Tutankhamun Uncovered (46 page)

The drudgery continued in 1919. The blessing was that Carnarvon stayed away. Carter kept him satisfied and at bay by sending him the odd quality piece which he had purchased on the open market. The clearing continued its monotonous pace without result. But this season Carter was not bored. He had brought his lady friend with him. She would accompany him to The Valley most days and watch him direct the work. And her company in the evenings was a considerable boost to his state of mind.

As the season wore on, the embankment of tailings and the railway on it grew ever longer. It now reached to the corner of the valley where the tributary extended off towards the tomb of Yuya and Tuya. The area cleared to bedrock within Carter’s triangle steadily became larger but still nothing of importance turned up.

He closed the season early in May, secured his equipment, gave his usual instructions to Abdel on maintaining Castle Carter and how to manage the dog, and paid off his men. Saying goodbye to Abdel, he took the ferry to the east bank and joined Dorothy, who had been staying at the Winter Palace, for one last night at the hotel.

Dorothy was down to dinner first that evening and selected a corner table.

She saw Carter appear in the doorway and beckoned him over. Apart from the severely slicked back hair and the manicured moustache, he looked almost unrecognisable. He had on a white linen suit that was more a shade of yellow from the washing, a white, high collared shirt, and a yellow bow tie. There was no hat. The only part of his apparel that could normally be associated with the man was the suede shoes.

“My goodness,” commented Dorothy. “A man of the tropics, I presume.”

“Don’t you like it?” Carter, naturally, had been out to please and was sensitive to criticism.

Dorothy smiled. “A joke, Howard. I think you look most distinguished. Turn around so I may see all of you.”

The suit, although neatly pressed, had shrunk a little. The sleeves were short and the jacket was somewhat tight across his back. The trouser cuffs showed a little too much of his yellow socks. But he had made the effort and she was certainly not going to spoil the effect by drawing attention to these imperfections.

“You look positively dashing!” She waved her hand at the chair across from her and he sat down.

The waiter came immediately, handed him a menu, and waited for their drinks order.

“Dot?”

“A sweet sherry, please.”

“And a Scotch and soda for me.”

The waiter left.

“I have stayed in this hotel too long, Howard. I have been through every item on this menu several times. Why do they never change it?”

“It’s the war, Dot. They have only rarely been able to import anything exotic. Most of the time it’s Nile perch and like it, I’m afraid.”

“Well tonight, since it’s a special occasion and all, I asked Anton if he could pull out all the stops and find something a little more racy than fish. And he did, bless his heart, especially for us.”

Carter searched the short, typewritten menu he’d just been handed.

“You won’t find it there, Howard. Pheasant! Roast pheasant, with roast potatoes, peas, spinach and redcurrant jelly! How about that?”

“Well done Anton! Well done Dot! Food fit for kings. After such a bloody miserable season we need to be spoilt. I don’t know how you stood it, Dot. But I’m bloody glad you did. Would have gone nuts without you.”

“I must admit I am glad to be going back to civilisation at last.”

“Me too. I hope the pheasant was up to the journey from England!”

“Anton didn’t do it for a send-off, Howard. He did it because it’s your birthday.”

“Happy birthday, Mr Carter!”

He hadn’t noticed the manager who had come in as he sat down and was now standing right behind him holding an ice bucket with a half bottle of champagne.

“All I had left in the store, I’m afraid. The shipment is late again.”

“Birthday?”

“Yes, Howard,” chimed Dorothy. “May the ninth. That is your birthday isn’t it?”

Carter grinned in acknowledgement. In all these years this was the first time anyone had remembered his birthday. It had been so long since he had last celebrated it that the anniversary had been forgotten.

“I do believe it is. Anton, how nice of you to do this for us. I must come more often!”

“Can’t promise this treatment all the time, sir. But I will always do my best for you, you can be assured of that.”

“And now you must tell us, Howard, how old you really are.” Dorothy had speculated on his age but thought she must be wrong. He was probably one of those types who looked older than he really was.

“Oh, goodness. I don’t know. Late twenties going on fifty perhaps.”

They all laughed.

“I will go and check the state of progress in the kitchen.” Anton poured champagne for each of them and left.

“I have a little something for you, Howard.” Dorothy produced a small package from her purse and placed it on the dinner table in front of him. “Happy birthday.”

They clinked glasses. Never before a birthday, and now a present. Carter was beside himself with embarrassment.

“Please. Open it. I am so concerned whether you will like it.”

Carter drew the bow and unfolded the wrapping paper. It was a small book a children’s book about Belzoni’s adventures in Egypt.

“I found it in a second-hand bookshop in Mayfair just before I left England. I thought it appropriate for one such as you. He blazed a trail before you, Howard. You are birds of a feather, don’t you think? They will write books about you one day. I am sure of it. ‘Carter, Sand, Sun, and Solitude’!” she smiled.

Howard wasn’t listening. He was totally absorbed by the gift. His eyes lit up as he fingered through the pages. He paused at the tiny engravings. He didn’t know what to say. “It’s a beautiful little book, Dot.” He waved the book at her. “This man... You know about this man?”

“He was a circus strongman, wasn’t he? I don’t know how he ended up in Egypt but I do know that he found the pretty tomb of Seti I, the tomb you have shown me at least three times.”

“Well, it is the most magnificent. Worth seeing more than once. And yes, he was the first to find it in modern times. And he was in the circus, yes. He was personally responsible for returning some enormous treasures to the British Museum. Have you seen them there?”

“No, Howard. I have to confess I have never been. I remember in my youth that my mother took us up to London one time intent on taking us there but we couldn’t find it.”

“Not surprised. It’s not signposted and is very much off the beaten track for a museum of its importance.”

Carter regarded the book again. “Poor chap died in Nigeria of dysentery. But before he left Egypt he procured considerable booty for the Empire bit of a cavalier, but God bless him! Those were the good old days for Britain. We could take what we liked. The French were the only competition. Bloody Frogs got away with more than they deserved.”

Carter took a quick sip of champagne and continued.

“Now our skills, our scholarship and our money are all taken for granted. Our discoveries are ‘looted’ for their own museum. We count ourselves fortunate if we end up with one tenth of the least important finds.” He paused to take another mouthful of champagne. “But, no, I wouldn’t call us ‘birds of a feather’. Belzoni was an unskilled trophy hunter like all the rest of that time. Perhaps more of an exhibitionist than the others, however no doubt due to his background under the ‘big top’. A man with an ego large enough to match his size. Did you see his outrageous graffito in the pyramid at Gizeh?”

“Yes. But don’t you think he had a right to be proud of himself? The first to find the way inside since the robbers. You, Howard, you have traded trophies for fragments and a search through every grain of sand. It takes forever.”

“But think of the benefits, Dot. People like Belzoni in their avarice overlooked and damaged so much that is now lost to us forever. We have saved so much more for future generations to enjoy. And we will find trophies, real treasure, one day. I know our patience will pay off. Just have to stick with it, my girl. Good things take time.”

As did the roast pheasant. It was a full hour before it appeared. But the time had passed quickly for them. Their conversation had crossed time and geography. It had been largely humourless and instructional but she didn’t mind that a bit.

When the meal was over, when the last of the champagne had been enjoyed, when Carter’s brandy glass was empty, when their cigarettes had died in the ashtray they parted company with the customary peck on the cheek and each slept long and deeply through that night.

The two of them left for England together. It proved to be one of the most pleasantly relaxing boat trips he had ever made. She had provided enormous support to him during the weeks of monotonously unrewarding toil.

When he arrived at his London lodgings, the concierge followed him up the stairs carrying a soft, sausage shaped brown paper parcel, rather grubby from the trials of travel but well bound up with heavy cord and covered with dozens of franked Egyptian stamps. Carter unwrapped it directly and found it to contain a small, colourful Baluchi carpet. When he unrolled it on the floor of his drawing room, an envelope fell open in the centre. He pulled out the one page note inside and read...

In memory of our first meeting. Hoping this finds you in good health. No more

ancient artefacts, I am afraid there has been no time. But here is a small token

I received from an old lady of Medina following our efforts in a campaign against

the Hejaz railway.

Be sure to walk on it and remember.

Belated happy birthday.

Lawrence, T. E.

Alexandria, June 16, 1918 The gift had been languishing in the basement storeroom for over a year.

He now had two seasons of unsuccessful digging behind him and who knows how many before him. He could put it off no longer. He was obliged to pay a visit to his patient patron and make his report.

It was always a pleasure to ride into the grounds at Highclere. As he approached, the massive, square house stood out proudly in a clearing at the top of the rise. The car drew up outside the main door and Carter got out just as Carnarvon, with outstretched arms, emerged to greet him.

“My good friend! It does my heart good to see you!”

They embraced like reunited brothers and Carnarvon stood back, examining his colleague up and down.

“You are not as slim a man as you were when last I saw you, Howard. Surely you have not been idle these last two years?”

“It is good to see you, too, your lordship. Your presence has been sorely missed in Luxor.” Carter lied for himself but not for others. “I confess my portliness. My largeness is indeed a sorry fact. I have had to let out my trousers and provide more fullness in my jackets. I have grown larger in every direction, it seems. But I do not confess to idleness. I put it down to age and metabolism both of which are changing inexorably, and over which we have no control. So depressing.” He smiled.

Carnarvon laughed. “Don’t we both know it. Come, let us go inside and quench our miseries in a brandy.”

He led Carter to the library where Lady Evelyn was resting on a Knole sofa taking tea.

“Howard!” she greeted him with a refreshing smile. “I had thought you were coming tomorrow. Such a nice surprise to see you. My, you are looking well.”

Carter bent down to kiss her hand. “You are the radiant flower I have always known, Lady Evelyn. When are you coming again to see me at Luxor?”

“Next year, Howard. The earl will bring me with him when he visits I believe in February. Is that not the month, Father?”

“Yes, my dear. That’s the plan at least. We already have the steamer reservations. Howard, what would you like to drink?”

“A brandy would be fine, if you please, sir.”

“And you, my dear?”

“I am fine with my tea, thank you, Father.”

Carnarvon gave orders to the butler and, waving Carter to the sofa beside Lady Evelyn, settled himself in a chair.

Knowing already that Carnarvon had been most pleased with his acquisitions Carter began by enquiring as to the degree of his lordship’s appreciation of the pieces he had procured for him in Cairo and Luxor over the past months. This successfully established a favourable tone to the conversation and from this platform he then launched into the more melancholy report on his progress at the excavations in The Valley. He made it as upbeat as he could, cautiously raising expectations wherever possible. He finished with, “So you see, sir, we have to date cleared barely a third of the area of interest. There is much yet to do before we achieve our goal. I remain convinced we are following a procedure which will ultimately prove fruitful.”

“Thank God I have a man of such great conviction and patience. You know very well my faith in you, Howard. It is as unshakeable as ever as unshakeable as your own tenacity.”

‘Thank God for his mercy,’ thought Carter. “I believe you are the one to be applauded for patience, sir. One thing is certain, without your continued support there can be no achievement. And I am sure the achievement will be all the more remarkable for it.”

“My daughter and I look forward to our visit next year. I miss the place... But let us turn to the moment. Tomorrow I have arranged a shoot. Will you join us?”

Chapter Fifteen

Ay was buried with a finality the like of which had not been seen since the passing of Akhenaten. There was no issue, and Horemheb, now secure in marriage to Mutnodjme in spite of her mother’s efforts to stop the union, had sealed his bloodline connection with the royal family. Akhenaten was dead. Smenkhkare was dead. Tutankhamun was dead. Ay was dead. The mother was dead. Horemheb was Pharaoh.

Ankhesenamun, now totally disinherited of the kingdom, nevertheless rejoiced in her widowhood. She had withdrawn to quarters in the rear of the palace with her most trusted retinue. Already she had taken steps to reacquaint herself with the Hittite ruler.

She summoned her faithful servant to her side for one more important assignment. Greeting Dashir with all the charity her position would allow, she said, “My friend, it is with great rejoicing that I welcome you once more.”

“My lady.”

As for Dashir, he was less than enthusiastic. He half expected what it was that she would now ask him to do another tomb robbery. And the only reward was the ex-queen’s continued confidence or a painful death for him and his helpers including, perhaps, his only son.

As if to anticipate his thoughts, Ankhesenamun launched into the matter immediately. “You will need help this time, my friend. Do you have friends whom you would trust with your life?”

“I do, my lady, as most men do.”

“That is good. I, for my part, just have you. My ladies I can trust, yes. But the men about me, since the passing of my beloved Tutankhamun, have become, if they were not so already, totally self-serving. Thank the gods for Dashir!”

She was absolutely sincere in her plaudit. Without his faithfulness she could never have the means to execute her plan murder most absolute.

“You are to sack Pharaoh Ay’s tomb. Completely. Destroy even the mummy in your frenzy to find the jewellery. I want nothing left NOTHING! Do you hear me?”

“My lady,” Dashir acknowledged. This was no surprise he feared her demands, but it was no surprise.

“As before there will be no guard. You and your men, and your son...” she had not forgotten. “...will return safely.”

“On what nights must we do this thing, my lady?”

“On the fifth night from tonight, Dashir, there will be no moon. And the sixth and the seventh. No more. All must be accomplished within three nights.”

“It will be so, my lady. What we cannot take we shall destroy.”

“Bring me Pharaoh’s ka, that I may destroy it myself.”

The light from the oil lamps glowed pink in Ankhesenamun’s eyes.

“Now leave, before the guards begin to talk.”

Dashir had men he could trust all right, but nevertheless he had to be selective, very selective. If a breath of this got out after the fact, all of them would be killed, perhaps also the ex-queen. He understood how important his task was. Ay must be stopped from entering the afterlife. Having shared the ex-queen’s bed, he could not be allowed to inhabit the same world as her consort. It was unthinkable.

Later that evening, Dashir made his way pensively towards Hammad’s bar at the end of the narrow, cobbled street. As he approached, echoing between the confining walls of the stone buildings he could hear the uninhibited noise of those who had been there some time already. There would be little chance of a discreet entrance. Sure enough, as he entered nearly everyone in the bar shouted, “Dashir!”

He took some wine and sat with a few friends. Some of these he would trust with his life, but a few of the others he found wanting.

As the evening wore into the early morning hours, people at last began drifting away to their beds. Dashir signalled to his closer friends to stay. By the time all but Dashir’s most trusted friends had left, the goldsmith had so much wine inside him that he had forgotten the purpose that had taken him to the bar in the first place.

Mechanically he began, “Now, my friends...” and stopped.

“Yes, Dashir...” they all answered, and stared at him expectantly.

There was a long pause. “I... I have something important to relate to you...”

“In secret?” asked one.

“Aye... Aye... In secret,” mumbled Dashir slowly, not at all sure what he was going to say next. “This is something...” He looked furtively about the room.

“Yes... Yes...” his men spoke with anticipation, almost in unison.

“This is something...” Dashir repeated. “Something...” His words faded to a whisper and died.

“Dashir!” Ugele shouted and prodded him in the chest at the same time. “Wake up, man. We wait on your message.”

“Mmmm?” Dashir was hardly able to talk. He was close to sleep. “Some... thing...”

Ugele realised that Dashir indeed had something of importance to share with them but equally he realised the hopelessness of the messenger’s condition and he decided it was time to close the evening.

“Come on, lads. He’s had enough. Let’s take him home. Besides, we are all in need of our beds. We can reassemble tomorrow my house at sunset.”

His colleagues expressed their relief. Beside his profligate drinking Dashir’s solemn behaviour had been seriously out of place with the evening’s otherwise light heartedness. Everyone was pleased he had all but expired. They each happily played their part in helping to bear him homeward. It was not that far. They left him propped up in his doorway and took care to evacuate the area immediately lest they expose themselves to the venom of his wife.

Awoken by the commotion outside, she was not long in coming. Dashir felt no pain. Her instant wrath was quite wasted. With considerable effort she dragged him inside and left him, totally unconscious, on the cool stone floor. She went back up to the roof and settled back to sleep, dreaming irritable dreams.

It was very, very late that morning when Dashir finally opened his eyes. He was conscious but in indescribable distress. His wife, cooking bread at the time, noticed his body stir and launched herself mercilessly at him. There was not a family in Pademi that did not hear her that day. The ringing in Dashir’s ears lasted until evening.

When Meneg came for him for he knew Dashir would not be able to leave of his own accord and might not even remember to do so Dashir’s wife answered the door. This was not an event Meneg felt strongly inclined to deal with. To Dashir’s wife this was evening, this was a friend coming for her husband and there was only one reason for the visit they were off to Hammad’s again. As she began her incomprehensible tirade, Meneg closed his eyes tightly as if he were about to be smitten.

“Do not strike me, madam,” he implored. “I am come but to summon your husband to a meeting of the Council.”

It was quite evident she did not believe him. He had not heard such obscenities issue from the mouth of a woman before a married woman at that. He stood his ground until she had finished, whereupon, by this time fully vented, she slammed the door in his face. With relief he turned to leave.

“Meneg!”

An urgent whisper came from the rooftop. Meneg looked up.

“Help me down, man, before she finds us! Be quick!”

Dashir shinned down the wall onto Meneg’s shoulders and in a twinkling they were absorbed into the shadows and hurrying toward’s Ugele’s house.

“Feeling better, Dashir?” enquired Meneg as, now out of sight and out of earshot, they slowed to a walk.

“Oh, Meneg. What made me do it? Never again. Never again. Never again. Never again.”

“I understand, Dashir.” At one time or another they had all said it as many times.

Ugele welcomed them at the door and ushered them into the small room. All Dashir’s most trusted friends were assembled before him, some sitting on chairs, some on the floor, some standing. All had wine.

“A drink, Dashir, before we begin?” Meneg grabbed the wine flask and a cup and presented them to his friend. Dashir thrust out the flat of his hand. “Thank you, no. But I will surely need a drink once we have finished the task set us by her Royal Majesty.” That got everyone’s attention. It was clear from his remark that there would be something distasteful in what he was about to tell them.

“First you must all be clear on one thing. Not a breath of what I am about to say to you must leave this room not today, not before, and not after this thing is done NEVER.”

He looked at each of their faces one by one, searching for a sign of acknowledgement in their eyes. Satisfied he had their silent vows, he continued. “We are commanded to sack the tomb of our recently departed Pharaoh Ay and...” Before any could react he added, “...there will be no guards for three nights. This should be sufficient time to complete the deed.”

There was little apparent outward reaction as if his colleagues had expected something like this, as if it was a relief to know at last.

“What about our wives?” asked one of them astutely after a pause. “They will have to know. Three nights away from home. It is more than my life is worth to allow her to speculate.”

“And you know how women talk!” chimed another. Dashir was quite matter-of-fact. “Tell them the truth and tell them you will be killed if they talk.” “In my wife’s current mood, I’m not so sure she wouldn’t happily spread the word!” claimed one.

“Mine, too,” said another.

It was easy for him to tell the others how it should be done. How he himself was to accomplish this same task with his wife, still fuming and unforgiving from last night’s nonsense, only the gods knew. Of all in this band of reluctant thieves, he probably had the hardest task of all.

“It is decided then. Three days from now we shall assemble at the head of the west bank canal one hour after nightfall. We shall each make our own way across the river. Groups of people attract unnecessary attention. I will have my son with me so there will be eight of us in all. If we are not all accounted for, we will not do the deed. And he who is absent shall be cursed in the name of Seth.”

Dashir hadn’t needed to add this last warning.

“We are friends, are we not?” said Meneg. “We always stick together or there would be no friendship. I remember the burial of Tutankhamun.” He smiled. “All of us shall be there, Dashir. All or none. Have no fear.”

But, unlike Dashir himself, none of these men had robbed a tomb before. On the contrary, like he they were the artisans who had helped craft and fill the tombs with great works of art. Indeed, much of what they would plunder would have the mark of their personal skill on it. They did not give a second thought to how they might dispose of their booty for gain or even where they might hide it.

When they finally collected together on the west bank, it was absolutely pitch black. They dared not use their lamps until they were inside Ay’s tomb, so the walk into The West Valley was long and difficult. It was located at the distant head of a ravine, close to the unused tomb of Ay’s original master, the heretic, Pharaoh Akhenaten. They walked in single file, close enough that they could touch each other’s robes for reassurance.

Dashir’s instructions were explicit they must remove everything. They could take all they wanted for themselves, but not the ka statue, not the spells, nor the mummy itself. The statue and the spells were to be delivered into the hands of Ankhesenamun; the mummy must be totally destroyed. Not a single identifiable fragment must be left not any recognisable image of the dead Pharaoh within the tomb or on its walls. The ex-queen’s anger was not so much at Ay for his own sake much as she reviled the very thought of her nights within his bed it was more to appease her Tutankhamun. The tomb in which Ay now lay had been intended for the boy king and had lain but half completed at the time of his untimely death. If her young husband could not enjoy it, neither should any other. She wished it to remain empty and anonymous for eternity.

The party moved around the valley flank to the place where the freshly sealed tomb was situated. Dashir, who was in the lead, suddenly stopped. He thought he could hear voices up ahead. Something was moving in the darkness right about where the tomb entrance was situated.

He turned to his men and, raising a finger to his lips, whispered, “We have company.”

A stunning cold coursed through their veins.

“Donkeys,” whispered Dashir to his men. “I can make out heavily laden baskets on their backs.”

They were not the first.

Dashir drew back to his men. “The tomb is being plundered as we speak,” he whispered. “This is an incredible piece of luck!”

The men looked puzzled.

“Don’t you see, my friends? We can let them do our work for us. We will not need the three nights. We will be able to accomplish the queen’s wishes with almost no effort and in far less time. Best of all, others will be culpable of this crime. This truly is a gift from the gods.”

“But we shall have no booty,” spoke up one.

“We did not come here for booty! We came here at the queen’s behest. Any booty would have been incidental and should not have been expected.”

“You mean we risk our lives and the livelihood of our families for nothing more than... than duty?”

In the darkness it was difficult to make out the expressions on the faces of the eight who huddled close to hear one another’s words. Without expressions and delivered in whispers the words carried little impact. To emphasise his meaning, Dashir caught his friend by the nose and twisted it in his fingers until he let out a subdued yelp.

“Yes,” he said. “Duty. Let that be an end to our discussion.” He took a breath and continued. “It is well we did not bring donkeys tonight. Our position would have been revealed. We must withdraw to watch these infidels and descend only when they have finished their business and departed this place.”

Since there was no lookout, Dashir’s party scrambled up the scree face to a rock ledge and settled themselves there, looking down on the access hole dug by the robbers. The band of brothers sat cross-legged and stared into the darkness, searching for some sign of movement. The entrance was faintly visible in the glimmering light of the robbers’ lamps coming deep from within the tunnel. Clearly it had been dug large enough to accommodate two men in an almost standing position and side by side, thereby allowing the passage of objects of some size. The light extinguished for a time as four robbers scrambled out of the tunnel and emerged at the surface. As they came out into the open, the light once more glimmered from behind, framing them in silhouette and picking out golden reflections from the large coffin lid they were carrying.