Tutankhamun Uncovered (45 page)

At his house that night, filled with these thoughts, Carter decided that a short letter of encouragement would do no harm. He settled down at his desk with a Scotch and put pen to paper:

Dear Carnarvon,

I have to tell you, I am afraid, that Director Lacau that staid Frenchman who, in place of our dear old friend Maspero, now controls our actions has denied us any additional concession. On your behalf I had attempted to gain access to Tel el Amarna. Though very different from The Valley, it is a site of great promise, much that will be new to you, and the opportunity, while so many excavators were absent, seemed too good to miss. However, he has, as I said, denied it to us. No matter. Our strength of will towards our endeavours in The Valley will be redoubled. It is on this matter that I wish now to dwell.

As you are aware we have begun to clear the area we spoke of now years ago, what with the war and all, it seems down to bedrock. The going is slow and I do not want to get your hopes up too early, but I remain positive that we are on the right track.

Unless your doctor directs otherwise, I would respectfully suggest that you postpone your next trip and make plans to return to Egypt in the autumn of next year. In addition to the travel risk (they are still clearing mines in the Med., don’t forget), too much unexciting work awaits us this season. I see little opportunity for discoveries of significance. But if we are fortunate enough to chance upon something, be assured I shall telegraph your lordship directly.

Also, you will, when you come again, find Egypt a greatly changed place. Not

for the better, I fear. The people are much angered by the deprivations of this war.

There is trouble in the streets of Cairo from time to time. This is put down quickly

and with little sympathy by the militia. I am sorry to report that the British are more

foreign to this place now than they have ever been. Sadly we alienate ourselves

further almost daily.

In any event I shall, as soon as I have it in mind, advise you as to the best timing

of your visit in 1918. By then, God willing, this terrible conflict will be behind us

all and I shall have more for you to see.

My regards to Lady Evelyn. Your most obedient servant,

Howard Carter

He replaced his pen thoughtfully. He had, over the years, built a bonding relationship with the frail aristocrat. The man respected him tremendously. He knew that. But when you are paying for everything and there is little or no reward year after year, can you not reasonably be expected to lose some of that faith?

Carter drew a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. Excavation itself was not enough. A strategy of investigation was required. ‘There may be other opportunities in that place which I have not yet thought of and might overlook should I not investigate the entire area,’ he thought.

The most likely area in which Tutankhamen’s tomb could have been overlooked had to be where Carter had come across some ancient workers’ huts. These had existed from the later dynasties and were built on the tailings of earlier tomb excavations. Quite clearly the area had not been disturbed since ancient times. It was the most obvious logic to Howard Carter that he should leave this place until last, for if it were dug out first and found to be barren his patron might choose that moment to up and quit. The remainder of the area, to all appearances much less attractive, would be left unexplored. The tomb, or something else of importance, could well exist elsewhere in the triangle of his excavations. If he had no success in his clearance of the area all about but kept this particular place untouched until his lordship began to berate his lack of success he would have something in reserve to whet his lordship’s appetite one final time. He decided to leave the area around the worker’s huts until the end, unless his lordship should dictate otherwise.

He folded the letter precisely, running his finger along the crease, and slotted it into an envelope. As he dabbed the glue with a damp sponge and sealed the envelope, he felt some sense of comfort that the letter was as good an attempt as any at preparing his patron for a lengthy and not too ambitiously expectant wait.

The following morning Carter was in The Valley early. He instructed his fellahs how to lay the first short length of portable railway that would help them remove the cleared debris to a point far distant from the area in which they were excavating and deposit it where the valley had already been cleared to bedrock. This helpful equipment had arrived as a direct result of his past good services and relationship with the British Army. Sergeant Adamson who, eager to distance himself from military responsibilities had taken a real interest in Carter’s archaeological efforts, had played a leading role in its procurement and, in return, was in hope of being asked to take a more direct part in the excavations at some future point in time. The same thought, however, had not occurred to Carter. His opinion of the militia remained as disrespectfully low as it had been in the chaotic days of the bombing of that tasteless Germanodynastic villa. But they had their good points and their prolific and comprehensive ordinance was one of these.

The dusty days and lonely nights came and went slowly that season. It got to a point where Carter almost dreaded the next day’s unrewarded drudgery before it had begun. It was a blessing that his patron had heeded his advice and stayed at Highclere.

But his men didn’t seem to lose their energy. Every morning as he entered The Valley on his donkey and rounded the slight bend where the tributary valley branched off to the site at which Davis had found the complete tomb of the royal parents, Yuya and Tuya, he would see the head of the tip and behind it the long snake of men winding out of a pit in the distance and dumping their rubble filled baskets one by one into the small steel buckets of the mining trolleys.

Despite the tedious hours, with the earl absent Carter was far more content at this work. He had not the pressure he would feel from having his lordship close by. The sense of expectation that he must find something was not there. Neither were there all those special arrangements and preparations necessary to keep his lordship and his entourage as comfortable as possible in a desert environment none of the formality in the meals he would take; no ensuring that there was a clean room in one of the opened tombs in which to shelter from the sun and in which to eat and take rest; no ensuring there was a table of sufficient size, as well as clean tablecloths, appropriate food, and adequately temperate storage for the wine brought from Carnarvon’s personal cellars; no dressing for dinner; none of those long, almost intolerable evenings answering the naive questions of the unimpressive persons that Carnarvon may on occasion invite to share dinner with them; no real need for a privy, even. These were chores that Carter always had preferred to do without. He found them a totally unnecessary distraction.

So, regardless of the lack of discoveries, his job was eased by this solitude. He could eat when he wished, eat how he wished, begin work when he wished, cease work when he wished, sleep when he wished, drink his own Scotch, think his own thoughts, and enjoy his own company.

As Carter watched the men working, Gaggia stood at his feet and sniffed the dust laden air. There was hardly a breeze, but what little there was bore on it the scent of something attractive to the mangy hound and the dog sprinted off into the pit where the men were digging. Carter watched Gaggia disappear amongst the mass of heaving bodies and dust. Within a few minutes he noticed the animal re-emerge, jumping at the legs of a fellah who was carrying in his basket what appeared to be a pot. The man came straight towards Carter. Clearly he had found something.

As the man neared, Carter could see he had a large, open urn cradled in his basket. The piece appeared complete. The man called to him. It had been some time since they had found anything and there was the pitch of excitement in his voice. “Sir! I found this! I found this!”

Carter took the vessel from the basket. It was a plain enough artefact, but it was something. He looked inside. Gaggia was barking at his feet. Now he understood why the dog had shown so much interest.

‘What a fine set of barrels that mongrel must have,’ he thought. He put his hand inside the pot and pulled out the stiff, dry coil of a long dead snake. A very long dead snake, thought Carter. Perhaps three thousand years dead. A fine set of barrels, indeed. “Okay, Gaggia. Good boy.” He patted the dog’s head. “You will be rewarded when we get home tonight.” He turned to the workman. “Show me exactly where you found this.”

The man led Carter towards the excavation. The other men, busy scraping debris into their baskets, stopped as Carter approached. He waited for the dust to settle. As it cleared, the fellah pointed to the spot. Two partly eroded slabs of limestone stood on end before him and met at about a ninety degree angle. They clearly formed the corner of an ancient hut, perhaps one of the huts that had been constructed for the men who had built the tomb of Ramses VI, the great doorway to which now yawned above them.

Carter, somewhat alarmed at the progress his men had made in the area that he had intentionally reserved for last, called to the reis.

“Ahmed. I want you to cease work in this area. We are too close to the tomb of Ramses VI. These stones which you are uncovering are those of the houses of ancient workmen. They will need careful excavation. I want you to bring your men to dig further south of this place. Tell them to move now, if you would be so good.”

Carter turned to examine the pot more closely. Unfortunately there were no distinguishing marks on it. He was unable to tell from what exact period it had come. All this would have to be conjectured from inference from its situation relative to earlier finds.

‘Poor old bugger,’ he thought. ‘Left in his pot by his master and forgotten, I’ll be bound and forever.’

He picked up the desiccated snake and reverently replaced it in the urn.

At home one evening, late in the 191718 season, Carter was surprised by a knock on the door. He had been busy at his notes and was not used or inclined to visitors at any time, particularly those who had the rudeness to arrive unannounced.

A second knock indicated that Abdel had not attended the door.

“Abdel!” he snapped. “Get the door!”

Nothing.

‘The man must be out fetching something. Maybe he’s shopping for food,’ Carter concluded.

He reluctantly got up from his desk. As he opened the door his irritation metamorphosed instantly to warmth. “Colonel Lawrence!” he exclaimed. “What a surprise.”

“Hope you don’t mind the intrusion, Mr Carter. I was in Cairo for a couple of days and took the opportunity to come and visit you on site, as it were. It’s good to see you again, sir.”

“Well... A most pleasant surprise, Colonel. Please come in. Sit down. May I get you a drink?”

“A lemonade would be just wonderful, sir.”

“Abdel!” No answer. “Oh. Forgot. Me man’s out. I’ll be but a moment.”

Carter disappeared, then quickly returned with his guest’s lemonade and a Scotch for himself. He passed Lawrence the glass and then settled himself in a chair opposite.

“Tell me now, what brings you all the way out here?”

“To tell you the truth, sir, idle curiosity!”

“You don’t appear the idle type to me, Colonel. Surely you have some plan in mind?”

“No, truly. Enjoyed our first meeting very much. Glad to get away from the action. Opportunity to get away from the army for a while. Always wanted to see what it is you do.”

“You’ll be disappointed, Colonel. Very boring excavations going on here at present. Bit like mining but no money to be made from the spoil. And just a big hole in the ground to show for our effort.”

Lawrence pressed Carter on what he was trying to achieve and the Egyptologist willingly described his plan. The man appeared fascinated and this encouraged Carter to explain every detail of his search. Eventually he reached a suitable point in his soliloquy to pause and take the opportunity to ask Lawrence what he had been doing since they had last met.

He got a lot more than he had bargained for. The colonel had been desperate to unload on someone and Carter became the priest for his confession. It began with descriptions of the Arabs, their way of life in the desert, their hopeless feudalism. Then came the stories of the raids on the Turkish railways. There was some considerable excitement in the words of the colonel’s tale and Carter became wholly absorbed in the adventures. But then it moved on. The hardships the incredible journeys, the lack of sleep, flirting with death through starvation, thirst, inhuman heat, enduring wounds, enduring the bloodshed, the deaths of friends and his two servants, enduring the killing until he practically relished it, even against the helpless, the unpalatable imbalance between his allegiance to the crown and his loyalty to Faisal.

There was probably no British soldier who could begin to comprehend his feelings certainly no Arab. It fell to Carter to listen. Carter at least could understand the man’s need to release his torment to someone. And now Carter felt the need to do so himself. This night the lonely two would share their inner thoughts in the security of uncommitted confidence.

“That’s quite a story, Colonel,” said Carter. “And I daresay there is more to come for you before this war is over. There is no shame in it. Great, unique adventures. You should write about them some day.”

Lawrence looked into Carter’s eyes. “Perhaps. If I live through it and my brain and my writing hand remain articulate! You, too, when you find your dead prince.”

“I will find him. I will write about his discovery and I will send you a copy.”

“Likewise. That’s a promise. A pact between us.”

Both smiled broadly and they shook hands.

After the colonel had left, Carter felt greatly uplifted by their exchange. At the same time he felt very alone again.

At the end of that summer’s break, Carter had planned to return, as usual, in the autumn, but the war dragged on until November and he ended up staying away from Egypt for a full twelve months.