Tutankhamun Uncovered (71 page)

He despised the West and all it stood for. In his younger years, he had been militant, one of the bolder ones, and had suffered time in the British Army penitentiary for it. But that was all behind him now. Now it was his turn to write the protocol, make the laws, force compliance. And just today he had succeeded in pulling off a most satisfying public coup. He had cancelled the Carnarvon concession and barred Carter and his colleagues from entering the Tomb of Tutankhamen. On his orders the padlocks Carter’s team had put in place had been forcibly removed and replaced with new ones with different keys.

As he reflected on his day’s achievements, a sinister smile broadened across his face. He took a sip of coffee and refocused his attention on the rhythmically swaying, perspiration oiled torso barely an arm’s length away from him.

“Ibrahim!” Carter shouted.

He knew the little man from his previous life with Theodore Davis. He had been the reis in charge of their labour force. The diminutive Arab was sitting upon the low wall which surrounded the pit above the entrance to the tomb.

“Ibrahim! What in the name of Allah are you doing, man? And what are these militiamen doing here?”

The Arab at once jumped down and bowed apologetically.

“I am commanded by the Inspector of the Antiquities Service to...” He took a deep breath and then blurted out quickly, “to stop anyone from entering this place... in... including you, sir!”

“Ibrahim, you scoundrel, you should know damn well there is work in progress here.”

Carter stopped a moment to gather himself and attempt to reason rather than harass the man. He began again in a softer tone.

“Ibrahim, you need to understand the situation. As we speak and dawdle at this entrance a huge slab of stone hangs precariously above the coffin. A coffin of unsurpassed beauty and magnificence, Ibrahim. Had you set eyes on it you would not so stupidly keep me from my work. What will happen to that priceless work of art should the stone fall? In all the time we worked together I never took you for a foolish man.”

The reis felt decidedly uncomfortable. After a long pause he finally gathered sufficient strength to whisper back. “These are my orders, sir.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from under his sweaty headband and nervously stretched his hand towards Carter.

Carter snatched it from him. It was another Service Order issued by Lacau. He only had to read the first paragraph banning all entry to the tomb and specifically mentioning Carter himself.

Carter couldn’t believe this was happening to him. To him of all people. Lacau surely had not the intelligence to use Carter’s strategy against him call his bluff? It was unthinkable.

The unthinkable then occurred to him. Perhaps that had been his mistake all along. He had never given a second’s thought to a carefully constructed conspiracy by those whom Carter considered so inept. But now, in seriously underestimating Morcos Bey Hanna’s tactics, it appeared that the Egyptologist’s arrogance had been skilfully exploited by the Egyptian.

The angry Carter turned back to Ibrahim, his face an expression of abject disgust. “Just you remember, Allah watches this place. He sees that which you do. He sees it is unworthy of you to betray an earlier loyalty.”

To any Arab of conscience such scolding from his past master, whom he had always respected, would have fallen heavily upon him. But to this man the duty in hand and its forthcoming financial compensation were easily the more important. The eyes of Allah were upon him, yes, but so they were at all times, and there was money in his hand besides.

Once more, Carter lost the fragile control he had over his temper. “Unlock the bloody gate, Ibrahim! At once!” he shouted. His face flushed. The entire valley roared back. It was as if a crowd of Carters was shouting at the reis.

The Arab tilted his head to one side, shrugged his shoulders and made an ‘it’soutofmycontrol’ gesture with his hands. “The militia guards the entrance, sir. I have no power over them.”

Carter became yet more agitated. He thought for a moment. ‘Thank God the earl was spared this experience. Prevented from accessing that which is rightfully his an insult of diabolic international proportions.’

The infuriated Egyptologist threw an obscenity at the Arab and stormed back to his car. The reis knew that he had been cursed but had no idea in what manner and cared less. He sat back on the rock wall and contemplated his next meal.

As he rode back in the open rear seat of his car, Carter thought through his next action. ‘In the interests of upholding the dignity of my departed patron, there can be only one rational course. For true Englishmen, rudely wronged, in a backward foreign land populated with powerful unsophisticates sue. After all, the justice system is British based. Bring the fellaheen to their knees, in public, for all the world to see. Publicly embarrass the Egyptian government. A less aggressive approach is inconceivable.’

Within hours of arriving in Cairo, Carter had retained the services of one

F. M. Maxwell, the irascible lawyer who some years earlier had convinced a jury to convict Morcos Bey Hanna of treason and who at the same time had argued, unsuccessfully at the time, for the death penalty.

To Howard Carter, the strategy seemed perfect, and the situation that this mixture of characters would create, a kind of poetic justice. In his command of Egyptian law Maxwell was undeniably the most accomplished of all Englishmen. He would make mincemeat of the opposition. To ensure that his forthcoming success was effectively communicated to the world’s press, Carter had Merton, the Times reporter, in attendance. The stage was set for a very public showdown. British post Victorian arrogance was dressed and ready to carry the day.

Chapter Twenty Three

Tutankhamun and his people had much to be pleased about. Their engineering of the trial had been a great success. Carter was gone from Egypt hopefully for good. There were still visitors to the tomb, but the tours were formal and closely supervised, disturbance was minimal, everything was left in its place and the king’s body itself remained in relative peace. It looked at last as if the royal party and its group of loyal friends could once more resume a peaceful coexistence. But, before they could release themselves to the pleasures that accompany eternal afterlife, they had first to consolidate their position.

“Before we can establish what still needs to be done here, we must first of all inventory everything in its current place in the tomb of Tutankhamen, and likewise every other tomb that the Carter party had requisitioned.”

Pierre Lacau was surrounded by a group of white coated and red-fezzed Egyptian attendants who had eagerly made themselves available for conscription by the Cairo Museum in order to accompany him to The Valley. While his first inclination was to go to the tomb of Tutankhamen, he somehow felt compelled to begin with the laboratory tomb and, following his direction, like a well trained detachment of soldiers, his loyal platoon sallied forth.

They stopped at the open doorway and looked inside. One of them observed the general situation of the interior and noted it down in his journal. All was as it had been that fateful day when Carter had been so unceremoniously barred from re-entry preparation trestles against either wall in the entrance corridor; underneath and against the walls, purpose-built crates, readied for their contents, the protective padding remaining carefully positioned within them and overlapping their rims; open trays of objects awaiting attention; and six cases of wines, each boldly labelled:

FORTNUM & MASON LTD. 181, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W.

Although behind his party of helpers, the Director General of the Antiquities Service towered head and shoulders above them and thereby commanded a very adequate view of what was in the chamber corridor.

Without question, the objects on the tables still awaiting the conservators’ attention were lovely but there, a little more distant, was the cache of wine. Lacau’s inner senses were French after all, and he was naturally drawn in that direction first the inanimate treasures from an ancient past could wait for the time being. He authoritatively pushed his way between the men in front of him, walked over to the closest crate and removed the already loosened lid. There were three individual wine boxes remaining inside. He reached in and pulled one out, sliding the wooden cover off to look at the bottle. He became absorbed by its blood rich colour and for a few moments quite forgot himself, what he had come for, and who accompanied him. He took the bottle out and examined it closely, turning it gently. He held it up to the light which blazed in from the doorway. The sun’s rays sprayed a rippling magenta backwash across the white limestone walls behind him. Reverently he drew his hand over the wine bottle before carefully replacing it in its box.

As he slid the cover closed once more, he couldn’t help but wonder. If he could secrete it away in the carpet bag he had with him, what chances were there that anyone would miss it? For a man of his position, such a thought was reprehensible and, with a reverence only a Frenchman could bestow (and only another Frenchman could recognise), he put the box back in its case.

His helpers remained standing at the entrance, patiently awaiting their instructions. He was about to turn back to them when something made him feel he should look further. There was another layer of wine cases below the first. He removed the top case and looked at the one beneath. The romance of the label warmed his heart: ‘Chateau Margeaux 1888’. This was irresistible. Trying not to disturb the contents, he picked it up carefully and stood it on another crate. Expectantly, he lifted off the lid.

As if awakened by the brilliance of light filling the doorway to the tomb, two wide-open eyes stared back at him from the small, chocolate coloured, carved head of a boy enclosed all about by a generous padding of straw.

For a moment the Director stood stock still, his mouth agape but quite speechless. There were murmurings from behind him. By now, all had caught a glimpse of what he was looking at. His surprise at making this discovery and the placid exquisiteness of the piece itself had quite taken his breath away.

He lifted it out gently by the base and examined it more closely. A few flakes of auburn paint which had fallen from the peeling cheeks lay behind in amongst the straw. He turned it over, then stood it on a nearby table. He examined the case more thoroughly for evidence of any identifying note. Carter had methodically catalogued every piece he had unearthed and this one surely would be no exception. But Lacau found no label; nothing at all.

He ordered his men to get about their business of inventorying while he himself set about opening every case of wine in the corridor. In the event, all he encountered was more wine.

Lacau had the Carnarvon party’s catalogue papers with him, and a cursory study confirmed that this piece had not been accounted for. The Director’s emotions moved from wonderment to conjecture and thence to suspicion. He shook his head. It was unthinkable. He had sufficient respect for Carter’s professionalism not to think him culpable. But he would not have so easy a time explaining the discovery to the Minister. He would need some convincing words from the man himself.

Having assured that the piece now was clearly identified and described on the inventory being prepared by his assistants, Lacau took himself off to the Winter Palace to send a telegram.

He had previously won a battle of principle with Carter. So far as the Director was concerned this was now behind them. In his own mind, common sense had prevailed. There was no one else that he had access to who could manage the continued clearance of the tomb so well as the arrogant little Englishman whom he had ejected and excluded from the place in an atmosphere of some considerable public disgrace. But the deed was over and done with and that was an end to it. There would be no question now that Carter could elicit any agreement for a share in the past discoveries and those yet to come. Lacau and the Egyptian government were in complete control. All Lacau needed now was to get Carter safely back on the job by the next season. But it would be hard to persuade the Minister and, if this incident became public and went unexplained, well nigh impossible. Ironically, the country would suffer at the hand that had sought so skilfully to protect it. He therefore decided not to inform the Minister of his findings until he had allowed Carter himself to explain.

Lacau had always been a realist. Carter’s eminent qualifications made him the only choice to continue clearance of the tomb. He was therefore anxious to give Carter the room to provide a full and credible explanation. He called for Herbert Winlock who, in Carter’s absence from Egypt, was acting as his proxy. He asked him to draft a cable describing the find and the circumstances in which it was discovered and politely request an explanation. In the event that no explanation was forthcoming, Lacau suggested that Carter might say it had been purchased. That would be a risky story but probably untraceable.

Both spent many wakeful nights while they awaited a response. They need not have worried.

Carter had received the cable when he registered at a hotel in Chicago on the third leg of his lecture tour in the United States of America. The gruelling schedule was taking a toll on his limited stamina. He took the envelope up to his room without opening it and did not settle down to read it until he had laid out his things, received a large gin and tonic from the room service waiter, and made himself comfortable on the sofa.

Upon opening the small yellow envelope, he could thank his fatigue for the mildness of his shock. It had been a fear he had harboured subconsciously for too many months. At last he could come to terms with it.

He worried that if he could not find the right words for a response, or if they were taken vindictively in the wrong way, as he fervently believed Lacau might already have planned, the last thread of his connection to Tutankhamen could be severed forever.

His response was coolly factual. Notwithstanding his calculated story, Carter could not resist placing a diversionary sting in the tail. He expressed dismay at the knowledge that the piece had been shipped to Cairo in haste and without restoration, preservation, or even stabilisation prior to dispatch. To Carter this was yet another shining example of the incompetence of the Antiquities Service.

By the time he’d scribbled his measured and critical reply, there were three empty tumblers on his desk and he was well into the fourth.

The boy king was not at all happy with Carter’s lucidity with words. The return cable, despite its being a blatant lie, looked every bit credible. And, as the king had feared, it was just what Lacau had wanted to all appearances a clinically factual explanation of events.

Monsieur le Directeur could not have wished for a more acceptable answer. He could now relate the story of the discovery to the Minister without fear of inciting his anger. Morcos Bey Hanna might become somewhat disgruntled after first being presented an opportunity to further cement his country’s dislike of the insidious British, and then losing it to a piece of prose so skilfully eloquent that it would easily repudiate any accusation he might attempt to construct, but in this regard Lacau felt he could contain the Minister’s sense of loss.

He was quite correct. The Minister gave no outward sign of irritation. Neither did he ask to see the piece in question. The timing was fortunate. He was preoccupied with more pressing political matters.

Nevertheless, Lacau’s report reminded the Minister that the business with the tomb was not finished and he took the time to enquire what was to happen next. “Monsieur le Directeur.” His chair squeaked as he shifted position. “Monsieur Lacau. Now that the British archaeologists are gone from The Valley, what are your plans for the tomb that has become such a spectacle of worldwide interest? I am aware you have organised many official visits to the place. How do we intend to orchestrate its exposure to the public?”

“Ah,” Lacau paused. He should go along with the Minister on this one. Give him what he wanted to hear. It was not the time to raise radical issues. He could manufacture a temporary response and await the right moment to tell Hanna what his real intentions were. Besides, the way things were going between the government and the British at that moment, this particular Minister could be out of a job within weeks. It made eminent good sense for him to bide his time.

“For now, your Excellency, we shall leave the tomb as it is. No further clearance. Let the visitors benefit from viewing the remaining artefacts, the most important ones, in their place. But limit the attendance, of course. It is a little place and, if filled to capacity, difficult to police effectively. Admission will be charged for nonofficial visits. I think it only right that the general public contribute in some small way to a fund which will support the efforts of the Service. As you are only too painfully aware, there is no money for the kind of operation that Carnarvon so ably led.”

He stopped talking and swallowed hard. It was an unnecessary reminder. The Minister’s temperament was still sorely aggressive towards the earl’s men and it would be suicidal to remind him of the inadequacies of the Service relative to the proven capabilities of the English.

But, for the present, Hanna’s mind was otherwise preoccupied. So, noticing the Minister’s eyes turn briefly to some papers on his desk, Lacau took the opportunity to quickly excuse himself. The door to the office of the Minister of Public Works was closed behind him before the Minister could acknowledge Lacau’s departing salute.

Carter’s tour in the United States continued to follow a rigorous schedule. Were he to fall behind in his timing, there was no room in the programme to pick up speed. It had been extremely well planned. Every moment had been accounted for.

But his spirits were high. Lacau had telegraphed a most consoling message back to him. Finally, he no longer dreamed that restless dream. He rose to every podium full of energy and pride, standing with his back rigidly straight, his right hand gripping the lapel of his jacket, his left resting on the papers in front of him. He was in the habit of taking them with him to every lecture, but he didn’t need to refer to them anymore. All the nerves were gone. All the visions in their glorious sequence were there, crystal clear in his mind. Solemnly he would tell his attentive audience of his feelings as he first laid eyes on the contents of the antechamber.

The Americans lapped it up. They had welcomed him with such generosity. He began to feel like a member of the royal family. After all, they were treating him straightforwardly and honestly, like the unique celebrity that in truth he was. He was becoming relaxed enough to lap it up himself.

Then, Winlock, now returned from Egypt for the remainder of the summer, topped it all off with more news.

Carter was resting in the glittering bar of the Waldorf Astoria in New York. His friend from the Met came charging in with a broad grin on his face.

“Hi, Howard! How’ya doin’?”

Carter took a deep breath. “Just fine, Herbert.”

Winlock, to that point bubbling with his news, stopped dead. It showed. Carter had been enjoying a quiet moment with his gin and tonic. He was winding down after another busy day. He sat on the bar stool with his foot on the rung and his ‘gin arm’ supported on his knee. He was not feeling receptive to company.

But his friend had great news to tell him and by God he was going to hear it. Winlock’s expression became sombre. “Howard, old chap. I have something tremendous to tell ya,” he said, almost apologetically.

Carter immediately sat to attention, expecting that the news would be that he had finally received an invitation by Lacau to return to Egypt to complete clearance of the tomb and, in addition perhaps, Lacau had agreed to concede a share of the finds to the Carnarvon Estate. These thoughts and more raced through the reawakened mind of the mildly inebriated Egyptologist. He gazed expectantly at his colleague.