Tutankhamun Uncovered (30 page)

But that was yesterday.

As the quick, deliberate strokes of his pencil continued, he glanced up from the sketchpad momentarily to pick out another character from the busily trading crowd. What took his eye in the indifferently lit shade of the market was the sight of two Europeans, one short and plump, the other tall and lanky, both properly suited and hatted, talking vigorously to each other as they advanced from the shadows within the bazaar and out into the bright sunlight. When the light caught them, he could clearly see that the shorter man was none other than Gaston Maspero. He did not recognise his companion. The other, despite walking with a pronounced limp, exhibited the carriage and dress of a man of some breeding.

The two were making their way purposefully towards where Carter was sitting. There was no doubt he was their target. As they neared, Carter examined the taller man more closely. He was dressed in a grey, finely checked three-piece suit open at the jacket. He had a shooting stick for support, and from the same hand he swung a feather flywhisk. In his breast pocket flopped a large white handkerchief and, between the two pockets in his waistcoat, a long, gold pocket watch chain bounced in tune with his uneven step. His white shirt was roll necked so he wore no tie. On his head perched a large brimmed panama sporting a wide white headband. His fair moustache was bushier than Carter’s, his face leaner and longer, and his eyelids had that slightly half-closed downward look that which comes with years of looking down on lesser mortals.

‘I am not going to enjoy this,’ thought Howard, breathing in deeply. As the pair of them neared he pulled himself up to a standing position and dusted off his pants.

“Knew we’d find you here,” Maspero began and then with a wave of each hand added, “Mr Howard Carter. His lordship, George Edward Stanhope Molyneux Herbert, Lord Porchester, the fifth Earl of Carnarvon of Highclere.”

‘Mother went overboard naming this one,’ thought Carter uncharitably. ‘If the number of characters in his name and title are anything to go by, he must be very well-heeled indeed!’

“Mr. Carter! Delighted to meet you,” pronounced Carnarvon as he shook him vigorously by the hand. “I fear I have been delinquent to this point in not ensuring I made your acquaintance much earlier during my stay in Egypt. The growth of your reputation in recent years seemingly approaches eclipsing that of the great Flinders Petrie!”

“Your lordship, the honour is all mine. I have heard much of your keen archaeological efforts in these parts.”

“Will you be good enough to take some coffee with us, Howard?” asked Maspero, hastily. “His lordship has a proposition he wishes to put before you.”

Maspero led them quickly back to the entrance of the sukh. On the corner stood a small outdoor bar boasting five or six tables with crimson chequered tablecloths, all shaded by a canopy extended between four tethered poles. Each of them drew up a chair and sat down. Maspero gestured to the owner of the rude establishment to bring three coffees.

As he exchanged pleasantries with Carnarvon, Carter looked almost disinterested. He fully expected the proposition, when Carnarvon was ready to make it, would be some form of commission for paintings of artefacts or wall decorations; work he might be glad of, nonetheless, but not likely to get his heart pounding. The arrival of the coffees was the signal to switch gears from introductory small talk to the business at hand.

“Mr Carter,” Carnarvon began directly. “You have been kind in your comments about the results of my recent excavations. The truth of the matter is, however, that my proudest possession from these digs has been the full mummy case of a cat. Of interest, of course, and most gratifying, but it goes only a small way towards fulfilling my ambitions and compensating my costs. I have come to Egypt primarily on my doctor’s orders. My health, you see, is sufficiently fragile that I am greatly vulnerable to the ill humours of the British winter...”

“Aren’t we all, sir?”

“Hmm. Perhaps some more so than others, Mr Carter...” The earl quickly returned to the subject of his forthcoming proposition. “...So I come to Egypt for its health giving sunshine, warmth and clean air. While I am here I do not wish to be idle. I have maintained an interest in Egyptology since I was a child and have been a modest collector to this point, but this is my first opportunity to touch provenance, so to speak. Touch it is all I can do, I fear. I am not knowledgeable in the craft of excavation, nor where to look. The concessions I have held to this point have been bestowed on the advice of Mr Weigall, your successor in the Antiquities Service. I am sure he has advised as wisely as he could, but equally I am sure that being sensitive to my inexperience he has tempered his choice of site to that likely to be of lesser importance, lest I do some irreparable harm. Kept me out of harm’s way, so to speak, with grace!”

As Carnarvon continued this monologue, Maspero regarded Carter’s expression. It was clear that the Egyptologist’s attention was growing stronger by the minute. Carter had realised that this man was not leading up to a commissioned painting or two. The director’s face broke to a wry smile, discreetly concealed under the herbage of his matted moustache.

“So this is my frustration,” the earl continued. “I have sufficient fortune to adequately fund excavations of some importance for the Service, but I am restricted to almost squandering these funds on trivial sites with little opportunity for any discovery of importance. I believe it to be a considerable waste. And I fear my sense of dedication to the task has suffered. Without some new incentive it may perish altogether.”

Carnarvon turned to look Carter directly in the eyes.

“This brings me to my proposition. And for this idea I have to thank Monsieur Maspero for his good counsel.”

Maspero, grinning, nodded in recognition of the honour so bestowed.

Carnarvon smiled back in acknowledgement and continued. “Monsieur Maspero made an observation that hitherto had not occurred to me. Without an experienced Egyptologist working with me, how could I expect to gain a concession of sufficient potential? Simple as that.”

He clapped his hands as if in recognition of this revelation, and then turned his eyes towards Carter again. “Will y’ be that man, Mr Carter?”

By this time Carter was quite prepared for the climax. “Your lordship, I am quite overcome. You could do me no greater honour. When shall we start?”

“Splendid! Splendid!” Carnarvon and Maspero exchanged gratified glances. “We shall negotiate a new concession at once this time with your advice as to its location.”

“It is too bad that Mr Theodore Davis still pillages in The Valley,” Carter responded. “Until he releases that concession we shall have to content ourselves with lesser prospects. But I promise you better than a cat!”

Carter pulled his notebook from his coat pocket, turned to a clean page and began sketching a rough map.

“That is where we should apply for a concession, sir,” he said, jabbing a finger at his hasty scribblings. “The foothills of Dra Abu el-Naga, at the mouth of The Valley of the Kings right on Davis’s doorstep, awaiting our turn to enter!”

Carter turned to smile at Maspero. “Please accept my thanks, monsieur, for I have little else. You will not regret this referral, I promise you. Your thoughtfulness will be repaid many fold in kind.”

Though Maspero would not live to see it, it was quite beyond Carter’s wildest dreams how great his repayment ultimately would be.

From their first week of working together, Carnarvon was himself convinced he had as symbiotic a marriage of connoisseurship and talent as he could have hoped. The two of them even enjoyed each other’s company and conversation in the evenings.

Carnarvon, most refreshingly after Carter’s experiences with Davis, held a sense of responsibility that, to Carter at least, men of his station in life rarely exhibited. The earl took most seriously the gift of stewardship bequeathed through his concession in the west Theban foothills. Despite his earlier lack of success he had no wish for Carter to accelerate things but, along with him, persevered in a diligent manner, sifting all debris to ensure no small fragment of artefact was lost. Neither did he habitually retire to his riverboat or hotel suite in Luxor while the superficial work was being carried out and appear only when some discovery of significance was anticipated. More often than not he was personally present during excavation activity. The man was serious. He had substance. And there was more a real friendship was developing between them.

Over the following years there were a great many discoveries, all of them significantly improved in quality and quantity relative to Carnarvon’s previous excavations. By the time the first decade of the new century was over, Carter’s methodical ‘scratching about’ within the great amphitheatre of stone that cradled Hatshepsut’s magnificent mortuary temple had yielded much to them.

The treasures had included a virtual multitude of coffins and mummies, many untouched, and a good deal else besides. His lordship was much pleased and considered in his mind how he might make a gesture appropriate to his degree of satisfaction at the fruitful efforts of his colleague. He wanted to give Carter a gift that could be taken as an expression of genuine gratitude for the relentless hard work, patience and exacting practice that had brought them their successes thus far. In addition, he wanted it to stand as an enduring statement of his confidence in Carter’s stewardship and the grandee’s wish to continue financial support for many a year to come.

One evening while taking a drink alone on the porch of Carter’s loaned house at Medinet Habu, Carnarvon watched the shadow of the roof line extend slowly towards the river. He had an idea. ‘I will build him a new house. His house. He will no longer have to concern himself with how long the Service might tolerate his lease; no longer have to rely on the goodwill of others. It will provide him a permanent base from which to continue his work. A most pleasing thought. I quite excel myself!’ He grinned contentedly.

When Carter joined him a moment later, Carnarvon came out with the proposal immediately. “Been thinking, old boy. This place is comfortable but somewhat insecure as digs. You need a more permanent establishment, do you not think?”

“That would be most desirable, m’lord. But it will be some time yet before I am sufficiently flushed to fund such a project. We have profited some from trading in the antiquities markets back in Luxor and Cairo, but I still have very little spare to put away.”

“Understood, Howard. Understood. But what if I provide the wherewithal as a token of my appreciation these past years, and as a basis from which we can step to even greater achievements.”

This last statement was music to Carter’s ears and Carnarvon well knew it. He would bite. He was sure of it.

Without hesitation Carter took him at his word. “If I had a choice, sir, I would build at the entrance to The Valley, overlooking the river, as we are here. Just a simple place. Enough for my own needs, plus a little room for guests. I may call it ‘Castle Carter’! You are serious, m’ lord, are y’ not?”

“Absolutely, Howard. Let us see to surveying an appropriate site tomorrow morning. It is time we did something different for a day or so. Capital idea if I say so myself!”

The two laughed together and shook hands.

Carter looked north. In his eyes, to be paid a living wage for what was nothing more than pursuing his life’s ambition, was entirely sufficient. The affection and generosity so openly displayed by his lordship was so unlike the clinical, businesslike approach of his erstwhile benefactor that it reminded him of a yet greater need. He grew more impatient to obtain access to the concession which Davis still administered.

Carnarvon owned, among a great many other things, a brickworks in England. He told Carter he would have a consignment of bricks made of fine British clay and baked in the best of British kilns sent out to Cairo to add strength to the construction, which otherwise would have been built with sundried mud bricks, much like those Carter had cut his teeth on in his early employ with Flinders Petrie and, in their inherent vulnerability, would have relatively quickly succumbed to the elements although perhaps not in Carter’s lifetime.

By the time the bricks arrived at the wharf side on the west bank at Luxor, the foundations had been dug. True to his word, Carter had laid out a simple plan: his room to the right; a second bedroom; a central hall for entertaining; a dining room; and the servants’ quarters and kitchen added on to the left. Both the dining room and Carter’s bedroom were to have covered verandas with the bathroom between.

Carnarvon was at the site watching Carter lead the pack animals up the incline from the flood plain. As Carter neared, Carnarvon leaned forward in his chair and called to him, at the same time gesturing towards the donkeys with his shooting stick.

“Howard, have you checked to see what manner of brick it is we have here?”

“Manner of brick, m’ lord? What ‘manner of brick’?” Carter looked towards the first donkey and the piles of bricks in the baskets on either side. He walked over and took one of the bricks in his hand. What he had thought from a distance was the brickworks name stamp was in fact a good deal more than that:

MADE AT BRETBY ENGLAND FOR HOWARD CARTER A.D. THEBES 1910

Carter was dumbfounded and at the same time filled with an immense feeling of pride.

“I feel like the Pharaoh himself, sir!” he exclaimed. “Customised brickwork whatever next. Most thoughtful of you, m’ lord. Nothing but good can come of this!”

“I echo your feelings, Howard. This is the start of something big. I feel it.” The feeble aristocrat was brimming with excitement, much like a child anticipating a gift.

“I will not use this brick, m’ lord. I shall keep it to remind me of this moment when I lie infirm and in my dotage with little else to do but review the achievements of our association. And great achievements these will be...”

Carter’s mind was racing, but before he could connect the next sentence Carnarvon broke in. “Together, I am convinced, we shall do more for Egyptology than anyone thus far. We are a formidable force, Howard, are we not? You and I. A formidable force!” The earl raised his right fist and his eyes to the sky in a gesture of triumph.