Tutankhamun Uncovered

by Michael J Marfleet

  Then he was gone, leaving Carter to reflect on that sack and the mortar.

  There is nothing that so fulfils a man as accomplishment. The little, almost square, mud brick one room stood there proudly before him. It was all of his own making. He admired his handiwork the clean, vertical lines of the walls and the pitched roof, the palm leaves held down with stones. Carter pushed the raffia mat that hung over the doorway to one side and walked into the darkened interior. While the walls looked a good deal rougher and uneven from the inside, they nevertheless appeared substantial enough to carry the light weight of the roof. Above all, inside it was cool.

  Awakening after his first night in his homemade shelter, he found he had company. Tenants were already present. He disliked the scorpions most, largely because they were as belligerent as they looked. Every piece of clothing, particularly his shoes, had to be shaken vigorously before dressing. All this was tolerable. But Carter could never understand why Petrie insisted on doing without menservants. In a country such as this, at a time such as this, the man had to be a masochist, happy in his self-inflicted discomfort.

  On this first working morning, Carter in his thoroughness took too long clearing out his unwanted residents and getting himself ready. By the time he had emerged from his little hut, Petrie was returning from his first trip to the dig.

  “Morning, m’ boy,” he greeted. He was pleased to have English-speaking company for a change and was looking forward to lecturing the young man in the secrets of his practice. “Just been organising the fellahs. Ready for breakfast now.”

  They sat opposite each other at the rude table and Carter began to pick at the unpalatable looking bread. Petrie had hardly swallowed his first draught of tea before he began his instruction. “First, a few tips on assembling your troops...

  “Selection... We are fortunate that the Arabs have one facial attribute that enables us to assess their character at a glance. Because of their common and lengthy exposure to sun and wind their skin wrinkles at a young age. The wrinkles reflect a person’s most frequently used expression. It is through expression that we read character. The record is cemented in their faces for all to see and as a result they either look clearly honest or, more frequently, absolutely dishonest. I have made mistakes, however. I would be the first to admit it. But no fellah can do harm so long as the power of engagement, dismissal and the money bag are all maintained safely within our own hands.

  “You will find those who are not used to our kind of work difficult to train as trenchers. When commanded to dig, their natural inclination is to sink a circular pit, like digging a well, and then flail about with the pick, advancing hither and thither in a disorganised fashion. Straight and narrow is not in their natural vocabulary.

  “I train three classes trenchers, shaft sinkers, and stone cleaners those who can be trusted to be gentle and not light-fingered and sort them into small gangs, usually two men each, accompanied by three or four women and children, all of whom do the carrying. I never have a party greater than three men and six others, otherwise I cannot see exactly what each one does and thus I become unable to catch the lazy ones. The whole group has at times totalled as many as one hundred and seventy. Requires a great deal of individual attention when it gets to that size. Don’t advise you to attempt anything like it until you feel comfortable you can keep an eye on every single one of them.

  “It’s incredible how much care is required to prevent the fellahs from coming a cropper. They seem to have a reckless regard for their personal safety. Between their stupidity in the fundamental points of mechanics and their unreasoning fear, in order to prevent accidents anything that may require care in engineering or some precision you will have to do with your own hands.

  “Then there’s Ramadan. Damned Ramadan. Allah’s great excuse for doing bugger all and a damned frustrating time for the likes of us. My solution here while the men are fasting is to employ the bigger girls to do the pick work. And believe me, there are some big girls!”

  Petrie took another long pull at his enamelled tea mug.

  “The working day... We take advantage of the cooler parts of the day... Normal start is five thirty.”

  Carter now realised he had missed Petrie that morning by a very long margin.

  “Get the reis and his fellahs working in the right direction. Once they’re moving along smoothly, return for breakfast around eight or nine. I sit here and watch the pits with my telescope.” He pulled the instrument out of his satchel and gestured with it.

  “When it gets hot, around eleven, I whistle the men off work for a rest, usually for a good three hours. Then back to the site until dark. Dinner around six thirty. After that the paperwork recording, marking, stowing and writing up the journal. Usually quit before eleven. I’ve found by experience that, no matter how absorbed you are in your work, if you try to exist on too little sleep you weaken, imperceptibly so to yourself, but weaken nevertheless sufficiently for the endemic bugs to bring you down with some nasty malady. Worse, one tends to make mistakes, damage things and the like. Keep your health. It is more than unusually unpleasant to become sick in this remote place, so don’t risk it.”

  Petrie dunked a biscuit in his tea and gobbled the thing down whole.

  “During the summer...”

  The mention of the word alone got Carter’s attention. He had never contemplated working during the summer months. ‘This man works during the summer?!’

  “...we begin work by moonlight at about four ten for breakfast rest from eleven to three then work again until moonlight at eight. It is hard. Tolerable if you wear little as I do. Barefoot but not bareheaded.”

  ‘Barefoot? Has he no nerve endings in the soles of his feet?’ Carter mused.

  “Compensation... You are aware there are all kinds of denominations and types of currencies in circulation some more readily acceptable than others. The fellahs don’t like to take grubby or damaged coins. I’ve got two ways of getting rid of these. The least time-consuming is to clean them with ammonia. Pickle them in it all night. They look as good as new in the morning. More normally I keep a stash of them in my purse. When the fellah rejects one, I give him a worse one. When he says ‘no’ to this, I select one yet more disgusting. Invariably it takes two tries and he will ask for the first again and exhibit some relief when he gets it. On occasion I have made up salaries in a mixture of coinage francs, pesos, lire, English shillings; sometimes Swiss and Turkish; even Indian coins.

  “You must be firm. If any complains about his pay fire him immediately and pay him off. Don’t hesitate for a second. Your action is observed by the others and the word soon gets around. You won’t find anyone bitching after that.

  “Bargaining... This is an inevitable requirement and an acquired talent. Apart from those on the general antika market which, by the way, are come by with equal deceit the fellahs will sequester some objects that you have not observed them find and approach you later to bargain. This is my technique... If the vendor won’t accept my offer and, I hasten to add, this is always a fair one I hand back the piece at once. If it is offered to me again, I offer less the second time, always, without exception. Mind now this is a very important detail. Thereby, one gains a reputation for invariable process defeats the fellahs’ innate sense of barter. Remember, the sight of money is irresistible. The vendor cannot bear to see it taken back.

  “Always give the value of silver by weight. I weigh silver artefacts against modern coins. You’ll find Australian dollars the cheapest to use for this purpose.

  “Transshipment... This is a crucial piece of advice, Mr Carter. If you have listened to nothing else, hear this.” The dark eyes fixed on Carter’s. “There is value in the satisfaction of discovery. There is greater value in showing the finds to others. There is yet greater value to Great Britain in receipt. But there is no greater value than publication and recognition...” The rising sun flashed from his retinas as he stared more deeply into Carter’s eyes. “...And there is precious little of
this if you bring little home.

  “Know this... Maspero will be advantageously discretionary with your best pieces if, and only if, you show them to him before you get to Cairo. There his hands are tied. There he has no flexibility. Have it all settled before you get there.

  “Now... shipping permits... a timing problem. The bureaucracy in this country has a complexity far beyond the comprehension of even the most collegiate English. In order to have the export permit in place at the time you have booked to leave for England you must apply midseason. The permit must cover the exact number of packing cases you will be shipping. Problem: at midseason how the hell do we know how many crates we will have for export by the season’s end? I ask you. An insane system. But Flinders Petrie has a solution... simple but artful! If, after you receive the permit, you have too many crates, have some larger ones made and place several cases in each until the number is right. If too few, have smaller crates made, or add empties.”

  Petrie drew a smug grin.

  “Questions?”

  Carter, quite exhausted after the monologue, had no questions.

  Petrie put down his empty mug. “Let’s be off, then.”

  Following the first week of tuition, Carter was eager to get his hands on the substance of the excavation. Petrie gave him a sector of the dig to himself, along with three of his most experienced men and six carriers. After a slow start, the apprentice began turning up evidence of workshops of various kinds and houses. Fragments of pottery were in abundance, but pieces of statues or more attractive artefacts were nowhere to be found. Carter nevertheless was absorbed in what he was uncovering and in the dimly lit evenings back at camp he would relate to Petrie tentative interpretations of what he had found that day. The great man was quick to depress any feelings of elation in the teenager. These ideas were born of inexperience and an immature imagination, not calculated scientific deduction. He must appreciate that there was much yet to learn.

  Notwithstanding his deflating comments, Petrie inwardly liked the lad’s consummate focus and deliberate approach to the work. Had he not, in short order Carter would have found himself languishing in Cairo. To be tolerated by Petrie was a mark of considerable esteem.

  Some days later Carter was working in a corner of the badly ruined Aten temple when he came upon a large torso fragment of a statue of the heretic Pharaoh. He could recognise it for what it was because of the cartouches carved on the chest and abdomen. It was the first find of substance that the young man had encountered. Petrie credited him for its quality and importance.

  In time he would become personally responsible for finding several other pieces at El Amarna, but to Howard everything else paled in comparison to the first. The piece stood propped up in the corner of his hut surrounded by less identifiable fragments of similar stone that could have come from the same figure all products of the frenetic destruction that had taken place in antiquity. In the late evening he would sit on the edge of his bed writing up his notes on the day’s efforts and contemplate the magnificence of the statue as it might have appeared in its entirety.

  As things turned out, neither Petrie nor Carter was responsible for the discovery of the El Amarna tomb of Pharaoh Akhenaten. News of the find reached them quickly. Carter armed himself with pencils and paper and they took off eastward, inland to visit the site.

  The tomb lay some considerable distance up a steep ravine, set apart from the ruined city and the other tombs excavated in the surrounding escarpment. The interior, like the Pharaoh’s city ravaged by those who had tried to erase all memory of the heretic, still retained sufficient detail to attest to its original beauty. There was a strange warmth to the art. The place had real atmosphere.

  Among the wall carvings that Carter sketched was a tender scene wherein the king and queen mourned the death of one of their children. To the apprentice Egyptologist’s astonishment and intense gratification, his drawing was published in The Daily Graphic in London the following month as an illustration to one of Petrie’s articles. Of course, there was no acknowledgement of Carter’s contribution. After all, the young man was but an apprentice. Granted he was sponsored by Lord and Lady Amherst, but these unusually lofty connections were overshadowed by the lack of appropriate educational background and an absence of breeding.

  Carter took a clipping for his scrapbook. The honour had been deeply felt nonetheless.

  Chapter Three

  The Forbidden City

  On his accession Smenkhkare, Tutankhamun’s elder brother, had delivered the royal family and his people from the pestilent city, the palaces and temples of Akhetaten. The seat of regency and of religious order was happily returned, initially to Memphis and latterly to Thebes. This had been decided and enforced entirely on the advice and counsel of Smenkhkare’s elders. But this Pharaoh, bringing ‘the sickness’ with him from Akhetaten, barely survived three years.

  Tutankhamun himself, not yet a teenager and untouched by ‘the sickness’, found himself unexpectedly decorated with the double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. Very young, but at the same time endowed with enormous power, it did not take the royal juvenile long to understand that every word he uttered would be taken with unquestioned literality. What he said, what he wished, what he commanded would be acted on without a second thought. As he matured into manhood, he came to realise that he must first carefully consider what he was about to say. Second, he must be absolutely deliberate and resolute in whatever he said.

  So it was one day that he decided to return to the place of his early childhood. A place of the fondest memories of a loving father and mother-in-law; of their six children, all daughters, one now his queen; of his brother. There had been much laughing and playing of games. It had been a carefree time no responsibilities; security; beautiful buildings with vibrant frescos on the walls; a freshness and newness about everything. He recalled the abundant flowers, the shrubs, the trees, the ponds of clear water populated with lotus blossom and waving stands of papyrus; the birds in every garden there had been birdsong.

  Tutankhamun called for Nakht.

  “The Pharaoh and his Queen wish to travel to Akhetaten, the place of our childhood, the burial place of Pharaoh’s mother and of the family of his Queen, the place of our birth.”

  The vizier didn’t like the order but understood the young couple’s wish to return to their origins. When they had left they had been little more than children. But also he remembered ‘the sickness’. He was concerned for the royal family’s health, and worse, the possibility of re-infestation at Thebes. In such a visit there was political danger, too.

  “Great One, it is well over two, more likely three full days and nights of sailing, even with a strong crew. More than thrice that on the return journey.

  And Akhetaten is forbidden. ‘The sickness’ abides there. There are no people there. It is an empty place. It is a dead place. You should not wish to venture to such a place.”

  The young Pharaoh was not listening. “Great Vizier, nothing is forbidden to Pharaoh. Do not insult my intelligence. Have I not lived in Akhetaten? Do I not well comprehend the distances? I am quite aware of the logistics. After all these years ‘the sickness’ will have died away itself. There have been no days of darkness since that which spawned it. There are happy memories many happy memories that the Pharaoh and his Queen wish to rekindle. The Queen and Pharaoh shall travel to Akhetaten. Tomorrow you will have assembled for me three ships well provisioned for the journey. We will need horse and chariot plus the usual retinue. You will not accompany us. See to it. That is all.”

  His personal concerns for the Pharaoh’s safety, the politics and superstitions of the time notwithstanding, Nakht wanted the king to have his wish. But first some subtle arrangements would have to be made and for these he would need a little time.

  That evening the vizier consulted with the general. “It is a ticklish situation. The gods will be displeased. There is risk of infestation at Thebes ‘the sickness’ although his Highness believes it to be
gone. And the people... There is sensitivity... The people must not become aware.”

  “Pharaoh has ordered that it be so?”

  “Pharaoh has ordered it.”

  The general rubbed his nose. “Can we not explain to him the delicacy of the matter... so that he will understand?”

  “He understands ‘the delicacy of the matter’, General. It is up to us to see to it that the entire visit goes ahead, as it were, ‘delicately’... that is, unnoticed.”

  “Then it must be.” Horemheb cursed himself for not dispatching the king sooner. But then he had a thought. What if the king’s ship should founder on its journey north? An unfortunate accident. An opportunity altogether simpler than his personal plan. He could not constrain a grin of inner contentment.

  Nakht noticed the general’s relaxed expression. “You have a plan?”

  “Mmm?... Ah... Well... I see it thus... We must arrange it that the royal couple depart at midnight, when the populace is abed... Also, on the return journey it should be so arranged that they arrive in the dead of night. Before he leaves I will send ahead of him a contingent of my most trusted troops to ensure the capital of the heretic is clear of squatters and nomads. He will not be seen.”

  The vizier knew exactly what Horemheb meant by ‘clear’. Those unlucky enough to be present when the troops arrived would be dead and buried without trace long before the king’s flotilla berthed. The few who camped in the desert outside but close to the perimeter of the town, hearing the screams from within, would hide themselves or run off into the hills. No living thing would remain to welcome the Pharaoh but for the guards themselves, the birds, the reptiles, the vermin and the insects.

  If Horemheb had anything to do with it there might be no welcome necessary. To his knowledge the boy king had never taken the time to learn to swim. If it could be engineered that his barque would run aground on the rocks at some point during the journey and quickly sink, there would be a strong probability he would become entangled in the powerful and wayward currents of the river and be lost for ever.