Carter’s mind raced in all the wrong directions. Would the break-in have happened in modern times? Impossible. The workmen’s huts and loose soil above the bedrock predated the tomb to the time of Rameses VI, at the very least. This meant that whoever rifled through the tomb had done it in a two-hundred-year window between the reigns of Akhenaten and Rameses.
There was one thing that gave Carter hope: the seal of Tutankhamen was stamped on the doorway.
This led to more questions: Was the seal evidence that this mysterious king, about whom so little was known, was buried inside? Or was it merely an indication that he had been present or in power when the remains or belongings of others had been relocated to this site? After all, the same seals had been found on the tomb that Davis had once claimed belonged to Tut.
As the light faded and work stopped for the day, the symbol taunted him. Carter’s mind kept going back to the same question: Tut?
If so, this could be the greatest discovery of modern time.
In the morning Carter would get an answer. At dawn, he planned to be the first man in three thousand years to break down that door.
Chapter 78
Valley of the Kings
November 25, 1922
IT WAS TIME. Well, almost time. Before the door could be destroyed, the royal seals had to be photographed for the historical record.
This singular honor fell to Lord Carnarvon, president of his local camera club back home in England. The earl now stood at the bottom of the narrow stairwell in the pale dawn light, fussing over shutter speeds and apertures.
He was calm and cool as he went about his work—a very professional and dedicated amateur. The last thing Lord Carnarvon wanted to do was make a mistake that would lead to bad photos—or, worse, no photos at all.
Carter, on the other hand, was beside himself with anxiety. Complicating matters, a much-loathed bureaucrat from the Antiquities Service had arrived to oversee the entry. Rex Engelbach, nicknamed “Trout” by Carter and Carnarvon for his sallow demeanor, was firm in stating that his job title gave him the right to be the first person to enter the tomb.
Carter had never liked Engelbach, with his high-handed arrogance and lack of Egyptology credentials, but on this morning Carter refused to let Engelbach bother him. After a career defined by hard work and failure, Carter was finally about to enter the tomb of Tut. This was no time to be arguing with civil servants. But there was no way that Engelbach was getting into that tomb first. No way in hell.
Carter descended the steps with his sketchbook to draw each of the seals and impressions. These would serve as a backup for Carnarvon’s photos, and now the two friends worked side by side at the base of the cramped stairwell.
Carter’s sketches were precise in scale and detail. No aspect of the designs went unrecorded.
Only at midmorning, when he had completed the drawings, did Carter trot back up the stairway with Lord Carnarvon.
It was time.
Carter ordered his workmen to demolish the door.
“On the morning of the 25th,” wrote Carter, “we removed the actual blocking of the door; consisting of rough stones carefully built from floor to lintel, and heavily plastered on their outer faces to make the seal impressions.”
The crowd gathered atop the steps strained to see what was on the other side. Shadows and debris made it impossible to tell.
Carter walked down the steps to have a look. He found himself peering into a long narrow hallway. The smooth floor sloped down into the earth, a descending corridor.
Top to bottom, Carter wrote, the hallway “was filled completely with stone and rubble, probably the chip from its own excavation. This filling, like the doorway, showed distinct signs of more than one opening and re-closing of the tomb, the untouched part consisting of clean white chip mingled with dust; whereas the disturbed part was mainly of dark flint.”
How far into the ground the hallway led, it was impossible to know. But one thing was certain: someone else had been there.
“An irregular corner had been cut through the original filling at the upper corner on the left side,” noted Carter. Someone had burrowed through there long ago searching for whatever lay on the other side.
Carnarvon snapped a photograph of the rubble pile. Then a weary Carter gave the order for his men to clear it away, chips and dust and all. Sooner or later the tunnel would have to end.
With any luck, the tomb robbers hadn’t taken everything.
Chapter 79
Valley of the Kings
November 26, 1922
IT WAS JUST AFTER LUNCH, which had gone mostly untouched by Carter. He and Lady Evelyn were sifting through a basket of rubble, when a digger ran up the steps with the news: the workers had found a second door.
His heart racing in anticipation, Carter readied himself to go back down the steps to have a look and evaluate the new discovery.
It had been a tumultuous and nerve-racking twenty-four hours for everyone. The diggers had labored into the night, hauling debris out by the basketful. Yet the corridor was still a seemingly endless repository of rubble when they finally quit working.
Making matters worse, the rock was laced with what Carter described as “broken potsherds, jar sealings, alabaster jars, whole and broken, vases of painted pottery, numerous fragments of smaller articles, and water skins”—further signs that this could be an ancient trash heap, not a tomb.
Work resumed at first light. Carter and Lady Evelyn carefully sifted through each new basket of debris, searching for historical clues. Carter was an Egyptologist, first and foremost. To him, this diligence was a matter of preserving history. Rather than simply dumping the rubble, as Theodore Davis would have done, Carter meticulously cataloged and recorded each new discovery, however small or seemingly insignificant.
To the anxious onlookers—desperate to see inside the tomb and literally baking in the desert sun—the record keeping was a monotonous waste of time that was slowing things down.
Excitement shot through the crowd as Carter again walked down the steps, now trailed by Lord Carnarvon, Lady Evelyn, and Arthur Callender. The four of them jostled for space with the diggers as they traded places in the slender passage.
Dust filled the air, as did “the fever of suspense.”
The second door was an almost exact duplicate of the previous one. Faint seal impressions were stamped into the surface, bearing the name Tutankhamen.
But this door too had been penetrated in ancient times. The symbol for a royal necropolis was also stamped into the door, and Carter couldn’t help being pessimistic. “It was a cache that we were about to open, not a tomb,” he wrote.
Still, he stepped forward and began clawing a hole in the upper-left corner of the passageway. His hands trembled as he reached up to pull away thick chunks of plaster and rock.
Callender handed him a long slender iron rod. Grasping it firmly, Carter jammed it into the small opening until it poked clean through to the other side. He tested for further resistance. There was none—no wall of limestone chips or pottery shards, just air.
He had actually broken through to the next level.
Carter had no idea what might happen next, but the great moment had finally arrived. Was it a cache, or was it a tomb? There was only one way to find out. “There lay the sealed doorway, and behind it was the answer to the question,” Carter recalled.
He clawed at the hole he had opened with the rod. Then he worked with his bare hands, the only digger.
He figured that he deserved as much.
Chapter 80
Tut’s Palace
1324 BC
THE EYES GAVE THEM AWAY—always.
So eyes were what Ankhesenpaaten studied whenever a member of the royal court entered her presence during these dangerous times. As she stood alone in her study, the morning sun barely brightening the large stone room, she steeled herself for another day.
If their eyes were slightly downcast, they thought she had killed her husba
nd. The same was true of those who fixed strained smiles on their faces while avoiding her gaze.
She could not quite describe the look of those who believed her. But there weren’t many in the palace who did. It seemed that she had already been tried and found guilty.
“You wanted to see me, Majesty?” said Yuye, her lady-in-waiting. The girl bowed as she entered the queen’s quarters, making it hard for Ankhesenpaaten to observe her.
Now that Tut was gone, the entire palace belonged to the queen, but she still kept to her rooms. It felt better that way. Safer. The only change she’d made to palace life was to banish Tut’s lover, sending her back to her parent’s home with an order never to return to the palace under any circumstances.
“Take a letter,” the queen told Yuye. She peered over the girl’s shoulder as she spoke, afraid of being overheard or caught at what some would call treason.
Chapter 81
Tut’s Palace
1324 BC
YUYE CHEWED ON a fresh reed before dabbing it in an inkwell and pulling out a fresh sheet of papyrus. She was curious as to the content of the letter and was eager to begin.
“My dearest King Suppiluliuma,” the queen dictated, her voice unsteady.
Ankhesenpaaten appraised the girl before she continued. If she could trust anyone, it had to be Yuye. Still the queen wasn’t sure that sending a letter to the king of the Hittites was a good idea. They were Egypt’s enemy, and centuries of battle had bred significant distrust between the nations.
But Ankhesenpaaten had a plan, a forward-thinking vision that would benefit Egypt now and in the future. The Hittites were powerful, with a fine army and strong leaders. A marriage between the queen and one of the king’s sons could strengthen Egypt for centuries to come.
She continued: “My husband is dead, and I am told that you have grown sons. This is fortuitous for both of us. Send me one of your sons. I will make him my husband, and he will be king of Egypt.”
Ankhesenpaaten paused, searching for the proper words to end the letter. All she could do was blurt out the one thought endlessly racing around her brain: “I am afraid for my life.”
Yuye looked up at Ankhesenpaaten, uncertain why the queen would say such a thing.
And that is when the queen finally caught a glimpse of Yuye’s eyes.
The lady-in-waiting clearly believed that the queen had murdered her husband.
Chapter 82
Tut’s Palace
1324 BC
ANKHESENPAATEN HAD BEEN badly frightened for exactly twenty-eight days in a row. She had counted each and every one. Now she walked the palace courtyard alone as the sun rose on the twenty-ninth morning after Tut’s death.
The sound of water trickling from a nearby fountain gave her a false sense of calm, as did the sparrows flitting through the fruit orchard. But she hadn’t touched her morning meal and was so nervous that not even a sip of water had passed her lips.
Today would be the day. She was sure of it. But she was certain about nothing else at the palace.
It took fourteen days for a messenger to travel from Thebes to the Hittite kingdom. If all went well, a prince would ride to her palace this day and offer his hand in marriage. She would accept, of course. Aye had grown more terrifying with each passing hour, imposing himself upon the palace as the pharaoh. But his claim would never be true if she did not marry him. Once the Hittite prince arrived, the matter would be settled. Aye would once again be a commoner, forced to live out the rest of his days as royal vizier. If that.
Just then she heard heavy footsteps. It was certainly not her lady-in-waiting.
Ankhesenpaaten turned to face Aye.
“Good morning, Highness,” he said stiffly. But there was something else in his look. A smugness.
“Vizier.”
“What troubles you?” he asked.
She took a calming breath. “That is none of your concern.”
While the queen stood, Aye sat on a bench, ignoring proper protocol. That in itself was bold and insulting.
“Stand up,” barked the queen.
The vizier smiled, then stood and took a step toward her. “Highness, there is still ample time before your husband’s burial. But we must discuss the plan for succession. Do you have a plan?”
She said nothing.
“Highness, you need a king beside you to rule Egypt. You must understand that.”
“And I will have one,” she said.
“There is no one in the land more capable than I—”
“I said I will have one. Please do not discuss this delicate matter with me until my husband has been laid to rest.”
They were interrupted by Yuye, whose eyes hastily met those of the vizier. The queen noticed the look that passed between them. Could it be collusion? She pushed the thought aside. Yuye would never betray her. And yet she felt certain something was going on.
“There is a messenger to see you, Highness,” Yuye announced.
“Who is it?” demanded Aye.
“That is none of your concern,” Ankhesenpaaten said. Her heart was beating wildly. “You are dismissed, Vizier.”
A dark-haired man was led into the courtyard after Aye departed. The visitor had left a small retinue behind at the gate. One look told the queen this was not a Hittite prince.
“What is the meaning of this visit?” the queen asked. She looked at Yuye in desperation.
Yuye only shrugged as the Hittite, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of the queen, struggled to explain himself.
“I have a message from my king,” said the Hittite. He handed it to the queen, and she read it quickly. Then the Hittite verbalized the message. “Where is the son of the late pharaoh? What has become of him?”
Ankhesenpaaten nearly flew into a rage. “Do you see a male child wandering the palace halls? Do you? Do you see a young prince on a chariot galloping about the grounds? Oh, what I would give for a young boy. Does your king think this is some sort of trick? Did my letter to him seem insincere or unclear?”
The Hittite shuffled his feet and lowered his eyes. “What shall I tell my king?”
“Tell him this: ‘Why should I deceive you? I have no son, and my husband is dead. Send me a son of yours, and I will make him king of Egypt.’”
The Hittite stood there not sure what to do next.
“What are you waiting for?” asked the queen. “We are running out of time! We have until my husband is buried, no longer.”
As the Hittite fled the palace, Yuye slipped away to find Aye.
The queen stood alone.
Chapter 83
Egyptian Border
1324 BC
THE HITTITE PRINCE’S NAME was Zannanza.
He and his entourage rode fine white horses down the well-traveled dirt road to Egypt. He was pure Hittite by birth, his father’s pride and joy. At age twenty-two, Zannanza had already demonstrated courage on the battlefield and shown confidence and diplomatic skill in the royal court. His impending marriage to the queen of Egypt would unify the two nations and make history.
Zannanza would be the new pharaoh and would possess a level of power not even known by his father. The messenger had told the prince that the Egyptian queen was a beautiful young woman. He had described her as “fiery” and “graceful.” Zannanza was eager to meet her and take her as his wife.
Now Zannanza drank from a water skin, then passed it to his vizier. “Do you see them?” asked the vizier.
“How could I not?” Zannanza replied.
It seemed that the queen had sent a welcoming party. A small band of Egyptians waited at the border, taking refuge from the sun in a verdant oasis. Zannanza imagined they would have something to eat—fruit, perhaps. And fresh water. He had ridden hard all day.
Zannanza and his soldiers and courtiers galloped toward the waiting Egyptians.
As they arrived, a small man with a potbelly trotted forward on his horse to welcome them.
“Greetings. I am Horemheb, the queen’
s general. She sends her best wishes, Prince.”
“I am Zannan—”
The Hittite prince’s words ended abruptly. He had not seen the archers behind the tents, nor the arrow racing toward him straight and true that would pierce his forehead. He toppled off his mount, royal blood flooding onto the sand in a massive pool.
His entourage suffered a similar fate. Anyone who escaped the arrows was chased down and hacked to bits by Egyptians wielding swords and axes. As buzzards circled, Horemheb dismounted and walked over to Zannanza.
With his sword, he severed the prince’s head and held it high. Horemheb’s men cheered and then raced to loot the other bodies.
“For the queen,” Horemheb said with a sneer, throwing the head into a bag for its trip back to Thebes.
Chapter 84
Tut’s Palace
1324 BC
THE THRONE ROOM WAS DARK and depressing. Ankhesenpaaten and Aye had argued for hours, beginning just after dinner. Now it was midnight, and the queen and the royal vizier spoke by the light of the moon. This same debate had raged for more than a week, and this night the words chosen were no different.
The queen’s protestations were heated and loud, unmuffled by draperies and potted plants.
Anyone still awake in the palace could hear her frantic voice, and she knew it.
“Make no mistake: I will rule as king. And you will be my queen,” said Aye.
His hands were on his hips as he glared at the stubborn young woman. His sagging neck and paunch made him look more like her grandfather than a man capable of fathering a royal heir.
“I will not do it,” she shot back, panic-stricken as he moved closer.
Ankhesenpaaten paced, trying to buy time.
Yuye entered the room, as if on cue.
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