When the final layer of wrapping was removed the group was surprised to find the body remained hidden from view. A deep layer of spices, including cinnamon, had been placed between the skin and the linen, measuring about one inch in depth. When removed, it was found that the spices had also been used to fill Nesyamun’s abdominal and chest cavities. Shockingly, when his face was finally revealed it was incredibly intact. The hair on his head, his eyebrows and beard had been shaved off. Yet that wasn’t what stunned the informal autopsy team; it was the facial disfigurement that caused alarm. The face was not that of a man who had died a peaceful death, but that of a man who had suffered a terrible and agonising death. His mouth was wide open and his tongue protruded from it. Only one other mummy has been found with a similar grimace. On closer examination, the throat had been stuffed with a powder created from vegetables, and the cheeks were filled out with sawdust so that the facial structure maintained a natural shape. The mummy was in truly excellent condition, and one member of the team, William Osburn, noted ‘his skin was grey, in good condition, and soft and greasy to touch.’
The examination revealed much about Nesyamun in life, but nothing that could tell of his death, which had clearly been torturous. Some believed, because of the contorted face, that Nesyamun had been murdered. He could have been strangled to death, which would explain the elongated tongue emerging from the mouth (this also occurs during hanging). However, there was no obvious evidence of spinal fracture at the base of the neck, which discounts this theory. There the matter ended, and the mummy went on display at the museum, which was then located in Park Row.
The first tale connected to Nesyamun that I discovered came from the Grainger family, who once lived in Leeds. In the 1920s it seems that Roland Grainger was employed as a watchman in the district, and the museum in Park Row was one of the buildings he regularly monitored along with his colleagues. He would regale friends and family with ‘off the record’ stories of the mystical displays in the museum. One in particular relates to Nesyamun, and appears to be much more than just a ‘ghost story’.
Grainger had been told by other watchmen that strange voices could be heard coming from the coffin: scratching sounds and sobbing. Dismissive of such talk, Grainger remained sceptical and put it down to the over-active imagination of his fellows. One evening, Roland approached the Nesyamun display and, intrigued by its history, stopped to look more closely at it. As he stood next to it he heard a strange scratching sound that appeared to emanate from within the coffin. Believing it to be mice or rodents, he resolved to report it to the curator. He was just about to move away when he heard whispering. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face the coffin. He was convinced that the whispering voice he could hear was a foreign man praying. Then came the sobbing! Roland stood for several moments, paralysed with fear and unable to move even his eyes. He swore that he saw some movement. Pulling himself together, he left the exhibit and the building. He told his family what had happened but they were incredulous, and asked him if he’d been drinking that evening. Grainger maintained that he was in complete control of his senses and that the incident had actually happened. However, since his own family didn’t believe the story, he thought it pointless to report it to museum officials. For several weeks he went nowhere near the display, but still heard the sound of whispering prayers followed by sobbing.
Eventually a friend volunteered to come into the museum with Roland during his night time patrol, and to stand by the display and watch and listen while Roland went on his rounds. Once inside, both men heard the scratching sound and went to the display and stood in silence. The scratching stopped, to be replaced by a male voice that was whispering in a foreign tongue. Roland Grainger moved away from the exhibit and continued his round, leaving his friend alone. Moments later, a loud shrill scream pierced the air. Roland ran back to the exhibit and found his friend on the floor – he was a gibbering wreck, and had clearly been terrified by something. In the few minutes it took Grainger to get him outside, his friend told him he had seen a vision of what he believed was an Ancient Egyptian god appear close to him. It held in its outstretched hand a bloody red heart, and beside it stood two humanlike creatures, later described as men with bull’s heads, that were staring at him.
Outside, the friend went into shock and was unable to move. He fell silent and his hair turned from dark to completely white. Roland managed to get him home and for several days his friend refused to speak to anyone. Roland felt guiltly that he could not report the incident, as his friend should never have been there.
On a different occasion, a visiting medium declared that the spirit of Nesyamun had spoken to her, revealing that he had been killed by the hands of an enemy in Thebes, and that he would not rest until his killer’s descendants had suffered the same fate. Unfortunately, he didn’t provide the name of his killer.
Then we have the unrelated story of another female visitor to the museum who was entirely overcome by feelings of absolute desolation as she looked at the Nesyamun display. She claimed to see visions of fire, death and carnage; she described it as ritual slaughter. All around her she saw strange creatures that stared through a curious mist; she believed these were protectors, the underworld guardians of Nesyamun. Without surprise, she apparently declared the coffin and the mummy to be cursed and that she would never again return to the museum.
Perhaps the carnage she envisaged was that caused during German air raids on the city during World War Two. At around 9pm on 14 March 1941, the air-raid sirens began sounding across Leeds as the Luftwaffe aircraft of the German air force returned to bombard the city, dropping bombs during a sustained raid that was more destructive than any other the city endured. In the early hours of 15 March the Park Row museum suffered a direct hit. Countless displays were destroyed, including the unique mummy collection. Three mummies had been on display; two were literally blown to pieces. The third, Nesyamun, survived, but not without some damage. During the initial explosion, Nesyamun had his nose broken off as the lid of his inner coffin was entirely smashed. Nesyamun was removed from the debris, carefully packed and put into storage until he was returned to a display in the relocated museum.
The story surrounding Nesyamun does not end there. In 1989 a more modern scientific examination of the mummy of Nesyamun took place, which hoped to shed light on the cause of his death. One of the original mysteries was what had caused his tongue to protrude from his mouth, and why had the embalmers left it in that state? Perhaps they had been unable to close the mouth as they normally would.
The examination revealed that the tongue appeared to have broken off at some point during the mummification process. The embalmers were required to leave the body in its final state in preparation for the journey to the underworld, so rather than leave it disconnected, they had reconnected the broken part with glue. Despite this revelation, there was still no clue as to how Nesyamun had died.
Eventually, 3,000 years after his death, a forensic examination was carried out, although without any input from the police. The investigating authorities were made up of professionals from the scientific and academic world. Studies had revealed evidence of numerous critical health issues in the body, including arthritis, parasitic worms and a debilitating eye condition. The scientists therefore examined just three possibilities as the cause of his death:
1. A painful tumour.
2. Murder through strangulation.
3. Accidental death caused by a bee sting to his tongue, resulting in him choking to death.
Microscopic examinations of the tongue were carried out. The tongue itself appeared no larger than normal and revealed no evidence of cancerous cells. No cancer was found anywhere in the body, which eliminated the theory that a tumour was the cause of death.
The investigators were also able to dismiss the possibility that Nesyamun was murdered through strangulation, since skin tissue on his neck displayed no marks whatsoever. More importantly, the hyoid bone was still intact. This supports the t
ongue and is generally crushed when pressure is exerted on it. Thus, although murder was not entirely ruled out, strangulation seems unlikely.
Of the three options, just one remained a distinct possibility. A bee or other type of venomous insect sting could have caused a type of anaphylactic reaction. This would account for the contortion in the face. However, during the course of mummification all bodily fluids were drained from the corpse, so the theory cannot be proved. As with the case of King Tutankhamun, the mystery of the death of Nesyamun remains. Did he die of natural causes, or could it have been murder?
Chapter 15
The Scottish Mummy
The mummy of Ankhesnefer lies in the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum in Glasgow, Scotland, and was originally found by a noted Egyptologist of Greek extraction, called Giovanni D’Athanasi (also referred to as Yanni). His real name was Demetrio Papandriopulo, although he later adopted the pseudonym Giovanni D’Athanasi. His father was a Cairo merchant, having moved there in 1809. In 1813, while still a boy, D’Athanasi entered the service of Colonel Ernest Missett, then British Consul-General, and two years later, in 1815, he entered the service of Henry Salt, who had then moved into that position. From 1817–27, working on behalf of Salt, he was a key excavator at Thebes and became a popular and highly regarded figure among travellers in Egypt during that period. D’Athanasi later became a serious collector of antiquities and his own vast collection was sold in London at Sotheby’s on 5 March 1836 and 13–20 March 1837.
It’s a popular misconception that the tomb of King Tutankhamun was the first such burial site to be found untouched. D’Athanasi tells us otherwise, and was responsible for recording the first king’s burial tomb to be found intact. He recorded the following in his journals:
During the researches made by the Arabs in the year 1827, at Gourna, in the mountain Il-Dra-Abool-Naggia, a small and separate tomb, containing only one chamber, in the centre of which was placed a sarcophagus, hewn out of the same rock, and formed evidently at the same time as the chamber itself... In this sarcophagus was found (the coffin of Nubkheperre Intef), with the body as originally deposited. The moment the Arabs saw that the case was highly ornamented and gilt, they immediately knew that it belonged to a person of rank. They forthwith proceeded to satisfy their curiosity by opening it, when they discovered, placed around the head of the mummy, but over the linen, a diadem, composed of silver and beautiful mosaic work, its centre being formed of gold, representing an asp, the emblem of royalty. Inside the case, alongside the body, were deposited two bows, and six arrows... The Arabs... immediately proceeded to break up the mummy for the treasures it might contain, but all the information I have been able to obtain as to the various objects they found, is, that the Scarab was placed on the breast, without having any other ornament attached to it.
Records indicate that efforts had been made by tomb robbers to tunnel into the tomb from the nearby looted tombs of Shuroy/Iurony, but they had been unable to gain access. Incredibly, the find seems to have been ignored, as the treasures found were distributed (sold) to collectors across Europe, and it was almost a decade later when the facts were recorded by D’Athanasi. The Arabs at Gourna during this period were known for their violence, stemming from battles between the residents of the east and west banks of the Nile, which had long since died out. However, the heritage remained and at Gourna, on several days of the year, violent festivals were held in villages, where all those who owned horses and could ride would convene and participate in races, using long poles to furiously attack one another. So violent were these incidents that eyes were knocked from their sockets and mortal injuries sustained. The fighting Arabs would achieve notoriety once they had murdered a rival during these so-called races, and would be referred to as ‘goul’ the Arabic word for dragon. This was not a pleasant or friendly region to try to excavate, so D’Athanasi deserves credit for his ability to win over the trust of the local people and use them as part of his excavation team workforce.
In around 1837–39, during later excavations at Thebes, D’Athanasi found the mummy and coffin of Ankhesnefer (meaning: ‘May her life be perfect’). He later sold these items to the British Museum. The mummy-shaped coffin is made of wood and painted with hieroglyphic inscriptions. These reveal that Ankhesnefer was the daughter of Khnomsmes and Isetirdis, and she was responsible for managing her husband’s household. Elsewhere on the coffin, colourful scenes relating to the afterlife are painted.
Ankhesnefer is depicted on the coffin lid with a pale yellow smiling face typical for a depiction of a woman during this period. Her eyes are made up with kohl. She is seen wearing an elaborate wig and gilded vulture headdress, and a gilded sun-disc sits on her brow. Inside the casket, the body of Ankhesnefer still lies wrapped in the original linen bandages and shroud that were bound round her some 2,500 years ago.
Various tales surround this mummy, from both its time in the British Museum and in Scotland. One in particular tells how, when the coffin and mummy are viewed by some women, it causes them to weep uncontrollably. One woman explained how she felt a burning sensation on her face and a bright red mark appeared and remained on the right side of her face for several hours after the visit. Another woman believed she could hear the cries of a woman in pain when visiting the exhibit, believing it to come from the coffin. Her husband dismissed her claims and put it down to noise outside the museum. One visitor to Glasgow, Susan Page, was so overwhelmed by a feeling of dread and melancholy during her visit to the exhibit that she wrote to the British Museum and Scottish government, demanding that they return the mummy and coffin to its burial place in Egypt. She felt that the spirit of Ankhesnefer was distressed due to being away from its home land.
Curiously, there exists some mystery surrounding the death of Ankhesnefer. Modern-day X-ray examinations of her remains indicate that she died in middle age and suffered a violent death. There appears to be a large ‘sword like’ cut to the right side of her skull and face. Egypt in her time was regarded as peaceful, with no wars. This has led to some speculation that the fatal wound may have been inflicted as domestic abuse. Or was she was murdered for a reason which will forever remain a secret?
Chapter 16
The Curse of the Czar’s Ring
One of the most curious tales I discovered during my research for this book relates to the late Russian sovereign Alexander III. His widow, in 1898, was going through some of her late husband’s desk drawers when she came upon a peculiar looking ring, consisting of a heavy band of gold, in the centre of which was set an extraordinarily beautiful opal, flanked by two diamonds. It was contained in an envelope on which Alexander III had written that the ring had been worn by his father on the little finger of his left hand, and that the original settings were of ancient Egyptian origin.
It is strongly believed that the ring was stolen from the body of a hitherto unidentified Egyptian pharaoh, and that the ring was therefore cursed, bringing tragedy to whoever was in possession of it. When the unfortunate sovereign Alexander II was assassinated by Nihilist bombers in 1881, his entire left hand was shattered, with the exception of the little finger, which remained intact with this ring on it. The rings worn on his third finger were destroyed in the explosion. This ring had been presented to him only a few months previously.
Alexander III took the Egyptian ring from the little finger of his father’s torn and mangled hand, placed it in the envelope and hid it in the drawer in which it was found by his widow after his death. The Czarina, not realising that there was any ill luck attached to the ring, took it along with her on her next visit to Copenhagen in the spring of 1898 and left it there in charge of her mother, the queen of Denmark, who died within a year. Finding it among her mother’s effects, the widowed empress took it back to Russia and presented it to her son, George, whose sudden death, at the age of twenty-eight, created a sensation. In August 1899 George was found alone by a roadside near Tiflis in Caucasus. He was discovered by a peasant woman bleeding heavily from the mout
h, with his motorcycle laid down beside him. It was not known whether he had suffered an accident or fallen ill and been forced to stop.
The ring was not found among the Grand Duke’s belongings, and has disappeared. The tragedies, however, continued. George’s title of Heir Presumptive passed to his younger brother Michael. In 1910, Michael named his newborn son George after his late brother. This George also died at a young age; he was killed in a car crash in 1931 at the age of twenty. It has since been suggested by some that the curse of the pharaohs was involved in each of these deaths, and until the ring is found and returned to Egypt, any person who possesses it will be in mortal danger.
Bibliography
Andrews, C., Egyptian Mummies, British Museum Press, 1998.
Bauval, R., and Gilbert, A., Orion Mystery; Unlocking the Secrets of the Pyramids, Arrow, 1994.
Budge, E.A. Wallis, The Mummy: A Handbook of Egyptian Funerary Archaeology, Dover Publications, 1893.
–––– Egyptian Ideas of the Afterlife, Dover Publications, 1895.
Carter, H., and Mace, A.C., The Discovery of the Tomb of Tutankhamun, Dover Publications, 1923.
Clayton, P.A., Chronicle of the Pharaohs, Thames & Hudson, 1994.
Dane, J., ‘The Curse of the Mummy’ Paper Printing History 17 (2) 18-25, 1995.
The Curse of the Pharaohs' Tombs Page 18
