The Pharaoh's Daughter (51 page)

Her mind reeled, tying her tongue.

Heber sobbed into her robe. “Mama, the master saw Jeki's three dots and got angry. Are they going to hurt us?”

Indignation replaced her fear. Bithiah moved her sons behind her and lifted her chin. “Can't a Hebrew mother place three dots on her son's hand?”

“It proves you are the woman I seek,” Mehy said, stepping closer. “You are Bithiah, aren't you? I believe you once lived at the villa. My chamber and bathhouse have recently been restored and need a thorough cleaning. I want someone who knows the master's chamber and is careful to maintain my treasured past.” Mehy took another step closer and lowered his voice. “I knew when I saw the boy's three dots I'd found my ummi's favorite chambermaid. Ummi Anippe used to put three dots on my hand.” He bent down to show Heber and
Jeki his gold wristband and then removed it, revealing three henna dots beneath. “My ummi used kohl on my hands, but I use henna under my band because it lasts longer.”

Bithiah's breath caught, and she covered a gasp, quickly bowing her head to hide her reaction.
He remembers the dots—and still paints them.
Grasping at composure, she lifted her head. “Yes, I'm Bithiah, and I would be honored to clean your chamber, Master Mehy. May I take my sons to their father in the linen shop?”

“They can follow us to the villa, and my Ramessids will escort them to the shop.” Mehy turned to Heber and Jeki again. “Tell your abbi Mered I'll stop by to see him before my troop ship sails this afternoon.”

The boys bobbed their heads, eyes wide.

“Follow me.”

He walked away, and the Medjay grabbed Bithiah's arm as if she were a prisoner. Heber and Jeki followed, the guards falling in step behind them.

When they walked through the narrow alley between long houses, Mehy tossed a question over his shoulder. “Do you live in one of these houses, Bithiah?”

“Yes, our family lives through that doorway, there.” She pointed, and Mehy took note. Was he simply curious, or did he have other motives?

As she watched her son's confident stride, she was startled by a revelation: she knew Mehy as a boy, not a man. Though he was still only fifteen, his body was a man's and his military training had matured him too quickly. She looked over her shoulder at Heber and Jeki. She must guard her little ones from the son she once knew.

Every Ramessid, Hebrew, and merchant took note as they paraded from the long houses, up the hill, and toward the workshops, market, and villa. Whispers and pointing—sure signs of speculation of their crimes. What might they have done—a Hebrew woman and two little boys—to require four Ramessids, a Medjay, and the master to apprehend them?

Halting abruptly at the villa's garden entrance, Mehy turned to the guards. “Take the boys to the chief linen keeper, Mered, and then return to the king's delegation. I have no further need of you.”

“Wait, I—” She reached for the boys, but the guards had already herded them in the opposite direction.

Mehy grabbed Bithiah's arm, nearly lifting her off the tiles. Hurrying toward his chamber, he kept his voice low. “You look terrified. I think you convinced them.”

“What do you mean
convinced them
? I am terrified. What if they hurt my children?”

He lifted an eyebrow and lowered his voice. “Would you protect every Hebrew child as your own, Ummi?”

Startled, she wasn't sure if he meant to tease or condemn her. Bithiah glanced over her shoulder at Mandai, who still followed closely. As they approached the master's chamber, she saw Nassor ahead. “Mehy, no. He'll recognize me.”

“Keep your head bowed. Mandai will lead you in.” Mandai grabbed her other arm as Mehy quickened his pace toward his estate foreman. “Did Pirameses find you, Nassor? He was looking for you this morning.”

Bithiah ducked her head as Mandai lead her toward the door, opened the latch, and—

“Wait. Who is—” Nassor gripped Bithiah's arm, and her heart leapt to her throat.

“I asked you a question, soldier. Have you spoken to Vizier Pirameses?” Mehy's tone allowed no argument or delay. “Why do you care about a slave woman cleaning up the construction mess in my chamber?”

“I'm sorry, Master Mehy, I … uh … no. I haven't spoken with the vizier this morning.”

“Find him. I won't suffer Pirameses's temper because you can't follow orders.” Mehy stormed past him.

Mandai had already pushed Bithiah through the open door when Mehy entered and calmly closed it behind him. The young master motioned them toward the courtyard but directed his comments at the door so the chamber guards would hear. “Clean the bathhouse first, and then you can begin on my chamber.”

He joined Mandai and Bithiah at the bathhouse, hands braced on his knees, chuckling. “That was too close.”

Mandai congratulated him, but Bithiah stood in awe of the enchanting place where she and Mehy had once confided fears and laughed at bullfrogs. The bathhouse's three-sided structure was covered with newly placed palm fronds, which fluttered in the breeze. Brightly colored pillows decorated a long, built-in couch.

“Just as it was when Ankhe and I played with you here.” Tears clouded her vision as she whispered the words to her son. Memories—good memories—of Ankhe flooded her heart.

“He did it for you, Amira.” Mandai nodded toward Mehy, whose jaw was set like a flint stone. “He finds words hard sometimes, but he's a good man—like his abbi Sebak.”

The Medjay turned to walk away, but Bithiah caught his arm. “Thank you, Mandai. Thank you for saving my life.”

His arms came around her in a hug, hiding her in ebony muscle. “You make a lovely Hebrew, Amira.”

She squeezed him tighter but felt him let go. He stepped back, and she turned to find Mehy just a handbreadth away.

“Sebak was not my abbi.” His eyes glistened. “I'm sorry I—” He hid his face, his shoulders shaking, and Bithiah gathered her strong son into her arms.

“My life could be full of regrets, Mehy, but making you my son will never be one of them.” She held him tightly, suddenly aware of his scented lotions and her unkempt body. Would he be repulsed by her? He hadn't seemed to notice or care. So much about her had changed—nothing more drastic than her faith. She'd prayed for a moment to tell him of El-Shaddai …

“Sebak wasn't your abbi, Mehy, and he wasn't Seth reborn. In fact, Mered told me that during Sebak's last days, he may even have believed in the Hebrew God, El-Shaddai.”

Mehy quieted in her arms and slowly pulled away. “Mered told you that they've trained me to take Sebak's place, didn't he? He told you what I've become.” His countenance was stricken, shame hanging on him like filthy rags.

“I don't know everything—about you or Sebak. But I knew Sebak's heart, and I know my son. Neither of you is a god, and neither of you is darkness and chaos. You were created by El-Shaddai, who loves deeply. He created you to love deeply too. I've seen this love in you—and I saw it in Sebak. You feel compassion, and you protect the weak. Sebak was that man, and you are that man.” She looked at Mandai. “Tell him. Tell him about the Sebak you knew.”

The Medjay nodded with a knowing grin. “I've already told him these things—many of the exact words, Amira.”

“But I must obey Jad Horem and Pirameses. They're my commanders.” Mehy spoke like the little boy she remembered.

“You are a man first, a soldier second,” Mandai said. “Remember what we discussed. I will defend you with my life, but you must make your life worth defending.”

Bithiah's heart beat faster. “Mandai is your personal guard now?”

Mehy nodded. “Jad Horem made his best Medjay my protector. I'm Pharaoh's only living seed, the only one to provide for him and Amenia in the afterlife.”

She held her son's face between her hands, peering into his confusion. “You are not Horemheb's seed, and there is no afterlife with Egypt's gods. They are myths and legends, my son, meant to keep you in chains. El-Shaddai is your only hope for freedom in this world and the next.”

He pulled away. “Why do you people always talk about your god?”

She grinned—almost giggled. “We people?” Had he really just called her a Hebrew?

His cheeks turned pink, like her sweet, gentle, Hebrew boy.

Bithiah's gaze wandered beyond the bathhouse to the river, to a spot now overgrown with reeds. “That's where I found you,” she said, pointing.

Mehy's expression was a strange mix of emotion. What was he thinking? How was he feeling? “Miriam said she stood in the bulrushes, watching me float in a basket until you drew me out. That's why you used to call me Moses.”

Bithiah nodded, and they watched the spot together—as if another basket might float by.

“Is Miriam all right?” he asked. “Recovering from her injuries?”

“She's healing well. She spends most of her time with her ailing father—” Bithiah covered her mouth, watching the realization dawn on Mehy's face.

“Our father is ill?”

She reached for his hand, and he didn't pull away. “Amram started with a falling sickness last year. Jochebed cares for him at home. She still weaves baskets, and Amram does some jewelry work, but he's seen over seventy inundations, Mehy. If you ever hope to see your true abbi again, you should come soon.”

He squeezed her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I'll think about it.”

Every fiber of her being wanted to press him to see Amram today. To make him believe in El-Shaddai. Suggest he marry. And she hadn't yet told him what to tell Pirameses about this
Seth reborn
nonsense. But in the quiet corners of her heart, she felt the gentle reins of El-Shaddai.

“Would you like me to clean your bathhouse or your chamber first, Master Mehy?” She kissed his hand and winked, hoping she saw love with the sadness in his eyes.

“I want you to go home and enjoy a quiet afternoon.” When she started to protest, he added, “I'll have Mandai escort you.”

THREE YEARS LATER

Bithiah tossed and turned, vaguely aware of a raucous commotion in her dreams. And who had lit a torch? Why was it so bright?

She shaded her eyes against daylight—and then sat up with a start. How could she have slept past dawn? Mered's place beside her was empty, and Avaris buzzed with activity. She could have slept through a war—

War.
Mehy was returning today on the medical barque. Avaris had buzzed yesterday with the news from a royal messenger that both Master Mehy and Master Sety were injured in the Hittite battle to regain Kadesh and they were returning home. There was no report on the severity of their injuries.
Please, El-Shaddai, let them live.

She grabbed her robe and hurried toward the ladder, but had to hang on to the canopy pole when she felt lightheaded. Why hadn't Mered woken her? She wanted to be at the quay when the barque arrived to catch a glimpse of her son. Would he be walking or carried on a palanquin?

Steadier now, she started climbing down the ladder in bare feet to the comforting sound of her husband's voice.

“Go back to the roof. I was about to bring your gruel.”

Bithiah peeked down into their one-room home. Jochebed winked at her while stirring the pot over the cook fire. Miriam sat at the table with Amram, Heber, and Jeki. Bithiah still missed seeing Jered and Ednah there. Would she ever grow accustomed to her chicks leaving the nest? It helped when Jered's wife, Sela, brought their new little one over to visit. Who would have imagined Bithiah a grandma?

“Up, up, up,” Mered coaxed, her clay bowl in hand. “We need to talk before I go to the shop.”

She hurried back up the acacia rungs, Mered close behind, wondering at her husband's impromptu breakfast chat. “Will you meet the medical barque at the quay and find out about Mehy's injury?”

Please, El-Shaddai, give Mered a chance to speak with Mehy about You.

“I'm afraid to be seen at the quay, my love. You know Nassor resents my relationship with Mehy. I can't seem overbearing, or life gets hard for me and my linen workers.” Mered placed the bowl of gruel between them, and the smell made her nauseous.

She nudged it away. “I certainly don't want you to put yourself or your workers in danger, but if Mehy's been injured, he might be frightened and more willing to hear the truth about El-Shaddai. Promise me if you get the chance you'll talk with him, you'll tell him about your final talk with Sebak. Make Mehy believe so he'll be in paradise if—” The words caught in her throat, the thought of what her son had been through too frightening, too dreadful to bear.

“Bithiah, I can't make Mehy believe. I can't even talk about El-Shaddai unless he's willing to listen. Sebak was open to my prayers.” He brushed her cheek, a smile on his face. “I will speak to him about El-Shaddai if he'll listen.”

Tears came unbidden. Why was she crying? “I'm sorry. I guess I'm more upset about Mehy's injury than I realized.”

“Remember what we talked about last night. They wouldn't have sent him on the medical barque if he hadn't been well enough to sail.”

She nodded, but the tears wouldn't stop. She shrugged and pointed at her wet cheeks. “What is wrong with me?”

Mered chuckled, picked up the bowl of gruel, and waved it under her nose. Bithiah gagged, almost retched, and her husband started laughing—laughing!

Humiliation turned to anger. “It's not funny. Why are you …” Realization dawned, and her heart nearly leapt from her chest.