The Egyptologist was true to his word. He arrived back in Cairo the second week of October, at least two months before the tourist season really took off.
He made a brief run around the dealers in Cairo to see what may have cropped up while he had been away. The shopping trip was fruitful. He bought several pieces for Carnarvon and during his browsing around the bazaars found he could not resist buying something for himself – a canary – to provide him with some tuneful companionship during the long nights of solitude at Castle Carter. The whole lot accompanied him on the train back to Luxor.
The ever faithful Abdel met him at the station. “Master!” he exclaimed on seeing the canary. “A bird of gold accompanies you. Surely a sign of good luck!”
Carter smiled at the thought. Truly he hadn’t felt this buoyant in years. He lost no time getting started, and by the first of the following month he had his men situated immediately beneath and slightly ‘downstream’ of the entrance to the tomb of Ramses VI, busily digging at and through the southwesternmost corner of the floor of one of the ancient workmen’s huts.
After three days’ digging, as usual, nothing had been found. Carter arrived at the site each morning well before his men. He paced over every piece of newly revealed ground, head down, looking for the slightest suggestion of something out of the ordinary. But there was only featureless rubble at the bottom of a featureless pit.
On the fourth morning he was later than usual. He had dawdled at his house, poring over the details of his map.
Up at the excavation site, Ali had called on one of the boys to get another jar of water. He noticed the lad was having difficulty trying to get it to stand upright. He could not sink it into the sand deeply enough. Ali went over to help. When he took hold of the jar and attempted to grind the base into the loose debris, he felt hard rock just an inch or two beneath the surface. He passed the water jar back to the boy, got down on his hands and knees and scraped away at the rubble with his hands.
“Mr Carter! Mr Carter!” The reis came running through his open front door and flailed through the house, skidding on the tiled floor in his leather sandals as he dashed from room to room trying to find his master. He finally slid to a stop in Carter’s study. The archaeologist slowly turned in his chair to see what all the commotion was about.
“Mr Carter, sir. Forgive my rudeness, please, but I have much of importance to tell you. May I speak, sir?”
“Ali. Whatever’s the matter, man. You look most distressed. Sit. Have a drink… of water. Settle yourself. Then speak. Is it trouble?”
Carter handed him the carafe of water and the sweating Arab poured himself a full glass and immediately drank it down. He barely drew breath before speaking again. “We have found a flat rock, sir! A flat rock! Perhaps a step, sir! It is real! It is real!”
Carter did not dare believe the man: Not after four days… not after five full years… not just four days.
An excerpt from Tutankhamun Uncovered, by Michael J. Marfleet.
Copyright 2009-2010 Michael J. Marfleet. All rights reserved.
Published by Apex Publishing Ltd.
