The Golden Falcon

by David C. Clark

  I replied “No, I doubt if she hoped or planned to have the tomb walls cave in. If that’s what she wanted, she could have ordered those who entombed her to back-fill the steep corridors once she was interred. Given the lack of stairs at the end of the third corridor, the steepness of the incline and the rough nature of the crypt, I think she decided “bury me deep and in a place none could penetrate”. I don’t see flocks of priest making that descent to offer up devotionals to her, do you?”

  Elizabeth offered her opinion “I doubt if tomb robbery or post-death veneration was on her mind as her mortuary temple would be the most appropriate place to honour her memory. I am fairly sure the early New Kingdom tombs were viewed with much less importance than those built from the Nineteenth Dynasty onwards. Remember, nobody has found the tombs of Ahmose or Amenophis I. If and when their grave sites are uncovered, they might reveal that a royal burial wasn’t the florid issue the latter rulers made of it. I have another thought. She built her mortuary temple next to Mentuhotep’s. His burial chamber is 150 metres under and behind the temple. Is there the slightest possibility she wanted a tunnel connecting her tomb with her mortuary temple, which is just over the escarpment and directly behind her tomb?”

  “How do you mean?” I queried.

  “I may be talking rubbish but what if her long corridor had been built straight back towards the temple? The total length is 210 metres. Would that be long enough to reach her temple? I know the passageways are curved - maybe the builder lost his sense of direction. You became disoriented, Dennis. Richard, do you think it possible the builder lost his bearings?”

  “Okay. First, did she know about Mentuhotep’s long burial chamber? Let’s assume she did. The builder obviously knew he had to tunnel down at a steep angle otherwise the excavation would collapse on top of him as there is no longitudinal strength in shale. I have no idea if builders of that time could work out relative depth levels. He would have to know the elevation of Hatshepsut’s temple and then calculate how deep he would have to quarry to end up under it. In answer to the question, yes, without fairly sophisticated equipment, it is possible to lose your sense of direction underground and just keep digging. I will have to get some topographical maps of the Valley and Deir al Bahari to test your idea but it is plausible.”

  “Liz, you have the makings of a forensic archaeologist. If your theory is provable you will really set the cat amongst the pigeons. Unhappily, I doubt if we will find any answers in her tomb. Right, let’s get down to practical matters. We have to widen the corridors and extend lighting, stairways, handrails and ventilation as we descend. By consolidating the shale, all of the cabling and ventilation piping can be anchored into the hardened surfaces.” Richard said “It’s going to be a bastard of a place to work in. We are going to have to pick our workmen very carefully.”

  We had earlier agreed that the only way to stabilise Hatshepsut’s tomb was to pressure inject isocyanate adhesive into every horizon. There was no plan to rebuild any of the lower rooms or install limestone plates anywhere as we hoped to leave the tomb looking as natural as possible except for the three damaged pillars which would be recast in concrete with shale bonded to their surfaces.

  “I have recommended the Council order copies of both sarcophagi and the burial plaques and place them in the solidified burial chamber. It going to be an arduous trip no matter what is done to facilitate the descent and ascent and I think tourists should be rewarded with a faithful reproduction of the burial chamber as it was when Hatshepsut was put to rest. The existing stairs or what is left of them were cut into shale and to replicate them would be a waste of money. Let’s replace the lot with steel mounted timber treads. Enough for today. Right now I want some dinner and a good night’s sleep. Hopefully the next time we go down the tomb, I might be a little better prepared mentally. Question, how do we get bats out of the tomb permanently?”

  No-one from the Council had been inside KV20 and we thought it essential someone in the pyramid of technocrats and bureaucrats should be in a position to deliver progress reports to the Governors in Arabic. Unlike KV47, where either Abdullah or Yousef could regularly inspect, it was unlikely either man would jump at the prospect of visiting Hatshepsut’s tomb in the early stages of the project.

  Whilst we were not re-building the tomb, our actions constituted a radical departure from traditional conservation as it was the opposite of the precedent set, ironically, at Hatshepsut’s principal monument, her mortuary temple. The temple was in ruins before being comprehensively restored by a Polish team. Their intervention overwhelmingly demonstrates the value of reconstruction, as the result is spectacular and the temple is now viewed as one of the finest examples of pharaonic architecture in Egypt.

  The queen introduced several style innovations, though she was heavily influenced by the layout of terraces, ramps and pillars at the mortuary temple Mentuhotep II built in the Eleventh Dynasty. Hatshepsut located her monument besides his temple, which was itself influenced by the configuration of the earlier rock cut tombs at Thebes with their square pillared facades. The principal difference between the two temples is the gracefulness and spatial orientation of Hatshepsut’s edifice.

  I explained our problem to Yousef, prevailing upon him to seek out an adventurous staff member willing to be the project liaison officer. He rang back a few days later to tell me he had found one Council engineer and as many students as I liked from the Faculty of Architecture who volunteered to act as a reporting committee. This was great news and I hoped Tamaam and her brother were amongst them. I was quite captivated by the young gamine and looked forward to meeting her again with more than just professional interest.

  Two weeks, later the Cairenes arrived at Luxor Airport, young, enthusiastic and innocently eager to make the descent into the mysterious tomb. Richard had gone to the airport to meet the visitors and escort them to our headquarters. They arrived with all the noise and excitement native to most Egyptians. He had regaled them with the story of our first expedition and they were laughing and talking volubly, probably at my expense. I looked for Tamaam as they disembarked from the bus and was momentarily disappointed when she did not appear. ‘Silly man,’ I thought. ‘She wouldn’t be interested in me.’

  She was the last one off the bus. My heart lurched when she stepped down and looked straight at me, her lips smiling in recognition. She was more beautiful than I remembered, petite, with an exquisite body, glossy copper hued hair, finely chiselled features and those eyes. Her tawny coloured skin shone in the morning sunlight. We both froze. The students stopped talking and watched us. I felt myself blushing under my tan. Her brother called out “Mr. Dunlop, you have lost your voice? You no longer greet your friends? Your English blood is still cold despite our Egyptian sun? My sister wants to say hello.” Mahmoud bounded to my side, grabbed my arm and walked me over to Tamaam. How small and delicate she was.

  The students and Richard all broke into laughter and there was much back slapping.

  Random thoughts raced through my mind. ‘What is this, a conspiracy? Do these people know something I don’t?’ Egyptians from ancient times through to the present day are an incurably romantic people. Scattered amongst many of the nobles tombs are love poems dedicated to their wives. Several pharaohs were effusive in their love of their queens, there are many images of husbands and wives, in very affectionate poses, decorating the walls of family tombs and museums are replete with statues of married couples in loving embrace.

  “May I call you Dennis?” asked Mahmoud as his sister stood shyly beside me.

  “Of course.”

  “Dennis, my sister has done nothing else but talk about you since our first meeting in Cairo. It is ‘Dennis this’ and ‘Dennis that’ and she has been as excited as a child since the possibility of this trip was first raised.” He momentarily drew me aside and whispered. “Please look after her and treat her with respect. Never do anything dishonourable as my brothers and her father guard her virtue closely. She may be a
young woman but my sister has always known what she wants from life. Continue to be the man I think you are and everyone, especially Tamaam, will be happy.” He turned, looking for Richard. “When does this miserable journey to the centre of the earth begin?”

  I thought it politic not to stay too close to Tamaam at this time, despite blatant efforts by the students to make sure they were not in our way. Richard kitted the group out with their equipment. He warned them about the dangers and took great pains to explain the use of respirators and climbing equipment. Finally, he asked them again if they were all sure they wanted to go down into the tomb and, once he had their assent, we made for the entrance.

  Enquiries had been made amongst the madmen who actually enjoyed working with bats about how to get them out of the tomb. We took the most humane method of lowering a loudspeaker to the bottom and played very loud, discordant music for a few days and nights. The bats, deeply offended, fled and had not returned since. At least, I would not face that nightmare again.

  We all carried high intensity torches to assist us in surveying conditions as we proceeded. I briefed the group about the overall layout and the environment they would find and asked them to keep notes of what they saw. We had copies of the diagrams developed by the Theban Map Project team and, as our respirators had a two hour supply of air, we had ample time to make personal observations. Richard warned them the slope started almost as soon as we passed the first gate but there were gasps of surprise at the steepness of the downwards incline. The initial sharp descent would be a great marketing tool with which to capture the imagination of adventuresome tourists.

  I felt much more secure this time. More people, no bats and greater illumination all served to calm my fears. Looking more closely at the tomb’s overall condition confirmed it was a wreck and had badly deteriorated since first quarried. By no definition, was it a beautiful structure and it would never compete in elegance with the more decorative tombs. I was intrigued by a comparison of this, a royal tomb, to the two tombs of Hatshepsut’s vizier, Senenmut. The first to be discovered was the largest rock-cut tomb in the Western Thebes necropolis. Although now badly damaged, it had been elaborately decorated. His second tomb is not quite as ornamental but it has the first known astronomical roof painting in Egypt.

  When compared to his master, the Queen, Senenmut went to the Afterlife in near regal splendour, whereas she had been consigned to a long deep hole in the ground devoid of artistic features. A very interesting situation, indeed. I wondered if Hatshepsut was buried somewhere else in a much more elaborate tomb as the juxtaposition between her tomb and her vizier’s was irreconcilable.

  If not for the presence of the two sarcophagi bearing royal epigrams I’d entertain serious doubts about KV20 being a royal tomb at all. The larger quartzite sarcophagus is inscribed with Hatshepsut’s cartouche and regnal titles. The second has those of her father, Tuthmosis. I liked the idea she thought those who followed her reign could never reconcile themselves to a feisty female Pharaoh and would seek to desecrate her grave. By building such a difficult tomb, possibly she hoped to deny them the pleasure but then, she under-estimated the venality of some of her fellow Egyptians.

  We reached the end of the tomb and the debris which almost filled the burial chamber and most likely the three side chambers. One of the more adventurous students slithered across the rubble and disappeared. When he scrambled back, he indicated he had something to impart when we returned to the surface. The ascent slowed as we surveyed the environment. Some careful jockeying by Richard and Mahmoud had Tamaam teamed with me from the beginning of our odyssey and there were opportunities aplenty to take hold of her hands during the mission. The first wonderful shiver of electricity between us was delicious. Finally, we emerged into the sunlight and headed for the showers. The bats may have fled but their stench remained and the visit had left us all sweat streaked, smelly and caked with dust.

  “Hardly a romantic first date, Dennis, my boy.” said the ever helpful Richard as we dressed for lunch.

  “Richard, this is ridiculous. She is years younger than me, comes from a Muslim family and is absolutely divine.”

  “So what’s the problem, Dennis? She’s no bimbo smitten with a slightly older man. Tamaam is a mature, well educated young woman from a different culture. Enjoy the experience. No doubt you have done a lot worse in your miserable life.”

  We gathered for lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon comparing notes, throwing ideas onto the table and looking for solutions to technical issues. The young man who clambered into the burial chamber said the debris only partially filled the crypt. However, he confirmed only the stumps of pillars remained, adding that, although he had sighted the three smaller chambers, he could not access them. Towards the end of the afternoon, Mahmoud announced he had called a friend in Karnak who owned a restaurant and asked whether would we like to join him and his friends for dinner? He looked at me and smiled. “Tamaam wants to know if you can dance?” She blushed furiously and I am sure I turned a little red myself. These Egyptians certainly were not backward in coming forward.

  The evening was pure magic. The restaurant was at the southern end of the Temple of Amun. Spotlights lit up the pylons, halls and statuary at the great monument, the moon was full, the night warm, the food delicious, the wine excellent, the conversation scintillating and beside me all evening, was this woman who combined seduction with innocence. Egyptian men and women rarely dance together in public so we were treated to the men performing traditional village dances and then the women took their turn on the floor. In a society constrained by the teachings of the Prophet, there is something subtly erotic about Arab women dancing. The way they move their bodies and hands is sensual in the extreme yet without a suggestion of lewdness. Most Arab women have highly expressive dark eyes which seem to flash in moonlight and they know how to use their eyes to the greatest effect. When Tamaam danced, she turned her eyes to me and those eyes were full of promise.

  Once the older dinner guests had retired for the night the younger men and women could dance together. By then, every member of our party was aware of the tension between us and when the music turned to a slow European style, we were showered with requests to dance. I have never been a good dancer but on that night I danced like Fred Astaire. Tamaam floated in my arms and leant against my body, her head on my shoulder, her hair warm against my neck.

  During a break in the music, I held her away from me and said “Are you my Egyptian Princess?”

  “Yes, Dennis, and you shall be my English Prince.”

  The Cairenes were on the early morning flight and I had little opportunity to see Tamaam before they departed. At the airport we took leave of each other with an awkward handshake, which occasioned much cheering from her colleagues. Returning to the office, I silently contemplated my memories of the night. Richard kept his counsel until we reached the compound. As we got out of the jeep, he said,

  “Laddie, you have found yourself a prize and I envy you your luck. Look after this woman and she will reward you greatly.” I knew he had been married and divorced but he spoke little of his personal life. There was a woman somewhere but he never mentioned her and I respected his privacy. “We will be in Egypt for many years and having a good woman by your side during this time will be a great blessing.”

  “You sound as though you think I am going to marry Tamaam.” I replied, somewhat taken aback by his seriousness.

  “You would be a bloody fool if you didn’t. We have both had our share of women, both been married and divorced but have you ever been hit by a thunderbolt?”

  “No, not until now.” I admitted. “I thought I loved my former wife but our falling in love was an act of lust. No music, no thunderbolt and, looking back, no real chemistry other than physical heat.”

  “Somewhere in one of the books about Socrates, there is a story discussing the origins of humans. The Greek gods fashioned a creature, neither male nor female. These creatures became arrogant and finally
they turned their backs to the gods, so Zeus took a lightning bolt and hurled it down to the ground. When it hit the earth, each organism broke into two pieces and the pieces were scattered around in chaos. Since then, each half has been looking for its partner in a desperate desire to make itself whole again. I like to believe this story as it explains the few really happy relationships I have seen in my life. I think, in Tamaam, you have found your other half. If the chemistry is right, then so the relationship will thrive. You are a fortunate man, Dennis, and I hope Zeus is watching the re-unification of one of the divinely created beings.”

  “Richard, I didn’t take you for a romantic but I like the story and hope you are right. She has completely knocked me off my feet and right now I am in heaven which is a bad place for a civil engineer to be. Totally illogical and impractical. Come on, we have work to do.” I clapped him on the back as we arrived at my office door.

  Chapter 17 - ABOUT COLOSSI AND BOATS

  Egypt – 1253 BC

  With the new and somewhat daunting commission in hand, I embarked on a journey up the Nile to the Aswan granite quarry. I was troubled by the difficulties in fashioning, transporting and placing these massive statues and no matter which aspect came to mind, I foresaw problems of a type not faced by any previous royal architect. All related to the scale of the undertaking. The least of my difficulties was how to stand the statues upright at the mortuary temple, since this was only a matter of manpower and very careful manipulation of ropes.

  Obviously, the place to start was at the quarry to determine whether it was possible to extract two gigantic and faultless blocks at their source. I had already conceived some theories about transporting the colossi down the Nile to Thebes but that small matter would have to wait. My Master taught me to consider one step at a time, find a separate solution to each part of a commission and then merge the parts into a whole.