By now they had walked into the laboratory itself and Carter slowly unwrapped the substances and placed them on the tiled table.
“What say you?”
After a pause Lucas said, “Pretty innocuous.” And they all laughed.
“When do you think you might have an opinion for me, Alfred?”
“Got rather a lot on right now, Howard. Could take a while ‘specially since it doesn’t look that interesting.” He watched for the downcast expression. “But for you, my friend and for his lordship I shall attend to it immediately. How about tomorrow?”
The visitors both smiled and shook Lucas by the hand.
“Have you time to join us for dinner tonight, Doctor Lucas,” asked Carnarvon. “It would be our pleasure.”
The prospect of a free four course meal with the aristocracy at the best hotel in Cairo would be a welcome change to the pattern of Lucas’s routine and rather singular life, even if he did have to dust off his black tie.
“I would be absolutely delighted, sir.”
“How about eight o’clock at the Continental Savoy?”
“Eight o’clock it is, sir. I may even have some results for you by then.”
Carter looked at his pocket watch. “We must be going, sir, or we shall be late for our appointment with Monsieur Lacau.”
As they left, Lucas called after them, “Mind your Ps and Qs with that one, Howard. No sense of humour, even for a Frog. He takes life very seriously does Pierre.”
The imposing figure of the Frenchman politely greeted the two at the front door to his office. “I am most honoured by this visit, Lord Carnarvon.”
“The honour is ours, Monsieur le Directeur,” followed Carnarvon. “It is always a great pleasure to be in the presence of one so distinguished as yourself.”
Carter turned his head away and rolled his eyes.
“For me, too, but doubly, your lordship. To be in the presence of one who has given so much and so generously to this country’s heritage and, at the same time, in the presence of one so accomplished at his work.”
He turned to look directly at Carter, who acknowledged his attentions with a barely perceptible smile.
“Come, let us sit down and take some tea.” He waved at his houseboy and the servant disappeared.
“Now. What may I do for you?”
“We have just two days since made a modest discovery in The Valley.”
“As expected. I knew your methods would bear fruit. Modest discovery, you say?”
“Yes, modest. We have brought the cache with us for donation to the Cairo Museum...” Carter paused for a moment. “...and to obtain your judgement on the division.” Carter summoned Abdel into the room with the stretcher.
“Well. Let us take a look.”
Lacau pushed the objects and papers on his desk to one side.
“Nearly all of it requires restoration,” Carter cautioned as he unwrapped one of the balls of cotton wool. “But I am happy to say that all the pieces are accounted for. It is a funerary cache of thirteen calcite jars of different sizes and styles, all of them attributed to the burial of Merneptah. See the inscription on this piece.”
Lacau nodded in recognition.
“All found close to the tomb entrance within the triangle of our investigation.”
“Some beautiful carving,” the director acknowledged as more and larger pieces were unwrapped, among them the ibex headed handles. “Most exquisite.” He examined the fragments closely. “Très beau. Magnifique!”
He replaced the piece he had been looking at and slapped his large hands down on the desk. “Lord Carnarvon! Mr Carter! This is truly a remarkable find. A great windfall for the Cairo Museum. Once more we are indebted to you.”
Carter sat back. Listening to all this he was totally bemused. ‘What is the man up to? ‘Indebted’ is a good word, but why so conciliatory? These are not the greatest finds Lacau has ever seen. He has already made it quite clear to me where he stands on the subject of so-called qualified archaeologists. And he’s not normally this polite with aristocracy. The smarmy Frog’s up to something!’
“Thirteen jars you say?” asked Lacau, looking directly at Carter once more.
“Yes... Yes, sir,” answered Carter.
“Mmm. The board of directors will react badly if I do not recommend they receive the majority of the find.”
He paused momentarily, apparently thinking, but he had had what he was going to say in his mind for some time already. “How about... seven for the museum; and six for you?”
Carter sat speechless.
Carnarvon was not. “That is most satisfactory, Monsieur le Directeur. A most satisfactory settlement.”
Carter interceded. “What... what about Quibell?”
“What about Quibell? I’ll fix Quibell. The curator does as I instruct him.”
“I will have them restored first, so that we may see them complete, and then return the six to you, Lord Carnarvon.” Lacau continued, “If your lordship is not in Egypt at that time, I shall have them placed in the safekeeping of Mr Carter who will return with them when he leaves for the summer.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Lacau.” Carnarvon rose to take Lacau’s already extended hand. “I look forward to seeing these fine pieces complement my collection at Highclere. And I look forward to the moment when I may entertain your presence there, Monsieur Lacau.”
Lacau made a polite half bow in acknowledgement.
Carter was puzzled: ‘The apparent generosity is out of character. He cannot be doing this with any sincerity. He’s up to something.’
They emerged from the Director’s office to Carnarvon’s car which was awaiting them at the front door.
“Home, James,” Carter quipped to the driver. “What a successful negotiation, sir. Quite remarkable.”
“I must say,” said Carnarvon somewhat surprised at Carter’s obvious relief. “I do not see why you were so concerned. I thought you had indicated to me that the situation was changed in Egypt that the Egyptians and those foreigners who worked in their interests had become tightly nationalistic. I remember your words. I must confess, up to this point I have seen none of which you spoke. In fact, quite to the contrary. I would say that Monsieur Lacau has, on this occasion at least, been more lenient than our long departed and much loved Monsieur Maspero. Am I wrong? Is there something so subtle in this that I do not observe?”
Carter for once was at a loss for words. He had not had time to analyse what the director’s strategy might be. “Sir, believe me, what I have told you is true. I do not know why on this occasion Monsieur le Directeur is feeling so generous. But I fear he has something brewing in that deceitful Froggy mind of his.”
“Carter!” scolded Carnarvon. “Give the man’s charity some credit, for God’s sake! You are always so critical of others. I do believe you have the greatest difficulty in seeing the best in men.”
Carter could see that this was no time to argue. Besides, he was still uneasily sceptical of what Lacau’s strategy was and needed time to think the situation through.
As the car bounced down the road, claxon blaring, dodging between the milling masses of preoccupied pedestrians, he turned to the earl. “Sir. You are quite right. I am uncharitable. I apologise. Never mind his reasons, let’s take his offer and run!”
When Carnarvon came down to dinner that evening, Carter was already in the lounge with Lucas and the two were heavily into their second cocktails.
“My lord.” Lucas got up and pulled a lounge chair forward for him. “We were just talking about the results of my analysis on the deposits you had brought me earlier today. I am afraid it’s not too exciting. Interesting to the scientist, but I don’t suspect my news will meet your lordship’s expectations.”
“You have already sparked my curiosity, Doctor Lucas, so don’t hold back!”
“Well... merely a mixture of quartz and limestone fragments with some traces of a vegetable pitch and a little resin. A curious concoction. Not a substanc
e associated with embalming but decidedly from a foundation deposit by Mr Carter’s account.”
“Yes,” Carter added. “From what I can make of the jars’ inscriptions, sir, they refer to ‘holy oils’ of various manufacture. Clearly not what ended up in them. I cannot fathom for the life of me what the chemistry of these contents can mean.”
Carnarvon predictably was quick to lose interest. He sipped at his drink and the subject moved on to hunting.
By now it was late May. Carnarvon had left for England some time earlier. Mercifully, the summer heat had held off this year. As he waited for Lacau to complete the restoration of the Merneptah jars, Carter found it not unduly uncomfortable to continue work in the field.
On the less tolerable days he stayed at home and made preparations for his eventual departure. He wanted a quick start-up when he returned the following winter. He had decided to break his normal routine and had authorised Ali to restart the dig on the first of October, more than two months before he intended to arrive back on the west bank. This decision reflected three things: he was anxious to accelerate the clearing of the entire area; he was prepared to relax his normal standards; and he held the greatest confidence in the discipline and ability of his principal reis. And in any case, in his present strangely unoptimistic mood, he felt there was virtually no risk of a discovery of any importance during his absence. He had left little to chance, however. The reis had been instructed to clear only to the base of the most obviously recent deposits.
On the first of June, just as Carter’s patience was beginning to fade, Abdel brought in a telegram:
Carter STOP Partage des antiquités trouvées dans la Vallée des Rois STOP Campagne 1920 STOP Il est complet STOP Lacau.
About bloody time, thought Carter. “Abdel! Start packing. I am departing for Cairo tomorrow morning. I must telegraph the steamer company to ensure I have a berth. You will send it for me.”
When he arrived at Lacau’s door, Carter had but two hours’ daylight left to get to the steamer company office and secure his ticket.
Lacau was as condescending as he had been at their last meeting. “Monsieur Carter,” he greeted, holding Carter’s outstretched hand. “it is so good to see you again. May I get you a drink?”
“Non, monsieur, merci. I must get to the steamer company before it closes to ensure my booking on the next passage.”
“Ah,” acknowledged Lacau. “Then here is the certificate for exportation. Please sign for receipt. I believe as we speak my men are placing the crate on your carriage. Bon voyage.”
He shook Carter’s hand vigorously. Too vigorously for Carter’s taste. Not that it was all that strong, but Carter read deviousness into every one of Lacau’s gestures. He felt uncomfortable. Up to this point, he still could not fathom his own uneasy suspicions. He extracted his hand and took out his fountain pen to sign the certificate. He signed underneath Lacau’s signature on the two copies, tore one off and pocketed it. Lacau escorted him to the front door. Carter touched his hat to the director as he left. Turning, he saw the crate stacked and securely bound on the rear platform of his carriage. He got in and the carriage drove away.
Lacau watched him disappear into the mêllée of dust and carts and animals and cars and people and turned back towards his office. There was a satisfied smile on his face. In this negotiation he had conceded little of value. If there were a next time, there was ample justification for the favour to be doubly repaid. And, with the Englishman’s thorough approach to excavation, there was almost certain to be a next time. Carter, also, was convinced of that. But neither Lacau nor Carter had any conception just how much of an issue that could one day become for them.
That evening, back at the Continental, someone else’s luck changed Carter’s priorities. He received a telegram from a dealer friend of his in Luxor:
Sir there has been a great find STOP To the south of The Valley STOP By infidels STOP Know who they are STOP Have heard they already arrange sales with the French and other dealers STOP No time to be lost STOP Return immediately STOP Have room reserved for you at WP STOP Nadir
With the sailing still five days away he was on the six a.m. train.
Carter strode up to the earl, beaming from ear to ear.
“You’ve got it, haven’t you?” said Carnarvon expectantly. “The princess’s jewellery it’s in that bag of yours, isn’t it?”
Carter couldn’t contain his feelings. The achievement, after all said and done, was truly remarkable.
“Yes, sir. I have a good deal of it here. And I have negotiated first refusal on the remainder subject to terms, of course. I do believe, ultimately, that we shall have the lot.”
“Capital! Capital!” exclaimed his lordship, rubbing his hands together. “Let me see it. Here, on the desk.”
Carnarvon removed the inkwells and blotter and a number of papers from the broad desk in his library and placed them on a nearby seat. Carter methodically unfastened the straps on his leather case and sank his hand into the interior up to his elbow. He pulled out an oblong mat of cotton wool and placed it on the desk.
“You open it, sir.”
Carnarvon’s fingers were trembling with excitement as he teased the wool apart. He pulled the upper layer back to reveal a necklace of small beads, carnelian, lapis lazuli and gold with, spaced exactly eleven beads apart, twelve diminutive caricatures of seated baboons, each of them cast in gold.
Carnarvon caught his breath. “It’s exquisite, Howard. Absolutely exquisite.” And after a pause, “How much did it cost me?”
“Less than you might expect, sir. Sufficiently less for you to make a fine profit from the sale of it, should you so wish. The Met is eager to obtain possession.” He quickly added, “And all the other pieces, should you want to secure them.”
“Marvellous, Howard. Absolutely marvellous! You have more?”
“I have, sir.”
One by one, Carter carefully removed the objects he had in his bag until they were all displayed across the surface of the desk.
“I am all but speechless, Howard. With all those melancholy letters of yours, I must confess I was not looking forward too much to your report.”
Carter lowered his eyes.
“But this... this... this trove! I know I have had to pay for it, but the very fact you may be able to capture the entire contents of a rifled tomb... Such compensation for the lacklustre results of our own efforts in your so-called ‘triangle of opportunity’.”
That was a low blow, unintentional as such by the earl but deeply felt nonetheless by his colleague.
“I shall enjoy these pieces amongst my collection. Pride of place they will have. Perhaps I will sell them on... to the Met, or the British Museum. But not for a while yet, at any rate. You may, in time, make the arrangements. Keep them waiting a while first, though. Make ’em sweat, eh? Ha, ha, ha.”
The earl was clearly stimulated by his new acquisitions. Carter’s theatricals had altogether the desired effect. Better still, the lately unsuccessful archaeologist stood to make a substantial financial killing out of it through his own profit and, in addition, through his commission for arranging placement of the goods. Carter hadn’t felt this gratified for some years, and the joy of it was, neither had his patron. Carnarvon’s personal expectations now switched to the more tangible acquisition of antiquities that he knew already existed ‘above ground’, so to speak. Carter could see that his lordship had put the frustrations of the past year’s relatively fruitless digging to one side, for the time being at least.
‘If I can get a bit of digging done while I am making money on the purchases,’ Carter reflected, ‘I shall have the best of all worlds keep Carnarvon’s interest and make progress in the triangle make money!’ He drew long on his cigarette and let the smoke curl slowly from his nostrils.
Carter returned to Luxor in November. His gamble had paid off. The men had cleared a significant area during his absence and had found nothing. He immediately set about preparing for Carnarvon�
��s next visit, assembling the facilities the earl would expect to be available the moment he arrived. In the depths of the tomb of Ramses XI Carter would prepare a space to store his lordship’s wines. He would clean and level the upper reaches so that the party could take lunch in comfort.
Towards the end of the year, Carter had returned his men to working in the vicinity of the ancient workmen’s huts. He could not spend too long in this spot but, on the off chance that something might turn up quickly in this, the area he had the greatest hopes for, he thought it worthwhile to devote just a little time to digging. Soon he would have to stop for the forthcoming state visit of the current ruler of Egypt, Sultan Hussein. Anyway, with the tourist season upon him, he would have to work elsewhere to avoid risking a fall by a clumsy tourist visiting the tomb of Ramses VI, the door to which stood immediately above the site of his steadily deepening excavation.
It was the end of another month. Time to put pen to paper and once again report progress to his patron. Carter sat at his desk that evening, his notebook in front of him, and chewed on the end of his fountain pen, searching for the right words. Somehow he wanted to make his own frustrations clear to the earl while at the same time indicating some cause for optimism. The words weren’t coming, however.
Carter replaced the cap on his pen. Actions would speak better than words.
In his urgency to discover something of value to present to his patron, Carter temporarily lost faith in his clearance area and moved his men to a gully in the southern extremity of the valley lying just ahead of the entrance to the tomb of Tuthmosis III. There, eventually, he found another lacklustre assemblage of foundation deposits.
It wasn’t good enough. He was feeling the pressure. He had been seriously attacking the ‘triangle’ for three seasons and was now in his fourth. All he had to show for it of any significance were the six jars that Carnarvon had received as his share from the excavation in which Lady Evelyn had participated a year ago.
Carter cut his losses and moved his men back to the centre of the valley. He placed them further north where there was evidence of other ancient workmen’s dwellings. There the men toiled a further two weeks. And there something finally turned up.
Tutankhamun Uncovered Page 41