by Gill Harvey
Menna came to the door holding an oil lamp. ‘Come in, come in. I was hoping you would report back quickly,’ he said, and led the way into his sanctuary. He placed the lamp in one of the wall niches and indicated the mats. ‘Sit down. What have you discovered?’
Hopi flopped on to the mats, wincing as he manoeuvred his bad leg underneath him. He reached for his bag and opened it. ‘You were right, Menna. I found deathstalkers – three.’
Menna’s forehead creased into a frown as his apprentice brought out his basket. ‘You took them?’
‘Yes.’ Hopi looked up at his tutor nervously. ‘I know I probably shouldn’t have, but the prisoner was there, all tied up. I couldn’t just leave him to be tortured, could I?’
Menna shook his head approvingly. ‘No. You were absolutely right. But it raises the stakes. We now have the wrath of the army to deal with.’
‘They don’t know it was me,’ said Hopi. ‘I managed to get out of the camp without anyone noticing.’
The old man stroked his chin. ‘Hmm. Yes, perhaps. But it will not take a genius to work it out.’ He waved a hand at the basket. ‘Come, then. Show me.’
Carefully, Hopi took off the lid of the basket. Menna reached for the oil lamp, and together they peered inside. The three scorpions were piled on top of each other at the bottom of the basket and began scrabbling around as the light fell on them.
‘Such amazing creatures,’ murmured Menna. ‘You see how their pincers are quite small, smaller than those of other scorpions? This is because the deathstalker’s sting is the most powerful of all. It does not need large pincers to subdue its prey.’
Hopi watched one of the scorpions curl its tail over its head – the tail with the deadly sting at its tip. ‘Is there a cure for such a sting?’ he asked.
‘There are some herbs,’ said Menna. ‘But for a severe sting, the only cure is magic. There is a series of spells. Once they have been spoken, the fate of the victim lies with Serqet herself.’
‘You haven’t taught me these spells, Menna.’
The old priest looked thoughtful. ‘No, I haven’t. They are the most powerful of all the spells of Serqet.’
Hopi had now spent many, many hours mashing herbs, onions and minerals together to make cures for snake bites. He had been out collecting everything from carob to terebinth to add to them. But of all the cures he had mastered in his time with Menna, Hopi loved learning spells best. He badly wanted to learn these powerful ones.
‘Am I ready?’ he asked quietly.
One of the deathstalkers was trying to creep up the sides of the basket and make its escape. Its yellowish pincers groped the air. With a small wooden stick, Menna pushed it back to join its fellows in the depths of the container.
‘Yes, Hopi,’ he said. ‘I think you are.’
‘Thank you,’ breathed Hopi. ‘Can we start now?’
It was late. Menna looked tired and Hopi expected him to defer the training until the morning. But to his surprise, the old priest nodded. ‘Yes. Then you can meditate upon the incantations through the night. Something tells me that you may need this knowledge before long. Let us begin at once.’
And to Hopi’s fascination and delight, he reached for a scroll of well-worn papyrus.
.
Back at the arena, pandemonium had broken out. Guards had brought the prisoner of war before Commander Meref, but the Libyan was not all they had brought. They had come with shocking news, too. It spread among the soldiers like wildfire and they milled around, talking in excited voices.
‘The scorpions have gone!’ Isis heard one of them shout.
‘The gods have spoken!’ cried another.
Isis looked up at Nes. ‘What scorpions are they talking about?’ she asked, thinking at once of Hopi. If scorpions had disappeared, he would be the first person she’d suspect.
The great wrestler looked down at her and shook his head grimly. ‘This is army business. It is not something that a girl should know about.’
‘Does it have anything to do with the pit?’ Isis insisted.
‘Never you mind about that,’ Nes told her.
‘But I need to know.’ Isis was desperate to get to the bottom of it. ‘What’s going to happen to the prisoner who was caught last night?’
Now Nes looked down at her in astonishment. ‘How do you know about him?’
‘We were here when he tried to escape,’ Isis reminded him. ‘He’s the brother of the girl I wanted to help.’
Nes stared at her for a second, then shook his head. ‘You know far too much,’ he said. He began elbowing his way through the excited soldiers to the edge of the arena, where Nefert, Sheri and Kia were scanning the crowd with worried expressions. Isis knew at once that they were looking for her. She turned quickly to the wrestler.
‘Please, take these,’ she said, offering him the bundle of fruit. ‘You know who they were meant for. I can’t take them back home again. Please deliver them for me, if you can.’
She could see that Nes’s mind was already elsewhere. His gaze had rested on the soldiers who were steadily digging up a section of the arena, and his eyes blazed with anger. Isis persisted, pressing the bundle into his hands.
For an instant, he glanced down at the fruit, then looked into her eyes. ‘Leave them with me,’ he said. ‘And if you are feeling brave, meet me again, little dancer. Tomorrow at noon.’
Nefert had spotted Isis now and was beckoning furiously.
‘Tomorrow, but . . . where?’ Isis asked, waving back at Nefert.
‘On the town side of Ipet-Resyt temple,’ said the wrestler. ‘I’ll be there.’ Then he left her, marching over to confront the digging soldiers.
Isis ran to Nefert and Sheri.
‘Isis! There you are. We must leave at once.’ Nefert looked shaken. ‘I have had enough of this place. These men – they do not treat us with respect.’
The women had already put on their shawls, while Paneb was trying to get Commander Meref’s attention. It was a hopeless task. The commander was listening to ten soldiers all trying to speak to him at once.
‘Where were you?’ whispered Mut, clutching Isis’s arm. ‘And where did Hopi go?’
‘I don’t know,’ Isis whispered back. She felt a pang of fear for her brother. Then she reflected: surely if he had been caught, he would have been dragged here by now? She had seen enough of the camp to know that anything unusual was reported to the commander. ‘I think he must have already left.’
‘They’re all talking about scorpions,’ said Mut. ‘I bet he has something to do with that, don’t you? Well, don’t you? Tell me, Isis.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Isis. ‘Honestly, I don’t.’
They watched as Paneb made one last attempt to speak to the commander. It was no good. Commander Meref swatted him off as though he were an irritating fly. Paneb turned away and rejoined the troupe.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, his voice full of disgust. ‘This was a bad idea from the outset. Last night we were sent home early. Tonight they are preparing some horrible entertainment that seems to have gone wrong.’
‘I agree,’ said Nefert. ‘This is no place for Isis and Mut. These men are savages. I gather they take pleasure in baiting scorpions.’ She shuddered.
Sheri and Kia said nothing. But Isis noticed that they stayed close together as they all left the camp. And, as they passed the final fire before stepping into the darkness that lay between them and Waset, she saw the silver streak of a tear on Sheri’s cheek.
.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hopi woke with a start. His neck was stiff. He sat up, rubbing it, and saw that he had fallen asleep on the mats in Menna’s sanctuary, with an oil lamp still burning and the papyrus sheets of spells spread out around him. He yawned and stretched. All was quiet. It must be the middle of the night. Then he peered outside and saw that the first grey light of dawn was filtering into the courtyard.
He gathered the papyrus sheets and scrolled them up again. Menna had taken
him through the spells carefully, step by step, explaining each hieroglyph as they went. Hopi still had a long way to go to catch up on his schooling, and many of the signs were unfamiliar to him. But as they had chanted the incantations, repeating them over and over, he had felt the knowledge seeping in.
The light in the courtyard was growing brighter. Hopi put the scrolls back into the niche where they belonged, whispering the spells again to check that he had remembered them. They came back easily, their rhythms swinging through his mind. It was a good feeling. He felt a little awed, too, that he was now the guardian of such magic.
The soft rumble of Menna’s snores drifted from a room at the back of the house. Hopi looked around the sanctuary for his bag, but the priest must have moved it. No matter; the scorpions were safe here. He would come back later. For now, he must return home. He slipped out of the house as the first rays of sun warmed the deserted streets. A donkey brayed; the town would soon come to life.
Hopi walked slowly, thinking through all that had happened since the previous morning. He thought about the pit. What a ghastly sport – goading deathstalkers into stinging prisoners of war. It would be kinder to kill them outright.
And then he thought about Djeri. He knew a lot more about the soldier now. He was clearly a skilled scorpion handler and Commander Meref had made use of that skill. But it was still confusing. He had felt so much sympathy for the soldier at first, but Djeri’s reaction to his limp had been very hurtful. And now this. How could Hopi have warmed to a man who had been part of something so terrible?
He reached home and found the household just beginning to stir. Isis and Mut had slept on the roof and were still huddled in their linen covers, waking up slowly in the morning sun.
‘Where did you go?’ demanded Mut at once. ‘Was it you who took the scorpions?’
Hopi was startled. He hadn’t realised that his actions would be so obvious. ‘What scorpions?’ he bluffed, throwing a quick glance at Isis. He knew she wouldn’t be fooled.
‘Don’t try to be clever,’ said Mut. ‘Why else did Menna send you to the camp?’
Hopi sat down next to them on the mats. He couldn’t deny it, but he knew he had to be careful what he said in front of Mut. ‘It was information that Menna wanted,’ he said. ‘I left quite early to talk to him. Did you hear any of the soldiers talking about me?’
Isis shook her head. ‘No. We just had to leave.’
‘So you didn’t finish performing?’
‘No,’ said Mut. ‘Father’s very fed up with them. Well, we all are. We’re not going back to the camp again.’
Hopi sneaked another look at Isis, wondering how she’d got on with her Libyan prisoner girl. He guessed she would be very disappointed not to be visiting the camp for a third time but, if anything, she seemed quite cheerful. In fact, Hopi spotted a secret gleam in her eye, and suddenly he guessed the truth. He knew his sister all too well. She was up to something.
.
Isis was on tenterhooks all morning. She was desperate to find out what had really happened to Hopi and to tell him about meeting Nes, but she didn’t get the chance. Her brother was tired. He ate some flatbread for breakfast and promptly fell asleep. Isis squinted up at the sun every few minutes. She would need to make up an excuse to leave the house just before noon. Meanwhile, she got on with sweeping the courtyard and steps, trying not to think about the meeting that would soon take place.
But it didn’t escape her notice that all three women were looking very glum. Sheri and Kia usually bustled about doing chores, but today they sat in the courtyard doing nothing in particular.
The sweeping finished, she joined Mut on the first floor, where her dance partner was sorting out the troupe’s large collection of oil and perfume bottles. Isis tried to help, but found that her fingers were shaking. She was sure that if she carried on she would end up breaking something.
‘This bottle’s nearly empty,’ she announced to Mut, holding up a bottle of almond oil. Then she had a brainwave. ‘I’ll ask Nefert if I can go and buy some more in the market.’
‘Go on, then,’ Mut responded. ‘You’re only making a mess of the sorting.’
Isis got to her feet, gripping the bottle tightly. She ran down the steps. The courtyard was empty – not even the boys were there. She looked into the back room, then moved on to the front. There was no sign of either Nefert, her two sons, or Kia. There was only Sheri, taking things out of a wooden casket.
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Isis. ‘Where is everyone?’
Sheri didn’t turn to look at her. ‘Nefert and Kia have gone visiting with the boys,’ she said, with her back to Isis.
Her voice sounded strange, sort of muffled. Isis studied her. Suddenly, from the tension in her shoulders, she realised that Sheri was crying again.
She stepped closer. ‘Are you all right, Sheri?’ she asked.
The older woman gave a loud sniff. ‘I’m sorry, Isis. I’m fine, really.’
‘Oh, Sheri.’ Isis put the oil bottle on the floor and rushed to give her a hug.
Sheri hugged her back and Isis heard a sob. Sheri cried for a few moments, then controlled herself. ‘It’s so silly, after all this time . . .’
‘No, it isn’t!’ declared Isis. ‘I still cry for Mother and Father. So does Hopi. I know he does.’ She looked up into Sheri’s gentle face. ‘I wish I could help you, though. I wish we were going back to the camp. We might have found something out.’
Sheri shook her head briskly. ‘No, no, Isis. It’s quite all right. It just brought back memories, that’s all. But I shall put everything away again now.’
It was then that Isis noticed what she was holding. The casket was full of Sheri’s belongings and, dangling from her fingers, was a weapon made of bronze. It was an ornamental dagger.
‘Was that your husband’s?’ Isis asked in awe.
Sheri nodded and sighed. She held it out, flat, for Isis to see. ‘Yes. It belonged to Henu.’
‘Henu? That was his name?’ Isis stroked the blade in wonder. The handle was carved into the shape of a lotus flower at the end, with several ankhs, the symbol of eternal life, entwined with patterns further down. It was beautiful. She tested the edge of the blade.
‘Careful!’ exclaimed Sheri, and Isis jumped back. It was still razor sharp.
A drop of bright red blood welled up. ‘It’s only a scratch,’ said Isis, looking down at the blood, then sucking her finger.
‘I’d better put it away.’ Sheri reached for the leather scabbard.
Isis watched as Sheri wrapped the dagger in linen and put it back into her box. She frowned. The blood had made her think of something. The dagger seemed oddly familiar, but how could it? It didn’t seem possible. She was sure that Sheri had never shown it to her before.
.
Hopi leaned over the low wall that ran around the roof of the house, watching the street below, with the new spells still running through his head. As he muttered the last one to himself, he saw Isis leave the house and hurry up the street.
‘Isis!’ he called after her.
His sister stopped and looked up.
‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.
She waved an ointment bottle at him. ‘I’m going to buy almond oil.’
‘And what else are you doing?’
Isis grinned. She looked up and down the street to see who was listening, then stepped closer to the wall before answering, ‘Walk with me to the market and I’ll tell you.’
‘Fine.’ Hopi looked around for his bag, which he always carried. Then he remembered – he’d left it at Menna’s. He popped his head over the wall again. ‘Coming.’
He hopped down the stairs and joined his sister on the street. As soon as they were out of earshot of the house Isis told him how Nes the wrestler had caught her in the camp, and that she was on her way to see him again.
‘You’re going to meet one of the wrestlers? Isis!’ Hopi was full of concern.
‘It’s fine, Hopi, honestly,’ sa
id Isis. ‘I’m meeting him right outside the temple, where the whole town can see. That can’t be dangerous, can it?’
‘Well . . .’ Hopi thought about it. The truth was that Isis was very good at extricating herself from difficult situations – better than he was sometimes. ‘Just don’t go following him to anywhere you can’t get away from easily.’
‘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.