new guesthouses built on the hills overlooking his villa. It was said even the Avaris guesthouses outshone Qantir's luxury.

Anippe followed in the only other elevated chair. Ever the gracious amira, she reached down to accept lilies and mandrakes from those who welcomed her home.

Puah buried her face in Mered's chest, tears flowing. “I'm glad she's home.”

Mered noticed his wife's arm cupped beneath her round belly and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, bracing her against him. “Are you all right?” He peered beneath her bowed head to see her expression. “Puah, look at me.” Tilting her chin up, he saw the pain on her face and glanced around the crowd again. “Where is Shiphrah?”

“I'm fine.” Puah blew a slow breath through puffed cheeks. “I've been having slight pains all morning but nothing regular. Believe me, I know when it's time to call the midwife.” She swatted Mered's shoulder, lightening the mood.

Ednah's round brown eyes mirrored Mered's fear, and for the sake of his daughter, he smiled and chuckled.
El-Shaddai, protect my wife and baby.

The procession continued toward the main entrance of the villa, much closer now to their favorite palm tree. Finally, the amira's palanquin marched by, and Miriam followed, fragranced and jeweled like all other Gurob handmaids.

Mered clapped Amram's shoulder. “Your daughter becomes more beautiful
each year. Perhaps Anippe will make a match for her while she's home this month.”

Amram tried to smile, his cheeks quaking as he watched his daughter disappear into the villa. “Miriam is in El-Shaddai's hands, my friend—much like Moses after we placed him in that basket over twelve years ago. We must let God shape our children's futures.”

Moses?
Mered hadn't realized they'd named their baby boy drowned in the Nile. How ironic that they'd named him
drawn out.
Moses. The name sounded familiar, but perhaps it was merely similar to Pharaoh Ahmose.

Shiphrah appeared with two-year-old Yael on her hip. “I'll take Puah home to rest.”

“You're finally here,” Mered said.

She scowled at his unwelcoming greeting and pointed to a secluded spot near the linen shop. “We were standing over there. Hur needed to work too, so he's already taken Uri and gotten Heber from your shop. Ednah should probably go too.”

Mered kissed his daughter's forehead. “You'll find Hur at the granaries, but enter the villa through the linen shop. There's too much chaos at the main entry.” She pecked his cheek with a kiss and hurried toward the shop.

When Mered returned his attention to Puah, Shiphrah was examining her belly, pressing one hand on top, moving it, and pressing it again. The midwife lifted an eyebrow and waggled her head. “Maybe labor, maybe not. I'll stay with her and keep her quiet.” She winked at Mered and smiled. “Calm down, Abba. We know what we're doing.”

The women giggled and walked down the path to the craftsmen's village, leaving Mered to take linen orders from the fussy Gurob Harem women. This was the shop's busiest month of the year.

Anippe waited in her chamber for Miriam. This was the one area of the villa she'd refused to let Abbi Horem update or expand—her bedchamber, courtyard, and private path leading to the bathhouse. This was her sanctuary.
Memories of Sebak still lingered. The basket in which she'd found Mehy now held her most precious jewelry. Though she only visited Avaris for one month each year, it was still home.

And it belonged to her and Mehy—despite Abbi Horem's indifference to her wishes. Were it not for the weekly replies from Memphis, she might think the king cared nothing about her at all.

Anippe had begun weekly correspondence with her abbi at Mutno's prompting, but the disciplined communication had become beneficial on many levels. Mutno's standing in Abbi Horem's eyes had improved as the queen hoped, and the other women at Gurob saw her weekly scrolls as opportunity to gain the king's favor through Anippe—making them eager workers in the linen shop.

But Abbi Horem had taken liberties at Avaris beyond Anippe's approval. Building projects. Added military presence. Even an Egyptian peasant population that made Avaris more a city than a family estate.

A knock, and her chamber door opened. Miriam. Anippe glimpsed two new Ramessid guards before the door closed.

Frustrated, she lashed out at her maid. “Where is Nassor? Why hasn't he come to report on the condition of the estate?”

“He's reporting to Pharaoh Horemheb.”

Anippe clenched her fists and drew in a calming breath. “I am the Amira of Avaris. Why does Abbi Horem build his own wing and hear my estate foreman's reports?”

Miriam stood with head bowed. “I'm sorry, Amira.”

“Send one of those chamber guards in.”

“Yes, Amira.” Miriam hurried to the door and returned with an extremely young and terrified-looking Ramessid.

“Bring Mered—the chief linen keeper—to my chamber immediately.” Would the child-guard even know Mered's name?

“Yes, Amira.” The guard turned to go, forgetting to bow—and then realizing his error, returned with wide eyes and a hurried nod. Then he fled like a rat to its hole.

The door slammed shut, and Miriam's eyes rounded like saucers. Anippe gawked at her, then at the door—and both of them burst into laughter.

When their laughter calmed to sighs, Miriam brushed Anippe's arm, reassuring her of her friendship. “Are you willing to share what troubles you, Amira?”

Anippe moved to her feather-stuffed mattress, and Miriam followed—their usual spot for a chat. “It's not about Nassor's report. I'm nervous about seeing Abbi Horem again, and I want my visit with Mehy to go well.” She stared at the beautiful Hebrew girl who had become closer than a sister. “And I know I should find a husband for you, but the truth is—I don't want to lose you.”

“I'm your friend, Amira, but I've always known I must be your slave first. If you do not wish me to marry, I will not marry.” Miriam turned away, evidence of her suppressed yearning.

“And because I'm your friend, I cannot deny the longing I hear in your voice.” Anippe tugged Miriam's chin toward her. “Is there a young man I should choose as your husband?”

The girl's cheeks instantly pinked, and she scooted off the bed, busying her hands with unpacking baskets and arranging jars. “I wouldn't know. I saw him briefly when we returned three years ago. He may be married by now.”

Anippe's heart broke. She hadn't even considered Miriam's age when she took her to Gurob. “How old are you?”

“I've lived eighteen inundations.” Miriam paused, silent for several heartbeats. “Well past the age of most girls who marry.”

It was true, but … “It's not too late.”

Miriam turned and met Anippe's gaze. “If El-Shaddai wills it, I will marry. I'll leave it to Him—and you.”

A knock on the door ended their conversation before Anippe could discover the name of Miriam's young man. Perhaps Mered would know.

She assumed her best angry-amira voice. “Come!” Mered entered, followed by the young Ramessid. “Thank you, guard. You may go.”

She didn't know the child-guard's name and didn't want to. He at least remembered his bow this time and closed the door gently behind him.

Mered alternated glances from Miriam to Anippe, a sheepish grin fixed firmly in place. “Is someone dying? The guard said I was needed immediately.”

“I called you here for a report on the linen shop, but another matter requires immediate attention.” Anippe trained her features, refusing to giggle or even smile. “Miriam, why don't you go visit Amram and Jochebed this afternoon? Meet me at the quay when Abbi Horem's barque arrives for the feast this evening.”

“Thank you, Amira.” Miriam fled from the room, leaving Anippe alone with her linen keeper.

Anippe strolled to the chair in her courtyard—not completely private, but away from prying eyes and ears. She didn't want to be all the way down at the river alone with any man. Not even Mered.