The Murder of King Tut - James William Patterson [47]
But it would be perfect for murdering a young pharaoh.
Chapter 65
Valley of the Kings
February 26, 1920
A DISCOVERY HAD BEEN MADE, but what kind of discovery was it? Large or small?
Carter bent down to be the first to examine the find. Lord Carnarvon was close on his heels, as was his wife, Lady Carnarvon.
They appeared to be inspecting a common debris pile—rocks, sand, chips of flint and pottery tossed aside during the excavation of a tomb long ago.
But peeking out, smooth and white, were alabaster jars—a dozen or more.
And the jars were intact.
Carter stepped forward to clear away more dirt, but the normally reserved Lady Carnarvon beat him to it. Though heavyset and past her prime, she dropped down to her knees and clawed fitfully at the soil. The Carnarvons had invested substantial time and money in the valley, and this was the first significant treasure they had to show for it. Lady Carnarvon would not be denied the opportunity to enjoy the discovery every bit as much as the men.
Carter and the workers stood back to watch as she cleared the soil away from each jar.
A tally was taken when she was done: thirteen. Perfect and near pristine, they were most certainly related to the burial of a king named Merenptah and represented a decent find.
There were, however, no markings indicating that the jars had anything to do with Tut. As minor as the find may have been, something was better than nothing. And with the close of the 1920 dig season just a week off, it would end the period of labor on a high note.
“It was the nearest approach to a real find that we had yet made in the valley,” Carter wrote in his journal.
Once again, he was the hopeful Don Quixote of Egypt.
Chapter 66
Highclere Castle
Near Newbury, England
1922
TO BE HONEST, Carter’s time in the valley had been expensive and fruitless. He had found nothing to warrant the hundreds of thousands of pounds Lord Carnarvon had spent in search of a great lost pharaoh—or even a minor one.
The alabaster jars had buoyed hope after the 1920 season, momentarily pushing aside memories of barren searches in years past.
But 1921 had yielded nothing important. There seemed no reason to think that the upcoming 1922 season would be any different.
Now the two men strolled across the sprawling grounds of Highclere Castle, Carnarvon’s family estate back in England.
The mood was uneasy, and Carter had an inkling that he had been summoned for very bad news.
The two had become unlikely friends over the years. They had spent so much time together, fingers crossed, praying that their next effort would be the one to unearth some great buried treasure. But now that hope was apparently gone.
Tons of rock had been scraped away. But Howard Carter hadn’t made a major find in almost twenty years, and his reputation as a cranky, self-important, washed-up Egyptologist was well known in Luxor and even here in England.
The war hadn’t helped. His Lordship’s health had suffered in the absence of those warm Egyptian winters. He had gotten out of the habit, so to speak. And now he was ready to stop funding costly excavations that yielded nothing.
Carter quietly made his case anyway: He had located ancient workmen’s huts near the tomb of Rameses VI, but because of heavy tourist traffic he hadn’t been able to dig deeper. His plan was to start digging in early November to avoid the peak tourist season.
Carnarvon rebuffed him. He was through with the valley. There would be no more excavations with his money. Their partnership was over. “I’m so sorry, Howard. I’m nearly as sad about this as you are,” Carnarvon said.
The news would have been even more crushing to Carter if he had not anticipated this moment and planned his next move. He cleared his throat. “There’s one last tomb to be found, sir. I’m sure of it. So sure that if you will allow me to make use of your concession in the valley, I will fund the next year of digging myself. Of course,” he added hastily, “we would split whatever I find evenly.”
Carnarvon was astounded. “You don’t have that kind of