discovery of the tomb, when I was working within the funeral chamber, I saw from inside the sarcophagus a dull, cheap glow and, crossing to inspect it, found an amulet. It had evidently been placed there just a few hours before, but by whom, and for what reason, I could still not imagine. It had been stamped, though, with the familiar icon: two crouching figures beneath the disk of a sun.
I did not show it to Davis, nor mention it, for I preferred to keep the details of the mystery to myself. Not that Davis needed encouraging by now -- with each successive discovery, his obsession had grown apace, and with his obsession his self-confidence as well. I had been observing for some while the changes in his relationship with me: whereas at first he had been perfectly content to acknowledge my superior expertise, now increasingly he treated the Valley as his own private fiefdom and myself, it sometimes seemed, as a mere employee. I was obliged constantly to remind him of my status: that it was I who was the Inspector, I who was the official director of excavations. Davis accepted this only with great reluctance - and indeed, the more we quarrelled, so the more cocksure and dictatorial he grew.
It was with some alarm then, in the autumn of 1904, after more than two years’ excavations in the Valley of the Kings, that I learned I was to be transferred to the post of Chief Inspector based at Cairo. Davis, however, greeted the news with undisguised glee. He clearly trusted that my successor would be easier to control than I had been, and I suspected that his optimism might prove to be well founded. In such a case, I feared for the future of archaeology in the Valley, for Davis’s interest in the science of excavation had always been slight, and with my own departure could only grow even slighter still. Knowledge for its own sake was of no concern to him; rather, his obsession was with the discovery of treasure, and the Valley, in his eyes, might as well have been a Klondike. I dreaded to think, in the face of such a gold-lust, what details and clues might go forever unrecorded, and I began to wonder - like the man in the tale who freed a genie from a bottle -- what it was I had uncorked.
Time, in the event, was to show me soon enough.
Perhaps not surprisingly, as the moment neared for my departure to Cairo, so my own work grew touched by a sense of mounting frustration. Finds continued to be made and tombs to be explored, but they were never from the period of Akh-en-Aten’s reign, and the sheer size of the Valley, and the roughness of its terrain, ensured that it was impossible to cover every inch. However, I had not lost hope utterly, and wherever a site appeared to offer some encouragement there I would order my labourers to explore. In my final week in the Valley, I had no fewer than four groups of them at work, and I would stride impatiently between them, praying that a great find might yet be made -- the tomb of Nefer-titi perhaps, or that of the shadowy pharaoh Smenkh-ka-Re, or that of his brother, the equally shadowy Tut-ankh-Amen. There was nothing, however -- neither a tomb nor even a hint that a tomb might lie nearby - and all the while, my final week in Thebes was slipping by.
Then, on my very last afternoon of work, even as the sky was darkening and the labourers were preparing to leave the Valley for their homes, I was startled by a scream. Since the spades and picks had by now been laid aside, and the din of excavation largely ended, the sound echoed across the rocks with a horrid clarity -- horrid, I say, for the scream’s tone had been one of extraordinary fear. I could only think that an appalling accident had occurred, and so I hurried as fast as I was able towards the source of the scream. As I approached it, I was relieved to see no obvious marks of a disaster: three of the labourers were gathered about a fourth, who appeared to be gripping something tightly in his hands. As I neared him, however, and he
I did not show it to Davis, nor mention it, for I preferred to keep the details of the mystery to myself. Not that Davis needed encouraging by now -- with each successive discovery, his obsession had grown apace, and with his obsession his self-confidence as well. I had been observing for some while the changes in his relationship with me: whereas at first he had been perfectly content to acknowledge my superior expertise, now increasingly he treated the Valley as his own private fiefdom and myself, it sometimes seemed, as a mere employee. I was obliged constantly to remind him of my status: that it was I who was the Inspector, I who was the official director of excavations. Davis accepted this only with great reluctance - and indeed, the more we quarrelled, so the more cocksure and dictatorial he grew.
It was with some alarm then, in the autumn of 1904, after more than two years’ excavations in the Valley of the Kings, that I learned I was to be transferred to the post of Chief Inspector based at Cairo. Davis, however, greeted the news with undisguised glee. He clearly trusted that my successor would be easier to control than I had been, and I suspected that his optimism might prove to be well founded. In such a case, I feared for the future of archaeology in the Valley, for Davis’s interest in the science of excavation had always been slight, and with my own departure could only grow even slighter still. Knowledge for its own sake was of no concern to him; rather, his obsession was with the discovery of treasure, and the Valley, in his eyes, might as well have been a Klondike. I dreaded to think, in the face of such a gold-lust, what details and clues might go forever unrecorded, and I began to wonder - like the man in the tale who freed a genie from a bottle -- what it was I had uncorked.
Time, in the event, was to show me soon enough.
Perhaps not surprisingly, as the moment neared for my departure to Cairo, so my own work grew touched by a sense of mounting frustration. Finds continued to be made and tombs to be explored, but they were never from the period of Akh-en-Aten’s reign, and the sheer size of the Valley, and the roughness of its terrain, ensured that it was impossible to cover every inch. However, I had not lost hope utterly, and wherever a site appeared to offer some encouragement there I would order my labourers to explore. In my final week in the Valley, I had no fewer than four groups of them at work, and I would stride impatiently between them, praying that a great find might yet be made -- the tomb of Nefer-titi perhaps, or that of the shadowy pharaoh Smenkh-ka-Re, or that of his brother, the equally shadowy Tut-ankh-Amen. There was nothing, however -- neither a tomb nor even a hint that a tomb might lie nearby - and all the while, my final week in Thebes was slipping by.
Then, on my very last afternoon of work, even as the sky was darkening and the labourers were preparing to leave the Valley for their homes, I was startled by a scream. Since the spades and picks had by now been laid aside, and the din of excavation largely ended, the sound echoed across the rocks with a horrid clarity -- horrid, I say, for the scream’s tone had been one of extraordinary fear. I could only think that an appalling accident had occurred, and so I hurried as fast as I was able towards the source of the scream. As I approached it, I was relieved to see no obvious marks of a disaster: three of the labourers were gathered about a fourth, who appeared to be gripping something tightly in his hands. As I neared him, however, and he
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