The Pharaoh's Daughter (49 page)

Mered lifted her and held her close to whisper against her wet hair. “What were you doing out there?” His voice broke, and he fell onto the shore, pressing his cheek against her head. “You can't leave me, Bithiah. Please, you can't leave us.”

Waves of shame rolled over her.
He knows. He knows what I tried to do.
She rolled away from him and buried her face in the sand. “Take me to Nassor. Tell him you found me in the village. You'll be a hero. I'll be dead. Please, Mered. Please …” Tears robbed her of her voice.

“Shh. Quiet, now.”

He lifted her into his arms and began walking. She closed her eyes and hid her face against his chest, shame clinging to her like her wet robe. Voices called Mered's name, but he continued his march, silent, leaving unanswered questions in their wake. Was he taking her to Nassor as she asked?

“Is she all right?” Jered's voice was panicked. “I thought she was washing off the mash.”

“I need a dry robe and cloths to dry her. Bring them to the roof.” Mered entered their home and set her feet beside the ladder. “Climb,” he told her. It wasn't a request.

Numb and quaking, she obeyed, and he followed.

“Father can we come? Is Mother all ri—”

“Heber, you and Jeki return to Shiphrah and have her tell the village women that Bithiah is all right. Your mother needs rest today.”

Your mother.
The name was a lie. She was neither their mother nor Mehy's.

Clutching Mered's robe, she pleaded through sobs. “Let me die. Please, let me go.”

He wrapped her in a ferocious embrace. “You are Bithiah, daughter of God, bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh. I will hold fast to you above all others.” He kissed the top of her head, pressing his cheek against it. “I will never let you go.”

Her knees turned to water, and he caught her as she fell, then carried her to the canopied reed mat. She turned her back, unable to face such kindness.

Footsteps approached. “Here, Father.” Jered's voice. “Bithiah, I'm sorry if I upset you. I …”

She heard his hurried retreat as she curled into a tight ball. Did he think her despair was his doing? “It's not his fault. Don't let him think it's his fault.”

Mered sat beside her. “Miriam cried and pleaded the same about you this morning.” He made her sit up, facing him. Gently pushing off her headpiece, he stroked her cheek as he moved to her belt.

Panic rose, her breathing ragged.

“Bithiah, I'm just going to help you change into a dry robe.” He cupped her cheek and then started untying her belt.

“Please, please, Mered, no,” she cried, trembling violently. “I don't want to die in childbirth. I can face a sword, but please, Mered, I can't have a child.”

He pulled her close, held her as she poured out years of fear and pain.

“Ummi Kiya. She left me. Babies die. Ummis die. Senpa—so much suffering. Abbi cut off her head. Puah—good and lovely Puah. They die, Mered. They all die. If I love you, I'll die, Mered. If I love you … I'll die.”

He rocked her and cried with her until they could cry no more.

Mered sat on his roof beside his wife's sleeping form, watching the once-quaint estate of Avaris whirl and spin in preparation for the Lotus Feast. He'd asked Jered to take over at the linen shop for the rest of the day. The boy would have chewed pottery if he thought it would help Bithiah. “Father, I don't know what I said to upset her. I only mentioned my love for Sela and our hope to be married.” Assuring him that he wasn't at fault, Mered had sent him to the workshop to focus on linen. It had always helped Mered when his heart and mind ached.

Guilt seemed a heavy load in their small household. Mered winced at the memory of calling his wife
Anippe.
He'd chastised her more harshly because he'd been burdened by his own deceptions. How he wished he could remove his words from her memory. But words spoken were like the Nile—ever-present but washed clean by a new season.
El-Shaddai, let it be so.

Bithiah stirred, long lashes fluttering. She was so beautiful.

She bolted upright. “Why are you still here?”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because I sent Jered to the shop—and because I love you.”

She shook her head and scooted farther away, putting an arm's length between them. “Mered, no. Don't.”

“I already do, and I apologize for the words I spoke in anger.”

Silence lingered. She kept shaking her head, sniffing from time to time.

He peeked beneath her silky, black curls. “May I ask you one question?”

She laughed through her tears, finally looking up. “Ask me anything now. I blurted out things I've never told anyone else.” She bowed again, still shaking her head.

“Remember that day when Ay's ship docked at the quay? If his troops had come ashore, and one of the soldiers had tried to take Mehy, what would you have done?”

Her head stopped shaking, and she slowly lifted her gaze. “I would have stopped him.”

“How? You're a woman. He was a soldier. He would have had weapons.”

“I don't know, but I wouldn't let him have my son.”

“Would you have died to save Mehy's life?”

She didn't answer. She stared intently at her fidgeting hands.

“What if Nassor came into the craftsmen's village and started beating Heber or Jeki?”

“You said only one question.”

He chuckled and repositioned himself beside her. Shoulders touching, he leaned in close. “Answer this one, and then no more questions.”

She relaxed against him. “Then, yes, I would reveal my identity to Nassor and try to save Heber and Jeki.”

Mered whispered against her ear. “How is giving your life during birth so much different?”

His wife was quiet. Moments passed. She shed no tears. She seemed lost in the commotion of Avaris's preparations at the quay. The king's barque and the Gurob Harem ship would arrive soon.

But she was peaceful.
Thank You, El-Shaddai.

“The gods taunt us, you know.” Her tone was laced with bitterness. “In a perfect moment like this, I look at the quay below and remember our lives will be invaded too soon. They give a moment and then snatch it away.”

Mered felt her shoulders tense and the slight tremble of her body. He laid her on the mat, hiding the world outside their rooftop. “Help me understand how Egypt's gods taunt, and I'll explain how El-Shaddai remains faithful in good days and bad.”

She tried to turn away. “Never mind.”

“I do mind.” He lay at her side, careful not to trap her but intent on loving her. “We will never again live at a distance, you and me.”

She swallowed hard. “What if I'm still afraid to die? What if I'm still afraid to love you?”

He nuzzled her neck, letting silence console her as he prayed for wisdom. Had Meryetaten-tasherit ever been loved without condition? Horemheb had adopted Anippe to gain power, and Sebak had married her to bear children. Even Mered needed her to care for his children. She believed every man demanded something from her in return for his love. Could he truly love her without demands?

“I will love you, Bithiah, until I draw my last breath—even if we never consummate this marriage.” He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, and felt her body relax beside him. Breathless, he pulled away before his passion took him too far. “But can you control
your
desire?” He chuckled, teasing her with a bounce of his eyebrows.

With a slight moan, she laced her fingers through his hair and pulled him into a hungry kiss. Sudden passion nearly scorched them both, memories of the marriage bed fanning to flame every caress.

“Wait, my love, wait. Are you sure?” he asked.

His caution was answered by her desperate embrace and whispered “
I love you
”—words he drank in like a desert wanderer. The world below them forgotten, Mered and his bride enjoyed the tender awakening of newlyweds and tasted of love until morning.

Dawn tinged the eastern sky in brilliant pinks and orange. Bithiah lay in the bend of Mered's arm—yes,
Bithiah.
Nameless no longer, she felt like a daughter of God. Why? How had Mered's love assured her of El-Shaddai's care?

She listened to her husband's steady breathing in the morning stillness. Steady—that was Mered, and somehow she knew El-Shaddai was steady too.
The gods of Egypt were fickle and changed with the teller of the legends. But El-Shaddai didn't change. He was mysterious, to be sure, but the solid faith of Mered, Miriam, Jochebed, and Amram was more certain than the flowing of the Nile. When had Bithiah ever known certainty?

Not until Mered. If any of her children were in danger, she would certainly give her life for theirs. She pressed her hand against her stomach and drew in a deep breath. If a child grew inside her, she would willingly give her life to see its first breath. Mered's reasoning had calmed her like the voice of El-Shaddai. Fear still threatened, but it didn't consume.

Only once before had she given herself to a man without first taking the precaution of herb bundles. Her wedding night with Sebak had been both terrifying and exquisite. He hadn't forced her, but she'd had no choice, really. To deny her groom on their wedding night would have shamed Anippe and her family.

Sebak.
Her heart constricted. Had she betrayed Mered by thinking of her previous husband after sharing their first night of intimacy? Mered's tenderness had overwhelmed her, healed her, revived her. How could a man be strong and yet so gentle? She draped her arm over his chest to feel the slow rise-and-fall of his breath as he slept.

He turned and wrapped his leg over her. Entwined. “Bithiah.” Her name came in a sleepy whisper, and he smiled.

Relief washed over her. Until this moment, she hadn't realized she was terrified he might whisper Puah's name in his sleep. Tears came quickly though she thought her eyes had run dry. Trying to wipe them away before soaking his arm, she woke him fully.

“What? What's wrong?” He instantly hovered over her, cradling her head, his countenance stricken. “Why are you crying? Are you afraid? Should we have stopped? I'm sorry, Bithiah.”

She laughed through her tears. “You didn't call me Puah.”

Confusion replaced his concern. “Why would I call you Puah?”

“Puah was so good, so pure and loving. I'm afraid I can never be—” Tears choked her, and she tried to turn away, the familiar wall of shame building inside.

Mered laid his lips against her ear. “And how can a linen keeper compare to Egypt's premier soldier?”

Startled, she turned to meet his gaze as he smiled down at her.

“We are blessed and cursed to have known each other's spouse so well. Let's focus on the blessing.” He kissed her nose, each eyelid, and then her mouth, slowly. “The night Mandai brought you to me was the night I realized Puah had known of Mehy's secret heritage all along. You know things about Puah I never knew, and you can share them when you're ready. Likewise, I can tell you things only I knew about Sebak.” He kissed her forehead. “I believe he experienced victory in death, by the way.”

“Victory in death? That's a strange phrase.”

“Horemheb and Pirameses had convinced Master Sebak that he must be Seth reborn to honor his ancestors, but his gentle spirit rebelled and the violence tormented him.”

“Miriam said they've told Mehy the same thing.” Bithiah's heart ached at the thought of her sweet boy's torment.

Mered brushed her cheek. “Yes. But I assured Mehy that I would pray to El-Shaddai for his protection as I prayed for his abbi Sebak. Before Sebak was sent to kill the Hittite prince, he and I talked about my belief in El-Shaddai—and his. I can't know with certainty that Sebak waits for paradise in Abraham's bosom, but our God is merciful. If Sebak believed in El-Shaddai's promises, I will see my friend again.”

“Tell me more—”

“Father!” Jered appeared at the rooftop entry. “Nassor sent guards. Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt …”

Mered donned his robe and met his son at the rooftop entry. “Bithiah and I will be sleeping on the roof from now on, Jered. What were you saying about Nassor?”

Bithiah made sure the linen sheet covered her completely—including her flushed neck and face—and then tried to focus on Jered's report.

“Mehy demands your presence to correct a problem with his byssus sheath for the Lotus Feast. The king's barque arrives today.”

“Tell the guards I'll report to Mehy's chamber at once.”

“Yes, Father.”