Tutankhamun Uncovered

by Michael J Marfleet

  It was Georges who had taken the fall. By the time Carter leaned down to touch him, he was showing signs of movement. Looking up, Georges saw his friend, Ferdinand, at the door.

  “Georges! You all right?”

  “Of course. I tripped. We showed them, didn’t we?” He turned his face towards Carter. “You, Monsieur, have not heard the last of this.”

  ‘The audacity!’ thought Carter. “Neither you, sir,” he spat back. “You and your friends have attempted fraud. You have viciously attacked the Service’s men in the course of their duty. You have trespassed. You have damaged government property. Not to mention your insulting behaviour towards me. All this shall be recorded and reported to the appropriate authorities. Your names, if you would do me that much courtesy?”

  “Georges Fabre and Ferdinand Estienne, Monsieur. And your name and official capacity, if you please, is...?”

  “Howard Carter, Chief Inspector of Antiquities for the Lower Nile. You people disgust me. Be gone before I do something I might later come to regret.” Carter was shaking with rage and close to losing what little was left of his customary self-control.

  The two Frenchmen were not so insensible that they could fail to recognise the seriousness of Carter’s mood. They had indulged themselves enough for one day and felt not a little physically uncomfortable to boot. Helped up by his friend and silently suffering his pain, Georges limped away towards his group who had reassembled beside their donkeys. Without another word, the party quietly beat a respectable retreat. As their dust tumbled in the distance, a relative peace once more settled on the desert.

  That evening, Carter kept his appointment with Weigall and the ladies at the Hotel Royal in Cairo. He marched out to the terrace and plopped himself down in the soft cushions of a wicker sofa. His earlier angry confrontation had left him physically tired and mentally exhausted. No sooner was he seated than a neatly waist coated and befezzed waiter appeared beside him. Carter spoke in Arabic. “Gin and tonic, Effendi. Big one!” The man nodded and left.

  Carter gazed out through the palm trees in the hotel gardens towards the silhouetted pyramids on the skyline. He contemplated the future. He sighed. He didn’t relish the thought of the list of unpleasant duties now facing him, but he must ensure that those careless Frenchmen were adequately punished for their disrespectful misdemeanours.

  He was jerked out of his preoccupation by the arrival of Arthur Weigall.

  “Good evening, Howard. How’d it go today after you left us?”

  “A most unpleasant experience, Weigall. And one I hope never to be repeated. Alas, it’s not over yet.”

  Weigall took the seat opposite.

  “Ah, ladies. Good evening to you.” The two men rose.

  “Good evening, Mr Carter. Such a pleasant temperature at this time of the evening.”

  Weigall pulled up another chair. One of the ladies positioned herself quickly on Carter’s couch and the other sat in the chair, and the two men retook their seats. The waiter reappeared.

  “May I offer you some refreshment, ladies?” asked Carter lemonade for one; champagne for the other, whisky soda for Weigall; a second ‘G and T’ for Carter.

  All settled themselves cosily on the terrace. Carter broke the silence. “My apologies for leaving all of you so abruptly this afternoon. As things turned out, I should have stayed with you! I am sure the remainder of your day was far more pleasant than mine.”

  “As you arrived, ladies, Mr Carter was about to relate the goings-on of this afternoon,” said Weigall.

  “Oh, please continue, Mr Carter,” said the smaller and younger lady sitting beside him. “We are intrigued.”

  Carter recounted and relived the afternoon’s activity in clinical detail as if dictating his report. For the ladies’ sake he moderated some of the abusive language he had heard, but did not hold back in painting a vivid picture of his disgust for the French. At the conclusion of his story he felt suddenly lightened almost exorcised.

  “You were lucky you were not hurt, Mr Carter,” observed the lady at his side.

  “Yes,” agreed the other. “You were extremely brave to stand up to such a rowdy crowd singlehanded.”

  “I had the assistance of my gaffirs, ladies. Without their loyalty, strength and bravery we would not have won the day.”

  ‘That day is not won yet; not the last we shall hear of this.’ Weigall kept his thoughts to himself. “Yes, well done, Howard. A man to be confronted at one’s peril, I’ll be bound! To y’ health.”

  All raised their glasses in acknowledgement.

  Carter’s embarrassment was eased when the younger lady turned the conversation to the pleasures of what they had seen on the west bank to this point in their trip. She enquired of Carter what he would recommend she and her sister should see henceforward. He was only too happy to oblige and, reinvigorated dually by her charm and curiosity, along with the influence of his second gin now busily coursing through his veins, he launched himself into a lengthy description of a suggested itinerary. As the two ladies became, more apparently than really, absorbed in this monologue, Carter responded alike with yet more enthusiasm, embellishing his talk with sketches and maps quickly executed in pencil on the pages of his notebook.

  The second lady could easily recognise where all this was leading and as the discourse continued, she turned nervously to Weigall and made a brief, quivering smile.

  Weigall was quick to pick up on the signal and, speaking more softly than Carter for fear of interrupting his intensity, he said, “Miss Dalgliesh, have you enjoyed your trip thus far as much as your sister?” And so these two began their own conversation.

  Carter was by now in full cry and oblivious of the sideshow. “Miss Dalgliesh...” he continued.

  She held up her hand. “Dot, Mr Carter. Please call me Dot. Otherwise we will not know which of us you are addressing.”

  “In that case... Howard,” returned Carter.

  “Howard,” she repeated softly.

  “Dot, it is then!” acknowledged Carter with a smile. He noticed that the other two were engaged in their own dialogue and asked, “Would you like to take a turn with me in the gardens, Dot? We can continue our discussion on the wing, so to speak.”

  “I’d be delighted, Howard.” She turned to her sister. “Sorry to interrupt, Sally, but Howard and I are going for a quick perambulatory. We’ll join you in the dining room, say, in fifteen minutes?”

  “Fine, Dorothy. See you then.”

  Carter took the girl’s arm in his and the two left the terrace.

  Sally turned to Weigall, a broad smile on her face. “ ‘Howard and I’ is it?” And they both chuckled.

  The drinks, the talk, the walk and this sweetly interesting young lady, not necessarily in that order, were entirely therapeutic for Carter. By dinnertime he’d lost his earlier seriousness and was freely joking in the relaxed company of Weigall and the two sisters.

  When he retired to his quarters that night he reflected that he had not enjoyed himself so much in others’ company since the early days with his brother at Deir el Bahri. And it’s not over yet, he thought. I do believe I was forward enough to offer my services as guide tomorrow.

  His usual uneasiness in the presence of ladies, particularly young and pretty ones, was totally absent in the company of the sisters. Dorothy made him feel relaxed perhaps too relaxed for what was normally a tightly controlled and ordered personality. He grinned contentedly. He was on the rebound from a severely taxing experience and he relished the moment.

  The following day he was up before the sun broke the horizon. He had had a totally restful, dreamless sleep. The Frenchmen had gone from his mind and were replaced by a figure in flowing gossamer. He had nothing but expectation for a day filled with lecture in the delightful company of Miss Dorothy Dalgliesh.

  Miss Dalgliesh herself had also risen early and was busy within the bowels of her travelling trunk, attempting to find appropriate attire for the day’s forthcoming activities. She he
ld a striped shirt up to her bosom and turned. “What do you think, Sally?”

  Her sister was sitting up in bed reading. She looked up from her book and glanced over her spectacles. “It looks fine, Dorothy, but then so did the other two blouses. I don’t know why you are dithering so much over your appearance. Why all this trouble for a boring little man? You amaze me sometimes, you really do.”

  “I don’t find him boring. He has a passion for his trade, that is all. I find his singular preoccupation fascinating. And he’s lonely. He needs our company.”

  “Your company, you mean. You’re not expecting me to come, surely?”

  “No. I’d rather be by myself,” she smiled. “I fancy it may be I who holds the key that will unlock...”

  Sally broke in. “You’d better be careful. If you are right you could end up with more than you can cope with. At best a bruised back! The floors in those tombs don’t compare with the bluebell woods of your last adventure.”

  “That’s unkind,” Dorothy chided. “I have no other intention than to enjoy his conversation and get to know him a little better. Besides, you do him a great disservice. He is too much a gentleman, and too shy, to venture to make inappropriate advances. And you know very well there has been no previous ‘adventure’. That is a jealous accusation. In any case, you liked the man in question more than I. I am glad you are not coming. Stay in this stuffy hotel with your book and that nice Mr Weigall. We’ll soon see who will have had the most boring day.”

  Dorothy pulled on the shirt, quickly buttoned it down the front and tucked it into her skirt. She took a tie from the pile of clothing she had by now accumulated on the floor and hurried into the bathroom to preen. Neither sister spoke again that morning but for the courtesy of bidding each other farewell.

  Carter was waiting for Dorothy at the front steps of the hotel. As she emerged from the doorway flanked by two doormen he smiled, removed his Homburg and, with a swashbuckling gesture, bowed in greeting.

  Standing at the top of the steps, she took a moment to absorb the picture. He was dressed in a loosely fitting, light brown, striped, single-breasted three-piece suit. The cuffs of a crisply starched white shirt extended some distance from beneath the sleeves of the jacket and the collar was attached at the neck by a crookedly knotted bow tie. His straight hair, slicked back over his head, had now been partially displaced by removal of his hat. His face was long and sun burned with a strong chin and a pronounced nose. His smile was reflected in his sensitive eyes and beamed under the carefully manicured moustache. His light suede shoes, although they’d been cleaned that morning, were already dusty from the few steps he had taken in the street. To Dorothy Dalgliesh he looked every bit the archaeologist.

  “Good morning, Howard,” she greeted. “I am sorry if I am a little late. I was trying to encourage Sally to join us, but she is still in bed, I am embarrassed to admit.”

  Carter took her by the hand and helped her into his carriage. “She does not have the appetite for antiquities as you do, I fear. Never mind, when you return you can educate her with what you will have learned today. Perhaps you will be able to convert her and she will want to come another time ... May I say how lovely you look this morning, Dot? Very smart, but practically dressed as well. That hat will provide excellent protection from the sun I would that mine were as broad.”

  He got in beside her and gestured to the driver to take off.

  When they came close by the Saqqara complex they transferred to donkey back. Carter described each site explicitly, all the time checking for any suggestion of loss of interest on the part of his partner. But she seemed intent on learning all she could, from time to time asking questions and making observations of her own. It was a joy to him to be able to give back some of what he had gained in these last fourteen years in Egypt especially to one so enthusiastic to receive the information.

  But her appeal was more than this he felt an inner warmth that he had not previously experienced. That he liked her very much was clear in his attentions. He was completely relaxed in her company and she in his. ‘She does enjoy my company,’ he reflected. Up to this point he had not consciously thought this of anyone he had cared less; it had not mattered to him until now. All of a sudden it was important. There was an unfamiliar current developing within him. But the feeling was enjoyable and he did not want to suppress it.

  ‘This slight, dusty gentleman’s heart is totally devoted to his work,’ she thought. ‘Is there room for anything else anyone else, I wonder?’

  Carter looked at his pocket watch. It was already two o’clock in the afternoon and his companion admitted she was flagging. Even Carter was tired from the heat and the walking and the bending in confined spaces. They would have to find shade and take the picnic he had had prepared.

  “We need refreshment and we need cooler surroundings. I know just the place.” He took the reins of his ward’s donkey and edged ahead towards the Service’s rest house.

  He knew it to be deserted after the goings-on of the day before. Following the incident, the place had been cleaned up and his ticket collector was at home recovering from his bruises. Carter helped his companion from her mount, unlocked the door and waved her in. The cooler air from inside brushed her face as she entered.

  “Chez nous, mademoiselle. Chez nous.”

  “Howard, this is a most unfortunate and distasteful business. I must say quite candidly that while you acted clearly within your authority, you exercised no discretion in the matter a blatant by-the-book approach dealing with these well-connected young Frenchmen as you would have a bunch of guttersnipes from the back streets of London. I really do wish you had moderated your actions... But that is all history now. The case against these men will not be taken any further. There will be no prosecutions. On the contrary, there has to be some form of modest, now reparation of the past... some form of apology from you.”

  “Gaston! You are my superior and also my friend. I do value your counsel. But please stop there. I have acted quite properly within my authority, as you say even with some restraint, which the situation did not deserve. Those damn Frogs behaved atrociously. They were violent and abusive, not to mention wholly disrespectful to my employees and myself. They attempted fraudulent entry to one of the Service’s premier monuments, trespassed, damaged the Service’s property, abused the Service’s staff, and then had the gall to ask for their money back! So, if you are about to ask me to make a formal apology to the French Consulate, stop now. Please do me that much courtesy.”

  “Howard, please! I implore you on this occasion to relax your personal code and fall into line with the protocol of conventional international diplomacy. For me for all of us who have held the highest respect for the good performance of your office over these many past years please! Just a gesture.” Carter’s doggedness was frustrating Maspero to the point of anger.

  “Monsieur, with respect, you were not there. They were nothing more than spoiled hoodlums. Should I do as you ask of me I would undermine the respect and due diligence of my poor employees, with whom I must continue to work, and from whom I expect only the best quality of work. Worse, I would endorse the French louts’ behaviour. These...” He faltered on the word, and after a short pause almost spat it out, “...tourists will not be back. I have no doubt of that. It is they who should swallow their pride and take a lesson from the affair. I wish only for justice and then to forget it ever happened.”

  “If you insist on taking this position it will not end here, Howard. They will not forget the affair. It is already highly visible in the halls of the British and French Consulates in Cairo. It is yes a trivial matter, now blown out of all proportion...”

  Maspero hardly got the last part of his statement out before Carter snapped back at him, now so incensed that he had no thought for his friend’s efforts, nor his feelings.

  “Trivial? Trivial? How can you trivialise this event? These Frenchmen represent the worst kind of vandal the careless rich. They dishonour the Egyptians.
They defile the Egyptians’ heritage. They trivialise the monuments with their drunkenness. They have no interest in this place. To them it’s just another playground... I will have none of it. My last word, monsieur. Positively my last word.”

  There was silence. Maspero sat staring incredulously into Carter’s stern eyes. He knew the man well. Carter had taken his position. He had dug himself in. There would be no going back. ‘He is deadly serious,’ thought Maspero. ‘Quite, quite determined.’

  “I must take my leave,” said Carter at last. “I am falling behind in my work. Au revoir, monsieur.” He picked up his hat and strutted rapidly out the door.

  Maspero, exasperated and exhausted, had no further words for him anyway.

  Some days later Carter received a letter from his old patron, Theodore Davis. The millionaire had heard of the affair and, being well versed in the bigotry of the rich and famous, felt compelled to counsel his old colleague. It was, unusually for Davis, a sensitively written missive, exploring the facts of the affair, laying out the options and proffering advice on the steps that Carter should now take. In addition, it addressed the hitherto unthinkable leaving the Service.

  This was all too much for Carter. He needed time to relax and think. He decided to contact Maspero the following morning and request leave.

  He was back in England within the month.

  Carter returned to Cairo in the height of summer, 1905. After a couple of days provisioning in the city and a brief visit with Monsieur le Directeur he took off for his house in the delta. The place was just as he had left it, perhaps a little dustier than usual, indicating that his houseboy had not been overly diligent in his duties whilst his master had been away, and a lot hotter. Otherwise things were much the same. While the gaffirs carried the boxes of provisions into the small kitchen, he dumped his bags on the bed and began to unpack.

  He had been away one hundred days. It felt like years. He was totally refreshed and keen to return to work. His veins tingled with new enthusiasm the anticipation of new discoveries. He drew back the top drawer of his bedside chest and pulled out the old newspaper lining to dust it off. An envelope fell to the floor. He picked it up. A drop of perspiration fell from his brow and the ink began to run.