I muster a smile for Howard that I do not feel. I want to scream and wail for the waiting Hatshepsut, perhaps even underfoot.
“It’s all right. We will find her next time.”
But even as I say the words, I wonder. Will we?
Chapter Fifty-Seven
NOVEMBER 25, 1922
VALLEY OF THEKINGS,EGYPT
Jackals howl in the distance. As the sky grows pink with the approaching dusk, the nocturnal creatures grow louder, but I’m not afraid.
Now that I’ve surrendered to the moment and put Hatshepsut behind me for now, I can think of nothing but the vision before me. My eye is pressed to a tiny hole in the top left corner of the doorway made by Howard and Mr. Callender. Beneath me is another perforation, through which I’ve placed the flame of a candle to help illuminate the black interior space. I strain to make sense of what I’m seeing.
At first, it’s just a blur. Then, section by section, shapes materialize. As my eyes grow accustomed to the dim light, I apprehend fantastical animals, enormous chariots, life-size statues, and imposing thrones—all gleaming with an otherworldly brilliance.How can these artifacts shine so brightly in this low candlelight?I wonder. I then realize that every object is crafted from gold.
“My God.” I can barely speak. “You are right, Howard. The tomb is filled with wonderful things.”
Howard, Papa, and I turn to one another and spontaneously embrace. Had the men still been present, I’m certain their mouths would have been uniformly agape to witness this exuberant display of emotion from the usually stoic English. But they’d been sent home at the usual time. Only the trustedreisremain, Ahmed foremost among them, of course. We need as few witnesses as possible to this evening’s activities.
We clasp each other so tightly it takes my breath away. But I have no desire to protest. This moment has been long in coming, especially for Howard and Papa.
Howard breaks away first, and asks, “Are we in agreement?”
Papa says, “Absolutely. If we don’t take a look now, we may never get a chance. The authorities will swoop in, and we will never know all that we’ve found. Items will start to disappear before our very eyes.”
I nod, but disquiet settles within me. We are planning to make a surreptitious opening in the tomb and enter it in the dead of night. This is inclearcontravention of the Egyptian law requiring that authorities be physically present when opening a new tomb. I know what Madame Zaghloul would think about this decision. After all, her husband has publicly decried foreign excavations and the custom of partage as unacceptable vestiges of colonialism, and with all the recent changes, I cannot imagine it will hold. Shouldn’t the Egyptian government have a say in the way we are disturbing the remains of their own people? Even though part of me wants to follow along with Papa’s strategy, I’m torn. My time with the Zaghlouls has changed me.
“But we will do nothing to disturb the treasure that we find, correct?” I ask. “We will not move any artifacts or take any objects from the tomb? Only record and catalogue what’s inside for our own purposes?”
Papa and Howard are quick to agree. I think they’d say anything to secure my acquiescence, but I choose to believe them. And what harm could we do if we leave the tomb exactly as we entered? We can still undertake the formal opening of the tomb in the presence of the government, and follow the spirit, if not the letter, of the law. And the artifacts will remain precisely as they have for millennia.
Howard gives the signal to the trustworthy men who remain, including Ahmed. Using chisels and picks, they make a small opening at the base of the tomb, one they’ll be able to reseal for the authorities’ visit in the coming days. Papa and I gather the lanterns we’ll need to illuminate the interior once we enter.
The three of us assess the aperture in the stone slab. “Is it bigenough for us to crawl through?” Papa asks. “It looks frighteningly small.”
“We made the cuts along preexisting crevices in the stone. It’s the only way we’ll be able to unobtrusively close the opening, so the gap is as large as we can afford,” Howard explains.
One by one, we drop to our knees, a movement that makes Papa groan. With Howard in the lead and Papa behind me, we squeeze through it and wriggle along into the blackness. Once we reach the murky interior, we each reach a hand outside and areisgives us electric torches. Almost as one, we stand, holding our torches alight and staring around this sacred space. The heat crests over us like a wave.
Hundreds of objects line the room in stacks. Gilt chairs. Wondrous painted creatures. Boxes and vases inlaid with precious stones. A golden bed borne aloft by horned cow goddesses. And, in the center of the chamber, a throne, covered in gold leaf, encrusted in patterns of turquoise, lapis lazuli, and carnelian, with lion-head arms and an image of Tutankhamun and his queen, Ankhesenamun, on its back.
A few items are scattered around the floor. Some broken, others shattered. It appears as though someone had been here after Tutankhamun’s burial and attempted to carry out some smaller items, but was interrupted. Tomb robbers, most likely. But they did not abscond with larger treasures, thank the Lord. And the fact that thieves had broken into the tomb millennia ago strangely makes our excavation easier, as the Egyptian authorities have far greater control over fully intact tombs.
I reach for Papa’s hand and squeeze it tight. “Oh, Papa, can you believe your eyes?”
“No, my darling Eve. I feel as though I’ve stepped into a dream.”
Otherwise speechless, we wander the enclosed space, which, at first, appears to be the only chamber. I try to keep a running list of the artifacts. I observe piles of ornamental caskets, small black shrines, bronze instruments, alabaster vases, strange egg-shaped boxes, elegantly carved chairs, and a variety of stools. Still, the glinting objects are many and the light is dim. After a time, a realization dawns upon me.
“There’s no sarcophagus in here. There is everything a pharaohwould need for the afterlife, but no coffin,” I announce. “Theremustbe another chamber.”
“You’re right,” Howard mutters. “How did I miss that?”
“I think you were blinded by gold,” Papa says. “I know I was.”
“Where is it?” I ask, mostly to myself.
