The Pharaoh's Daughter (41 page)

“Thank you, Nass—”

He lifted his hand to silence her, eyes cold and empty. Without a word, he knocked on Abbi Horem's chamber door, and a grouchy rumble sounded from within.

He and Mandai slipped inside, and Anippe's last hope rested on the young guard—who was massaging his bruised jaw and wounded pride. “Consider your report to the king very carefully. I am his treasure and Mehy his only heir. You're about to inform the King of Egypt he'll have no child or grandchild to provide for him in the afterlife. Are you sure he'll promote you for such news?”

The door flung open, and the soldier's face drained of color. Anippe prayed her threat would save them all. She grabbed Mehy's hand, pointed to the three dots, winked, and led him into the chamber. Ankhe followed, nudged forward by the now reluctant guard.

Abbi Horem reclined on a couch without wig or jewelry, and Mutno's faint whimpers rose from behind a thick, hanging tapestry. “Silence!” Abbi's face was as red as the pomegranate in his hands. He pressed his thumbs into its center, spilling out pulp all over the table before him.

The young guard stood at Anippe's right, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

“Why would my daughter's chamber guard interrupt the first evening I've spent alone with my wife in three months?” He slurped the pulp-covered seeds into his mouth and let the juice run down his chin while staring at the young Ramessid.

“Because your daughter—I mean, the Amira Anippe—has been deceiving you for twelve years, great son of Horus, mighty ruler of Two Lands. The boy she calls Mehy is a Hebrew child saved from the Nile twelve years ago.” He bowed, and Anippe furtively moved Mehy behind her.

Abbi Horem concentrated on his pomegranate, never looking up, scooping seeds and pulp from the rind.

During the silence, Ankhe tried to slide behind Anippe, but the chamber guard pressed her forward. “Her sister has aided in the deception from the beginning.”

At this, the king grinned, lifted an eyebrow, even chuckled. Nodding, he licked each finger and then wiped them on his pure-white linen robe. “Nassor, who is this chamber guard, that he would accuse my treasure of such a conspiracy?”

The Ramessid commander turned on his subordinate, fury in his eyes. “He is a dead man, great and mighty Pharaoh.”

“It's true,” the guard cried. “You didn't even ask her. You—”

Nassor silenced him where he stood.

Anippe turned away, hiding Mehy's eyes. Ankhe began weeping, but Anippe knew better. Breathing deeply, she held her tears and horror in check.
She stood like stone and met her abbi's gaze without flinching as Nassor dragged the guard's body from the chamber.

“Before Nassor returns, I will ask you, my treasure. Is the chamber guard's report true? Is this boy Hebrew?”

She hesitated only a heartbeat. “Yes. It's true.” Mehy grabbed his ummi's waist, but Anippe wrapped her arm around his shoulder and bent to whisper in his ear. “Look into your Jad Horem's eyes. Meet him as a brave soldier, a son of Seth—god of chaos and darkness. He will respect you for it, habibi, and we will take our punishment together.”

Abbi Horem's eyes narrowed. “And did your sister conspire with you to hide the boy's identity these many years?”

Ankhe lunged forward, falling at Horemheb's feet. “Anippe forced me to silence. I had no choice!”

The king leaned over her, taunting. “You still have your tongue. What kept you silent?” Sneering, as if Ankhe's presence soured his pomegranate, he motioned to Mandai. “Feed this woman to the crocodiles.”

Ankhe screamed, “No! It was Anippe!” She scrambled to her feet and lunged at her sister. “You did this to me!”

Mandai grabbed her, and Abbi Horem matched her volume. “Silence her before all of Egypt hears her yowling.”

Anippe kept her eyes focused on Horemheb, gripping her son with arms of bronze. Mandai dragged Ankhe behind her, and the glee on her abbi's face told her Ankhe was gone.

Anippe felt the Medjay's presence looming behind her.

“Now we deal with you, daughter.”

“Ummi!” Mehy tried to bury his face against her, but she turned him to confront the pharaoh who held their lives in his hands.

“Tell your Jad Horem you are Seth reborn. You're a brave soldier like your abbi Sebak.” She shook Mehy's shoulders. “Tell him!”

“I am a b-brave soldier like my abbi S-Sebak.”

Horemheb's features softened, and he motioned Mandai back to his place at the king's left shoulder. Anippe held her abbi's gaze, not daring to glance at the Medjay, her friend.

“You have always been cunning, my treasure. I should have expected you to be as shrewd with me as you were with Tut and your sister.” He nodded as if convincing himself of the truth. “Mehy, come to me.” He invited the boy with open arms.

Anippe whimpered for the first time, tightening her grip on Mehy's arms. Her son pressed against her, a silent but undeniable refusal.

“Please, Abbi. Mehy has done nothing wrong. I was the one. I wanted to give Sebak a child but was too afraid to bear one after Ummi Kiya's death and Senpa's miscarriages. A baby was floating in a basket near my bathhouse, and I received him as a gift from Hapi, a gift from the Nile, as I was your daughter of the Nile.” She was losing control. Tears were forming, emotions rising. “Don't you see? I saved him like you saved me. I wanted—”

Abbi Horem smiled and pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh. Mehy, I said come to me.” His arms beckoned. “Come to your Jad Horem.”

Anippe took a deep breath, steadied herself, and then breathed out slowly. Leaning down, she took Mehy's hand and kissed the three dots. “I'm always with you. Go to your Jad Horem.”

Her brave boy nodded and then walked into the arms of Egypt's brutal king. Horemheb held him at arm's length, smiling warmly. “You made the right decision, my little warrior. No one outside this room will know you are not Sebak's son. You are my grandson—a prince of Egypt—Seth reborn.”

Anippe's knees nearly buckled with relief. She covered the sob that threatened her composure.

The king glanced over his shoulder at his Medjay. “Dispose of my daughter with the other bodies. Make it look like a crocodile got her in that bathhouse of hers.”

Mered woke to the sound of footsteps outside his door. The moon still shone out the window. He couldn't have nodded off for long. Puah's empty shell still lay beside him. It hadn't been a dream.
I told them not to bring the boys till dawn.

Footsteps shuffled closer, and a dark-cloaked figure with gold sandals swept aside the curtain, ducking his large frame through the doorway.

“Mandai?” Mered stood. “What are you doing here?”

The Medjay carried a long sackcloth-wrapped bundle over his shoulder. He scanned the room and saw Puah's body. “What happened, my friend?”

Emotion closed Mered's throat. He bowed his head, burying his face in trembling hands. Then, massaging his temples, he regained control and found the Medjay bent over his bundle in the opposite corner. Gently, Mandai untied the leather straps.

Indignation rising, Mered marched over. “What are you doing?” How could he intrude on a grieving husband?

Mandai unwrapped the bundle, and Mered's knees turned to water.

“Anippe?”

“Shh, don't speak her name.” Mandai removed the sackcloth, lifting her arms, her legs, moving her as if she were—

“No, no, no. El-Shaddai, no. Not Anippe, too. I can't bear it. I cannot—”

“She's not dead, but she wants to be.” Mandai sprang to his feet and gathered Mered's robe in his hands, then whispered less than a handbreadth from his face. “She's in some sort of trance. She can't speak. I'm not even sure she can hear us.” Releasing him, the Medjay closed his eyes and drew a deep breath—the first time Mered had seen him rattled. “Horemheb discovered her deception and ordered me to kill her, but I won't. I can't. You're the only one who can protect her.”

“What deception? Horemheb adores Anippe. He would never—”

“Mehy is Hebrew.”

Spots clouded Mered's vision. He stumbled back, but the Medjay grabbed his arm. The men stared at each other in silence.

Mandai finally raked a weary hand down his face. “She confessed to rescuing Mehy from a basket floating on the Nile.”

Amram and Jochebed's son?
Mered dropped his head into his hands. Amram had said all those years ago that they placed Moses in a basket. Did Amram know Mehy was Moses? He looked at his wife, the peaceful shell of the
woman he'd loved more than life. She'd known. All these years she'd kept this from him.

Pain upon pain. Loss piled on loss. He began to weep. Deep, racking sobs heaved his shoulders and shook him to the core. Mandai squeezed his arm, offering silent comfort.

El-Shaddai, if I cannot pray, I have no hope. If I have no hope, I cannot live.
He'd heard the story of Job's suffering all his life, and now Mered, too, yearned for death.

But as much as he willed it, he couldn't abandon his heartbeat or halt his breaths. And, remarkably, his faith would live simply because he could not summon death.
It's all I have to offer, El-Shaddai. Faith that You hold life in Your hands.

He raised a weary gaze to the Medjay. “You're a good man, my friend.”

“I am not good. I am what my people call
nimepotea
—a lost warrior. Your Master Sebak refused to return home because he feared he'd become the dark god Seth. I too am that dark warrior. I am nimepotea.”

“No one is beyond El-Shaddai's reach.” Mered let the words come from a place deeper than his despair. “My one God can shine on a dark warrior.”

The Medjay wiped his eyes and shrugged. “Your one God should work harder for good people.” He nodded in Puah's direction and began removing Anippe's jewelry. “He should have saved your wife and helped the amira—and fed Horemheb and me to the crocodiles.” He removed her gold sandals and bundled everything in the sackcloth.

“What are you doing? Why are you taking all her jewelry?”

“The king said Anippe's death must look like an accident by the river. You must burn her robe. I will not dishonor her by stripping her naked.” He stopped at the doorway before ducking through the curtain. “Make her a Hebrew. No one will look for her here.”

Then young women will dance and be glad
,

young men and old as well.

I will turn their mourning into gladness;

I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.

—J
EREMIAH
31
:
13

Mered sat staring at Anippe, listening to the sputtering oil lamp. Dawn was fast approaching. His children would arrive soon to say good-bye to their mother—and find the amira propped in the corner, as lifeless as the wife he would bury.

Mandai had said to make her Hebrew. How could Mered do that? Even if he kept her in the craftsmen's village, wouldn't the slaves recognize her? Mered was drowning in questions without answers.

Amram came in, head respectfully lowered. Where had he and Jochebed stayed overnight? Probably with their son, Aaron, and his wife, Elisheba. Mered remembered that when the amira's ship arrived yesterday, Elisheba was holding her new baby.

“I never imagined your daughter-in-law would nurse my son,” he whispered to Amram.

Halting abruptly, Amram slowly turned, his eyes landing on Anippe. His face registered shock and then fear. “Is she hurt? Did the king discover my son?”

Amram rushed forward, but Mered stopped him. “She hasn't spoken. The king's Medjay rescued her. Horemheb discovered the deception but plans to maintain Mehy's—I mean your son's—secret. Your son's name is Moses, isn't it?”