The Murder of King Tut (21 page)

BACK AT “CASTLE CARTER”—as the news of his discovery sped around the world via cable and telephone—Carter took a moment to
think about what he had found and the consequences of that discovery.

The specter of Tut’s death hung over Carter as he peered out at the valley from his home’s lofty viewpoint. He struggled to
make sense of the findings inside the tomb—the toy sailboats, the chariots, the golden shrines and shabtis and jeweled amulets—and
wondered how a young man so full of life had come to die. Even more mysterious to Carter: Why was the tomb located where it
was? And where was the queen buried?

“Politically we gather that the king’s reign and life must have been a singularly uneasy one. It may be that he was the tool
of obscure political forces working behind the throne.”

Carter couldn’t help mentally cataloging the valuable artifacts he had found. He wrote of a “painted wooden casket found in
the chamber, its outer face completely covered with gesso.” He noted cosmetic jars portraying “bulls, lions, hounds, gazelle,
and hare.” Most touching, he thought, were “episodes of daily private life of the king and queen.” But where was
her
coffin?

He was struck by a painting that depicted Tut accompanied by a pet lion cub and shooting wild ducks with bows and arrows,
“whilst, at his feet, squats the girlish queen.” Another such scene showed the young queen offering Tut “libations, flowers,
and collarettes.” Still another showed the pharaoh pouring sweet perfume on his queen as they rested together. He had the
sense of how young they both were—and how much in love.

Carter was astounded by the gold and jewels found inside the tomb, but he was also stunned by what seemed to be an arsenal.

In the room off the burial chamber, the one with unpainted walls that Carter referred to as the treasury, and in the small
room off the antechamber known as the annex, he had discovered an enormous stockpile of weapons: thirteen composite bows,
three self bows, and two quivers, one made of linen, and one of durable leather; two hundred seventy-eight arrows, many with
bronze arrowheads; and an elaborately carved bow case decorated in gold leaf.

The tomb of King Tut. Because it was small in comparison with many other royal tombs, each room was packed with Tut’s belongings.

The largest bow suggested that Tut was a man of some strength, as it was more than six feet in length.

Certainly, Tut was no peaceful king. And just as certainly, he had a fondness for pursuits other than archery. The annex also
contained throw sticks; several shields; a leather cuirass that would have been fitted to protect Tut’s chest and shoulders;
as well as swords, boomerangs, clubs, and daggers.

Tut clearly was not his father’s son. “The possessor of the bow could bring down the fleetest of animals and defend himself
against the enemy,” Carter noted.

In one corner, lost amid the towering bows of the hunt and war, was one Tut would have shot as a child. It was just a foot
and a half tall, and its lone arrow was six inches long.

Carter again found himself wondering about the circumstances surrounding Tut’s death and concluded that it might not have
been an accident. “The sense of premature loss faintly haunts the tomb. The royal youth, obviously full of life and capable
and enjoying it, had started, in very early manhood—who knows under what tragic circumstances?—on his last journey from the
radiant Egyptian skies into the gloom of that tremendous Underworld,” he wrote.

February 16, 1923

TIME TO OPEN the burial chamber.

Carter had never told Trout Engelbach that he had already entered the chamber, so when the day of the “official” opening arrived,
he had to pretend to be curious about what might be inside. And he had to be more convincing now than ever. As news of the
great discovery had spread around the world, pandemonium had erupted in Luxor. Suddenly, Howard Carter was a star and a significant
historical player.

Beyond that, a certain divisiveness had set in, with Egyptian bureaucrats and foreign hangers-on all trying to get a piece
of the action.

“Telegrams poured in from every quarter of the globe. Within a week or two the letters began to follow them, a deluge of correspondence
that has persisted ever since,” noted Carter.

Letters of congratulation gave way to “offers of assistance; requests for souvenirs—even a few grains of sand from above the
tomb would be received so thankfully; fantastic money offers, from moving picture rights to copyrights on fashions of dress;
advice on the preservation of antiquities; and the best methods of appeasing evil spirits and elementals.”

For a man like Carter, so fond of introspection and relative quiet, things were getting completely out of hand. No one could
have predicted this, least of all himself or his detractors in Luxor.

“The Winter Palace is a scream,” noted Egyptologist Arthur Mace, whom Carter had recruited to join the excavation party. “No
one talks of anything but the tomb; newspaper men swarm, and you daren’t say a word without looking around to see if anyone
is listening. Some of them are trying to make mischief between Carnarvon and the Department of Antiquities, and all Luxor
takes sides one way or the other. Archaeology plus journalism is bad enough, but when you add politics, it becomes a little
too much.”

An unexpected and rather discouraging problem arose for Carter because of a decision made by Lord Carnarvon. Seeking to make
as much money off Tut as possible, the earl signed an exclusive agreement with the
Times
of London that gave the newspaper the rights to publish all details of the discovery. This infuriated not only the Egyptian
press but also newspapers and magazines from around the world that had been clamoring for a piece of the century’s greatest
discovery.

Perhaps worst of all, the Antiquities Service and the Egyptian government began trying to take control of the tomb. That would
prove to be an ongoing struggle that would plague Carter for years.

And then there was Lady Evelyn. As Lord Carnarvon became more and more suspicious about a relationship between Carter and
his daughter, tensions between the men deepened. This, combined with Carter’s new fame, drove a wedge between the two longtime
partners and friends.

And yet, both men were present as politicians and bureaucrats from Egypt and Britain crowded around the tomb opening. “After
lunch we met by appointment, Lacau, Engelbach, Lythgoe, Winlock, and two or three native officials, and we all went in a party
to the tomb,” recalled the Egyptologist Mace.

Carter led the group of notables inside. The statues in the antechamber had been pushed to the perimeter to safeguard them
from haphazard elbows and hips.

A platform had been built along the wall that divided the burial chamber from the rest of the tomb. It looked very much like
a stage, and that day Howard Carter was the star.

He climbed atop the platform, stripped off his jacket and shirt, and then placed a chisel blade against the wall.

With a mighty blow of his hammer, Carter began knocking the wall down.

Arthur Mace stood to one side, and as work progressed Carter handed him bits of rock that he had chiseled away. These were
in turn handed to Callender, who passed them to a chain of Egyptian workers who collected them, then carried them out of the
tomb.

Slowly, the hole widened. After two hours, Carter was “dirty, disheveled and perspiring”—and playing his part perfectly.

Carter squeezed inside and beckoned the others to follow. The alabaster jars, canopic shrine with figures of four guardian
goddesses, and spangled shroud were clearly visible now.

The effect on the visitors was profound: they threw their hands up and gasped, dazed by the vision before them. “Anyone coming
in would have said we had been taking too much to drink,” noted Mace.

Carter could only stand back and watch.

By now he was exhausted, from both the physical labor of opening the hole and the mental exertion of his daily jousting with
Carnarvon and the press. He was privately making plans to reseal the tomb and shut himself in his house for a week of quiet
and solitude.

When the momentous tour of Tut’s burial chamber was over, Carter and Carnarvon said their good-byes. Carter prepared to get
down to the hard work of cataloging the tomb’s many contents, a job that could take him years but one he couldn’t wait to
start. He believed it would be the pinnacle of his life’s work

Carter and Carnarvon resolved most of their differences before the earl left on February 23. But just six weeks later, Lord
Carnarvon was dead. The cause seems to have been septicemia, which arose after he nicked a mosquito bite with his straight
razor.

Carter was left to deal with Egyptian politics and bureaucracy on his own. He couldn’t do it. Less than a year later, he was
evicted from Tut’s tomb and from the valley.

One last time, his temperament and stubbornness had done him in.

1931

THE WEDDING RING was made of glass and glazed in blue, and it was still very beautiful. Inside the band were inscribed the
names Aye and Ankhesenpaaten.

Ironically, it was Percy Newberry, now sixty-two and a veteran of forty years in Egypt, who turned it over in his hand. He
was in Cairo, at the legendary souvenir shop of Englishman Robert Blanchard.

Rather than garish knockoffs of Egyptian tomb relics, Blanchard sold the real thing—purchased from tomb robbers of course.

European tourists were the favored clientele, but Egyptologists sometimes stopped by to see if some new curio had made its
way onto the market—a sure sign that tombs were being raided somewhere. Percy already had an extensive collection of amulets
and was pecking through the display racks in hopes of adding a new treasure.

He had accidentally stumbled upon the ring, but he immediately understood its significance.

He reread the elaborate inscription to make sure he had the names right before allowing himself a satisfied smile. The ring
he held in the palm of his hand solved a mystery that had bothered Howard Carter since Tut’s tomb had been opened. Namely,
what had happened to Tut’s beautiful young queen?

There had been no mention of Ankhesenpaaten or any other wife on the walls of Tut’s tomb. And Aye’s tomb, which had originally
been intended for Tut, had a painting of his first wife but lacked any indication that he’d taken another.

“Where did you find this one?” asked Percy, trying not to sound excited, lest Blanchard jack up the price to a more exorbitant
sum.

“Eastern delta,” Blanchard replied with a disinterested shrug.

Percy was careful not to show his surprise.

How had the ring made the journey all the way from Thebes, down past Cairo, to the mouth of the Nile? That was odd. Then again,
it had been three thousand years. Anything could happen in that time, couldn’t it?

Percy went to pay for the ring but discovered that he had forgotten his wallet. He pulled out his pocket notebook and carefully
copied the inscription.

Then he placed the ring in the display case and raced to his hotel, intending to hurry back to complete his purchase.

First, he dashed off a quick note to his old friend, who was now back in England.

“My Dear Carter,” the letter began, “I have just seen a finger ring at Blanchard’s which bears the cartouche of Ankhesenpaaten
alongside the prenomen of King Aye.
This can only mean that King Aye had married Ankhesenpaaten, the widow of Tutankhamen.
”

Percy mailed the letter, then hurried back to Blanchard’s to buy the ring.

He was too late.

It had just been sold.

1319 BC

GENERAL HOREMHEB MOURNED his friend and ally, Aye. The two had known each other since they were young men. As Aye was sealed
inside the tomb once reserved for Tut, a wave of sadness filled Horemheb’s heart. The scar on his face turned a bright crimson.

How odd,
thought Horemheb,
that I can stab a man through the heart and still mourn him.

He scanned the august crowd gathered around Aye’s tomb, making eye contact with a few old friends in the process. The tomb
was located in a rather obscure spot, far removed from the Valley of the Kings.

Horemheb could understand why Aye would want to be buried there—the location was concealed and remote, which might prevent
tomb robbers from finding it. But he also cursed his compatriot for selecting a spot so far from Thebes. The sun was going
down, and it was a two-hour journey back to the city in the dark.

Finally, though, he smiled. These were good problems to have. For at the end of the ride, he would not return to his old home
or to an army barracks. He would ride triumphantly into the palace.

General Horemheb was now pharaoh.

As the servants collected the plates and wine urns from the final meal, Horemheb picked his way down a rocky trail toward
the temporary stable. A long procession of mourners trailed behind him. He could hear the accents of Memphis and Amarna in
some of the voices. The high priests led the way.