Tutankhamun Uncovered (29 page)

Horemheb moved once again, standing more to attention this time. Once again the general folded his arms across the rise of his belly.

A wrapping. A large scarab: made of black resin with a gold base and coloured glass inlay, suspended from the neck to the navel on a long gold wire. A wrapping. Covering the entire chest of the king’s body, an arrangement of four large gold collar shields, each individually secured about the king’s neck with gold thread: a vulture, another with the heads of a vulture and a serpent, another serpent, and a collar with two identical falcon heads facing away from each other. On the arms, gold bracelets and broad, colourful bangles over each wrist: six to the left arm, seven to the right. They cover each dry, shrunken forearm to the elbow. On the fingers of each hand, long gold finger stalls, like thimbles: the priests slide rings of solid gold over each but only two on the left hand will stay in place. They put the remaining rings to one side. A wrapping for each hand, each finger, each arm, then both arms are folded across the chest, the eight remaining rings placed between them: three near the left wrist to complete symbolically the decoration of the hand, five adjacent to the right. On the hips, first a girdle: of gold and glass beadwork, drawn up around the king’s legs and laid about his waist. On this a pectoral: an eye in bright blue glass suspended on a necklace of gold beads. A wrapping. A chased gold girdle: suspended from it an articulated gold apron of glass beads with, tucked carefully beneath the girdle and to one side, a gold dagger in its gold sheath. More wrappings. An anklet of gold, inlaid with coloured glass. A wrapping. A gold collar of dark blue glass. A wrapping. A second girdle of chased gold. A wrapping.

The general placed his hands on his hips and moved his feet further apart.

Three plain sheet gold symbols: one ellipsoid and placed coincident with the position of the embalming scar, another in the form of the letter T, the third a Y. On the legs, four gold bangles placed along and between them. A wrapping. A bangle and collarette: of gold and coloured glass, with golden falcon heads at the shoulders. A wrapping. Two more bangles and two more collarettes. A wrapping. Another collarette. A wrapping. The headpieces from the king’s diadem along with a gold anklet. A wrapping. An iron dagger with a gold haft, inlaid with coloured glass, and a gold sheath, these laid alongside a ceremonial apron of large gold plates, inlaid with coloured glass. A final wrapping.

The jewellery table was empty.

A long and very audible sigh from Horemheb ensued. The general quickly remedied this momentary display of disrespect by drawing himself smartly to attention, bowing his head once again and closing his eyes.

The ritual continued. Without pausing, the two priests finished the padding and outer wrapping of the body. The direction and order of each binding followed a set procedure and they worked together from the feet upwards, one taking the bandage and one moving the body alternately until it became fully cocooned.

The mummy now was bound so tightly it was as rigid as a log. It also was heavy. With some effort the priests lifted it up by the shoulders and slid it off the foot of the funeral bed until the feet rested on the stone floor. Leaving it temporarily leaning against the bed, they turned to face the general.

Horemheb opened his eyes.

At his feet, standing in a specially made wooden cradle, stood the magnificent mask of heavy gold. On the priests’ signal he bent down and, with the help of the two guards standing by his side, raised the object. The priests took the mask from the general and approached the mummy from the front. As if performing the coronation itself, they solemnly lifted the mask above the mummy’s head and slowly lowered it on its shoulders. The long beard of gold and inlaid blue glass was attached to the chin. With the help of the guards they carefully lifted the mummy back onto the bier.

Parannefer’s final holy act was to place a golden ba bird on the mummy’s abdomen. A last prayer was recited and solemnly he led the party from the chamber.

The great cedar doors closed behind them and the royal guards took their places either side. There they would stay, standing vigil until it was time for the funeral celebrations.

The general remained behind, alone in the chamber.

Numerous articles of inestimable value had passed him in a blur. He hadn’t been counting. There could be no reason to suspect indiscretion. From now until the final sealing of the tomb the entire event was too solemn and the process too ordered and prescribed. Any errors or falsehoods would disturb the smooth passage of the king to the afterlife and all would suffer when their time came. There would be no exceptions. Of this he was certain.

The general moved over to the head of the bed. As he looked down the high-eyebrowed forehead, the face glowed eerily blue grey in the light of the oil lamps, and the great black orbs of its eyes burned back into his. He drew a sharp breath and stepped back in alarm. ‘He lives! Truly, he lives!’ The reality would haunt him the remainder of his days.

Later that night, Horemheb walked over to the foundry one last time and checked the line-up of grave goods set ready for shipment the following morning. The huge gold coffin glowed in the light of the dying furnace. He smiled gratuitously. Its magnificence set the standard for his own casket.

‘Yet more grand,’ contemplated the general. ‘This one shall become so much tomb robbers’ booty. That much is certain.’ The thought pleased him so much he almost spoke it aloud, but checked himself a human shadow flickered across the foundry floor to his left. He turned to confront it, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. He was about to draw the blade when he recognised the crouching figure.

Ankhesenamun had not heard the general enter the foundry and remained totally oblivious to his presence. She was kneeling before the standing gold ka statue of her husband which was now positioned on its plinth within a small golden shrine, its doors wide open. As Horemheb drew closer he could hear her whisper.

“Eternal, with me, thou shalt be. We shall never be apart.”

‘Very touching,’ thought the general. ‘Touching. I, too, pray you will not be apart for long. Pray I help you to your goal.’ And he stole out of the foundry without closing the door.

Ankhesenamun kissed her fingers, leant towards the open shrine, and gently touched the tiny gold feet.

“We shall be together once again, Tutankhamun... within but a few nights hence.”

Had he been present, the words would have given the general some food for thought.

Chapter Ten

Emma Andrews took her time inspecting the watercolour. Carter, a Scotch and soda in his hand, made himself comfortable while he awaited the verdict. They sat in the main room of Davis’s temporary house which sat close to the entrance of The West Valley. Although it was early afternoon, all the windows and all the doors were open, allowing a refreshing breeze to flow freely through the room.

“Magnificent as always! Howard, bless you, you always excel. Is the usual okay?”

“Oh, of course, Miss Andrews. Whatever.”

“A trifle more on this occasion, perhaps? It is, after all, slightly larger than the last one you painted for us.”

“You are too kind. But, to tell the truth, my bank balance is looking somewhat lean this month.”

“Twenty pounds, then. And we’ll hear no more of it. Theo won’t mind a bit!”

“You are too kind.” Secretly he’d hoped for more. This winter there were fewer tourists than usual and very few of these were inclined towards his artwork. But beggars can’t be choosers and he should be content with the appreciative market he held so secure.

As he took another mouthful of his Scotch, the houseboy came into the room with a note. Mrs Andrews opened it.

“It’s from Theo, Howard. He has reached the inner sanctum and would like to show it to us.”

“The ‘inner sanctum’, Miss Andrews? Of Horemheb’s tomb which Edward found just a few days ago?”

“The very one, Howard. But Maspero calls it ‘the tomb of Harmhabi’. I cannot for the life of me fathom why it is that you archaeologists cannot agree on a common spelling. “Horemheb, Harmhabi, Humbabumba I do declare! Well, enough of that. We should go up there directly. His automobile is waiting.”

Carter resisted the temptation to lecture Davis’s companion. He quickly downed the remainder of his drink, put on his Homburg and followed the woman outside. It took them no time at all to drive to the site.

Theodore Davis and Edward Ayrton, both covered in dust, were there to greet them.

“My dear!” exclaimed Davis. “We have such delights to show you! And it is so fortunate you were visiting us, Howard. You can perhaps help us decipher the texts. The place is full of graffiti of the most excellent workmanship! It’s a big one, this one. Unfinished, but big all the same. Totally robbed, of course. Hardly a thing worth salvaging but for the sarcophagus. Never mind that. Plenty to write home about, that’s for sure!

(In the event, Davis’ publication, prolifically and precisely illustrated with photographs by his good friend Harry Burton, was journalistic in its text. Ironically it acknowledged the contributions of all his collaborators except that of Burton himself; See Davis, 1912.) Let us go in.”

Carter looked at the entrance to the excavation. A pit dug by Davis’s men into the accumulated rubble had revealed a manmade rectangular hole cut into the very floor of the valley itself. It descended steeply via a rock cut staircase which penetrated the limestone as far as the eye could see.

Davis was eager to show off his discovery. Despite his age, he ran down the steps almost two at a time. Ayrton extended his hand to Emma and, going ahead down the staircase, led her carefully into the depths. Carter followed.

After the first cleared stairway there was nothing but rock refuse to walk on rubble from ancient floods; debris from the collapse of the ceilings. With little to see but plain walls, the party hastily scrambled over the slabs of rock and piles of rubble, descending along three inclines of varying slope, until Davis stopped them at the first decorated room. Here there was no debris. There was no floor. This was the well room. Ayrton had bridged it with a double ladder which they all had to negotiate.

Immediately beyond the well was a double pillared room with a staircase let into the floor. After three more inclines of varying angles of descent, they reached a small room which clearly led into a much larger hall beyond. The debris of earlier flooding appeared to have penetrated this far and fanned out into the room at the base of the incline. A great chunk of the small room’s ceiling had fallen away. Limestone shards of considerable size littered the floor. Like the well room, the walls were brilliantly decorated with life-size figures of Horemheb paired with various deities.

Davis waved his arms about the room as if wishing his guests to relish the sight.

He led the party onward. They picked their way carefully from boulder to boulder across the decorated room into the larger, pillared hall beyond. The chamber was huge. It appeared all the larger because it opened directly into the room holding the sarcophagus. There were six pillars in the room, all undecorated. One had broken from the ceiling and lay at a crazy angle within a pile of ceiling debris. Centuries of earthquakes were responsible for the structural damage and cracks were everywhere in the plaster, the pillars, the ceiling and the walls. The place looked like it was about to fall in on itself at any moment.

It was clear that the decorating of this holy place had been cut short. In places the original draughtsman’s grids were in evidence. On one wall, the first rough but elaborately sketched drawings were in red, overdrawn more precisely in black. Along one or two registers these were partially sculpted. But none was painted.

Davis proudly pointed out the only painted effigy in this area. It stood solitary in the centre of an otherwise blank wall in one of the flanking storerooms. It was a large, colourfully but not brightly painted figure of Osiris standing on a plinth in front of a large djed pillar, the whole contained within a representation of a multicoloured shrine. The face was green, the body was white, the remainder painted variously in yellow, shades of grey, blue, green and red ochre. Carter had not set eyes on its like before. He was captivated by the painting and stared at it for some time.

The floor of this little room was littered with tomb debris cast aside by the robbers in antiquity everything disassembled, stripped of its gold. Most had been removed altogether.

The excited Davis tugged at Carter’s shoulder. “Howard, my old friend, come and examine the magnificent sarcophagus!”

The carved, red granite box stood in its original place near the rear wall of the lower of the two large rooms the burial chamber proper. It was indeed magnificent. Carter looked inside. It was empty just a few fragments of bone scattered about the base.

“This place has been very well cleansed, Mr Davis,” he said. “Doubt you’ll find much beneath all this rubble.”

There was a small doorway in the left rear wall of the burial chamber. Davis led his party through into another relatively large room. In the back wall of this room another opening led to a small chamber, but the doorway was almost filled with a pile of mason’s cuttings.

“This place really has a story to tell,” observed Carter. “These fellahs walked off the job before it was completed, did not bother to clean anything up, moved his lordship in, stacked his wares, sealed him up, broke in, took everything of value, busted up everything else, including his mummy, and left what remained of him in pieces.” he chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” asked Emma Andrews.

“Oh, nothing, Miss Andrews”... “Wonderful, wonderful find, Mr Davis. Congratulations, Ayrton. I wish you luck in completing the excavations.”

Although the exploration had been brief, it had felt good to be back, if only for a moment.

The sun now directly overhead, Howard Carter sat in the shade of a palm tree sketching the bustling composition in the entrance to the long corridor of the bazaar that stretched before him. He had painted the scene several times before albeit from slightly different angles and in differing lights. For over two years now Carter had been painting watercolours of Egyptian life and artefacts for profit, and through this and the odd trip to the sites acting as an authoritative guide, he had made sufficient in commissions to keep himself from starving, but little more than that. Had Gaston Maspero, his earlier boss, not helped by latterly loaning him the use of his previous quarters on the west bank, he might not even have achieved this much. Since it had come from Maspero, it was not below Carter to accept this charitable gesture. He rationalised it as a clearly well-earned response to ensure his continued support and wellbeing; a gesture demonstrating appreciation for his talents and efforts during the execution of his earlier duties as Chief Inspector. With no rent to pay, he managed to survive and still had time to study the antiquities about him and visit the excavations of others. But he wasn’t doing what he wanted. The lack of a steady salary brought with it a sense of insecurity and loneliness. A feeling of almost total solitude consumed him at times. He hadn’t seen Dorothy since he’d resigned. Some evenings he had felt compelled to relate his personal anguish to his diary. There was no one else to talk to. Bereft of funds, he had no prospect of re-establishing himself in the field.