“Abdel!” he snapped. “Get the door!”
Nothing.
‘The man must be out fetching something. Maybe he’s shopping for food,’ Carter concluded.
He reluctantly got up from his desk. As he opened the door his irritation metamorphosed instantly to warmth. “Colonel Lawrence!” he exclaimed. “What a surprise.”
“Hope you don’t mind the intrusion, Mr Carter. I was in Cairo for a couple of days and took the opportunity to come and visit you on site, as it were. It’s good to see you again, sir.”
“Well... A most pleasant surprise, Colonel. Please come in. Sit down. May I get you a drink?”
“A lemonade would be just wonderful, sir.”
“Abdel!” No answer. “Oh. Forgot. Me man’s out. I’ll be but a moment.”
Carter disappeared, then quickly returned with his guest’s lemonade and a Scotch for himself. He passed Lawrence the glass and then settled himself in a chair opposite.
“Tell me now, what brings you all the way out here?”
“To tell you the truth, sir, idle curiosity!”
“You don’t appear the idle type to me, Colonel. Surely you have some plan in mind?”
“No, truly. Enjoyed our first meeting very much. Glad to get away from the action. Opportunity to get away from the army for a while. Always wanted to see what it is you do.”
“You’ll be disappointed, Colonel. Very boring excavations going on here at present. Bit like mining but no money to be made from the spoil. And just a big hole in the ground to show for our effort.”
Lawrence pressed Carter on what he was trying to achieve and the Egyptologist willingly described his plan. The man appeared fascinated and this encouraged Carter to explain every detail of his search. Eventually he reached a suitable point in his soliloquy to pause and take the opportunity to ask Lawrence what he had been doing since they had last met.
He got a lot more than he had bargained for. The colonel had been desperate to unload on someone and Carter became the priest for his confession. It began with descriptions of the Arabs, their way of life in the desert, their hopeless feudalism. Then came the stories of the raids on the Turkish railways. There was some considerable excitement in the words of the colonel’s tale and Carter became wholly absorbed in the adventures. But then it moved on. The hardships the incredible journeys, the lack of sleep, flirting with death through starvation, thirst, inhuman heat, enduring wounds, enduring the bloodshed, the deaths of friends and his two servants, enduring the killing until he practically relished it, even against the helpless, the unpalatable imbalance between his allegiance to the crown and his loyalty to Faisal.
There was probably no British soldier who could begin to comprehend his feelings certainly no Arab. It fell to Carter to listen. Carter at least could understand the man’s need to release his torment to someone. And now Carter felt the need to do so himself. This night the lonely two would share their inner thoughts in the security of uncommitted confidence.
“That’s quite a story, Colonel,” said Carter. “And I daresay there is more to come for you before this war is over. There is no shame in it. Great, unique adventures. You should write about them some day.”
Lawrence looked into Carter’s eyes. “Perhaps. If I live through it and my brain and my writing hand remain articulate! You, too, when you find your dead prince.”
“I will find him. I will write about his discovery and I will send you a copy.”
“Likewise. That’s a promise. A pact between us.”
Both smiled broadly and they shook hands.
After the colonel had left, Carter felt greatly uplifted by their exchange. At the same time he felt very alone again.
At the end of that summer’s break, Carter had planned to return, as usual, in the autumn, but the war dragged on until November and he ended up staying away from Egypt for a full twelve months.
The drudgery continued in 1919. The blessing was that Carnarvon stayed away. Carter kept him satisfied and at bay by sending him the odd quality piece which he had purchased on the open market. The clearing continued its monotonous pace without result. But this season Carter was not bored. He had brought his lady friend with him. She would accompany him to The Valley most days and watch him direct the work. And her company in the evenings was a considerable boost to his state of mind.
As the season wore on, the embankment of tailings and the railway on it grew ever longer. It now reached to the corner of the valley where the tributary extended off towards the tomb of Yuya and Tuya. The area cleared to bedrock within Carter’s triangle steadily became larger but still nothing of importance turned up.
He closed the season early in May, secured his equipment, gave his usual instructions to Abdel on maintaining Castle Carter and how to manage the dog, and paid off his men. Saying goodbye to Abdel, he took the ferry to the east bank and joined Dorothy, who had been staying at the Winter Palace, for one last night at the hotel.
Dorothy was down to dinner first that evening and selected a corner table.
She saw Carter appear in the doorway and beckoned him over. Apart from the severely slicked back hair and the manicured moustache, he looked almost unrecognisable. He had on a white linen suit that was more a shade of yellow from the washing, a white, high collared shirt, and a yellow bow tie. There was no hat. The only part of his apparel that could normally be associated with the man was the suede shoes.
“My goodness,” commented Dorothy. “A man of the tropics, I presume.”
“Don’t you like it?” Carter, naturally, had been out to please and was sensitive to criticism.
Dorothy smiled. “A joke, Howard. I think you look most distinguished. Turn around so I may see all of you.”
The suit, although neatly pressed, had shrunk a little. The sleeves were short and the jacket was somewhat tight across his back. The trouser cuffs showed a little too much of his yellow socks. But he had made the effort and she was certainly not going to spoil the effect by drawing attention to these imperfections.
“You look positively dashing!” She waved her hand at the chair across from her and he sat down.
The waiter came immediately, handed him a menu, and waited for their drinks order.
“Dot?”
“A sweet sherry, please.”
“And a Scotch and soda for me.”
The waiter left.
“I have stayed in this hotel too long, Howard. I have been through every item on this menu several times. Why do they never change it?”
“It’s the war, Dot. They have only rarely been able to import anything exotic. Most of the time it’s Nile perch and like it, I’m afraid.”
“Well tonight, since it’s a special occasion and all, I asked Anton if he could pull out all the stops and find something a little more racy than fish. And he did, bless his heart, especially for us.”
Carter searched the short, typewritten menu he’d just been handed.
“You won’t find it there, Howard. Pheasant! Roast pheasant, with roast potatoes, peas, spinach and redcurrant jelly! How about that?”
“Well done Anton! Well done Dot! Food fit for kings. After such a bloody miserable season we need to be spoilt. I don’t know how you stood it, Dot. But I’m bloody glad you did. Would have gone nuts without you.”
“I must admit I am glad to be going back to civilisation at last.”
“Me too. I hope the pheasant was up to the journey from England!”
“Anton didn’t do it for a send-off, Howard. He did it because it’s your birthday.”
“Happy birthday, Mr Carter!”
He hadn’t noticed the manager who had come in as he sat down and was now standing right behind him holding an ice bucket with a half bottle of champagne.
“All I had left in the store, I’m afraid. The shipment is late again.”
“Birthday?”
“Yes, Howard,” chimed Dorothy. “May the ninth. That is your birthday isn’t it?”
Carter gri
nned in acknowledgement. In all these years this was the first time anyone had remembered his birthday. It had been so long since he had last celebrated it that the anniversary had been forgotten.
“I do believe it is. Anton, how nice of you to do this for us. I must come more often!”
“Can’t promise this treatment all the time, sir. But I will always do my best for you, you can be assured of that.”
“And now you must tell us, Howard, how old you really are.” Dorothy had speculated on his age but thought she must be wrong. He was probably one of those types who looked older than he really was.
“Oh, goodness. I don’t know. Late twenties going on fifty perhaps.”
They all laughed.
“I will go and check the state of progress in the kitchen.” Anton poured champagne for each of them and left.
“I have a little something for you, Howard.” Dorothy produced a small package from her purse and placed it on the dinner table in front of him. “Happy birthday.”
They clinked glasses. Never before a birthday, and now a present. Carter was beside himself with embarrassment.
“Please. Open it. I am so concerned whether you will like it.”
Carter drew the bow and unfolded the wrapping paper. It was a small book a children’s book about Belzoni’s adventures in Egypt.
“I found it in a second-hand bookshop in Mayfair just before I left England. I thought it appropriate for one such as you. He blazed a trail before you, Howard. You are birds of a feather, don’t you think? They will write books about you one day. I am sure of it. ‘Carter, Sand, Sun, and Solitude’!” she smiled.
Howard wasn’t listening. He was totally absorbed by the gift. His eyes lit up as he fingered through the pages. He paused at the tiny engravings. He didn’t know what to say. “It’s a beautiful little book, Dot.” He waved the book at her. “This man... You know about this man?”
“He was a circus strongman, wasn’t he? I don’t know how he ended up in Egypt but I do know that he found the pretty tomb of Seti I, the tomb you have shown me at least three times.”
“Well, it is the most magnificent. Worth seeing more than once. And yes, he was the first to find it in modern times. And he was in the circus, yes. He was personally responsible for returning some enormous treasures to the British Museum. Have you seen them there?”
“No, Howard. I have to confess I have never been. I remember in my youth that my mother took us up to London one time intent on taking us there but we couldn’t find it.”
“Not surprised. It’s not signposted and is very much off the beaten track for a museum of its importance.”
Carter regarded the book again. “Poor chap died in Nigeria of dysentery. But before he left Egypt he procured considerable booty for the Empire bit of a cavalier, but God bless him! Those were the good old days for Britain. We could take what we liked. The French were the only competition. Bloody Frogs got away with more than they deserved.”
Carter took a quick sip of champagne and continued.
“Now our skills, our scholarship and our money are all taken for granted. Our discoveries are ‘looted’ for their own museum. We count ourselves fortunate if we end up with one tenth of the least important finds.” He paused to take another mouthful of champagne. “But, no, I wouldn’t call us ‘birds of a feather’. Belzoni was an unskilled trophy hunter like all the rest of that time. Perhaps more of an exhibitionist than the others, however no doubt due to his background under the ‘big top’. A man with an ego large enough to match his size. Did you see his outrageous graffito in the pyramid at Gizeh?”
“Yes. But don’t you think he had a right to be proud of himself? The first to find the way inside since the robbers. You, Howard, you have traded trophies for fragments and a search through every grain of sand. It takes forever.”
“But think of the benefits, Dot. People like Belzoni in their avarice overlooked and damaged so much that is now lost to us forever. We have saved so much more for future generations to enjoy. And we will find trophies, real treasure, one day. I know our patience will pay off. Just have to stick with it, my girl. Good things take time.”
As did the roast pheasant. It was a full hour before it appeared. But the time had passed quickly for them. Their conversation had crossed time and geography. It had been largely humourless and instructional but she didn’t mind that a bit.
When the meal was over, when the last of the champagne had been enjoyed, when Carter’s brandy glass was empty, when their cigarettes had died in the ashtray they parted company with the customary peck on the cheek and each slept long and deeply through that night.
The two of them left for England together. It proved to be one of the most pleasantly relaxing boat trips he had ever made. She had provided enormous support to him during the weeks of monotonously unrewarding toil.
When he arrived at his London lodgings, the concierge followed him up the stairs carrying a soft, sausage shaped brown paper parcel, rather grubby from the trials of travel but well bound up with heavy cord and covered with dozens of franked Egyptian stamps. Carter unwrapped it directly and found it to contain a small, colourful Baluchi carpet. When he unrolled it on the floor of his drawing room, an envelope fell open in the centre. He pulled out the one page note inside and read...
In memory of our first meeting. Hoping this finds you in good health. No more
ancient artefacts, I am afraid there has been no time. But here is a small token
I received from an old lady of Medina following our efforts in a campaign against
the Hejaz railway.
Be sure to walk on it and remember.
Belated happy birthday.
Lawrence, T. E.
Alexandria, June 16, 1918 The gift had been languishing in the basement storeroom for over a year.
He now had two seasons of unsuccessful digging behind him and who knows how many before him. He could put it off no longer. He was obliged to pay a visit to his patient patron and make his report.
It was always a pleasure to ride into the grounds at Highclere. As he approached, the massive, square house stood out proudly in a clearing at the top of the rise. The car drew up outside the main door and Carter got out just as Carnarvon, with outstretched arms, emerged to greet him.
“My good friend! It does my heart good to see you!”
They embraced like reunited brothers and Carnarvon stood back, examining his colleague up and down.
“You are not as slim a man as you were when last I saw you, Howard. Surely you have not been idle these last two years?”
“It is good to see you, too, your lordship. Your presence has been sorely missed in Luxor.” Carter lied for himself but not for others. “I confess my portliness. My largeness is indeed a sorry fact. I have had to let out my trousers and provide more fullness in my jackets. I have grown larger in every direction, it seems. But I do not confess to idleness. I put it down to age and metabolism both of which are changing inexorably, and over which we have no control. So depressing.” He smiled.
Carnarvon laughed. “Don’t we both know it. Come, let us go inside and quench our miseries in a brandy.”
He led Carter to the library where Lady Evelyn was resting on a Knole sofa taking tea.
“Howard!” she greeted him with a refreshing smile. “I had thought you were coming tomorrow. Such a nice surprise to see you. My, you are looking well.”
Carter bent down to kiss her hand. “You are the radiant flower I have always known, Lady Evelyn. When are you coming again to see me at Luxor?”
“Next year, Howard. The earl will bring me with him when he visits I believe in February. Is that not the month, Father?”
“Yes, my dear. That’s the plan at least. We already have the steamer reservations. Howard, what would you like to drink?”
“A brandy would be fine, if you please, sir.”
“And you, my dear?”
“I am fine with my tea, thank you, Father.”
Carn
arvon gave orders to the butler and, waving Carter to the sofa beside Lady Evelyn, settled himself in a chair.
Knowing already that Carnarvon had been most pleased with his acquisitions Carter began by enquiring as to the degree of his lordship’s appreciation of the pieces he had procured for him in Cairo and Luxor over the past months. This successfully established a favourable tone to the conversation and from this platform he then launched into the more melancholy report on his progress at the excavations in The Valley. He made it as upbeat as he could, cautiously raising expectations wherever possible. He finished with, “So you see, sir, we have to date cleared barely a third of the area of interest. There is much yet to do before we achieve our goal. I remain convinced we are following a procedure which will ultimately prove fruitful.”
“Thank God I have a man of such great conviction and patience. You know very well my faith in you, Howard. It is as unshakeable as ever as unshakeable as your own tenacity.”
‘Thank God for his mercy,’ thought Carter. “I believe you are the one to be applauded for patience, sir. One thing is certain, without your continued support there can be no achievement. And I am sure the achievement will be all the more remarkable for it.”
“My daughter and I look forward to our visit next year. I miss the place... But let us turn to the moment. Tomorrow I have arranged a shoot. Will you join us?”
Chapter Fifteen
The Thousandth Day
Ay was buried with a finality the like of which had not been seen since the passing of Akhenaten. There was no issue, and Horemheb, now secure in marriage to Mutnodjme in spite of her mother’s efforts to stop the union, had sealed his bloodline connection with the royal family. Akhenaten was dead. Smenkhkare was dead. Tutankhamun was dead. Ay was dead. The mother was dead. Horemheb was Pharaoh.
Ankhesenamun, now totally disinherited of the kingdom, nevertheless rejoiced in her widowhood. She had withdrawn to quarters in the rear of the palace with her most trusted retinue. Already she had taken steps to reacquaint herself with the Hittite ruler.
She summoned her faithful servant to her side for one more important assignment. Greeting Dashir with all the charity her position would allow, she said, “My friend, it is with great rejoicing that I welcome you once more.”
Tutankhamun Uncovered Page 38