Tutankhamun Uncovered (66 page)

“You have done well, Ugele,” said the queen quietly. “It is time for us to sit back and observe the seeds you have sown and so carefully fertilised. Let us watch them germinate and flourish. We look forward to an angry harvest!”

Over the following few weeks, as the elections approached, and to the great satisfaction of the spiritual onlookers, there was much ado in Cairo clashes between the crowds and the police, the looting of some shops, the burning of some vehicles, a few killings even. It was all great publicity for the Nationalist opposition. The people were clearly unhappy. The current administration had to go. And go they did.

With the investiture ceremonies over and a new cabinet in place the royal party focused its attention on the newly appointed Minister for Public Works. This particular governmental position had authority over the antiquities of Egypt, the country’s manifestly bountiful heritage, and was charged with a responsibility almost as great as that of the Ministry of Defence. As it happened, however, the new Minister cared little for the value of his country’s great historical treasure trove. Rather, he looked upon his position as a wonderfully public opportunity to harass and hopefully eject the foreign element in his country, particularly the British, and he was determined to exercise that authority to maximum effect. That the Minister’s cause was different mattered not to the boy king and his entourage the outcome would be the same.

To help execute the Minister’s wishes it was his exceeding good fortune to have at his side as Director of the Antiquities Service a Frenchman who felt loyalty to Egypt first, and to his country of citizenship second. He was, better still, a Frenchman who had an internally broadcast distaste for the English in particular that certain Englishman who stood presently in the spotlight of the world’s press.

It became Meneg’s job to ensure that the chemistry between the two men became an inflammable cocktail. The master carpenter would ignite the unstable mixture at the appropriate time.

Through dreams and private thoughts, Meneg had to engineer a conspiracy which would once and for all take the tomb away from the Englishman and restore it under the absolute control of the authorities. They would decide for themselves, in their patriotic wisdom, to cease work on the tomb and leave it as it currently was in suspended excavation. It would become an Egyptian shrine to be reserved wholly for Egyptians, visited by them only during annual celebrations, as if in remembrance of the young Pharaoh, leaving the regal body in place and in peace as had been sanctified so many centuries earlier. Only then would the royal couple and their followers be preserved for eternity.

Meneg’s efforts to educate the principal players in this unfolding drama were showing some success. The two were indeed suitably on course towards a crisis that should ensure that the tomb became sealed, to all intents and purposes, forever. The trouble was, however, his delicate manoeuvring had taken time, and in that time the Englishman and his colleagues had made considerable progress towards their ultimate goal.

The golden sepulchral shrine had been dismantled. The fragile linen pall, profusely sown with golden rosettes, lay on the floor of tomb fifteen awaiting stabilisation. The team of excavators had assembled lifting equipment over the sarcophagus. Ultimate violation was imminent.

Through the thick walls of the sarcophagus and the enclosing caskets, he could hear the muffled voices of those at work above him. Then the scraping sounds; the brief hiss of foul air from an alien age as the cold, ancient atmosphere within sucked at the warmth without. Then the light a blinding flash filling the space above him. It was like opening his long closed eyes to the brilliance of a dozen suns. Then the first defiling touch, their fingers clawing at the outer shrouds.

Then, quite suddenly, all above him became still. The voices receded. With an echoing crash, the great steel door closed on the tomb. The echoes gradually faded away and he felt silence descend with the darkness. They were gone again. Within the crucible of his afterlife, the king lay once more in an uneasy peace.

Meneg must see to it that the violators did not return.

That first day the line-up in the visitors’ gallery of Court No. 1 in the Mixed Courts of Cairo was impressive, but the high and mighty of Egypt greatly outnumbered those from Europe.

Following the opening of the tomb and the worldwide publicity which had accompanied the great discovery, Carter had come to terms with himself. He felt more confident than ever. He had recovered fully from the shock of having forcibly lost the right to access his tomb. On a wave of self-confidence he was convinced that the Egyptians had at last made a monumental tactical blunder by going so far; they had set the stage for him a very public stage to once and for all clear the muddy waters of negotiation over distribution of the treasures within the tomb through force of law. He was sure he would obtain an absolute ruling that not only should the team’s rights to excavate be reinstated but that they should become entitled, by law, to a fifty per cent share of what would be discovered, or at worst the monetary equivalent.

He entered the courtroom well prepared. He had an almost jubilant smile on his face. It was as if by some offstage bartering he had already secured the ruling he had been seeking. As he walked down the centre isle of the gallery he was acknowledged by a number of his British and American colleagues with a nod and a knowing grin and, from those who were close enough, a pat on the shoulder.

Pierre Lacau, whose enormous form was already seated just behind the Defendants’ table, turned his head to look. He sensed some personal discomfort, less in the confidence of his adversary’s stride, and more so in his distaste for the entire wasteful affair.

Carter had cause for optimism, not just in his own blind conviction that the rights of the team holding Almina Countess of Carnarvon’s concession were inviolable and had been unjustly usurped and therefore justly contested, but also in the knowledge that the Defendants in his case had attempted to negotiate a settlement out of court and could only have wished to do so because they felt unsure of their position in the affair. He was supremely confident of victory. Now it was just a question of how much he could publicly besmirch his enemies. And he knew that in Maxwell he had the right man to expose their true colours.

However, at another time and in other surroundings, Breasted had counselled him once again to be less ambitious in his goals and perhaps more cautious than his present overconfidence would permit. Carter had thanked him for his sound advice. He reminded him with a smile, “We have by law an American chief judge and the panel is split evenly between locals and those from the countries that have a vested interest in the outcome of this affair. Nothing to fear, old boy. They’ll see us all right. It’ll be quite a sight! Be sure you’re there to witness it.”

The team of judges entered the courtroom and all those present dutifully stood up as the legal triumvirate took their seats. The ordered ceremonial was acceptably British.

The Chief Judge declared the court in session.

Without a moment’s pause, the Government’s Counsel leapt to his feet and addressed the panel eloquently and briefly. “Your lordships, I move that this trial be declared a mistrial and the case against my clients be dismissed!”

The Chief Judge leaned towards Counsel for the Defence and stared directly into his eyes. “Kindly explain under what circumstances you make such a claim, Counsellor.”

With no hesitation he responded, “On two counts, your Honour. First, the plaintiff, the Carnarvon Estate, has no lawful representation in this court. Its agent, Mr Carter, is present, but in the eyes of the law he does not represent the Estate.

“And second,” he paused a moment, “it is not the function of the Mixed Courts to deal with administrative matters such as the cancellation of this concession.”

The Chief Judge did not bother to consult with the rest of his panel but renewed his fixed gaze on the Counsel for the Defence.

“Mr Rosetti,” he began. “First, there is no earthly reason why this trial may not be conducted without the plaintiff being present unless, of course, he or she is called as a witness. Mr Carter acting as agent, as you have been at pains to point out, is the plaintiff ’s representative. He has been so for many years now in his close association with the late earl, and he is certainly the most qualified to bring evidence in this case. Second, I would point out to you...” From the higher vantage point of the bench he leaned forward a little more to emphasise his delivery. “...that, within the clear guidelines that have been laid down, it is their Lordships’ discretion as to what nature of case may be tried in this courtroom and not at the judgement of Counsel. Motion denied!”

The judge rested back in his chair and folded his arms.

Rosetti was not for a moment taken aback by these comments. He continued politely, as if nothing had been said, “Mr Carter claims he has a right to conduct the excavation of the tomb of Tutankhamun. His rights pertain to the language of a revocable concession. That concession has been revoked. Now he has no more rights than myself to enter that place, much less ‘own’ it, as his manner and attitude certainly suggest is his intent.”

“Mr Rosetti!” The Chief Judge raised his voice to interrupt. “Please confine your argument to fact, not speculative interpretation.”

Carter couldn’t resist a subdued grin.

“Sir,” acknowledged Rosetti in deference to the authority before him. “I will proceed with the facts...

“The concession has been revoked. Fact. It has been revoked because Mr Carter and his team of archaeologists walked off the job. Fact. This irresponsible gesture has endangered the integrity of the fine historical objects still remaining within the tomb and those awaiting restoration within Tomb Fifteen. Fact. In the name of the Carnarvon Estate Mr Carter claims a right to possession of selected objects. Fact. Mr Carter signed a paper in 1918. Fact. In part the intention of that paper was to clarify under which circumstances a share of the discoveries would not accrue to the concession holder. The circumstances in question would be on the discovery of an intact, or very nearly intact, tomb. Fact. The tomb of Tutankhamun can be described as such. Fact. Mr Carter is not entitled to any share of the objects in the tomb. Fact. And...” He paused to sense the anticipation of the audience about him. “...Anyway, the holder of the concession is regrettably no longer with us and in reality no concession actually exists in The Valley. That is, this case is groundless.”

Carter jerked forward to interject but Maxwell grabbed him firmly by the shoulder and pulled him back whispering. “No. Not now. Not before we have thought this through a little. We will have time. The judge is sure to call a recess.”

Chief Judge Crabites caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and raised his eyebrows at Carter in a gesture of expectation. For once Carter took the advice of his Counsel and did not respond to the invitation. Seeing no response, Crabites returned to the court.

“I need to reflect with the panel upon the statements of Mr Rosetti. There will be an adjournment until tomorrow.”

Carter looked at his watch. It had been a long and, for him, difficult private session with his colleagues and his solicitor. It seemed indeed that finally they were all of the same mind. It was time he heeded the advice he was being given. Rosetti was right on his technical point. They had no representative of the Carnarvon Estate available at the trial. In the opinion of Maxwell, in the event of a representative being called as witness, it truly could be ruled a mistrial and the Estate would lose everything.

What had been unthinkable just a day or two ago, Carter now was finally resigned to. The letter that the Egyptologist now signed had been drafted by his solicitor. In unsaid acknowledgement of the existence, intent and interpretation of the infamous paper he had set his hand to six years earlier, Carter, on behalf of the Carnarvon Estate, finally and undeniably signed away any rights to any object found in the tomb of Tutankhamun.

As he replaced the pen in his coat pocket, a feeling of personal betrayal fell upon him. His patron had not been one year dead and Carter was abdicating, on the earl’s behalf, everything he had always assumed a right to. His desperate need to see the work completed fought his resolution never to give way on what was just reward for what they had achieved. ‘The whole damn issue,’ he thought to himself, ‘is so incredibly unfair. The world deserves the heritage with which these people had been so luckily bestowed the entire world. And were it not for the fortunate mixture of a few dedicated, talented and extremely rich people all coming together at one time with one goal in mind this pathetically backward country would never have seen much of the fortune that has lain for so many years beneath its dry and unyielding soil.’

Carter leaned forward, his arm outstretched, to grasp the piece of paper he had just signed. Breasted pulled it out of reach as the fingers approached.

“It is done, Howard. It’s for the best. Without it you would not see the tomb again. I guarantee it. It is unthinkable that anyone else should be selected to complete the work you have begun. For that we must make some sacrifice. Besides, once things have cooled down tempers on a more even keel they may be more receptive to permitting some treasures to come our way.”

Just at that moment, like a guilty boy close to being found out, Carter felt a sudden icy cold course through his veins. He recalled the tiny statuette of the boy king’s head that he and Carnarvon had hidden in Tomb Four during those heady days of initial discovery. ‘God, if they ever find that, there’ll be hell to pay. No going back and no mistake. Breasted’s right, damn his eyes. Got to cure this issue now and get back to work. The place is in dire risk of damage with every tour Lacau organises. Besides, even if they are intransigent and retain everything for Egypt, I still have that head!’

Carter slept much better that night.

The following day, as he alighted from his taxi to go up the steps to the courthouse, he felt recharged and at the same time relieved. In his own mind he had found the solution to what could have been a potentially disastrous future problem and, as his solicitor greeted him, he once again felt positive about the forthcoming proceedings. Maxwell had news to reinforce his feelings.