Free The Deathstalker by Gill Harvey Page B

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