Favored By Her Father

The next day was a day for hunting. I was feeling restless, so when Jabari asked me to come along, I agreed. I could not ride a horse, so I rode along in a chariot. Jabari and his friend Ubaid rode ahead. Ubaid was a successful artist and had a small villa he had inherited from his father close by ours. He was tall and broad, but a tad overweight, his hair was cut short with straight bangs with took away from the roundness of his face.

Beside me sat his wife, Zalik, who had apparently been very excited to meet me. She talked on and on, it was annoying so I just shut her out. She was a handsome woman, not one that could be called beautiful, but not ugly either. She was a bit plump like her husband but it was in all the right places and gave her a look of being healthy. Her hair was a brownish black color and had been cut short so she could wear a wig. He face was oval but her nose was a tad too large for the rest of her features. She reminded me of an artist painting a picture of a beautiful woman, but his hand slips turning what would have been a stunning portrait into a merely nice looking one.

She had just had her first child, a boy, a few months ago and had decided to come out with us, leaving the boy with his nanny.

I sat and watched the rolling landscape, but Zalik kept talking and interrupting my thoughts. She would have been a nice woman if she was not a bit stuck up. Apparently she was the daughter of a very poor farmer, and when Ubaid had married her, boosting her social status, it had gone to her head.

"You are a bit of a legend, you know." Zalik said. I looked at her surprised.

"How so?" I questioned.

"You are the beloved daughter of the pharaoh," she said, "The only reason your father has not posted your image next to his on every sculpture and wall is Queen Nefertari would be furious."

I nodded my head. What she said was true. My father had once allowed a foreigner to paint a picture of me that he had proudly displayed in his receiving hall. Nefertari had been so mad she could hardly speak. She hated the fact that her husbands favored child was not one of her own. Papa had wanted his own artists to make copies of the portrait but shortly before work started it met an unfortunate end. The story was that a servant who was cleaning knocked over a torch by mistake and the paint and cloth and gone up in flame in an instant. But I knew better. Nefertiti had been the one to 'find' the charred remains, just before work was to begin on its reproduction. Papa had been so upset. He had sent messengers to find the artist who had captured my likeness so well, but it was unsuccessful. He did not like how I was portrayed on his building walls. He said that they never captured who I truly was. I had laughed and told him that I did not need scores of paintings to know I was beloved by him.

"Everyone thought you would do something spectacular like marry a foreign prince of a faraway country or a lowly field worker. Instead you marry to very tame and calm young General of the Army," she said.

"The marriage was not of my choosing," I snapped. "It was arranged."

"Oh," she said timidly. She quickly changed the subject. "So, what are you going to name the child?"

"Anippe," I said.

"That is pretty," she commented. "Does Jabari like it?"

I shrugged. "I do not care what he thinks. I want that to be her name."

"Have you arranged to have a wet nurse?" she inquired.

"I have one in case I do not make milk, but I want to breastfeed my child myself," I replied. Zalik looked scandalized and cried out;

"Only poor women breastfeed! You must have a wet nurse."

I scowled. That was ridiculously untrue. While it was true that a peasant woman only got a wet nurse if they were unable to produce milk and more high ranking women hired a wet nurse simply because they could, there were still many upper-class women who chose to breastfeed their own children.

"My mother breastfed," I pointed out.

"Yes, but your mother was a foreigner," she replied, flippantly, "And the Hittites have all sorts of strange customs." My anger flared up and I glared at her.

"I beg your pardon!" I snapped.

"Wife, you need to be more careful of what you say," Ubaid interrupted. Jabari laughed and said;

"If Meritites wants to breastfeed, I think she should. It is a good idea. It will allow her to bond more with her child."

I looked up to see Jabari and Ubaid had allowed their horses to lag until they were next to the carriage.

"You really like the idea?" I asked him, surprised. I had thought he would insist on me using a wet nurse and for once this was not something I was doing to anger him. I really wanted to nurse my own child.

"Of course," he said. "And if it something you really want to do, who am I to stop you?"

What he said touched me more than anything else he had done for me. I felt the sudden urge to kiss him or do something to let him know how I felt.

"Stop the carriage!" I called. The carriage eased to a stop. Jabari halted his horse and quickly dismounted, worry etched in his face.

"Darling, are you ill?" he asked. I shook my head and flung myself into his arms. He held me, petting my hair.

"Meri?"

"Thank you," I said. He pulled back and smiled at me, kissing my cheek.

"You are welcome," he whispered.

"I still hate you," I told him. He chuckled.

"I know."

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We had a successful hunt that day. The men caught two ibex and three geese. The animals were taken home and butchered. The servants cooked most of it and set the rest aside for later use. We feasted and drank rich wine in the court yard. Zalik wore a scented cone on her head so she would not smell of the hunt. I had decided to forgo this tradition however. Since I had become pregnant, strong and potent scents tended to make me ill. It was sickening enough to smell Zalik's perfume without having it on my own head.

Zalik did not bring up my pregnancy again and I avoided her, opting to chat with my neighbor, Bahiti. Bahiti was a friendly woman who was married to a physician. She was slender with a round face and long black hair. She was a very kind and funny person and I really enjoyed her company. Her husband, Tarik had been unable come to the party when he was called away for a sick child, but he had encouraged his wife to go on without him. Bahiti had two children, who had been left at home. She had birthed three, but two summers ago her second child had died of a fever.

"She is a bit high and mighty," Bahiti whispered, eyeing Zalik. I giggled.

"Do you think she would be cross if I went over and plucked that ridicules wig off her head?" she asked. "I mean, really! A wig that extravagant, you would think she was going to meet the pharaoh instead of joining friends for a casual party."

I laughed and bit into a piece of sugared fruit.

"She is quite pompous," I agreed, "She told me that only poor people breastfeed." Bahiti rolled her eyes.

"That is ridiculous," she said. "I ended up having to breastfeed with my second child when the wet nurses milky suddenly ran dry. I found it to be an enjoyable bonding experience. When I had my third child I did not even bother to higher one."

"What did your husband say?" I queried.

"He did not care either way," Bahiti replied.

"Thank you for joining us, father," I heard Jabari say. I frowned. I had been under the assumption that Jabari's parents were deceased since he never spoke of them and they never visited. I turned and almost dropped my plate when I saw my father standing next to my husband dressed in what could be generously called 'civilian clothes'. While he was not dressed in the usual grandeur his station warranted, his clothes were quite splendid, made of a quality that could only be found at the palace, with rich colors reserved solely for those of the royal family. I imagined he had scoured his wardrobe for something as 'plain' as what he wore. If my father was trying to fit in, he had done a horrible job.

"Papa," I greeted when I walked over, trying not to attract attention. He pulled me into a tight hug and kissed my temple.

"Hello, my Gem," he said.

"Papa, why are you dressed so?" I asked, grinning.

"I was trying not to draw attention to myself," he said, gazing around at the many people who looked at him with reverence. "I seem to have failed."

"You could have worn something a bit plainer," I commented. "Not that it would have helped. Who but our great pharaoh would be as tall as you?"

"Hmmm, I did not think of that," he admitted.

"Your highness," Zalik said, bowing low. "It is an honor to have you grace our at humble party."

Papa waved his hand dismissively and said in his booming voice,

"Please, do not treat me as your pharaoh this day. I am but a father coming to his daughter's house for a party." The other guests moved away, trying to look as casual as possible. I laughed.

"I love you, Papa," I said. Papa looked down at me, surprised by the spontaneous confession, but his expression softened into a smile.

"And I you, my Gem," He said.

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Five months later, I was sitting at home sewing when I felt the first twinge of pain. Initially, I ignored it, but after an hour the pain became worse. I called Aikla and told her to call to the physician and any local birthing woman.

While she did that, I went to the birthing house at the edge of the property. By the time the physician and the birthing woman had joined me, the pain was incredible. The birthing woman wore a Hathor headdress and mask. Bahiti had joined me as well as a priest who had several Bes amulets hanging from his neck.

Bahiti positioned me in the customary birthing position, my bottom on the floor with my knees bent and my feet on the ground. The priest placed an intricately carved, ivory birthing wand against my stomach and chanted. The birthing woman checked me out and told me I could not yet push. I swore colorfully, saying things a woman of noble birth, or any woman for that matter, should not say. I never wanted anything more than I wanted to push right at that moment. The priest pressed one of his many amulets to my forehead and continued to chant;

"Come down, placenta, come down."

Bahiti and the birthing woman joined in the chant while I screamed and swore. Pain seized my body, making me scream and jerk. Occasionally one or both of my legs would kick out, but Bahiti would grab my ankle and put my foot back on the ground. I pawed at the blankets and stone beneath me. I thought I was dying. When I told Bahiti this she only shook her head and continued the chant.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I was told to push and I did. I screamed and gripped my ankles with such a force, I was sure there would be bruises. The priest and the birthing woman continued the chant;

"Come down, placenta, come down." But Bahiti encouraged me to push.

"Push your child out, Meri. Push!" The pleas from Bahiti and the chants mixed together in my pain fogged mind until it became some language I did not understand.

How could I survive this pain? Surely it would kill me. I could hardly endure it.

I remembered when I was thirteen, one of the servant women had gone into labor suddenly and they were only able to get her outside before she could no longer be moved. Other servants were sent to get a tent to put around her. I hide behind a column and watched, fascinated by something I had never witnessed. The girl had screamed in agony and tore the blanket with her hands. The child had begun to come forth, but the girl was too small. I bit my lip so I would not scream as I watched her flesh tear. When the child had finally come forth, there had been so much blood. The girl was pale. When asked the child's name she responded in a frail voice, Neferi. 'Pretty' in our tongue. The doctors rushed around to help to woman and before I could see more, they raised a tent around her. I found out later that she had died.

I did not want that to happen to me. I did not want to die in child birth.

"Push!" Bahiti cried and I did, with all the strength I had. With a wail, my child was born. I collapsed back against the blanket.

"Her name," the birthing woman cried. "What is her name?"

"Anippe," I panted.

"Maat has been born!" Bahiti shouted. When a child is born, the child or the mother was called by the name of one of the gods, to ward off evil spirits. It was also important for a child to be named immediately. If they died, if my child would die, without a name it would be as if they had never existed. As if my many months of work were for nothing.

The priest hung the Bes amulet around Anippe's neck while the physician examined her. I waited anxiously while she was inspected.

"She is a little weak," the physician's voice echoed in the almost silent room. "And one of her legs is crooked. It will have to be bound to assure that it grows straight." It was horrible news. My child was weak. Weakness usually meant that she would not live long. I sobbed.

"Will she be well?" Bahiti asked.

"Plenty of breast milk should strengthen her and if she does not become ill, I see no reason she should not live."

I nodded my head. This gave me hope. Though my child was not very strong she had enough strength to hopefully survive.

After this people began to leave the birthing house and I was alone with my child. I would have to remain in the birthing house for two weeks as part of a purification ritual.

I pulled away the blanket to inspect my child. She was on the thin side and her one leg was bowed inward, but beside that she was perfect. She had Jabari's forehead and chin, with a head of reddish-brown hair. Her eyes were the same gray as mine and her lips were the same oval shape as mine.

"Anippe," I cooed.