Valley of the Kings Read Free Page B

above the tan of his forehead. “All right,” he said. “I’ll show you.”
    He started down the slope toward the pit. One of the men below saw him and, taking a whistle from around his neck, blew on it. The shrill sound brought the other workmen up straight. As a band they trooped off from the dig into the shade of the cliff wall and sat down. Davis and I went over to the pit.
    â€œI have not yet made my official identification,” Davis said. “But I have my strong suspicions what this find is.”
    I said nothing, tramping down after him across the hot flint. Davis had uncovered a number of magnificent sites, both here and elsewhere in Egypt, but he was notorious for misidentifying them. He was a careless, undisciplined digger who went by intuition more than reason, and he had no time for the grinding detail work that in the end pays off in a more total picture of Egyptian life. What Davis was after was sensation. Now he stood on the edge of the pit and gestured to me to inspect.
    I looked down into a narrow hole, deep in shadows even in strong daylight. Davis said, “It was full of rubble. Took us nearly a week to empty it out. Obviously it’s been looted.”
    â€œLooted,” I said. “What do you think it was, anyway—a cache?” Near my feet there was a ladder extending down into the pit. I stooped to rattle it, testing its strength.
    â€œIt’s a tomb,” Davis said roughly. “Look at it, damn you—it’s a pit tomb, and my guess is it’s Eighteenth Dynasty.”
    â€œCome on,” I said, and climbed down the ladder into the pit.
    Midway, I passed from the sunlight into the cold grip of the shadow of the earth, and I shivered from head to foot. Davis came after me, his heavy boot soles sometimes grazing my hands. The pit was so small that he and I could barely stand side by side in it. It was a cache pit, no more, perhaps even less; the ancients very neatly buried the debris of their farewell rituals after a funeral.
    I tilted my head back. The patch of blue Egyptian sky shone far overhead. The pit had been hewn roughly from the rock. It had never been painted or even smoothed out, although the work was well done. But it usually was.
    â€œWhatever makes you think it’s Eighteenth Dynasty?”
    Davis shot me a fiery look. “If you’d waited until I could do a little more excavating—”
    â€œIf you’d tell me when you find these things, I might be able to help you from the beginning.”
    â€œCome on,” he said.
    We climbed out of the pit. He led me back across the valley, through the blazing heat, to his beach umbrella. There was a little box near his chair, and he sat down and put the box on his knees.
    â€œSee? Rather fine, don’t you think? And obviously Eighteenth Dynasty.”
    In the box were half a dozen bits of gold. I put my fingertips to them. I was touching the past, touching them. Thousands of years in the earth. There were a few rings, a small statuette of alabaster, a couple of strips of gold foil. Lifting the foil, I held it into the sunlight.
    A line of pictographs crossed the surface. Part of the writing was a name, and my nerves jumped with excitement. It was Tutankhamun’s name.
    â€œWell?” Davis said. “What do you think?”
    I picked up the box with the bits of gold and walked back down the little slope and across the valley to the pit. Davis trooped after me. Midway to the pit he began to shout at me.
    â€œYou won’t admit it, will you, Carter. It’s the tomb of King Tutankhamun, isn’t it, but you won’t admit it.”
    I put the box down at the edge of the pit. “What kind of fill did you remove?” I squatted down and ran my hand over the top of the pit. It was dug in the sandy floor of the valley. “Was it the same as this stuff?” I looked around me again, at the heavy flint boulders and flint chip piled against the