The Deathstalker (10 page)

‘I won’t,’ Isis reassured him. ‘Anyway, what happened to you last night?
Did
you have anything to do with the scorpions they were talking about?’

Hopi recounted his story about the deathstalkers and how he had taken them from the camp. His sister’s eyes grew round with horror as the truth about the pit sank in.

‘But that’s
awful
!’ she gasped. ‘Is that really what they were digging a pit for?’

‘Seems like it, yes.’ Hopi knew that Isis would be aghast. ‘But they couldn’t do it without the scorpions. That’s something, isn’t it?’

‘I’m so glad!’ said Isis fervently. ‘But what will happen now? Won’t Commander Meref punish the Libyan some other way?’

Hopi hadn’t really thought about that. He frowned. ‘Maybe. But nothing can be as bad as a deathstalker’s sting.’

His sister’s face was sad. ‘How terrible to be a prisoner,’ she said.

Now, Hopi had to agree. And he felt ashamed that he had ever felt otherwise.

They had reached a junction, and Hopi stopped.

‘I’ll leave you here,’ he said. ‘I’m going to see Menna. Good luck with Nes. And be careful, Isis.’

‘I will,’ Isis promised him again.

Hopi limped off down the side street. He
did
want to see Menna, but part of him knew that he was avoiding someone else – and that was Djeri. He was dreading having to confront the soldier with what he knew. But maybe, if he talked it through with his tutor, Menna would give him some strength and guidance. He hoped so, anyway.

He reached the old priest’s house. He usually knocked, then let himself in; it was the pattern they had established, for Menna often had his hands full. But now he pushed the door and nothing happened. It stayed firmly shut. Hopi was puzzled. Menna had said nothing about going out visiting. He knocked again, hammering harder this time. All was silent. Hopi banged and shoved on the door, but there was no doubt about it. It was firmly barred, and Menna wasn’t in.

.

Isis made quick work of buying the oil in the market. After driving a hard bargain, she asked the vendor
if she could leave her purchase with him and pick it up later. Then she hurried off towards the temple of Ipet-Resyt.

The sun was almost directly overhead now. She was worried that she might miss Nes altogether, and broke into a jog as she approached the great temple, its vast walls and gates brilliant white in the sun. Nes had said to meet him on the town side, which meant the back of the temple, but the building was enormous. She started at the south end and made her way up, her heart thudding with nerves. Now that she was here, she couldn’t imagine why he had arranged to meet her.

He was already there waiting. Isis spotted him halfway along the temple wall. Somehow, set against the normal people of the town who bustled past him, he seemed even bigger and more muscle-bound than he had in the camp. Isis swallowed. Was it really wise to trust him?

It was too late for thoughts like that. Nes had seen her. He raised his hand and waved. Pushing her fear aside, Isis went towards him.

He chuckled as she drew close. ‘You’re brave for a little dancer,’ he said. ‘I reckoned I’d seen the last of you.’

Isis watched him warily. ‘I hope you didn’t eat all the fruit,’ she said.

From behind his back, Nes produced the bundle that she’d given him the night before. ‘Would I do something like that?’

Isis stared at the fruit in dismay. ‘But you said you’d give them to her!’

Nes grinned easily. ‘Don’t fret, little one,’ he said. ‘I thought you might like to give them to her yourself.’ And with that, he began to stride off in the direction of the great avenue.

Isis trotted after him, dumbfounded. How could she give the girl the fruit? Wasn’t she still imprisoned in the army camp? Where was he taking her? Clutching the bundle tightly, she struggled to keep up with his massive strides.

Nes reached the front of the temple where the great avenue began, stretching out towards the even greater temple complex of Ipet-Isut. He checked that Isis was still with him, then turned to the right and led her to a walled enclosure. It was made of mud brick and wasn’t part of the temple itself, but it was similarly painted, and Isis got the sense that it had something to do with temple worship. They reached an imposing door, and Nes knocked. A beautiful girl answered. She seemed to be expecting them.

‘Is this the one you spoke of?’ she asked Nes.

‘That’s right,’ the wrestler replied. He turned to Isis. ‘Go on in.’ Nes gestured towards the door, but stayed where he was.

Isis was perplexed and rather scared. ‘But aren’t
you
coming?’ she asked.

Nes smiled and shook his head. ‘Only women are allowed,’ he said. ‘They’ll look after you in there. Don’t be afraid.’

Isis looked at the girl, who smiled back at her. ‘He’s right. You can trust us. Come.’

There didn’t seem to be much option. Isis took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. The girl led her across a deserted courtyard, then along a dim corridor. Somewhere up ahead, Isis heard the sound of sweet singing.

‘What
is
this place?’ she whispered to the girl.

The girl turned, her smile soft and tranquil. ‘We are priestesses of Hathor,’ she replied.

‘Hathor?’ As far as Isis was concerned, the great temples of Waset were dedicated to Amun-Re, Mut and Khonsu.

‘There is a small shrine to Hathor deep inside the temple,’ explained the girl. ‘But this is where we purify foreigners, for of course, they cannot enter the temple itself.’

Isis was still completely lost. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.

The young priestess was very patient. ‘No Egyptian man wants a dirty, bedraggled slave,’ she explained. ‘Here they are washed and shaved. We oil their skin and dress them in clean linen. You have come to see one of them, haven’t you?’

So that was it. They came out into another, smaller courtyard, and Isis gasped. It was a hive of activity. Priestesses padded to and fro carrying bowls of scented water; others carried piles of fresh linen; three sang hymns in a corner. And there, in the centre of the courtyard, sat all the female prisoners of war.

.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘Come,’ said the young priestess. ‘I will take you to the girl you seek.’

Isis had been eyeing the group of women, trying to spot the Libyan girl. The priestess led her across the courtyard and, all at once, Isis was standing in front of her. Her mouth dropped open in surprise. The girl was almost unrecognisable. Her long, tangled hair was gone and she wore a neat black Egyptian wig. The torn stripy dress that she had worn had been replaced with a gown of simple white linen. Instead of being covered in dust, her skin was clean and shining with oil, and her eyes had been outlined in black kohl. Isis was astonished. She would easily pass for an Egyptian on the street.

The girl looked at Isis with barely veiled hostility, and said nothing.

‘Her name is Neith,’ said the priestess of Hathor. ‘Do you wish to tell her yours?’

‘Isis,’ she whispered faintly, still in shock.

The priestess spoke a few words in the girl’s language. Neith listened, then responded, her voice sharp and questioning.

‘She wants to know what you want with her,’ the priestess translated. ‘She’s asking who you are.’

‘But she saw me . . .’ Isis began. Then she thought back. The only time that she had actually connected with Neith was on the track out of Waset, when they had locked gazes for a few seconds. Neith had no idea that Isis had spied on her in the enclosure, witnessed her brother’s arrest, or returned the next night with fruit.

Tentatively, she held out her gift. ‘Tell her that I’m the girl she saw near the camp and that . . . I’m sorry.’ Then she felt stuck. What else could she possibly say? Neith’s brother was in a dreadful situation, and her own wasn’t much better – she was about to become someone’s slave, and there was nothing that Isis could do about it.

Neith took the bundle, but now Isis felt ashamed of it. The linen was very grubby. It had been taken out to the camp, left with Nes and carried back again. She watched as the Libyan girl put it down by her side without opening it, then looked at Isis with a question in her eyes. Isis could read her look.

Is that all?
Neith seemed to say.

Isis now felt like running away. This was all a big, embarrassing mistake. She turned to the priestess. ‘That’s all I came for,’ she said. ‘I can go now.’

The priestess looked puzzled. ‘Well, if you’re sure. Of course.’ And she spoke briefly to Neith again.

Isis started walking back towards the exit, her head bowed.

But then the priestess called, ‘Wait.’

The women were all watching her, their unhappy eyes following her every step. Isis felt her cheeks blazing, but she turned round to face the priestess again.

‘Neith says thank you,’ said the priestess. ‘She’s glad that you came.’

‘That’s all right.’ Isis tried to smile.

Neith touched the bundle of fruit. She smiled back, but her lower lip was trembling and her kohl-rimmed eyes were brimming with tears.

.

Hopi wandered the streets of Waset aimlessly, attracting local children who hoped he’d show them a snake. He shrugged and laughed, showing them that he had nothing with him.

But inside, he wasn’t laughing. He felt guilty, angry and confused. With no Menna to consult, he had to think for himself. He knew he must go and see Djeri, if only to change his dressings. He was putting it off and his cowardice made him feel guilty. But the more he thought about the deathstalkers, the more his anger with Djeri swelled. The feelings swirled around inside him and, at last, Hopi knew he could avoid them no longer. He changed direction and made for Anty’s house.

Anty seemed pleased to see him. ‘Come in, come in,’ he said. ‘Djeri has been asking for you.’

The news made Hopi feel worse. ‘How is he?’ he asked.

‘He is calmer,’ said Anty. ‘And there is no fever. In other words, he is much better. We feel the danger has passed. Thank you, Hopi.’

Hopi was tongue-tied for a moment. ‘I’m glad.’

Anty smiled and led him to his son’s room.

The soldier was awake, but Hopi avoided his gaze as he walked in.

‘Hopi. I’m happy to see you,’ Djeri greeted him.

Hopi reached for the honey and oil that he had left next to the bed. He didn’t know what to say, so instead he reached for the covers and pulled them back. Still saying nothing, he began to inspect Djeri’s leg.

‘You are not going to greet me?’ asked the soldier.

Hopi looked up. He licked his lips. This was even more difficult than he had imagined. ‘I have been to the army camp,’ he said quietly. ‘I know what you have done.’

Djeri stared at him and then a slow, soft sigh escaped from his lips. ‘Is that so,’ he said. ‘Well, it is better that someone knows. Now you can leave me to die and to receive the punishment I deserve in the Next World.’

Hopi looked down at Djeri’s leg. It was still a nasty, glistening mess, but in spite of everything, he could see that it was likely to heal – in time.

‘I don’t think that the gods require your life,’ he said. ‘I have already told you: you will be a cripple, like me.’

He added a little more oil and honey to the wounds, then covered Djeri’s legs again and went to sit by his side.

The silence slowly thickened. It was hot, and flies buzzed around the room. Outside, the soft call of laughing doves rose and fell. Hopi found that he was growing even more upset. At last, he could bear it no longer.

‘How could you do such a thing?’ he burst out. ‘I thought I had found a brother. I thought we could learn from each other. I would have supported you, I would have helped you cope with your wounds.’

‘And now you will not?’ Djeri’s voice was flat.

Hopi felt close to tears. ‘Just tell me. Why did you do it?’ he whispered.

The soldier shifted on the bed, trying to get more comfortable. ‘I have always been a scorpion catcher,’ he said. ‘Even when I was a small boy, I would catch them for my friends and we would keep them imprisoned. Sometimes, we made them fight each other and wagered on which one would win.’