The Egyptologist

T H E E G Y P T O L O G I S T

a novel

A R T H U R P H I L L I P S

This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the
exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are products of the
author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life histor•
ical figures and public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues
concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict
actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. In all other
respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2004 by Arthur Phillips

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American
Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Random House,

an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of
Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by
Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

RANDOM HOUSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Phillips, Arthur

The Egyptologist: a novel /Arthur Phillips.—1st ed.

p. cm.

ISBN 1-4000-6250-0

1. Egyptologists—Fiction.
2,.
Archaeologists—Fiction. 3. Antiquities-
Collection and preservation—Fiction. 4. Americans—Egypt—Fiction.

5. Egypt—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3616.H45E46 2004

8i3'.6—dc22 2003065543

Random House website address:
www.atrandom.com
Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper
2 4 6 8 9 7 5 3 1

F I R S T E D I T I O N

ILLUSTRATIONS © BY JACKIE AHER
BOOK DESIGN BY BARBARA M. BACHMAN

C O N T E N T S

Reproduction: Cartouche of King Atum-hadu | xi
Reproduction: First page of journal of Ralph Trilipush | xiii
Map of Egypt | 1

Documents compiled by Laurence Macy III, 1955 | 3

Ralph Trilipush and Margaret Finneran, 1922

Harold Ferrell to Laurence Macy III, 1954-1955

Ralph Trilipush and Chester Crawford Finneran, 1922

Beverly Quint to Ralph Trilipush, 1922

Hugo Marlowe to Beverly Quint, 1918

Royal cartouche of King Atum-hadu

(King "Atum-Is-Aroused"), final (?) king (?) of Egypt's XIIIth Dynasty,

1660 (?}-1630 (?) B.c.

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0

31 Dec. Sunset. Outside the tomb of Atum-hadu. On the Victrola 50:
"I'm Sitting on the Back Porch Swing (Won't You Come Sit by Me,
Dear?)."

My darling Margaret, my eternal Queen whose beauty astonishes
the sun,

Your father and I are heading home tomorrow, back to you—the
luxurious riverboat north to Cairo, a night at that city's Hotel of the
Sphinx, then by rail to Alexandria, and from there we have booked vic•
torious passage on the Italian steamer
Crutoforo Colombo,
ports of call
Malta, London, New York, from where we shall catch the very first
train to you in Boston. You shall embrace your fiance and your father
by 20 January.

Upon my return, our wedding will, of course, be our most pressing
business. Then, after refreshed preparations, I shall lead a second expe•
dition back here to Deir el Bahari to conduct a photographic survey of
the wall paintings and clear the artefacts and treasures from the tomb.
All that remains this evening is to seal up the tomb's front, leaving my
find exactly as I discovered it. And then posting you this package. My
messenger is due here presently.

Nothing stands in our way now, my darling. My success here, your
father's reinstated blessing—all is precisely as I promised. You will be
relieved to know that your father and I are again fast friends. (Thank
you for your "warning" cable, but your father's misplaced anger back in
Boston could never have survived his time here in my company!) No,
he congratulates me on my find
("our
find, Trilipush!" he corrects me),
sleepily sends you his love, and sheepishly begs you to disregard those
foolish things he told you of me. He was under terrible strain, sur-

rounded by jealousy and intriguers, and now he is simply delighted that
I have forgiven him for succumbing, even for an instant, to such corro•
sive lies. And now we are returning to you, just as you will return to me.

Of course, if you are reading this letter, then I have not, for reasons
I can only speculate, made it safely back to Boston and your embrace. I
did not arrive trailing clouds of immortal glory, did not drape around
your white throat this strand of whitest gold I am bringing you from
Atum-hadu's tomb. And I did not, taking you gently aside, under the
double-height arched windows of your father's parlour, brush away
your tears of joy at my safe return, and quietly ask you to give me as
soon as it arrives a package (this package), that you would be receiving
from me shortly, stamped with the alluring postage of far-off Egypt, ad•
dressed to me in your care, to be opened by you only in case of my ex•
tended and inexplicable absence.

No, events will proceed just as I have foretold, and you will not
read this letter. I shall arrive before it, shall gently take it from you be•
fore you open it, and all of this will be unread, unnecessary, a precau•
tion known to no one but me.

But. But, Margaret. But. You have seen as clearly as anyone the
malevolence of those who would have us fail, and one never knows
when fatal accidents or worse might befall one. And so I am taking the
liberty of sending to you the enclosed journals. Dear God, may it all ar•
rive safely.

Margaret, you are now holding, if the besuckered tentacles of my
enemies have not yet slithered into the Egyptian postal system, three
packets, arranged chronologically in order of composition. They open
10 October, with my arrival in Cairo at the Hotel of the Sphinx,
thoughts of you and our engagement party still effervescent in my
head. Journal entries never meant for publication are intermingled
with those that were, and with elements of the finished work. Much of
the journal is a letter to you, the letter I never found the right moment
to send until now. I intend to untangle all that back in Boston. The sec•
ond packet begins when I exhausted my supply of the hotel's stationery
and in its place relied on the generosity of colleagues at the Egyptian