I am still perplexed. But then it suddenly dawns on me. Howard is sending back artifacts from Tutankhamun’s tomb via diplomatic pouch. He’s been explicitly forbidden by the Egyptian government to remove any antiquities from the country, but the authorities cannot check diplomatic pouches.
“How could you, Howard?” I utter, not hiding the shock and disdain in my voice.
“How could I not,” he replies, surprised at my reaction.
I am stunned. This goes beyond Howard’s past actions, squirreling away a few artifacts looted by locals and then selling them to dealers. Or even bartering for illicit items to add to Papa’s collection.
I turn to Papa, seeking support. Even if he was aware of Howard’s earlier dealings, he must be as appalled as I am bythistransgression. This does not fall into any sort of gray area of ignored trading in illicit antiquities; it is an affront not only to the laws but the people of Egypt. “Papa? Surely you don’t condone this?”
“Eve,” Papa says, his voice soft and pleading, “if we don’t do this, we won’t get a single item from the tomb. How can we go on with the dig without the funds these objects might provide?”
Papa gives me a small smile, fully expecting dutiful Eve to emerge and accept this rationale. But she is gone. My astonishment has banished the vestiges of that trusting girl.
“They aren’t ours to take,” I exclaim, fury raging within me. My convictions have clarified and sharpened against the backdrop of Howard’s actions. While I may not like the way that the new Egyptian government’s laws affect us and I do sympathize with Papa’s situation, I understand that the rights to excavate the tomb and remove its artifacts were never ours to take. They were the Egyptians’ to give—and they have reclaimed them.
Papa’s tone hardens, as does his gaze. “I don’t like this path, but what other course do we have? We are the ones who found the tomb—after an enormous amount of money and effort, I might add. Why shouldn’t we be entitled to some of the spoils? I’m not looking for anywhere close to the half we’d been promised—by contract, no less—just enough to keep going with the dig.”
“How can you say that?” I ask, my voice growing louder. “You yourself have expressed sympathy for the Egyptian desire for self-governance. We are talking aboutEgypt’s history—not England’s—and the Egyptian citizens have the right to dictate the fate of their historical remains.”
“My sympathy does not extend to Egyptian interference with our dig. Not after all we’ve sacrificed for it,” he replies, his posture erect and voice firm. “In the past, the Egyptians have proven themselves uninterested—or unskilled—in proper excavation of ancient remains. Without us, Tutankhamun’s tomb would never have been found, certainly not intact. We deserve something for our efforts—and this is a pittance compared to what was agreed on.”
“You cannot be serious, Papa. Agreeing to send those packages”—I point to the pile, stare at my father, and say, in a tone every bit as unyielding as his—“crosses a line that cannot be uncrossed.”
He doesn’t speak, but the expression on his face is one I know well from witnessing countless arguments between him and Porchey. Words will not sway him now, and I am thus left with only one recourse. I lunge for the pouches stacked on the sideboard. Howard quickly dodges in front of me, blocking them from me. Papa isn’t far behind. We stand facing one another, fixed in place and staring.
So, it’s come to this, I think. Papa and Howard have drawn a lineIwill not cross, even if it means walking away from any chance of uncovering Hatshepsut. Not that the Egyptians have left us with much choice. They’ve decided to take back that which was always theirs.
Will I ever learn what happened to Hatshepsut? Do I deserve to try? Perhaps that quest does not belong to me anymore. Maybe it never did. As Mr. Zaghloul himself once told me, Egypt’s past belongs to its people, and they alone can tell its story. I’d thought that my efforts with archaeology would end when Papa could no longer operate his Valley of the Kings concession—since it’s the only way, as an uneducated, aristocratic woman, I could excavate—but I see now that I must make the decision based on my own principles.
Andthisis the end.
Suddenly, Papa stumbles forward, away from the sideboard. Hepractically falls into my arms. His cheeks flame red, and his eyes look glassy. I reach out to feel his forehead.
“Papa, you’re burning up,” I cry out. No matter how furious I am with him, he is still my father. And no matter how conflicting our views, I love him.
“No, no, just feeling a bit seedy,” he says, waving me away with his free hand. “I’ll be right as rain with a breath of fresh air.” His voice trails off.
Then, suddenly, he collapses. And, in a flash, I know nothing will ever be the same again.
The Mystery
Chapter Sixty-Two
1458BC
THEBES,EGYPT
Senenmut and I chance being seen and hold hands. My guards are about, of course, but knowledge about my relationship with Senenmut is no secret to them, and they are sworn to keep private all the doings of my life and kingship. It is the citizens of nearby Thebes and the workers at my temple complex who cannot bear witness to my love for my trusted adviser. A pharaoh who was once the widowed queen is not someone who can ever marry again—or even be seen in a romantic relationship.
Standing on a hill on the west bank of the Nile across from Thebes, high above the mortuary temple being chiseled into the cliffs, Senenmut and I have a bird’s-eye view of the structure and the undulating, monochromatic tan landscape in which it is set. Terraces, each bordered by rows of pillars, stare out at the river like unblinking eyes, behind which sits my temple and tomb. I believe I can say without bias that it is the most magnificent building ever constructed in Egypt, and it is not even complete.
Pride courses through me as I think about this building project. A structure of this magnitude became a unifying project from which people could derive confidence and will contribute to the country’smaat. Never are a pharaoh’s monuments really for that pharaoh’s glory or afterlife.
“You have outdone yourself, my love,” I say to Senenmut with a grateful squeeze of his hand. I cannot avert my eyes from hismasterpiece. It contains all the imposing elements of Mentuhotep II’s temple nearby and yet is entirely original in its design. It is larger, more elegant, and covered in the engravings and sculptures telling the story of my reign, solidifying the dynasty emanating from this female pharaoh.
With those thoughts of my dynasty, a worry tugs at me. Thutmose III and Neferure have only one child. All of Neferure’s other pregnancies failed to reach fruition. Fortunately that child is boy of six years of age, my delightful grandson, Amenemhat. As Thutmose’s eldest son, he stands to become the pharaoh when we are both gone, but I have concerns. So few children reach adulthood, and I’d feel more confident about the stability of my “dynasty” if Neferure had borne others.
“It pales in comparison to your own splendor,” Senenemut replies to my compliment.
