“But he is wrong. We have right on our side. Of course we will win. It’ll be an unwelcome diversion from our labours, take a little time, but in the end it will all have been worthwhile. I’ll not stand by and let it happen their way.”
“But Howard...”
Carter was visibly irritated by his friend’s continued entreaties and, already personally committed to his position, he wished to put a stop to what he considered further fruitless dialogue. He cut Breasted off. “Look, old chap. You have one opinion. I respect that. I have another which I choose to honour. Please let that be an end to our pointless bantering.”
But Breasted was utterly convinced that any continuation in Carter’s stance could seriously jeopardise the team’s chances of ever completing their work. Worse still, they could be forced to abandon it to far less expert hands. Much stood to be lost to the world at large should they do so. It was imperative that he steered his determined colleague towards the middle ground.
In Carter’s present mood, now would clearly not be the time. He must be vigilant and find the right moment to press his case. The anxiety he felt for the future of the project was paradoxically as overwhelming as Carter’s, notwithstanding the fact that their positions were entirely opposite.
‘There are stormy days ahead and no mistake,’ thought Breasted, resigning himself to silence. ‘This time next year God only knows where all of us will be.’
He felt a foreboding sadness as strong as his frustration. In complete contrast to the recent exuberant excitement of discovery, it was in a curious atmosphere of desperate melancholy that Breasted excused himself to retire to bed that night.
As if attempting to drown his mounting anger by filling his lungs with pungent smog, Carter rammed another cigarette into his ebony cigarette holder, bent down to strike a match on the stone floor, took a long pull and inhaled deeply. He snorted the smoke out through his nostrils quickly and pointed at the piece of paper in Lacau’s hand.
“That, sir... that is totally unacceptable. Not long ago I thought we might be getting somewhere, but now there are elections on the horizon and it is becoming quite clear that you wish to consolidate your position such that whomever your new master might be you will be seen in a favourable light and retain your exalted situation. You have changed all the rules. This could end up in the courts. Do you really want that?”
Lacau ignored Carter’s accusation. “Mr Carter, please be reasonable. All the Minister wants is a list of your collaborators.”
“Dammit, man, you make it sound like I am conspiring with a group of infidels! The very thought that you could conceive of finding it within your purview to vet the qualifications of the team of worldwide accredited experts I have chosen... This... this angers me beyond all description! You would be well advised to leave this place before...”
“MR CARTER!” Pierre Lacau raised his voice. Standing up straight he used his intimidating size to ensure that he had Carter’s attention. “Mr Carter! As the recognised authority over The Valley of the Kings it is myself and my colleagues who must dispatch our duty judiciously and without cause for inciting criticism. As the controlling authority, we must police this excavation to ensure that no unauthorised persons visit the site. We do not seek to exclude any whom you approve as being needed for the execution of the scientific work at hand. But, to confirm that we have not been delinquent in our duties, we must have a list of those so authorised.”
Carter counterattacked. “I view this as an insidious plot to wrest control from those whose right of ownership of this project is inviolable. If the authorities do not withdraw their demands, you will leave me with no choice but to cease work, seal the tomb and take this matter to the courts for a just decision.”
“Is this a threat?”
“Take it any way you damn well please. My position should be clear to you. That’s an end to the dialogue. My work has been interrupted for far too long. I’d be obliged if you would leave.”
Lacau felt like a man caught astride a tumbling river with one foot on each bank. Whichever foot he chose to move, he would surely fall in and drown. If he was to keep Carter secure as the only man talented and tenacious enough to see the project through to a successful conclusion, and at the same time administer the directives of the Egyptian authorities, in particular the Ministry, somehow he would have to maintain this painfully precarious position.
Carter in no way comprehended Lacau’s situation and, had he been made aware of it, would have cared less. ‘Please God bring back Maspero!’ he screamed inside himself.
Yet, to quite some degree Lacau enjoyed piquing Carter. The man’s arrogance often bordered on rudeness. He needed to be taught a lesson. However, the job was there to be done. There was no going back now. Carter was, despite his irascible nature, the lesser evil indeed, the better man for the job. ‘But how evil the nasty little Englishman really is!’ thought the inspector as he was driven back to the ferry in Carter’s car. ‘He tries my patience to the very edge of reason.’
Working in the tomb, and there had been precious little this season due to the time-consuming banter between the authorities and the excavating team, was therapeutic rather than exhausting to Carter, and he returned to set about removing the golden shrines and reveal the sarcophagus.
But in the evenings, after the team had finished recording their day’s efforts, the conversation would once more revert to sorting out how, in the eyes of the Western world, they were to vindicate themselves while at the same time shaming the Ministry and the Antiquities Service.
After several long evenings of drafting they completed the letter. It was not signed by Carter but by four of his colleagues Breasted, Gardiner, Lythgoe and Newberry and delivered by runner to Monsieur le Directeur in Cairo.
The letter praised the efforts of their leader and bore a litany of obstructions perpetrated by the Director. It concluded with a lambasting of Lacau’s failure to execute the responsibilities of his office.
The excavation team returned to work. After some time, it dawned on Breasted that there had been no response from Lacau.
“How could there be?” pouted Carter. “You can’t answer a good telling off when your position is indefensible. You watch. He’ll soften. We shall continue as if all was as before. He won’t follow up.”
“Wouldn’t be so sure, Howard,” cautioned Breasted. “The man takes his orders from the Minister. He has little control over the Minister’s mind and no knowledge of the politics in...”
Breasted ceased talking in midsentence as a panting Newberry emerged from the entrance corridor. “Heard the news?” he gasped.
“What news?” the three in the burial chamber all said at once.
“Yehia and his government are out the Zaghuls are in!”
“Oh, Christ!” exclaimed Breasted. “That is bad news.”
“There’s worse,” continued Newberry after he’d caught his breath. “The new Minister will be Hanna.” He looked at each of them expectantly. “Morcos Hanna? The one we imprisoned for treason? The one that Maxwell tried to get executed?” asked Carter.
“Morcos Hanna. The very same.”
“Oh, my God! Now we’re for it.”
“No wonder Lacau’s been quiet,” observed Breasted. “He’s been waiting on the outcome of the elections. Now he knows who his new boss is, and one so enthusiastically nationalistic, he’ll be after us again.”
They all looked expectantly at Carter. Carter absorbed the news quietly. Finally he broke the silence. His words were cold and deliberate. “I admit that in my anger over this situation I had not considered that things could actually get worse.” He paused for a moment. “But, that doesn’t mean our case is any the weaker it’s just the hill we have to climb’s a little steeper... Make no mistake, gentlemen. This concession is held in the name of the Carnarvon Estate. I have told Monsieur le Directeur many times before that our rights to complete the clearing of this tomb are inviolable. No change of government leadership can alter that. Bu
t, to be on the safe side, I’d better go and pay my respects to the new Minister before his opinion is tainted by the dozy Frenchman. He needs to hear the other side of the story the true side from the horse’s mouth. I shall start by discussing details of the official opening.” Carter patted the dusty lid of the sarcophagus. “That’ll get his attention, and hopefully break any barriers that Lacau may have attempted to construct between us... Arthur! Go and find Abdel, will you, there’s a good chap? Tell him to telegraph for an appointment with the Minister as soon as possible and report back to me before nightfall.”
It was early evening as Carter walked into the vestibule of the Minister’s offices in Cairo for his first audience with the new incumbent. He announced himself and was directed to a seat in the corridor outside the Minister’s rooms. He glanced at his watch and sat down. He was on time.
Once again, he reflected, he was somewhere other than at work. The lengthening list of delays was wearing. He knew he would be lucky now if he could achieve his target of getting to and unwrapping the king’s mummy before he had to close up and leave for the summer. There would be that much less to talk about in his forthcoming lecture appointments in the United States of America.
He looked about him. The place hadn’t changed much from his last visit. It seemed a little noisier than usual. Perhaps the commotion was due to no more than the new appointees getting used to the place, running hither and thither trying to find things.
Presently, the Minister’s secretary emerged from his office and spoke to Carter in Arabic. “Mr Carter. His Excellency is not here at present but I expect him momentarily. Would you like some coffee?”
“Please,” answered Carter, dutifully. It was not good form to decline.
About ten minutes passed by and then Paul Tottenham, Lacau’s aide, emerged from his own office just along the corridor. Tottenham spotted Carter and walked briskly over to him.
“Mr Carter, sir. Glad I found you. Please come into my office for a moment. There’s something I must relate to you before you see the new Minister.”
Carter reluctantly followed him into his office. Tottenham ushered him in and then took two furtive glances either way down the corridor as if to ensure that he had not been observed. He closed the door behind him and stood in front of it with his hands behind his back.
“Mr Carter, sir. It’s like this, see. You must not discuss anything with the Minister that is not strictly to do with the arrangements for the official opening ceremonies. Nothing at all.” He stared intently into Carter’s cold eyes.
Carter sighed. “Mr Tottenham. That is exactly what I intended. However, sir, there will be more to the conversation. It’s like this. I am going to relate the history of these last few preposterous weeks. He is going to hear my side of the story. Factual, truthful and clear. I shall refer him to the lengthy file of correspondence between us. I will not stand by while you and your boss paint your corrupt and biased picture of our proceedings at the tomb.”
Tottenham twitched nervously. “That’s unwise, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so. Because... because of this, sir.”
From behind his back he drew a piece of paper and handed it to Carter to read.
Carter recognised it almost immediately. It was the agreement Carnarvon had signed concerning their previous concession outside The Valley of the Kings; a concession in which his lordship had agreed to no division should a discovery be found robbed but almost complete.
Carter felt a warmth in his cheeks and feared the flushing would display his emotions. ‘Surely they can’t be drawing an analogy between Tutankhamen and this?’ He spoke out. “Surely not!”
“What, sir?” The words out of context confused Tottenham.
“I said, surely you cannot be suggesting the two situations are analogous?”
“No. No, sir. Not analogous. On the contrary, the Inspector judges them identical. A precedent has been set.”
Carter started shouting. Tottenham tried to quieten him down but he wasn’t about to stop until he’d said his piece. He had hardly got a word out when there was a knock at the door and the Minister’s secretary poked his head in to say that the Minister had returned and was now ready to receive his visitor.
Carter felt completely off balance. As he walked to the Minister’s office he tried to gather himself. This first meeting was important. It was important for both men. The Minister had been well briefed. He was also well aware of Tottenham’s diversion.
Morcos Bey Hanna was a generously proportioned man. He relaxed in his chair wearing what appeared to be the same dark grey suit, Carter observed, as he had worn on the occasion of his trial. The jacket fell unbuttoned at the front to expose a white, green and blue tartan waistcoat, a white, high collared shirt, and a red tie. Complementing this ensemble, on his head he wore the familiar bright red fez, on his feet black socks and shoes. Notwithstanding his strong beliefs, he remained a typical product of Westernised Arab officialdom. His carefully manicured moustache twitched as he drew breath to speak.
The Minister began by greeting him warmly. “Mr Carter! This is a great pleasure for me. You are a very famous man and I do not have the opportunity to meet many so notorious as yourself.” He had chosen the word intentionally.
“Please sit down. I have many questions for you as, I am sure, you have many for me.”
The coffee was set on a small table between the low couch in which Carter was now uncomfortably embedded and the padded, green leather chair in which the Minister languished.
“You have quite a team of experts in The Valley, do you not? Quite a team. Tell me, this Gardiner fellow, is he one of your better men?”
“Of world renown, Excellency,” responded Carter. “As every one of them.”
“Hmm. He didn’t impress me too much when he visited a couple of days ago.”
Carter was destabilised again. He was still trying to regain his composure from the Tottenham manoeuvre. “What visit is this that you are referring to, sir?”
“Dr Alan Gardiner, right?”
“Yes, Excellency.”
“He asked to see me two days ago and naturally I did my best to fit him into my busy schedule. It’s not easy starting a new job, you’ll appreciate. Much to learn. Particularly your predecessor’s mistakes.” He leaned forward in his chair to emphasise the point.
“Anyway, I fitted him in. But then he had the effrontery to dispatch a fusillade of complaints pertaining to my Department of Antiquities. Complaints, I must say, that in the absence of Monsieur le Directeur, could not be defended. He knew that and took advantage. I dislike tactics. I respond poorly to them. I am not receptive.” He leaned forward once again. “You understand?”
As he broke his monologue, Carter thought briefly on the strategic display he was witnessing. He took the time to think through his answer before responding.
“Excellency. I knew nothing of this visit until now but let me say that I am sure Dr Gardiner took it upon himself to have an audience with you with only the best of intentions... in order to relate to you how this most important of projects to the State of Egypt and the world at large is jeopardised by the constant interruptions and bureaucratic boulders thrown by the Antiquities Service, none of which is in the better interests of science or the good of your country. Do you comprehend the fragility of these three thousand year old masterpieces? Now the seal has been broken they will decay, just like an opened can of food. These interruptions delays cause criminal damage!”
The last statement was unnecessary, especially since Carter lacked any personal sensitivity to the fact that he was talking down to the Minister.
But the Minister politely listened. Lacau had been accurate in his description of the man. Morcos Bey Hanna gave no outward sign of his distaste for this arrogant, tweed suited Englishman with the bow tie and the Homburg. He politely allowed Carter to finish and then moved directly on to the next item on his agenda.
“Tell me, Mr Carter, how are your relationships with the members of
my Antiquities Service?”
“I would describe them as cold, verging on the icy, Excellency.” Blunt, unfeeling frankness. He was good at it. Had any of his colleagues been present, however, they would not have been impressed. Carter continued without pausing, “There appears to be little that they do that is of a practical nature. It was run a good deal differently when I was in the employ of the Service.”
That did it.
“Then you clearly need to write these problems down and submit them to me,” the Minister coldly returned. “But I would rather suggest that with the onset of this new administration you forget the past and we all start afresh. I think little fruit will come from harbouring old differences. Do you not agree, Mr Carter?” The Minister leant forward as if to demand an affirmative answer.
Carter begrudgingly responded, “That can be done, sir. If we all set our minds to it.” He didn’t believe it for a minute.
The Minister moved directly on to the next subject. “And The Times newspaper the arrangement between Lord Carnarvon and The Times what is to come of it?”
At last it dawned on him. The Ministry’s request to review a list of Carter’s colleagues was born of the intense frustration of the local press over The Times agreement. They sought the opportunity to expel Merton.
Carter quickly changed course. “Oh, that will be history by the end of this season’s work.”
“Ah.” The Minister nodded with an expression of approval and moved on again.
“And America. I am told you are to desert us to make a lecture tour in the United States early this summer. Do you not think your time would be better spent at your duties in The Valley?” He paused only briefly. “Forgive me if I misunderstand, but I seem to remember you saying that ‘delay’ would be a criminal act. I think you used the word ‘criminal’. Is that not what you said?”
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