The Egyptologist - Arthur Phillips [87]
I gave him the address of my villa and instructions for preliminary purchases and hiring. Discretion was stressed. He nodded his replies. He asked for and received two days to recover, attend to personal affairs onshore. And our meeting was over. I waited a bit for a burst of gratitude or childish pleasure, but received only that unblinking stare.
Breakfast with the Nordquists, fond farewells, give them address of my villa, invite them to come often, visit my site when we are up and running with a public operation. They are justifiably thrilled.
Journal: Alight in Luxor! Rental agent’s representative awaits with cart and donkeys to carry my luggage to the villa, takes payment through November 30. Banking concerns a matter of some urgency now. Banks closed until Sunday.
My luggage installed and key in hand, I take the ferry across the Nile, hire a donkey, and ride out to walk the sacred land I have not seen in seven years, since 1915, soil holy to the ancients and myself in equal measure. The emotion is difficult to express as I trot past unimaginable changes, tourists filing past sights that, in 1915, had been nothing at all, mere sand dunes still sheltering hidden mysteries; Antiquities Service guards making their scheduled rounds; the complex of Hat-shep-sut’s temple at Deir el Bahari; and the roped-off land where Winlock of the Metropolitan Museum will be digging again in a few days’ time. I passed all of this, trotted up and on behind Winlock’s site, over hill after hill, one after another, the gentle rising and falling land along the cliff face, until at last I recognised the landmarks Marlowe and I left behind seven years ago, the day we discovered Fragment C and fled with it in such a swashbuckling hurry.
This preliminary tour of the ground gives the experienced eye an idea of the challenge ahead, the scope of the problem: how many possible places to break ground, how many men will be needed, how long we can expect to work, what sort of specialised equipment we shall need. I draw a pen-and-ink survey of the cliff face, noting every possible cleft on its façade, plotting a strategy, ranking by likelihood of success all the areas I can cover, setting priorities, as time and money demand.
Assuming my financial backing is secure, I think a team of ten men will suffice for early explorations, this number quickly growing as the digging becomes more intense. I do not think, if Marlowe’s and my guesses are correct, that this will become a case of several hundred men moving vast amounts of earth. I know where my king should be, at least I think I do. Assuming the financial backing is secure. Sunday’s issue.
Tonight, I sleep in my villa on the secluded banks of the Nile, closer and closer to my king and my destiny.
Saturday, 28 October, 1922
On “guessing” where to find a tomb: