‘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.
At his house that night, filled with these thoughts, Carter decided that a short letter of encouragement would do no harm. He settled down at his desk with a Scotch and put pen to paper:
Dear Carnarvon,
I have to tell you, I am afraid, that Director Lacau that staid Frenchman who, in place of our dear old friend Maspero, now controls our actions has denied us any additional concession. On your behalf I had attempted to gain access to Tel el Amarna. Though very different from The Valley, it is a site of great promise, much that will be new to you, and the opportunity, while so many excavators were absent, seemed too good to miss. However, he has, as I said, denied it to us. No matter. Our strength of will towards our endeavours in The Valley wil
l be redoubled. It is on this matter that I wish now to dwell.
As you are aware we have begun to clear the area we spoke of now years ago, what with the war and all, it seems down to bedrock. The going is slow and I do not want to get your hopes up too early, but I remain positive that we are on the right track.
Unless your doctor directs otherwise, I would respectfully suggest that you postpone your next trip and make plans to return to Egypt in the autumn of next year. In addition to the travel risk (they are still clearing mines in the Med., don’t forget), too much unexciting work awaits us this season. I see little opportunity for discoveries of significance. But if we are fortunate enough to chance upon something, be assured I shall telegraph your lordship directly.
Also, you will, when you come again, find Egypt a greatly changed place. Not
for the better, I fear. The people are much angered by the deprivations of this war.
There is trouble in the streets of Cairo from time to time. This is put down quickly
and with little sympathy by the militia. I am sorry to report that the British are more
foreign to this place now than they have ever been. Sadly we alienate ourselves
further almost daily.
In any event I shall, as soon as I have it in mind, advise you as to the best timing
of your visit in 1918. By then, God willing, this terrible conflict will be behind us
all and I shall have more for you to see.
My regards to Lady Evelyn. Your most obedient servant,
Howard Carter
He replaced his pen thoughtfully. He had, over the years, built a bonding relationship with the frail aristocrat. The man respected him tremendously. He knew that. But when you are paying for everything and there is little or no reward year after year, can you not reasonably be expected to lose some of that faith?
Carter drew a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. Excavation itself was not enough. A strategy of investigation was required. ‘There may be other opportunities in that place which I have not yet thought of and might overlook should I not investigate the entire area,’ he thought.
The most likely area in which Tutankhamen’s tomb could have been overlooked had to be where Carter had come across some ancient workers’ huts. These had existed from the later dynasties and were built on the tailings of earlier tomb excavations. Quite clearly the area had not been disturbed since ancient times. It was the most obvious logic to Howard Carter that he should leave this place until last, for if it were dug out first and found to be barren his patron might choose that moment to up and quit. The remainder of the area, to all appearances much less attractive, would be left unexplored. The tomb, or something else of importance, could well exist elsewhere in the triangle of his excavations. If he had no success in his clearance of the area all about but kept this particular place untouched until his lordship began to berate his lack of success he would have something in reserve to whet his lordship’s appetite one final time. He decided to leave the area around the worker’s huts until the end, unless his lordship should dictate otherwise.
He folded the letter precisely, running his finger along the crease, and slotted it into an envelope. As he dabbed the glue with a damp sponge and sealed the envelope, he felt some sense of comfort that the letter was as good an attempt as any at preparing his patron for a lengthy and not too ambitiously expectant wait.
The following morning Carter was in The Valley early. He instructed his fellahs how to lay the first short length of portable railway that would help them remove the cleared debris to a point far distant from the area in which they were excavating and deposit it where the valley had already been cleared to bedrock. This helpful equipment had arrived as a direct result of his past good services and relationship with the British Army. Sergeant Adamson who, eager to distance himself from military responsibilities had taken a real interest in Carter’s archaeological efforts, had played a leading role in its procurement and, in return, was in hope of being asked to take a more direct part in the excavations at some future point in time. The same thought, however, had not occurred to Carter. His opinion of the militia remained as disrespectfully low as it had been in the chaotic days of the bombing of that tasteless Germanodynastic villa. But they had their good points and their prolific and comprehensive ordinance was one of these.
The dusty days and lonely nights came and went slowly that season. It got to a point where Carter almost dreaded the next day’s unrewarded drudgery before it had begun. It was a blessing that his patron had heeded his advice and stayed at Highclere.
But his men didn’t seem to lose their energy. Every morning as he entered The Valley on his donkey and rounded the slight bend where the tributary valley branched off to the site at which Davis had found the complete tomb of the royal parents, Yuya and Tuya, he would see the head of the tip and behind it the long snake of men winding out of a pit in the distance and dumping their rubble filled baskets one by one into the small steel buckets of the mining trolleys.
Despite the tedious hours, with the earl absent Carter was far more content at this work. He had not the pressure he would feel from having his lordship close by. The sense of expectation that he must find something was not there. Neither were there all those special arrangements and preparations necessary to keep his lordship and his entourage as comfortable as possible in a desert environment none of the formality in the meals he would take; no ensuring that there was a clean room in one of the opened tombs in which to shelter from the sun and in which to eat and take rest; no ensuring there was a table of sufficient size, as well as clean tablecloths, appropriate food, and adequately temperate storage for the wine brought from Carnarvon’s personal cellars; no dressing for dinner; none of those long, almost intolerable evenings answering the naive questions of the unimpressive persons that Carnarvon may on occasion invite to share dinner with them; no real need for a privy, even. These were chores that Carter always had preferred to do without. He found them a totally unnecessary distraction.
So, regardless of the lack of discoveries, his job was eased by this solitude. He could eat when he wished, eat how he wished, begin work when he wished, cease work when he wished, sleep when he wished, drink his own Scotch, think his own thoughts, and enjoy his own company.
As Carter watched the men working, Gaggia stood at his feet and sniffed the dust laden air. There was hardly a breeze, but what little there was bore on it the scent of something attractive to the mangy hound and the dog sprinted off into the pit where the men were digging. Carter watched Gaggia disappear amongst the mass of heaving bodies and dust. Within a few minutes he noticed the animal re-emerge, jumping at the legs of a fellah who was carrying in his basket what appeared to be a pot. The man came straight towards Carter. Clearly he had found something.
As the man neared, Carter could see he had a large, open urn cradled in his basket. The piece appeared complete. The man called to him. It had been some time since they had found anything and there was the pitch of excitement in his voice. “Sir! I found this! I found this!”
Carter took the vessel from the basket. It was a plain enough artefact, but it was something. He looked inside. Gaggia was barking at his feet. Now he understood why the dog had shown so much interest.
‘What a fine set of barrels that mongrel must have,’ he thought. He put his hand inside the pot and pulled out the stiff, dry coil of a long dead snake. A very long dead snake, thought Carter. Perhaps three thousand years dead. A fine set of barrels, indeed. “Okay, Gaggia. Good boy.” He patted the dog’s head. “You will be rewarded when we get home tonight.” He turned to the workman. “Show me exactly where you found this.”
The man led Carter towards the excavation. The other men, busy scraping debris into their baskets, stopped as Carter approached. He waited for the dust to settle. As it cleared, the fellah pointed to the spot. Two partly eroded slabs of limestone stood on end before him and met at about a ninety degree angle. They clearly formed the co
rner of an ancient hut, perhaps one of the huts that had been constructed for the men who had built the tomb of Ramses VI, the great doorway to which now yawned above them.
Carter, somewhat alarmed at the progress his men had made in the area that he had intentionally reserved for last, called to the reis.
“Ahmed. I want you to cease work in this area. We are too close to the tomb of Ramses VI. These stones which you are uncovering are those of the houses of ancient workmen. They will need careful excavation. I want you to bring your men to dig further south of this place. Tell them to move now, if you would be so good.”
Carter turned to examine the pot more closely. Unfortunately there were no distinguishing marks on it. He was unable to tell from what exact period it had come. All this would have to be conjectured from inference from its situation relative to earlier finds.
‘Poor old bugger,’ he thought. ‘Left in his pot by his master and forgotten, I’ll be bound and forever.’
He picked up the desiccated snake and reverently replaced it in the urn.
At home one evening, late in the 191718 season, Carter was surprised by a knock on the door. He had been busy at his notes and was not used or inclined to visitors at any time, particularly those who had the rudeness to arrive unannounced.
A second knock indicated that Abdel had not attended the door.
Tutankhamun Uncovered Page 37