The sun now directly overhead, Howard Carter sat in the shade of a palm tree sketching the bustling composition in the entrance to the long corridor of the bazaar that stretched before him. He had painted the scene several times before albeit from slightly different angles and in differing lights. For over two years now Carter had been painting watercolours of Egyptian life and artefacts for profit, and through this and the odd trip to the sites acting as an authoritative guide, he had made sufficient in commissions to keep himself from starving, but little more than that. Had Gaston Maspero, his earlier boss, not helped by latterly loaning him the use of his previous quarters on the west bank, he might not even have achieved this much. Since it had come from Maspero, it was not below Carter to accept this charitable gesture. He rationalized it as a clearly well-earned response to ensure his continued support and well-being; a gesture demonstrating appreciation for his talents and efforts during the execution of his earlier duties as Chief Inspector. With no rent to pay, he managed to survive and still had time to study the antiquities about him and visit the excavations of others. But he wasn’t doing what he wanted. The lack of a steady salary brought with it a sense of insecurity and loneliness. A feeling of almost total solitude consumed him at times. He hadn’t seen Dorothy since he’d resigned. Some evenings he had felt compelled to relate his personal anguish to his diary. There was no one else to talk to. Bereft of funds, he had no prospect of re-establishing himself in the field.
But that was yesterday.
As the quick, deliberate strokes of his pencil continued, he glanced up from the sketchpad momentarily to pick out another character from the busily trading crowd. What took his eye in the indifferently lit shade of the market was the sight of two Europeans, one short and plump, the other tall and lanky, both properly suited and hatted, talking vigorously to each other as they advanced from the shadows within the bazaar and out into the bright sunlight. When the light caught them, he could clearly see that the shorter man was none other than Gaston Maspero. He did not recognise his companion. The other, despite walking with a pronounced limp, exhibited the carriage and dress of a man of some breeding.
The two were making their way purposefully towards where Carter was sitting. There was no doubt he was their target. As they neared, Carter examined the taller man more closely. He was dressed in a grey, finely checked three-piece suit open at the jacket. He had a shooting stick for support, and from the same hand he swung a feather fly-whisk. In his breast pocket flopped a large white handkerchief and, between the two pockets in his waistcoat, a long, gold pocket-watch chain bounced in tune with his uneven step. His white shirt was roll-necked so he wore no tie. On his head perched a large-brimmed panama sporting a wide white headband. His fair moustache was bushier than Carter’s, his face leaner and longer, and his eyelids had that slightly half-closed downward look – that which comes with years of looking down on lesser mortals.
‘I am not going to enjoy this,’ thought Howard, breathing in deeply. As the pair of them neared he pulled himself up to a standing position and dusted off his pants.
“Knew we’d find you here,” Maspero began and then with a wave of each hand added, “Mr Howard Carter. His lordship, George Edward Stanhope Molyneux Herbert, Lord Porchester, the fifth Earl of Carnarvon of Highclere.”
‘Mother went overboard naming this one,’ thought Carter uncharitably. ‘If the number of characters in his name and title are anything to go by, he must be very well-heeled indeed!’
“Mr. Carter! Delighted to meet you,” pronounced Carnarvon as he shook him vigorously by the hand. “I fear I have been delinquent to this point in not ensuring I made your acquaintance much earlier during my stay in Egypt. The growth of your reputation in recent years seemingly approaches eclipsing that of the great Flinders Petrie!”
“Your lordship, the honour is all mine. I have heard much of your keen archaeological efforts in these parts.”
“Will you be good enough to take some coffee with us, Howard?” asked Maspero, hastily. “His lordship has a proposition he wishes to put before you.”
An excerpt from Tutankhamun Uncovered, by Michael J. Marfleet.
Copyright 2009-2010 Michael J. Marfleet. All rights reserved.
Published by Apex Publishing Ltd.
