Tutankhamun Uncovered (84 page)

He leaned over to look Carter in the eyes. “You knew Colonel Lawrence, then?”

“Er... Yes.” Carter was unsure whether he should admit knowing the name but it was too late now.

“And where would that be, sir?”

“Egypt.”

“Egypt? Egypt!” The man looked about at everyone in the bar. There were murmurings from the crowd about him. He looked back at Carter. Like an expectant policeman at an interrogation, he wiped his hand across his lips. “By any chance, sir... are you... could you be that Mr Carter, sir?”

Carter was flattered with the recognition and in such a parochial place.

“Well, I don’t know about ‘that Mr Carter,’ but I am Howard Carter, yes.”

The room went into an uproar of shouting. All at once the door to the public bar was flung open and a multitude of people came forward en masse, each eager and intent on grasping him by the hand and, after gripping it firmly with strong farmers’ muscles, shaking it vigorously. Carter found himself at a loss for words, and in considerable pain.

In some discomfort he might have been, but his newfound acquaintances, in their gratitude for having someone of such notoriety within their midst, embraced him enthusiastically. They drew the line at offering him a drink, however. Welcome he was, but this did not mandate accompanying generosity. Rather, they were expecting the famous visitor to declare the bar open for their pleasure. To their forthcoming disappointment, Carter did nothing of the kind.

A red-faced stranger recently arrived from the other bar looked closely into his eyes, at the same time pushing an empty beer mug suggestively across the table before him. There was a moment’s silence before the man spoke. “Tell me, sir. How did y’ stop the curse from getting to yer?”

Carter did not show his irritation at the question. In his response he was quite matter of fact. “There was no curse...” Then he resumed his line of enquiry. “...Tell me, my good man, where may I find Colonel Lawrence?”

Carter’s correspondent of the moment was set back on his heels. “Lawrence? Who?”

“T. E. Lawrence. Colonel Lawrence. Do you know of him? Where I can find him? It is of the utmost importance.”

“Ah.”

There was some indication of understanding in this expletive, Carter thought.

“Ah?”

The man rattled his empty beer mug on the table but there was no reaction from the visitor. Silence descended on the room once more.

The publican spoke up. “Colonel Lawrence. Otherwise known in these parts as ‘Mr Shaw’, right?”

“Yes.” Carter lit up. “Yes... Shaw. I believe he has assumed that name.”

The beer mug began to chatter on the table again. Carter was close on the brink of one of his patience precipices. He took a deep breath. “Where may I find him?”

“Well, sir. Don’t rightly know how to say this, you ’avin’ come all this way to see ’im an’, an’ all...” The publican began to stammer.

“Well? Well? Come on, man. What’s troubling you?”

The publican waved to the onlookers to disperse. He took a seat opposite. “Well... It’s like this, sir... ’E’s dead, sir... Fell off ’is motorcycle accident some say, some say not about two weeks ago... Died in ’ospital... Funeral was Tuesday before last, at Saint Nick’s, very near ’is ’ouse. ’Twas in all the papers. Thought you’d ’ve seen it.”

Carter was stunned. “I... I was travelling.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“You are sure we are talking about the same man?”

“Oh yes, sir. ’Fraid so, sir. Colonel Lawrence. Late of the Arab Bureau... and the ‘Raf ’.”

There was no doubt. Carter felt crestfallen. He had had such hopes for his grand solution. He had identified able help and embarked on securing the assistance he required. It would have been absolutely the right chemistry. All for nought.

“Anuver drink, sir?”

“No... thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“One and six, sir, if you please.”

Carter placed a florin in the man’s hand.

“Keep the change.”

He got up from his seat and walked out into the evening sunshine. He took a deep breath of the country air and sat himself down on a bench at the side of the road.

All seemed stacked against him. Another of his associates dead. The list had already become too long to contemplate. But he would read nothing into the event. His earlier expectations had filled his head with a sense of light euphoria. Now he felt the weight of hopelessness. He had not been so low since Arthur Mace had confided his condition. All of a sudden it seemed there was nothing left but to fade into old age and obscurity.

A tractor drove by, towing a four wheeled wooden cart bearing a healthily mature pile of silage. The reeking assemblage was besieged by a cloud of flying insects. Caught in the act of breathing a deep sigh, the acidic stench tore through Carter’s nostrils, seared his senses, and brought him back to reality.

The driver acknowledged him with a wave of his hand and a toothless grin and drove off in the direction of the setting sun. His expression reminded Carter of the hundreds of fellahs with whom he had become acquainted over the years. After a day’s labour, many of them, along with their flies, had smelt worse.

Managing to release a mild smile, he half-heartedly gestured back to the farmhand, turned and went back into the inn.

Carter rested back into the cushions of the wicker easy chair. There was a comforting breeze to help chill the day’s heat. He looked up at the sunlight sparkling between the rippling palm leaves. He brought the glass tumbler to his lips. The gin drew a line of comforting alcoholic warmth down the centre of his chest. He pressed the cold glass to his forehead and closed his eyes.

There really was nothing for him here anymore. It was time to close the chapter on Egypt forever. Although, after all these years, the country was as familiar to him as England, he could feel himself ailing and realised that his health was at last becoming too vulnerable to endure the daily commonplace hardships of the place the periodic diarrhoea; the more common vomiting; the occasional violent sicknesses all these discomforts he had trivialised during his earlier years. But they would keep occurring. There would be no peace from them. And they would get him in the end. They had taken dear old Breasted a couple of Christmases ago another fruitful chapter closed. ‘Yes. It is time to get out of harm’s way.’ He had made up his mind. He would leave, finally, and forever, this coming April. But before he made the final break, one last exploration.

On this particular journey he would take no one; no professional contemporaries, that is. He had no authority to excavate, nor did he wish any. All he wanted to do was find enough clues to satisfy himself that his theory had a strong chance of closing in on the location; no more than he had had at the time he and Carnarvon embarked on their great project to clear that triangle of ground in The Valley; no more than three or four points of reference.

To accompany him on his last journey, he called on Ibraheem and Abdel. It would be a great honour to those who had served him so faithfully all these years. He told them this expedition would be his last; that what they might find and where they might go they should keep to themselves to their graves, as he would. Whatever they found would become their secret, their possession for eternity. For once, he felt he could trust them to keep their secret close. Perhaps some members of the family might, on some merry evening when alcohol loosens the tongue, hear some snippets of information that would raise their curiosity to probe further. But he felt confident that the two would ultimately honour their promise, especially if he died first. Should they compromise their pledge, he would be there waiting for them, ready to exact retribution. They knew that.

The three arrived in Alexandria on 31st March. Carter had already booked his passage to England on the third steamer from that date. They had made a reservation at a drab hotel on the outskirts of town. No one knew him there and he went about his business unobserved. After two days of provisioning, they left their hotel and drove west in a taxicab, away from the town, in the direction of Abusir.

Carter signalled the cabby to stop. The road was already bad and they could not have proceeded much further without danger of becoming bogged down in the soft sand. In Arabic he told the taxi driver that they would walk the rest of the way. He was to come back for them at this same spot, at this same time, every day for six days, whether he found them there or not, otherwise there would be no payment. This security now assured, his two faithful followers, with their loads on their backs, fell in close behind him, and the lonely party plodded steadily westward.

The taxi turned around and soon disappeared in a cloud of following yellow dust.

As the sun began to redden before them, Carter stopped and turned to face his colleagues. “Abdel. Set up the tents over there. That flat spot. Make sure it’s firm before you drive in the spikes... Ibraheem! What are you doing?”

Ibraheem turned to face him. He had the Primus stove and a pot in his hands.

“Ah! Good man. What food did you bring?”

“For tonight, fresh lamb and fresh vegetables, sir. From tomorrow, however, we shall have to make do with tinned food. Enjoy while we can, sir. Enjoy while we can.”

It was not long after dinner that Ibraheem and Abdel fell asleep.

Carter’s mind was too full of images to succumb to tiredness. With a warm gin in his right hand, he reclined on his sleeping bag and looked up at the clear night sky. The stars and the constellations shone crisply from the heavens. He stared at Orion until the stars themselves appeared to move before him.

He rubbed his eyes.

“Are you really all up there? Show yourselves... I can see Osiris... But where are the rest of you? Ra. Shu. Tefnut. Geb. Nut. Isis. Seth. Nephthys.”

He took a sip.

“Ptah. Khnum. Heh. Heket. Sokar. Soped. Neith. Seshat. Sobek. Selket. Amun. Horus. Toth. Nekhbet. Renenutet. Reshef. Hapy. Hathor. Wadjyt. Mut.”

Another sip.

“Khons. Maat. Anubis. Min. Montu. Satet. Sekhmet. Bes. Khepri.

Nefertem. Nun.”

And another.

“Bastet...” He held his breath.

Appearing quite suddenly on the crest of the dune just ahead of him, backlit by a full, platinum moon, was the unmistakable silhouette of a cat. It sat down, assuming the elegant posture so characteristic of the ancient Egyptian figurines. The animal turned its head to look in Carter’s direction. As it did so, there was a momentary flash of moonlight about its head.

Carter struggled to his feet. “Can’t be.” he whispered. Then he shouted, “It has earrings! It’s got gold earrings!”

Startled by the stranger’s outburst, the cat took off and disappeared into the darkness.

The bodies of Carter’s assistants did not stir. They were stone dead asleep, their eyes tight shut against the twinkling firmament above.

Carter walked over to the dune. He reached the spot where the cat had been sitting and looked at the sand. There was not a paw print to be seen. The sand all about the area was undisturbed. He must have been dreaming. He looked around for evidence of some movement. He saw a flash again, some distance to the left, in the direction of Alexandria. He stared hard into the blackness, hoping for some sign that what he had seen earlier was real. As he turned slowly around, examining every detail of the moonlit horizon, two large silver eyes moved into his field of view. They could not have been more than ten feet away. He strained to see the face before him. The eyes stared directly back.

Unable to contain himself any longer, he took a step towards it. The eyes immediately disappeared. Carter sat down. The creature, by now at the top of the dune and on the skyline, stopped and looked back at him. Its body lit up by the moonlight, he could now clearly see this was not the cat he had previously encountered but a dog, a desert jackal scarce in body, long in muzzle, thin in tail, stiletto ears, as black as night. The animal cocked its head and the ears glinted in the pale light of the moon.

“Not possible!” Carter whispered to himself. “No. Don’t believe it. Can’t be. Hallucinating again!”

The creature settled down on the sand, undisturbed by his observer’s excitement. Its front legs stretched out long and slender in front of it. It turned its head. In the light of the moon the eyes glowed pearl white. Carter reached for his notebook. As he pulled it from his jacket pocket, the dog got up and disappeared behind the dune.

Carter got up. As quickly as he could, he climbed to the ridge of the dune on which the dog had been reclining. He looked over the other side. The pale blue light, once he had become accustomed to it, was sufficient to spot the slightest movement. And there it was. There were two of them, trotting back towards the scent of Carter’s earlier meal. He stood absolutely motionless and watched them walk up the flank of the dune. They trotted by him within twenty feet or so and down the other side towards the small encampment. As they disappeared behind the tents, Carter followed.

He could hear the noise as he approached the camp. Amongst the debris of his supper, the dogs were busy eating everything they could find. All he wanted to do was get a good view of the larger dog, nothing more.

He crept as quietly as he could towards the noise. As the dogs’ wagging tails came into view, he eased himself back onto the sand and regarded them from a distance. Almost immediately, the black dog turned to look in Carter’s direction. Surprised by the almost personal attention, Carter nevertheless kept himself absolutely still. For some time the animal looked directly at him.

‘It’s the dog in my bedroom! It is Anubis!’ He made no attempt to stop himself crying out. “Anubis!” he cried at the top of his voice. “Anubis!”

The grey dog ran off immediately, but the animal of his attention did not appear at all startled by his outburst. Rather, it turned slowly and walked off to the west a few steps and sat down again, beside another creature. It was the cat Carter had spotted earlier. The pair of them stared directly back at him.

He turned to look at the tents of Abdel and Ibraheem. His two assistants remained still. ‘The Arabs always sleep well’, he thought. He envied the profound capacity of a vacant mind and turned back to look at the animals. They had gone.