Tutankhamun Uncovered (44 page)

All Carter could do was repetitively nod his head. He was virtually speechless.

As another rare piece appeared, he could contain himself no longer. “Colonel,” he started, “would it be presumptuous of me to enquire whether you might consider donating these to the British Museum?”

Lawrence looked up at Carter in surprise. He had not once suspected any of the objects to be of any real value. He had merely appreciated the thrill of finding them and wished to learn more about them.

“You cannot be serious, Mr Carter. You mean to tell me these pieces are significant?”

“Indeed I do, Colonel. Most are of considerable historical value, let alone their artistic merit. It would be a sin for them to be enjoyed by just one person. They need to be shared with others.”

“I’ll be damned!”

“You have a good eye, Colonel.”

Lawrence reflected for a moment. Carter became anxious now hearing of the value of his discoveries, the colonel might wish to keep them for himself. He struggled for something additional to say that might help convince him to release the objects. He was just about to speak when the colonel said, “Damned nuisance carrying them around with me all over the desert. The bag just keeps getting heavier. Can you find a suitable address for them, Mr Carter?”

A relieved Carter quickly responded. “Most assuredly, Colonel. Leave them with me and I will see to it that they get the very best of homes. If you would be good enough to give me an address where I can always make contact with you, once I have finalised the arrangements for placement I would be glad to write to you and tell you where they are situated.”

“Just write to me at HQ, Cairo. It’ll find me wherever I am eventually.”

The colonel looked at his watch. He stood up.

“Excellent! That’s settled then. A load off my mind, I’ll tell you. Well met, Mr Carter. I hope it will not be too long before we meet again.”

Carter drew himself up and half bowed in respect. “Colonel. And perhaps you will have more finds to share!”

“Perhaps.” The colonel appeared a little crestfallen. “Perhaps. But I fear the engagements which face me next will leave precious little time for idle rock hunting.” He regarded his watch again. “Got to dash... Sergeant Adamson! Carry the sack for Mr Carter, there’s a good fellow. Your servant, Mr Carter. Goodbye.”

“Your servant, Colonel Lawrence,” Carter responded.

They shook hands and Carter left the room.

“Bet you fawt you wuz for h’anuva assignment, Mr Carter, sir.” Adamson chimed in with a grin as they walked back to the ferry.

“Must admit the thought had occurred to me, Sergeant. But in the event a most gratifying encounter. Fine man that colonel.”

“’E’s not a real colonel, sir. ‘E’s a Lieutenant colonel.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Nufink much, I ’spose. But this one’s a loner. ’E doesn’t ’ave no command h’at least not a British command. ’e looks after the bleedin’ fuzzy wuzzys h’organises ’em, like, tries to make fightin’ men of ’em! Bloody h’undisciplined lot. ’E ain’t got no chance in ’ell. Ha, ha, ha!”

“I wish him well, notwithstanding. And so should you.”

“Oh, I does, sir. Don’t get me wrong. ’E’s a good man an’ no mistake. But ’e’s got a ’opeless task. Sad fing is ’e finks ’e can do it.”

“That’s half the battle, sergeant. A fighting man like you should know that. Believing in one’s self and what one could achieve given the will and the effort... It makes men of us all.”

The sergeant went silent and looked ahead in disinterest. The draft had got him into this man’s army. The end of the war or injury would get him out. He wanted nothing more. In the meantime he’d do his best to stay out of harm’s way. He had nothing more to say to men of conviction.

The allies were winning the war. At great cost in men, it was true, but the war was being won nonetheless and at long last. The battle for Arabia was over and this resulted in Howard Carter being officially relieved of his duties at the UCO.

His patron, also, leaving hospital after a painful illness, had finally been permitted to repossess his country seat. He was feeling fitter and in better spirits than he had for many months and, buoyed up by his expectation of new and greater discoveries alongside the Norfolk man in the three-piece tweed. He was itching to get back to work in Egypt.

Carter, however, did not feel at all anxious to receive him just yet. Before Carnarvon returned to Luxor Carter very much wanted to be able to demonstrate that he had made some progress. He had reviewed his remaining bank balance and decided he had sufficient funds of his own to muster a gang of labourers to work during the period that Carnarvon was on his way from Southampton if, indeed, he should come this year at all. There was little time to lose and much to do. The more of the grunt work he could get done before the earl arrived, the longer he might maintain his lordship’s interest.

The aristocrat had come a long way with the Egyptologist and he was keen to move forward to greater things. He fervently believed that Carter would deliver. As for Carter, he knew in his heart that the tomb was down there somewhere within the boundaries of the area he had outlined when they had made their plans together. It had to be, plundered already no doubt, but there notwithstanding. He knew also that it could take years yet to find it.

He planned to work his men in shifts, around the clock. The object was to remove as much debris as he could before his patron arrived, always hoping that the earl would see another season out before visiting Egypt.

And there was another to please the new Monsieur le Directeur of Antiquities.

Pierre Lacau was easily distinguishable in a crowd and particularly in the desert. He was a broad man of commanding height. He almost always wore a dark suit. On his large head, and contrasting starkly with the suit, he supported a mass of thick, grey hair which extended to a full beard and copious moustache. The eyebrows were black. Because of his size, the man held absolute presence in any gathering. As director he had position and authority and he knew it. Worse for Carter, however, Lacau was French.

But to his great relief the new director’s first visit to the site of Carter’s excavations went off extremely well. Lacau even commended him personally on his approach. “Removing all loose rubble to bedrock a most excellent practice, Mr Carter. It has not been attempted in so systematic and responsible a manner before. We shall finally learn what lies beneath the rubbish of ages of indiscriminate and irresponsible digging. I am sure we shall all be most handsomely rewarded by your thoroughness. Bon chance, monsieur!”

And he left.

Carter was pleased. Their first meeting had gone well. At the same time, he hoped that the director’s last words ‘WE shall ALL be rewarded’ were not all they appeared to be. He had already shown that his approach to ‘division’ was far more strictly biased in favour of the Cairo Museum than had been the practice of his predecessor. He had taken the beautiful, almond-coloured quartzite sarcophagus. It was the only thing of value that had come out of the tomb that Carter had risked his life to save from the robbers. Carter felt the action entirely inconsiderate, but he was powerless to influence the decision. Should he now be fortunate enough to come upon something truly exceptional, he feared that, but for a few of the more miserable artefacts, all would be retained in Egypt. His patron’s reward would be the fame accompanying discovery, not the proportionate share of antiquities to which he had hitherto become accustomed as a right.

‘There is a temptation to steal’. Carter silently castigated himself for the thought.

But they had to find something first. That night, his mind restless with worry, Carter lay awake thinking. ‘What if the excavation to bedrock comes up with nothing? What then? In any case, it could be years before I know even that for sure. How am I to maintain his lordship’s interest and keep the money flowing in the meantime?’

The task seemed daunting. ‘Perhaps if the earl had more than one excavation to focus on another licence running in parallel with that in The Valley this would improve the odds of finding something of significance break the monotony’. Finally overcome by his tiredness, he fell asleep.

Within no more than a minute, it seemed, he was awakened by a familiar voice...

“Mr Carter! Mr Carter, if you please, sir! Wake up man! There is work to do and dawn is almost upon us!”

Startled by the suddenness of the noise, he opened his eyes. A huge, bearded man stood at the foot of his bed. ‘Dammit. It’s Petrie again!’ he observed to himself.

It was a sign. Amarna was an obvious choice. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? Personally he had always had strong ties to the place. Not just because he took his first real lessons there and had his first successes of note, but because he knew the site was still greatly underexplored and the odds of making new and wonderful discoveries were a good deal more favourable than most concessions. The Valley of the Kings had been picked over for decades.

The Director of Antiquities was always punctual. As Carter arrived at the

door to his office, Lacau was ready for him. Carter knocked.

“Entre!” Lacau’s voice boomed from inside.

Carter opened the door and removed his Homburg. “Monsieur le Directeur. Comment allez vous?”

“Bien, merci, Monsieur Carter. Asseyez vous, s’il vous plait.” And, as with one hand he gestured to Carter to sit, he pulled up a flagon of rough Bourdeaux with the other and invited him to drink.

“Non, merci, monsieur. Seulement dans l’aprèsmidi.”

Lacau laughed. “You English, you will never learn how to enjoy yourselves. Such principles. Such standards. All contrived to make your lives miserable. We French, we have standards. We have principles. All geared to making our lives as enjoyable as possible. Ha, ha, ha!”

Carter, as sarcastic as he was, especially with foreigners and most especially with the French, had considerable difficulty accepting sarcasm from others. He had to call on the deepest of his disciplinary rules of thumb to hold himself back. He was, after all, here to ask permission to do something. A wrong step now, for nothing more than the purpose of satisfying his ego, would render his journey wasted and damage a relationship he had to nurture rather than blight.

“Un verre, peut’être. Merci, monsieur,” he softened and accepted the glass that was offered.

Thus settled opposite each other and divided by Lacau’s large library desk the Director asked, “And what may I do for you, monsieur?”

“Monsieur le Directeur,” Carter began politely but directly. “You are aware that in my early years in Egypt, and under the direction and guidance of Sir William Flinders Petrie, I excavated at Tel el Amarna?”

“Of course, Mr Carter. The study of the history of great excavators in these parts has always been of great interest to me. One learns from their mistakes, does one not?”

That was not a good start. Carter did not seek to lead from behind, as it were.

“Yes, sir,” he agreed submissively. He continued, “And for this and many other reasons I have always had a longing to return to that place. There is much yet to be revealed, I believe. My sponsor, his lordship the Earl of Porchester, is of the same mind and harbours much enthusiasm for the area, sir.”

“Indeed...” Lacau reflected for a moment. “Indeed it is a premium concession one to be held for those who can execute their tasks in the most professional manner scholars of the most prestigious universities, and of the most upright of museums with well-established collections of Egyptian antiquities. Do you not agree, Mr Carter?”

‘No, not necessarily,’ thought Carter. His lips tightened as he silently suppressed his irritation at Lacau’s veiled personal attack. Their conversation, having already begun poorly, was taking a turn for the worse.

“Monsieur le Directeur,” Carter began again with polite reserve. “I agree with everything you are saying. But does not experience twenty-five years of experience have a place in qualification?”

“Quite so, Mr Carter. Quite so,” answered Lacau half-heartedly. “But you and your sponsor already have the premier site of all The Valley of the Tombs of the Kings. You have just begun on your admirably thorough plan there. Surely you do not wish to give it up already? Such an apparent lack of perseverance would not augur well in the Minister’s consideration for any future concessions.”

“You know me better than that, monsieur. I meant, of course...”

Lacau smiled a wry and powerful smile and cut in, “...I do indeed, and that is why I wish you most earnestly to focus your efforts on your present concession in The Valley and forget any aspirations elsewhere while you do so.” For some time now the Director had been decided on how he would administer future concessions. This uneducated but admittedly talented Englishman with his over privileged English aristocratic consort was not about to influence him now.

Carter was not a man to be beaten easily, least of all by a Frenchman, but he saw the future only too vividly and Lacau figured boldly within it. When and if he made his great discovery in The Valley, Lacau would preside over his every action. So it was essential that Carter did everything he could for the director within the limits of his pride (and there were limits) to maintain himself and his patron in a favourable light.

Quite against his inner feelings he softly replied, “I understand, sir. Perhaps later, then.”

“Perhaps,” conceded the massive Frenchman. And they parted company.

Now it was all or nothing. The Valley would just have to turn up something soon anything. Carnarvon, the philanthropist who had invested so much faith in Howard Carter to this point, would have a limit to his unrewarded endurance. Worse still, The Valley itself truly may have nothing left to yield. Carter strongly believed otherwise but could not know for sure. His analysis of the evidence, his design for exploration in the light of his undying passion for the place and discovery were they all so unrealistic? There was absolutely no question in Carter’s mind. There were lost kings to be discovered. It was just a matter of time. And which would come first discovery, loss of financial support, failing health? He was realistic. There was a very real logic to King Tutankhamen being buried in The Valley. There was a very real logic to the Pharaoh being buried within the area Carter was now investigating. Perhaps more importantly, there was no counter logic to these theories. He was convinced he was on the right track. The only doubts that he held in his mind were the doubts that any risk taker would have when the outcome was not a virtual certainty. He could not be certain. He had an unknown period of time in which to prove his conviction. He couldn’t know how long Carnarvon would hold out in the face of disappointment. He did know, however, that if the earl was considering pulling out, his lordship would give him fair warning.