“Is your Excellency all right?” Nebmare-nahkt leaned forward for a better view of Nenephta’s face.
But Nenephta’s racing mind defied his countenance. Emeni’s words were a sudden revelation. A half-smile emerged from the creases in his cheeks. Turning to the table, he addressed Maya with excitement. “Has Pharaoh Tutankhamen’s tomb been resealed?”
“Of course,” said Maya. “Immediately.”
“Reopen it,” said Nenephta, turning back to Emeni.
“Reopen it?” queried a surprised Maya. Nebmare-nahkt dropped his date.
“Yes. I want to enter that pitiful tomb myself. The words of this stonecutter have provided me with an inspiration reminiscent of the great Imhotep. I now know how to guard the treasures of our Pharaoh Seti I for all eternity. I can’t believe I never thought of it before.”
For the first time Emeni felt a glimmer of hope. But Nenephta’s smile vanished as suddenly he turned back to the prisoner. His pupils narrowed and his face darkened like a summer storm.
“Your words have been helpful,” said Nenephta, “but they do not atone for your vile deeds. You will be tried, but I will be your accuser. You will die in the prescribed manner. You will be impaled alive in view of your peers, and your body will be left for the hyenas.”
Motioning his bearers to bring his chair, Nenephta turned to the other nobles. “You have served the pharaoh well today.”
“That is my fervent wish, your Excellency,” answered Maya. “But I do not understand.”
“It is not for you to understand. The inspiration I have had today shall be the most closely guarded secret in the universe. It will last for all eternity.”
The excitement was infectious. Even the Sahara sun knifing through the cloudless sky could not diminish the suspense. The fellahin quickened their pace as they brought basket after basket of limestone chips from the entrance to Tutankhamen’s tomb. They had reached a second door thirty feet down a corridor from the first. It too had been sealed for three thousand years. What lay beyond? Would the tomb be empty like all the others robbed in antiquity? No one knew.
Sarwat Raman, the beturbaned foreman, climbed the sixteen steps to ground level with a layer of dust clinging to his features like flour. Clutching his galabia, he strode across to the tent marquee, which provided the only bit of shade in the remorselessly sunny valley.
“Beg to inform your Excellency that the entrance corridor has been cleared of rubble,” said Raman, bowing slightly. “The second door is now fully exposed.”
Howard Carter looked up from his lemonade, squinting from under the black homburg he insisted on wearing despite the shimmering heat. “Very good, Raman. We will inspect the door as soon as the dust settles.”
“I will await your honorable instructions.” Raman turned and retreated.
“You are a cool one, Howard,” said Lord Carnarvon, christened George Edward Stanhope Molyneux Herbert. “How can you sit here and finish your lemonade without knowing what is behind that door?” Carnarvon smiled and winked at his daughter, Lady Evelyn Herbert. “Now I can understand why Belzoni employed a battering ram when he found Seti I’s tomb.”
“My methods are diametrically opposed to those of Belzoni,” said Carter defensively. “And Belzoni’s methods were appropriately rewarded with an empty tomb, save for the sarcophagus.” Carter’s gaze moved involuntarily toward the nearby opening of Seti I’s tomb. “Carnarvon, I’m not really certain what we’ve found here. I don’t think we should allow ourselves to get too excited. I’m not even sure it’s a tomb. The design is not typical for an eighteenth-dynasty pharaoh. It could be just a cache of Tutankhamen’s belongings brought from Akhetaten. Besides, tomb robbers have preceded us, not once but twice. My only hope is that it was robbed in antiquity and someone thought it important enough to reseal the doors. So I truly have no idea what we are going to find.”
Maintaining his English aplomb, Carter allowed his eyes to roam about the desolate Valley of the Kings. But his stomach was in knots. He had never been so excited in all of his forty-nine years. In the previous six barren seasons of excavation, he had found nothing. Two hundred thousand tons of gravel and sand had been moved and sifted, for absolutely nothing. Now the suddenness of the find after only five days of excavating was overwhelming. Swirling his lemonade, he tried not to think or hope. They waited. The whole world waited.
The larger dust particles settled in a fine layer on the sloping corridor floor. The group made an effort not to stir the air as they entered. Carter was first, followed by Carnarvon, then his daughter, and finally A. R. Callender, Carter’s assistant. Raman waited at the entrance after giving Carter a crowbar. Callender carried a large flashlight and candles.
“As I said, we are not the first to broach this tomb,” said Carter, nervously pointing to the upper-left-hand corner. “The door was entered and then resealed in that small area.” Then he traced a larger circular area in the middle. “And again in this much larger area here. It is very strange.” Lord Carnarvon bent over to look at the royal necropolis seal, a jackal with nine bound prisoners.
“Along the base of the door are examples of the original Tutankhamen seal,” continued Carter. The beam of the flashlight reflected the fine dust still suspended in the air, before illuminating the ancient seals in the plaster.
“Now, then,” said Carter as coolly as if he were suggesting afternoon tea, “let’s see what is behind this door.” But his stomach contorted into a tight mass, aggravating his ulcer, and his hands were damp, not so much from the heat as from the unexpressed tension. His body quivered as he lifted the crowbar and made a few preliminary cuts into the ancient plaster. The bits and pieces rained down about his feet. The exertion gave expression to his pent-up emotions, and each lunge was more vigorous than the last. Suddenly the crowbar broke through the plaster, causing Carter to stumble up against the door. Warm air issued from the tiny hole, and Carter fumbled with the matches, lighting a candle and holding a flame to the opening. It was a crude test for the presence of oxygen. The candle continued to burn.
No one dared to speak as Carter gave the candle to Callender and continued working with the crowbar. Carefully he enlarged the hole, making certain that the plaster and stone blocking fell into the corridor and not into the room beyond. Taking the candle again, Carter thrust it through the hole. It burned contentedly. He then put his head to the hole, his eyes straining in the darkness.
In a moment time stood still. As Carter’s eyes adjusted, three thousand years disappeared as in a minute. Out of the blackness emerged a golden head of Amnut, ivory teeth bared. Other gilded beasts loomed, the flickering candlelight throwing their exotic silhouettes on the wall.
“Can you see anything?” asked Carnarvon excitedly.
“Yes, wonderful things,” answered Carter finally, his voice for the first time betraying emotion. Then he replaced the candle with his flashlight, and those behind him could see the chamber filled with unbelievable objects. The golden heads were part of three funerary beds. Moving the light to the left, Carter gazed at a jumble of gilded and inlaid chariots heaped in the corner. Tracing back to the right, he began to ponder the curiously chaotic state of the room. Instead of the prescribed stately order, objects appeared to have been thrown about without thought. Immediately to the right were two life-size statues of Tutankhamen, each with a kilt of gold, wearing gold sandals, and armed with mace and staff.