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THE SHAHADAROBA TRILOGY Epic Trilogy of a Pandora's Box of Ancient Prophecy First book of the series: 'Shahdaroba.' A unique discovery in modern Egypt at the ancient burial grounds of Saqqara sets off an Egyptologist and his son, Alexander Sebastion Gefferson, in a race against time and adversary. The remarkable discovery by his now dead father, brings into his life, challenge, codes, mystery, adversary and romance. His life is in the balance and so is the future of humankind.
Citation preview
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SHAHDAROBA
THE THIRD CHRONICLE
PREVIEW
The First & Last Scroll
Bernard Paul Badham
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An Ancient Egyptian Wish
Shahdaroba
‘The future not the past, a love found that lasts.’
ISBN-13: 978-1480013261
ISBN-10: 1480013269
PUBLISHER
http://arkpublishing.co.uk/
Copyright © 2012 Bernard Paul Badham. All rights reserved. No
portion of this book may be reproduced, mechanically, electronically,
or by any other means, including photocopying, without written
permission of the author.
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Contents
Some Forgotten Time 5
Chapters
1. A Maze within a Maze 7
2. Suspicion Leads to Enlightenment 59
3. The Plateau Cries like Horus 137
4. The Impending Threat to Mankind 197
5. The Blue Merkher 265
6. The Rare and Beautiful 297
7. Imau’s Revelation and the Last Enigma 357
Appendix
Sacred Writings of Ancient Egypt 385
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Personal Note
This book is especially dedicated to Karen Temperley of Hereford,
without whom it would not have been written. On having heard the
gist of the story from her brother, Peter Larner, who I had shared the
idea with a few days before, Karen gave me the utmost encouragement
to put pen to paper, in fact her words still ring clearly in my mind, ‘You
must write this book.’
About the Author
Bernard Paul Badham was born in Wales in 1950 and has lived in
Egypt for the past decade. He is the founding Honorary Chairman of
the Staffordshire Egyptology Society in England, published Physicist
and Egyptologist and author of adventure science fiction and science
fact. Bernard has given many lectures on ancient Egypt and
astrophysics and published several articles including: Astronomy in
Ancient Egypt, Birth, Love and Marriage in Ancient Egypt, Mysteries
of the Great Pyramid and Who Was Tutankhamun. It was while
working for the Open University as a tutor for Astronomy and
Planetray Science that Bernard ran a series of courses at Stafford
College on Ancient Egyptian Studies and Learning to Read the
Hieroglyphs and Anceint Egyptian Art. He has self published the first
two books of a trilogy entitled Shahdaroba. The series starts with the
Third Chronicle, Shahdaroba - The First and Last Scroll. He has also self
published the second book: Shahdaroba - Alien Stone, The Fourth
Chronicle. Shahdaroba is a story which covers some sixty four
thousand years of Earth’s ancient history. The first book starts in
modern Egypt at the ancient burial complex of Saqqara where an
Egyptologist and his son uncover an ancient mystery of a unique
artefact and scribal enigma code containing prophetic warnings for
Earth’s future.
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The series Shahdaroba is of the genre of adventure, romance, historical
mystery and suspense. As the story unfolds it becomes clear that all is
not as it seems, a maze within a maze, leading the main characters into
danger, romance and revelation. It is a race against time and adversary,
much is at stake and in the unfolding mystery are those who are driven
by greed and the lust for gold and an immeasurable opportunity for
wealth and power. Bernard is currently writing the third book in the
series Shahdaroba - Dark Star, The Fifth Chronicle. Bernard has also
published a science fact book called ‘The Enigma of Gravity’ which is
an explorative work to gain an understanding of one of the most
elusive forces in the universe. Before the January revolution in Egypt
Bernard was undertaking test shooting for a documentary called In
Search of the Sacred Ben Ben Stone of Ancient Egypt. Preliminary research
and filming has already led him to some intersting conclusions with
regard to humankind’s remote and mysterious past. At the oasis of
Deir el Bahri in Egypt's Western Desert investigations revealed some
exciting evidence for the cause of the collapse of one civilization and
the rise of another, ancient Egypt. In conjunction with the intended
documentary Bernard Paul Badham is working on a broader scientific
work on the mysteries and origins of ancient civilizations, a book
entitled Myth Legend Apocalypse - Through the Eyes of a Looking Glass. This
work seeks to unravel the science and mysteries of our origins, starting
from the Big Bang, it examines the evidence for the evolution of our
universe and the formation of the Earth, stars and planets. In the
process it takes another look at our own history, from our early origins
and into ancient civilizations. Many mysteries, ancient myths, legends
and religious epics and events are investigated, including the Great
Pyramid of Egypt, the Sacred Ben Ben Stone, the Ark of the Covenant
and the myseries of the ancient Phoenix and the Sphinx.
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8
Some Forgotten Time
A solitary shepherd wandered in search of his goat herd across a rocky
plateau amidst the strange and mystical stones of ages past. This was
hallowed ground, sacred to his ancestors, where no mortal man should
tread, but driven by need and want he ventured on, his flock his only
fortune. Weak and hungry, his belly ached and his spindly rag adorned
body faulted through the onslaught of the sudden ferocious sandstorm,
bent by the suffocating heat and the grit in his face, he trod the sharp
shrapnel ground, bare foot, mouth parched and eyes sand baked. He
was fooled and tricked of his way, by those gods of old, etched by time
and storm into strange and solid form, judges of man’s frail and feeble
heart, they lumbered above his puny frame, daring his mortal trespass.
Then darkness, like a smothering blackness falls, and crying winds and
wailing, crumbling, ancient rocks, fill his soul with dread, but then by
chance, or perhaps by fate, he stumbles upon a sheltered cleft to find
an ancient door, which no man, nor beast, since time forgot had cast
their envious eyes. A fool would dare, the brave and wise would run,
but curiosity and the lust of incorruptible metal, the Flesh of the Gods,
seduced his hand to strike, the stone. Thunder, and quaking ground,
and falling rock, are the divine answers to his untimely, earthly call and
he and his folly become entombed together, to leave the sacred, quiet
once more.
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CHAPTER 1
A Maze within a Maze
Little did he know, and few would have believed, that he was about to unleash a
sequence of events which would change the course of his life and the whole of
mankind’s forever, like a steel ball running through a forgotten maze, to find yet
another, he would take a turn which would open up a Pandora’s Box of a future
uncertain and not yet written.
The ancient burial grounds of Saqqara, Egypt.
Egyptologist Dr David Jefferson on the trail of the Lost Scrolls of Ancient
Egypt, the Aegyptiaca, after studying many historical references and his
translations of the enumerable ancient hieratic papyri stored in the
vaults of the Cairo Museum was finally led to the ancient city of
Alexandria, to the site of its lost library. Here timely and costly
excavations of the library’s catacombs proved fruitless, for only
fragments of buried papyri remained and none of these were the work
of his elusive Manetho, the early Ptolemaic Egyptian priest and author
of the sacred scrolls.
Secondary excavations of the city’s Serapeum Library were just as
futile, his research led him to London, to the site of an early Roman
Serapeum, here under the foundations of a once magnificent temple he
discovered collapsed ancient store rooms filled with broken wine jars
and secular Demotic papyri of the temples trade transactions. Dr
Jefferson was running out of funds and a concession from the
Egyptian authorities to dig at the Old Kingdom pyramid complex of
Saqqara, had proved difficult to obtain, eventually the Egyptian
authorities capitulated after the sale of his London house which
provided the necessary cash for the cost of the dig and the customary
baksheesh. Many weeks of organized, back breaking archaeology
followed while working from numerous old documents, including a
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hand drawn map by a little known English eighteenth century traveler
of the Middle East, the Reverend Richard Pococke. Dr Jefferson’s
suspicions were finally proved correct, on the south-west side of the
Serapeum at Saqqara, which the ancient Egyptians dedicated to the
worship of the god Serapis, he discovered a stepped entrance to the
library’s catacombs and within a secret chamber he found an original
copy of the Lost Scrolls.
This discovery in itself was news breaking and one which had shaken
the world of Egyptology to its foundation. This invaluable
archaeological find was a thirty volume work by the Egyptian scribe
Manetho, written in Greek for the then Macedonian rulers of Egypt,
the Ptolemys. The thirty scrolls contained an amalgamated account of
the whole history of Egypt, its thirty dynasties of ruling pharaohs, and
of Egypt’s ancient mythological cult practices.
The discovery brought world wide attention and an endless stream of
visitors, Egyptologists, officials, media reporters and dignitaries,
including royalty, all wanting a share of the limelight. The press were
permanently camped outside the Serapeum’s catacombs like packs of
howling hyenas around a kill; each one demanded an audience with the
now famous Dr David Jefferson. It was at times nothing less than
pandemonium and the Egyptian authorities did nothing to alleviate the
problem, after all, they reminded him, this was a very good boost for
Egypt’s waning tourism. The recent September the Eleventh
bombings had hit Egypt’s tourism hard.
An enthusiastic American CBS reporter stuck his microphone
forcefully into Dr Jefferson’s face, almost toppling him off the
makeshift wooden pedestal which he used on such terrifying occasions
when addressing the press.
‘Are there any references to Moses in Egypt, Dr Jefferson?’ Before
Dr Jefferson could regain his balance and draw breath to answer, a
second reporter jostled for position and thrust his microphone
forward.
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‘What about the claim that the Aegyptiaca will change our whole
perspective of world history?’
He was about to answer when yet another reporter, this time from
the BBC World News , pushed herself forward and spoke with a clear,
quiet tone, ‘What is your opinion Dr Jefferson on the idea that at last
we will know the name of the pharaoh of the Exodus or at least the
validity of the Biblical texts?’
Silence fell around the camp with the shiver of a cold wind. Many
arguments had raged amongst world historians, theologians, academics
and politicians about the impact these scrolls would have on society.
They contained a complete account of our early history as viewed and
recorded by the ancient Egyptians themselves.
Jefferson inhaled deeply, screwed his face and nodded. ‘Yes, yes, yes,
there are numerous references to the Hyksos, the Semitic Shepherd
Kings of Egypt, but as to Moses and the Exodus, that is another
question and yes, it will change our whole world perspective, very
much so, and maybe more than you can imagine, and again, yes, we will
be able to verify the validity of the Biblical texts, but I must emphasize
ladies and gentlemen, the texts have not yet been fully preserved, or
translated, and the sooner you let me get on with this work the more
able I will be to answer your questions.’ With that Dr Jefferson leapt
heavily from the pedestal and elbowed his way back through the crowd
to the shelter of the heavily guarded catacombs.
The Old Kingdom burial complex of Saqqara, situated at the edge of
the desert on the West Bank of the Nile, south of Egypt’s ancient
capital of Memphis, was as rugged as it was beautiful. A barren and
ancient burial ground for the Old Kingdom pharaohs, amidst the
desert dunes and rock escarpments, sand blasted over the millennia by
the Khamseen winds, this poorly excavated site possessed a unique and
mysterious ambience. To the north-west of the Step Pyramid of the 3rd
Dynasty pharaoh Djoser, lay an avenue of beautifully carved pink
granite sphinxes which led from the later Greek cult centre of Serapis
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to the much older Egyptian Serapeum, the burial place of the sacred
Apis Bulls.
Little of the surrounding desert had been excavated, until Dr David
Jefferson’s commission. He had been convinced that somewhere in
the ancient burial grounds of Saqqara lay the Serapeum Library – an
annex to the cult of the worship of Serapis. It was not long into the
season’s excavation when he found the buried entrance to the library’s
catacombs, which were situated south-west of the Serapeum and cut by
the ancient workers into solid limestone bed rock during the New
Kingdom Period to house copies of Egypt’s sacred scribal texts. Many
of the chambers had been cleared in early Byzantine times by the
Egyptian priests fearing the onslaught of anti-pagan zealots, but deep
within the rubble filled passageways he found hidden, sealed chambers
which housed a large remnant of the sacred texts, and an original copy
of Manetho’s spectacular Aegyptiaca.
The preservation and cataloguing of the ancient texts was carried out
by a team of experts in situ under the supervision of Dr David
Jefferson. Only Jefferson and his friend, a senior archaeologist on the
team, Dr Phillip Davis, were allowed access to the Aegyptiaca, which
was stored in a safe in the original secret chamber where the scrolls
were found. This chamber lay at the southern end of the catacombs
and had been fitted with special air conditioning units which controlled
both temperature and humidity, for although the scrolls had been
found in pristine condition, Jefferson knew they would soon
deteriorate if stored in a warm humid environment. He alone had the
keys to the safe and used this chamber for preserving and translating
the sacred text. Soon after the discovery the catacombs were fitted
with strings of ceiling lights powered by a noisy above ground
generator. This underground ‘office’ allowed him to work
undisturbed, day and night on the texts. Further excavations of the
catacomb chambers on the north-western side, was overseen by Dr
Davis.
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Jefferson was an aging but vibrant man, at fifty eight years of age his
zest for life enthused and animated those around him. A learned man
of allegedly aristocratic descent, who only felt comfortable in outdoor
attire, and whether the needs dictated formal or informal dress, you
would always find him wearing his khaki Chino trousers, a white
flannel shirt loosely buttoned around the neck to reveal the whitening
curls of his chest, and to accentuate his rugged appearance, a neat
brown leather waist coat, fob watch, and brown suede leather boots.
His steel grey wavy hair contrasted with his tanned red cheeked face
and sparkling blue eyes, his handsome looks turned many a woman’s
head. His build was both muscular and well covered and although
physically fit, his years could easily catch up with him when toiling in
the humid heat of the catacombs. His mind was razor sharp, and his
ability to recall facts or past events down to the finest details, amazed
even his learned colleagues. He had the unique skill of sifting through
a mass of acquired archaeological material to formulate a theory or
deduce a less than obvious conclusion. Excited by his latest find he
spent much of the working day on the process of translation and the
preservation of the sacred texts, many times at night his colleagues
would find him working under the light of an oil lamp in favor of using
the noisy generator.
The catacomb security was high, heavily armed police guarded the
entrance gateway and patrolled the perimeter fencing day and night, all
under the dazzle of an array of quartz-halogen lamps. Jefferson, aware
of the need for such measures, reluctantly tolerated them. Many
believed, and quite rightly, that the very the foundations of the
Christian church could stand or fall on the revelations of Manetho’s
Aegyptiaca. There had already been several terrorist threats by extreme
religious groups, Christian and Moslem, to destroy the pagan texts.
After the toil of the day’s work, and his less than tolerated encounters
with the endless stream of annoying officials and the media, Jefferson
was pleased to return at sunset to Neferper, his private villa amidst the
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lush green vegetation of the flood plain and indulge himself in a
shower, change of clothes and an evening meal. In the warmth of the
aromatic evening breeze he would sit on the garden veranda with his
feet up in contemplative mood smoking a clay pipe while patting his
dog sat at his side. Often, driven by his insatiable thirst for the ancient
knowledge recorded in the Aegyptiaca, he would return late at night to
the catacombs and to translation of the sacred texts. This very night,
one particular translation troubled and then finally unsettled him,
unable to suppress his curiosity he jumped to his feet, stubbed out his
pipe and to the dismay of his housekeeper and the barking of his dog
made a hastily departure.
‘Look here, Magdi! There is a definite reference by Manetho to one
of his Old Kingdom sources.’ His helpmeet squinted under the lamp
light to the point in the text where Jefferson’s finger rested. Magdi a
long term friend and assistant to the doctor pricked his ears, keen to
hear his latest deductions from the Greek text.
Jefferson folded his arms in delight and leaned back in his much
loved and traveled old cane and canvass chair. A childlike grin radiated
from his tanned face, while Magdi waited in anticipation. The oil lamp
atop of the old oak desk burned brightly, safely away from the sacred
scroll which had been weighed down with four heavy basalt figures of
the grotesque squat god Bes, the god of childbirth. The papyrus scrolls
of the Aegyptiaca had till now been preserved by the aridity of the
sealed rock cut chamber and they still possessed much of their original
plant-like flexibility, unlike the much older scrolls under preservation
by Dr Davis which needed careful treatment before translation could
begin. Jefferson stared at the ancient plastered wall in deep reflection.
‘Magdi,’ he whispered turning to face him, ‘many of Manetho’s
sources were ancient Egyptian manuscripts accumulated by the temple
priests over millennia. Some of the documents he referred to date back
to the Old Kingdom time of the first pyramids, at around 2700 BC,
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indeed some of the references are even Pre-Dynastic, before the
unification of the Two Lands of the North and the South and the
formation of Egypt. In this passage Manetho discusses what the
ancient temple priests called ‘The Glorious Period,’ a thirty four
thousand year reign of gods and demi-gods, a time before the Dynastic
pharaohs.’
Jefferson paused, rubbing his stubbly chin in thought. ‘Grab the oil
lamp Magdi and hold it over the papyrus. It is difficult to read with the
light at that angle.’ Magdi keenly held the lamp steadily. ‘That’s better.’
He said peering at the text through a large magnifying glass. He placed
the glass down and paused in deep thought before continuing. ‘In this
fragment Manetho gives an interesting and unusual reference to the
source of one of the passages.’ Magdi drew closer to the doctor’s side
and squinted at the aged papyrus. The hand of Manetho was exquisite
and highly recognizable. The ancient Greek text had been translated by
Manetho from the Egyptian Demotic, hieratic and hieroglyphic
sources. The Aegyptiaca was a masterpiece of scribal work.
Magdi treasured these times with the doctor, Jefferson did most of
the talking, but Magdi felt privileged that he used him to sound out his
ideas. Jefferson continued. ‘Manetho states here that in reference to
the ‘Glorious Period’ he uses an unknown Old Kingdom scribe called
Wenemnefer. He says that he possessed the titles Great Royal Scribe
under the pharaoh Netjerikhet, the builder of the famous Step Pyramid
here at Saqqara and just here he gives some of his other titles.’
The text he referred to was written in hieratic; a cursive form of the
hieroglyphic, then with magnifying glass in hand and with a sense of
occasion Jefferson read the text out loud in the dead native tongue of
the ancient Egyptians.
‘Wenemnefer Nesew Wer Sekhaaw, Hery Tep Sekhaaw, Sekhaaw en Shetaa.
Khetw, Sakhaaw en pa Netjerwt Shetaa Medew em Per Ankh, Per en Maat, Per
Sekhaw Kher, Nesew Neb Tawy, Netjerikhet.’
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He paused taking in the importance of the words and the beautiful
guttural sounds of such an ancient language. ‘I’ll translate.’
‘Wenemnefer, King’s Great Royal Scribe, Chief Scribe, Scribe of Secret Things,
Scribe of the Divine and Secret Texts, in the House of Life, House of Truth and
House of Scrolls. Under the King, Lord of the Two Lands, Netjerikhet.’
A pensive silence followed.
‘This was a mighty important scribe Magdi.’ He said standing up to
pace the room.
‘Indeed so Dr Jefferson, a mighty, important scribe.’ Magdi echoed as
he traced his master's steps.
Jefferson returned to his chair, placed aside the heavy basalt paper
weights, unrolled the curled up papyrus, and scanned the text eagerly,
reading aloud any salient points to Magdi, finally he came across an
unusual foot note. His face was agog, glaring at the text through the
lens with the wide eyes of a nocturnal owl; he read the passage again,
whispering in the Greek, before falling back into his chair beaming.
‘What is it Dr Jefferson?’ Magdi said. ‘What have you found?’
Jefferson gave the look of an old prospector who had just found his
first nugget of gold.
‘You’re not going to believe this?’ he said tapping the desk hard with
his forefinger. ‘In this footnote,’ he explained dropping to a whisper,
‘Manetho irresistibly gives a clue to the whereabouts of Wenemnefer’s
tomb!’ He was about to indulge in a celebration dance when he caught
site of a dark shadow gliding across the chamber wall, the hairs on the
back of his neck stood on end.
‘Found something interesting Dr Jefferson?’ Came a chilly voice from
the darkness.
Startled, Magdi dropped the oil lamp to the floor, which immediately
plunged the chamber into complete darkness.
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‘Allow me,’ the visitor croaked as the clash of the brass lamp hitting
the limestone floor echoed down the chambers like church bells
heralding his presence. With a wry smile the man ceremoniously struck
a match and in the dim light, leaned over Jefferson and threw a switch
on the chamber wall. The generator above ground immediately
groaned into action powering up the catacomb lights. ‘Why do you
indulge in such primitive conditions, Dr Jefferson?’ he said blowing out
the match. ‘After all, at great expense we have provided you with the
convenience of electricity?’ Jefferson’s heart raced as he turned in his
cane chair to face the unexpected intruder. The dark silhouette of the
man against the bright glare of the electric ceiling light, gave away his
gangly profile, his scratchy deep voice he already recognised. It was
Stassy, Head of the Egyptian Antiquities Police. Tall and of skinny
build Jefferson thought that slyness seemed to ooze from every pore of
the distasteful man. ‘Do you have something to hide doctor?’ he
continued, ‘working down here so late at night with your quaint little
lamp?’
Jefferson collected his thoughts and with an equally wry smile replied.
‘You know me Stassy,’ placing his hands behind his head, ‘I like to
make the most of my time, important work to do.’ Jefferson busied
himself with rolling up the papyrus and tidying his desk. He wondered
how much Stassy had overheard as he placed the papyri and
magnifying glass in the draw of his desk. Magdi had already
disappeared, he never lingered long when Stassy was about; he was a
good judge of character Jefferson thought. ‘Besides,’ he continued
while locking the desk drawer, ‘I hate to disturb your guards with the
noise of the generator. I know how much they value their night’s
sleep.’ Stassy accepted the insult without a squeak; it was all part of the
sport which made their relationship more tolerable.
The next night Dr Jefferson arranged to meet Magdi alone down in
the catacombs at eight o’clock sharp. When Magdi arrived Jefferson
was already rustling through the thirty scrolls of the Aegyptiaca searching
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for more references to the scribe Wenemnefer, but to his
disappointment he found none. ‘Come in Magdi and grab a chair.’ He
said without raising his head from the sacred scrolls. Jefferson screwed
his face and shook his head, his frustration accentuated the lines of age
in his rugged tanned face; he sat back in pensive mood and scratched
his head.
‘Magdi,’ he sighed, ‘I have scanned all thirty scrolls in vain, it is only
the third fragment which refers to Wenemnefer’s tomb, but I am sure
by the wording of it that Manetho himself was doubtful of its
existence. After all, the reign of Netjerikhet dates to about 2700 BC
and if Wenemnefer served under this pharaoh, then the tomb would
have already been twenty four centuries old by the time of Manetho.
Remember his knowledge of the tomb was gained only by talking to
the priests at the Serapeum. Much of Egypt’s sacred knowledge was
never written down, but jealously guarded and passed on from father to
son.’
‘Do you think this tomb still exists, Dr Jefferson?’ He said straddling
a chair backwards. ‘It may have been destroyed or robbed in antiquity.’
Jefferson leaned forward, rested his elbows on the desk and cupped
his face in his hands.
‘You are right Magdi, many temples and tombs have been usurped by
later pharaohs, but this is different.’ Jefferson relaxed back in his chair
and for the first time since he had arrived spoke to Magdi face to face.
‘Saqqara is an ancient site where it was usual practice by successive
pharaohs to build over or add to existing structures. The Serapeum as
a religious site dates back to Early Dynastic times...’
Suddenly, Dr Jefferson like a startled rabbit jumped to his feet and
strode to the open safe which housed the Aegyptiaca. He flicked hastily
through the collection of preserved scrolls neatly stacked on the
shelves and grabbed the Third Fragment. Treasuring the possession in
his hands he marched back to the table and laid it out reverently,
weighing down the uncurled ends with the two black Bess statues.
20
Each scroll was measured to be exactly 4.453 meters long, the length of
seven royal cubits, a royal cubit being the length of the pharaoh’s arm
and the standard measure for pyramid construction. The Aegyptiaca was
written with a fine pen that maximized the use of space. ‘Listen to this
reference.’ Jefferson said and then translated the Greek from the
footnote of Manetho, while Magdi stood at his side attentive.
‘The Priests here at Saqqara tell me that adjacent the Old Kingdom site of the
Serapeum lies the tomb of a great royal scribe, Wenemnefer, who served The Lord of
the Two Lands, Netjerikhet. They say that according to legend when the catacombs
were first cut during the Ramesside Period (what I have classed as the Twentieth
Dynasty) they accidentally broke into the burial chamber of this great scribe.
Realizing the sacredness of the tomb they were ordered to reseal it and build a false
wall across the passageway to hide it forever. I am of the opinion to doubt this
account knowing the longevity of the legend and yet it may have some order of truth
knowing the integrity of the priests who recounted the legend to me.’
The flickering glow of the oil lamp cast its shadows which danced on
the east wall of the chamber to the beat of the burning flame. The
chambers and passageways of the catacombs had been cut deep into
the bedrock of the Saqqara escarpment by the ancient tomb cutters and
finished off with a layer of white gypsum. Jefferson studied the flame’s
hypnotic glow as he thought about the scribe’s ancient words. ‘There
is something about this reference which has been niggling me, but what
the hell...' Jefferson paused in mid thought, then with a flash of
inspiration it came to him. 'Of course! The photographs!’ Jumping to
his feet again, this time even more animated, he raced back to the safe
and from the top shelf retrieved a stack of indexed photograph files
and returned hurriedly to the desk. Without seating he fumbled
through each file as Magdi watched in confusion. Magdi, a wiry dark
Nubian from the southern border town of Aswan, recognised the look
21
on his face; he had seen it before, when Dr Jefferson discovered the
first step leading to the catacomb entrance.
Knowing his quarry, Jefferson scanned the radiometric images like a
dog with a scent for its prey. Photo-radiometry was an archaeological
technique that Jefferson had pioneered, invented even. He was the
only one, except for another, who knew how to interpret the
multicoloured images it produced. Its modus operandi was a closely
guarded secret and one which many archaeologists wanted disclosed,
but Jefferson was not yet prepared to share his revolutionary
archaeological technique with the rest of the world, not at least until a
patent had been secured.
‘You remember our initial survey of the catacomb area Magdi using
the Radiometric Camera?’
‘Yes, Dr Jefferson. I helped you set up the equipment and take the
pictures and all very secretly at night.’ The equipment worked better in
the cool of night.
‘Well, if I remember correctly there was an anomaly in one of the
pictures which puzzled me even then.’
‘Yes, I remember Dr Jefferson.’
‘Ah, yes, here it is. Look!’ Jefferson pointed to what appeared to
Magdi as a smudge of red colour on the blue toned photograph. Get
me the plans of the catacombs Magdi and quickly.’
Magdi jumped to his command like a wag tail dog retrieving a ball, he
dropped to one of the lower shelves of the safe and ruffled though the
many stacked documents to find a pen drawn plan of the excavated
catacombs and immediately handed it to Jefferson who laid it out on
the desk next to the radiometric photograph. ‘Ah!’ Jefferson said
pointing to the smudge on the photograph with one hand and to the
catacomb plans with the other, to one of the south-western
passageways leading off the main north-south chamber. ‘Look Magdi,
all the other passageways run more or less parallel from east to west
with side chambers running off each in a north-south direction. Just
22
like the subterranean chambers of King’s Valley 5, the tomb of the
sons of Rameses II.’ Jefferson ran his finger along the map. ‘See, West
Catacomb-10 runs parallel like the rest of the passageways and then
diverts at an angle of some ten degrees north-west almost meeting
West Catacomb-9 at its end.’ Magdi looked puzzled at the significance
of the anomaly. ‘That’s it Magdi!’ he said leaping from the chair and
breaking into an Irish jig on the hard floor. As he spun around with his
hands raised in the air he hummed a merry Irish tune. He stopped,
clapped his hands with glee and said: ‘Don’t you see? That’s the
position of Manetho’s false wall. The point where the tomb masons
were ordered to divert the passage away from Wenemnefer’s tomb.
And to think,’ he said catching his breath. ‘I thought the change in
direction of the cut was because the ancient tomb masons had hit hard
rock!’ His face beamed with the thought of discovering a sealed intact
tomb, every Egyptologists dream, and thanks to Manetho his dream
may now come true. He marched up to Magdi and shook his
shoulders.
‘This could be it, Magdi, an intact tomb!’ he said tapping him playfully
on both cheeks. Wanting to celebrate Jefferson quickly retrieved a
bottle of single malt whiskey and two shot glasses from his desk drawer
and filled them to the brim. He handed one to Magdi and raised his
glass. ‘Here’s to Manetho,’ Jefferson said before throwing the fine
amber nectar down his throat. ‘Ah! That’s good stuff,’ he said
slamming the glass down inverted on the table.
Magdi, being a Coptic Christian and of ancient Egyptian descent was
no abstainer from the occasional alcoholic drink, he raised the glass to
his lips, paused to grin and spoke gleefully with an air of reckless
bravado: ‘Cheers! Here’s to Wenemnefer.’ He gulped down the fiery
liquid with eyes glaring in expectancy.. The alcoholic burn immediately
sent him into a coughing fit. Jefferson roared and promptly slapped
him on the back several times.
After Magdi recovered Jefferson filled two more.
23
‘Magdi!’ He whispered raising his glass for a second toast, ‘Tomorrow
we dig!’
‘Yes Dr Jefferson, tomorrow we dig!’ Magdi croaked.
The next day when only Dr Phillip Davis would be at work within the
catacombs they arranged to meet in secret. The rest of the archaeology
team would be away and all of the Egyptian work crew would be at
Friday prayer. Even though Jefferson trusted Magdi implicitly, he
instructed him to keep quiet about Wenemnefer’s tomb. It was a little
after seven o’clock in the morning. The sun hung over the horizon like
a warming fire driving away the desert mist and illuminating the
Saqqara escarpment with its soft rose-coloured light broken only by the
elongated shadows cast by the jagged rocky crests of the surrounding
limestone hills. Having exchanged the usual niceties with the two white
uniformed Egyptian Antiquities officers on duty at the enclosure
entrance, he made his way down the ancient worn steps to the entrance
of the catacombs. The guard locked the perimeter gates behind him.
The sound of the key turning in the lock was usually reassuring, but not
this morning. Jefferson was about to engage in what would be classed
by the Egyptian Antiquities authorities as illegal activities. He reached
the base of the stairway cut into the limestone bedrock and paused
deliberately under the large stone lintel over the door jams. To stand
here, at the entrance of the catacombs which housed the Lost Scrolls of
ancient Egypt was until recently only a dream, and one which
eventually became a life long obsession.
The lintel was inscribed with a painted raised relief of the winged sun
disk, Ra-Horakhety, the unified deities of Ra and Horus of the Two
Horizons. The door jams either side of the doorway bore images of the
ibis headed god of writing, wisdom and knowledge, Djhwty, painted in
fading yellow, red and green ocher. Below each image were inscribed
the hieroglyphic titles of the god, reading symmetrically from inside to
outside edge and down to the floor:
24
‘The Great God, Djhwty.
Creator of the Divine Words,
Lord of Scribes,
Giver of the Palette and Pen.’
The appearance of the god Djhwty, known to the Greeks as Thoth, at
the beginning of the ancient Egyptian civilization puzzled Jefferson; he
suspected that in other early ancient records he was known by another
name, he was convinced that it was Mizraim, grandson of the Biblical
Noah. Once inside he grabbed one of the oil emergency lamps hung
along the ancient limestone passageway walls, the generators were
never used during Friday morning prayers. As he walked down the
main corridor the lamp broke through the darkness illuminating the
way before him in a great arc of soft searching light.
The ancient votive niches cut along the length of the central
catacomb passageway broke up the monotony of the plastered and
white-washed walls. When first discovered, the main catacomb
passageway and most of the subsidiary chambers were filled with
rubble, mostly limestone chip and desert sand washed in by flash
floods and strong dessert winds. Painstakingly all the rubble had to be
removed and sieved for ancient artefacts, no matter how small or
insignificant they may appear, a single shard of pottery may bear the
name of a previously unknown queen or pharaoh, or may provide a
family link within the dynasties. Jefferson constantly reminded his
team about the recently discovered shard of pottery discovered in the
Valley of the Kings adjacent the tomb of Tutankhamun. It was
inscribed with the name of a new Amarna queen, ‘The King’s Great
Wife, Taiay.’
The layout of the catacombs was mapped out as the excavations
proceeded. In the south-eastern wing Jefferson and his team recently
25
discovered a descending stairway, which undoubtedly led to more
subterranean chambers. The main corridor was like a back-bone that
ran from the main entrance in the north, to the large sealed Aegyptiaca
Chamber at its southern end. Subsidiary chambers ran off at ninety
degrees like ribs from a backbone, east-west and west-east either side
of the main spine and off each subsidiary chamber were further storage
rooms. He thought of the similarity between the catacombs layout and
the design of the Djed Pillar, a magical amulet representing the
Backbone of Osiris. The mythological power of the Djed Pillar
symbolized strength, endurance and stability. It was a fitting magical
wish for such a vast store of ancient knowledge. All of the subsidiary
passageways themselves ended in sealed secret chambers which housed
many old and valuable papyri. The whole of the catacomb was paved
with polished pink and white alabaster tiles. The end chambers which
were still intact, sealed by limestone brick and plastered walls, housed
volumes of ancient papyri, cataloguing and translating these were the
work of Dr Phillip Davis.
He headed straight for one of the north-west passageways to
Catacomb Chamber-7, where he knew Dr Davis would be working.
He found him standing at his laboratory bench, carefully processing a
fragment of a New Kingdom magical text by the delicate chemical
treatments of neutralization, fumigation and stabilization. He quietly
came to his side while Davis carried on working. ‘Didn’t expect to see
you so early this morning David,’ he said not lifting his head from the
delicate work, ‘Couldn’t sleep again?’ Phillip glanced at his watch it was
7.15 am.
‘I didn’t get much shut-eye last night, too much on my mind.’ Dr
Davis carefully waited till the bench stop clock reached two minutes
and then gently lifted the soaked papyrus with a pair of soft plastic
forceps to the next treatment tray.
‘Is there a purpose to your visit?’ he said gently swishing the fragment
of papyrus around in the liquid chemical tray labeled ‘Fumigation.’
26
‘There is one fragment of the Aegyptiaca I wanted to finish translating
before tomorrow. You know how I like to stick to schedules and hate
loose ends.’ He said excusing himself.
‘Only too well Dr Jefferson, only too well.’ He sighed. Davis lifted
the papyrus fragment into the ‘Stabilization’ tray and set the timer for
30 seconds, he then gave it a final wash before leaving it to dry in the
dehydration cabinet. He hastily dried his hands in a small towel and
headed for the makeshift kitchen in the corner of the chamber where a
little copper kettle timely hissed to the boil. ‘Like a cup of fresh mint
tea David?’
‘Yes please Phillip, and the usual two sugars.’
‘You always did have a sweet tooth.’
Davis casually poured the hot water into two dainty china cups
prepared with a twig of mint and a bag of El Arosa Kenyan tea, then
delicately dropped in two lumps of sugar into Jefferson’s cup and four
into his own.
Dr Jefferson raised his eyebrows and smiled to himself as he lifted the
cup to his mouth, pursing his lips he gently blew across the hot brown
steaming brew before taking a sip.
‘Are you staying long Phillip?’ Jefferson asked with an air of
innocence.
‘Not really, I’ll be finished here in half an hour. Like you, I just
wanted to tie up some loose ends.’ He paused realizing the similarity
of their excuses. ‘It’s like a bug this place you know David, it won’t let
you go and what’s more you don’t want it to. It’s very exciting work,
but deep down you know that rest and relaxation is needed, to recharge
the batteries and clear the mind.’
‘I know exactly what you mean Phillip.’ He said as he gulped a mouthful of hot tea.
‘Ah! That’s good.’ They said in unison, unaware of each others mimicry.
Phillip thought about his own logic as he stared thoughtfully into the swirling depths of his brew.
27
‘What the hell, there is nothing more I can do here now, that I can’t do tomorrow. I think I’ll be off David. I promised I would take Mary to see the sun temple at Abu Gurab this morning. She will be pleased if I come back for breakfast on time for once.’ With that Dr Phillip Davis packed a few papers into his brown leather briefcase and forgetting his oil lamp, strode into the darkness of the catacombs. Almost immediately he appeared back at the chamber entrance, grinned and held out his hand. Jefferson anticipating his immediate return passed him an oil lamp.
‘I think you’ll need this Phillip?’
Davis grabbed the lamp and bowed an exit in acknowledgment of his
muzzy hotheadedness.
Jefferson went and sat down at Davis’ desk. He smiled to himself as
he took another sip of his tea, thankful that his colleague had left
without having to make any excuses to get rid of him. Jefferson
poured down the last dregs and removed his ornate gold fob watch
from his brown leather waist coat pocket. He flicked open the
engraved lid admiring the watch face artwork of pearl and ruby. A
treasured family heirloom, given to him by his father just before he
died, and which one day he would pass on to his son. Jefferson untied
the red polka dotted neckerchief from around his neck and reverently
polished the watch glass. He thought about his son, Alexander, how he
wished he was there to share in the excitement of his discovery and
particularly with his latest find, the possibility of finding an intact tomb.
The crimson jeweled dials red 7.30 am.
‘Oh, Alexander,’ he sighed as he stared glassy eyed at the face of his
father’s watch, ‘one day,’ he thought, ‘his son would finally be with
him, working, at his side, like he and his father once did.’ He sat deep
in thought for how long he couldn’t remember, thinking about the
times they had spent together exploring Egypt, when his son was but a
young boy and was just as excited about Egyptology as his mother and
father, now she had passed away and life had taken Alexander on a
different course. Finally, to his melancholy spirit came the rescue of
the distinct patter of Magdi’s sandled feet upon the alabaster paving.
28
In the distance he could hear him whistling the little tune he tended to
whistle, whenever he navigated the dark catacombs on his own, ‘Rule
Britannia.’ Jefferson stood to attention and threw off his melancholy
mood and strode purposefully towards the exit doorway.
‘Right on time Magdi!’ he shouted, did you bring the equipment?’
West Catacomb-10 appeared like any of the others except for its slight
change in angle two thirds along its length. Working in the soft
flickering light of an oil lamp Jefferson ran his stubby fingers across the
smooth plaster of the wall to locate the exact point where the
passageway diverged from its true line of sight. ‘I think this is it Magdi,
we’ll start here. If the ancient tomb masons were cutting this catacomb
chamber like the rest, then it should have gone directly on from here
another one hundred meters or so.’ Together they lugged the empty
wooden artefact storage boxes stacked against the wall at the apex of
the turn and dumped them neatly to one side. Having been cleared of
any rubble, artefacts and ancient papyri, West Catacomb-10 and its
subsidiary chambers were used for storing supplies and equipment used
by the archaeology team.
Jefferson dropped to his knees at the base of the wall eager to test his
theory. ‘Pass me that hammer and chisel would you Magdi?’ he said
pointing to a blue enameled tool box. Magdi rummaged through the
box with his long bony hands and passed Jefferson a heavy steel
hammer and a masonry chisel, the chisel was blunted at its tip from its
excessive use on hard stone. Just to the right of the point where the
chamber changed direction Jefferson held the steel blade of the chisel
against the wall and raised the hammer to strike. ‘If I’m wrong Magdi,
then behind the plaster will be solid limestone rock, but if I’m right…?’
He gripped the chisel tight with his left hand, took a deep breath and
brought the hammer down hard and square onto the flattened head of
the chisel. The ding of steel on steel echoed down the catacombs like
the clash of a drummer’s high hat cymbal and with the single hit of the
29
hammer, a flake of plaster the size of a large dinner plate fell to the
alabaster floor and promptly crumbled into powder. To his immediate
surprise and delight what he saw was the blocking of an ancient mud-
brick wall. ‘Yes!’ Jefferson cried, ‘Manetho was right!’ he said turning
to stare wide eyed at Magdi, ‘This is a false wall. He rubbed away the
dust from the ancient brick. ‘This must be where the original tunnel
was diverted after the tomb masons accidentally broke in to
Wenemnefer’s tomb.’ This time to dull the sound, Jefferson wrapped
an old leather glove around the head of the chisel and started to
hammer away at the plaster. After only minutes he had already cut
away a metre square of plaster at the base of the wall. Magdi shovelled
the powdery rubble into an empty storage box.
The brown mud and straw blocks of the false wall were firmly
cemented in place by a crumbly pink mortar, the ancient Egyptian mix
of plant gum and gypsum. Eager to get through they set to work at
removing the mud bricks and soon made a square hole at the base of
the wall big enough to crawl through. The smell of stale air and rot
filled his nostrils as he worked at levering the mud bricks away bare
handed. Many of them crumbled in his hands as he pulled them from
the mortar. Jefferson marveled at the sight of the strands of straw
mixed in with the dried brown Nile mud, four and a half thousand
years ago some unknown field peasant cut the straw while another
mixed it with Nile mud for molding into wooden frames, the same way
as they do today. ‘Pass me that oil lamp, Magdi.’ With lamp in hand
Jefferson immediately crawled through the hole into the darkness of
the secret chamber. The air inside was dry and musty and there was
little room to maneuver. He struck the flint of the lamp and turned up
the wick.
Unable to contain his curiosity Magdi straightaway pushed his head
through the hole as Jefferson slowly rose to his feet. Jefferson held the
lamp up high and strained his eyes to see what the light of the oil lamp
revealed.
30
His heart pounded with excitement in vain, for to his disappointment,
the chamber was filled with limestone rubble, standing waist high
across the whole width and length of the passage.
‘Can you see anything beyond the rubble Dr Jefferson?’ Magdi asked
still half way through the hole.
‘The whole passage is blocked. As far as I can make out it goes on
much the same for some twenty meters or more.’ The far reaches of
the chamber stood in dark shadow. Magdi crawled in to the confined
space between the wall and the rubble and stood at his side. Jefferson
then took out a small pocket torch from his waist coat pocket and
trained the beam down the chamber. ‘This chamber was probably used
by the ancient workmen to dispose of limestone chip as they worked
on down through the catacombs. You can see at the end,’ Jefferson
pointed to the place where the flat smooth walls of the chamber turned
to rough undressed stone, ‘where the tomb masons, responsible for
finishing the walls for plastering, must have downed tools. If they did
accidentally break into Wenemnefer’s tomb then the breach is going to
be somewhere down there near the end of the chamber, beneath all
that rubble.’ Magdi sighed knowing what was coming next. ‘We will
have to clear it all out.’
The rest of the day was spent in back breaking work. Clearing the
rubble in the hot and airless confines of the chamber with the fine
white limestone dust irritating the air ways of nose and throat, which
turned into pink mud in the sweat of their bodies, was an exhausting
task. Jefferson took off his sweat sodden khaki shirt and rubbed his
aching back before shoveling another load of rubble out to Magdi
through the hole at the base of the wall. Magdi worked hard and fast,
quickly clearing the rubble into empty crates and stacking them when
full into one of the subsidiary chambers. By mid evening they had
cleared a two metre gap twenty feet along the southern wall of the
secret chamber. Exhausted and needing rest and sustenance, Jefferson
31
scrambled back through the hole and sat down heavily on one of the
rubble filled crates, with his red neckerchief he wiped the sweat and
mud from his blood red face and streaming eyes. His fifty eight years
of age was telling on him most severely. Magdi sat opposite, likewise
exhausted and pulled up his dusty blue galabaya around his knees and
rested his head in his hands.
Even though every muscle in Jefferson’s ageing body ached, he felt
the sense of satisfaction that comes with purposeful hard labour. With
his head down low he rested his elbows on his legs and stared
hypnotically at his sore and blistered hands. ‘I hope all this effort is not
in vain Magdi, so far nothing but solid rock walls.’ Sifty was too tired
to answer.
After a refreshing twenty minute break, eating cucumber sandwiches
and cold lemon juice from the cool box which Mrs. Williams, his house
keeper, had prepared, Jefferson forced himself to his feet and
scrambled back inside the chamber. He had only cleared another metre
of rubble, when a heavy swing of his pick axe revealed what he had
been hoping for.
‘Magdi, get in here will you. I think I have found something.’ Magdi
breathed a huge sigh of relief and crawled back in to the chamber. ‘See
there Magdi,’ he said pointing to a smooth white patch on the cleared
wall at chest height. ‘It looks like this part of the rock wall has been
plastered.’ He took a pen knife from his pocket and scratched its
surface, the point of the blade cut easily into the white powdery
material. ‘Its plaster all right,’ he said as he ran his hands over its
powdery surface. The patch of plaster smoothed level with the
chiselled rock face was about the size of a small table top. ‘Just think
Magdi, on the other side of this wall could be Wenemnefer’s tomb.’
Their hearts lifted, captivated by the thought. ‘Come on, let’s get to
work.’ Jefferson grabbed the hammer and chisel and poised himself to
strike the plaster.
32
‘This one is for my many years of dreaming about the glories of
ancient Egypt, and for my son, Alexander, god, how I wish he was
here.’ The anticipation on Magdi’s face lit up the chamber like the oil
lamp he was holding. With a single blow of the hammer the chisel cut
deep into the plaster bringing it down in one lump. The large inch
thick slab crashed to the alabaster floor and shattered into a thousand
pieces, exposing an infilling of ancient mud brick.
‘Yes!’ Jefferson shouted. ‘This is where the ancient stone cutters
must have accidentally broke into the tomb of Wenemnefer.’ Without
hesitating Jefferson chiselled away frantically like a dog scratching the
ground for a buried bone. In no time he had created a half finger deep
groove around one of the time hardened mud bricks and then gave the
chisel a hard strike with the hammer. The blow broke a small hole
through the ancient false wall immediately releasing a gust of ancient
aromatic air.
‘Can you smell that? It’s Cedar wood!’ He said, his heart pounding
wildly.
‘Yes Dr Jefferson, it smells good.’ Magdi crept closer.
Jefferson wiped the sweat from his brow with his bare arms, pushed
his hand into the narrow gap and then curled his fingers around the
interior sharp edge.
‘Ah! I have it.’ He said with a boyish grin. He positioned himself
firmly with his free hand against the wall ready to give the stone a hard
yank. ‘Here goes!’ He said mustering his strength to pull, when
suddenly a gust of air howled loudly through the catacombs.
‘What was that?’ Jefferson whispered releasing his grip.
‘Maybe it’s a warning Dr Jefferson.’
‘Maybe,’ he said regaining his grip.
Ignoring superstition, he heaved heavily on the aged mud brick and
pulled it clean from its four and a half thousand year old cement. The
quarry fell to the paved floor, just missing Magdi’s bare feet. As it
struck a knife sharp shard hit Magdi’s ankle and grazed it to bleeding.
33
He yelped with the pain of stone on flesh and danced around holding
his foot with one hand and the lamp with the other like an Indian
medicine man around a camp fire.
‘Sorry Magdi,’ Jefferson sniggered guiltily taking the oil lamp from
him and placing it safely on the stack of rubble. Impatient, he ignored
his friend’s misfortune and took the torch from his pocket and shone it
through the gap in the wall. He played the beam around into the dark
reaches of the secret chamber and strained to see what had been sealed
away from mankind’s prying eyes for millennia.
What he saw did not disappoint, he could not believe his own eyes or
fortune. Everywhere under the light of his trained torch beam came
back the glint of gold.
Impatient to explore the contents of the discovered tomb, Jefferson
and Magdi hastily removed the rest of the stone blocking used by the
ancient tomb cutters to reseal the accidental breach made into the
tomb. Jefferson was the first to climb through while Magdi stood by
holding the two lamps. The air inside the chamber was saturated with
the sweet and aromatic smell of cedar wood oil, lotus blossom and a
myriad of other exotic plant oils. Jefferson stood carefully amidst the
gold treasures panning the torch beam around what seemed to be a
small vestibule of the tomb which linked via an open doorway to a
larger antechamber. Magdi clambered up and pivoted himself on the
wall breach with the two oil lamps held high.
‘It’s wonderful, just bloody wonderful!’ Jefferson chirped in awe of
the breathtaking array of gold and jeweled contents of the beautifully
decorated chamber. He shook his head in disbelief at the wealth and
splendor of what they had uncovered, the contents of this one small
room alone was priceless. Magdi hung there, his mouth wide open
marveling at the sight of the wondrous gold treasures sealed up
thousands of years ago by his ancestors. Jefferson broke the silence.
‘It seems to be completely intact Magdi. The ancient tomb cutters,
34
who accidentally broke in here, have left it undisturbed. Every object
still placed exactly as they were laid over four thousand years ago.’
His eye caught sight of a tall blue faience vase which stood atop of a
gilded wooden table. ‘Look at that Magdi, there are still finger prints
on the side of that vase, probably made by one of Wenemnefer’s
servants just before they sealed the tomb of his dead master. You can
almost hear the dying echoes of his wailing funeral procession.’
Jefferson turned to see his friend hesitant to enter the tomb. ‘Come on
in Magdi. Come on, you’ll be okay, I promise.’
‘I want to Dr Jefferson, I really want to, but I am afraid. It’s bad luck
to disturb a tomb of the dead. I don’t want a curse on me and my
family.’
‘Don’t be silly, Magdi, remember what your ancestors believed about
the afterlife? It was the duty of the offspring to honor and remember
the deceased, to make their name known is to give them immortality
and by our discovery, Wenemnefer’s name will be remembered.’
‘You are right I suppose Dr Jefferson, Wenemnefer will certainly be
famous and have much immortality when we tell everybody about our
discovery.’ With new courage Magdi handed the lamps to Jefferson,
lifted his galabaya and clambered in.
‘Be careful where you step, we don’t want to disturb or damage
anything.’ He said as he passed one of the lamps back to Magdi.
‘I will Dr Jefferson. I will be very careful.’ He said tip toeing carefully
around the room between the numerous artifacts in his bare feet.
The small vestibule was filled with a breathtaking number of ebony
and ivory storage boxes, decorated with intricately engraved gold plate
and inlaid jewels of a spectrum of colours. Clearly inscribed upon each
chest with inlaid gold were the titles and name of the reigning pharaoh.
Jefferson knelt down to read the hieroglyphs written on one of the
panels of a small gold chest.
‘Wenemnefer, King’s Great Royal Scribe,
35
under the reign of the Lord of the Two Lands, Netjerikhet.’
Netjerikhet’s name was enclosed within the familiar cartouche, the
magic shenw ring symbolizing eternal protection for the king. Carefully
maintaining his balance he rose to his feet between the boxes, ‘It’s the
tomb of Wenemnefer all right Magdi. No doubt about it, Manetho was
justified in recording the priest’s account of this place.’ He looked
around the room and hesitated not knowing where to go next. One
piece caught his eye, a waist high gaming table. He recognized it as the
ancient game of senet, a game played by the royalty of ancient Egypt, in
this life and the next. The beautifully carved table was constructed of
black polished ebony wood inlaid with ivory and gold. The legs of the
board were in the form of the legs of the jackal god, Anubis and were
fixed upon wooden sledge feet. The fourteen gaming pieces, seven of
ivory and seven of ebony were in the shapes of cones and spindles, and
were still in their last played position upon the squared board.
Jefferson read the inscription written in gold leaf along its side. After
the cartouche of the pharaoh Netjerikhet followed the words:
‘King’s Great Royal Scribe, His Beloved, of His body, Son of Ra, Wenemnefer,
True of Voice.’
Jefferson was astonished by the implication of the inscription. ‘You
know what this means Magdi, the words …of His body, Son of Ra?’
‘Yes Dr Jefferson, I remember you telling me, it means that he was
the son of a king, a prince.’
‘That’s right, from this inscription and others it seems our Great
Royal Scribe, Wenemnefer, was none other than the son of a pharaoh.
The son of the pharaoh of the Step Pyramid here at Saqqara, the son of
Netjerikhet. He would have been heir to the throne of all Egypt, but
history records that the next pharaoh after Netjerikhet, was a king
called, Sekhemkhet, who was probably Wenemnefer’s eldest brother.’
36
Excited with this new discovery, they proceeded into the large
antechamber through a small open doorway, wondering what other
marvels they might find.
The next room was much larger and was crammed wall to wall with
more personal possessions of Wenemnefer, which included weapons,
furniture, unguent jars, chests of clothes, jewellery, and cosmetics.
Most of these possessions he would have used during his life, while
some were gifts, offered to the deceased by friends and royalty for his
journey in the afterlife.
Many sealed alabaster unguent jars littered the floor space. One
beautiful piece caught Jefferson’s eye. He lifted it slowly by its two
handles which were formed in the shape of budding papyrus stems.
The bulb of the heavy jar was engraved with his name and the type of
aromatic oil inside. The pointed lid was sealed with red wax with an
imprint of the owners mark, the cartouche of the king. He moved
cautiously between the many beautiful treasures onwards to one of the
stacked storage boxes along the south wall. He lifted its ornately
decorated gilded lid to find inside what was probably Wenemnefer’s
personal jewellery. He carefully lifted one piece, a pectoral necklace of
gold beads with a central design of the vulture goddess Nekhbet with
her wings outstretched, in her claws she clutched the eternal shenw ring
and the ankh, symbolising her power as the giver of eternal life. Her
colourful feathers were made of the semi-precious stones of deep blue
lapis, fiery red carnelian, green faience, sky blue turquoise and black
obsidian and were set in gold weave. Jefferson was speechless; the sale
of this one item alone would enable him to recuperate the cost of
personally financing the dig at Saqqara.
In the north-west corner of the antechamber stood three of
Wenemnefer’s wooden bows, the centre of the shafts were bound with
gold cord forming the archer’s grip. At the base of the bows rested
Wenemnefer’s decorated leather quiver weaved together with gold
thread and filled with long shafted arrows, with their white flight
37
feathers of ostrich flume still intact. To the right of the his bows stood
eight copper headed spears of a variety of lengths and weights, these he
would have used for spearing fish while balancing on a small papyrus
boat or in the kill of a Nile hippopotamus. On top of an engraved
wooden chest decorated with scenes showing him fowling in the reed
beds were wooden throwing sticks, each bearing his name and titles.
On every side the white washed walls of the tomb were beautifully
painted in the base ocher colours of red, green, blue and yellow and
with each figure outlined in lamp black. Amidst the rows of painted
hieroglyphic texts were scenes of the deceased, Wenemnefer, being
presented in turn by Anubis to the many gods and goddesses of ancient
Egypt, including Maat, the winged goddess of Truth, Order and Justice
and the daughter of Ra, Isis the beautiful, mother of Horus and wife of
Osiris, Atum the first god who rose out of the Waters of Chaos and
brought order to the universe, Ptah the Creator god and god of the
Night, Ra-Horakhety, the ram headed Knum an alias of Ra and finally
Osiris, the god of the Underworld. One scene in particular Jefferson
deduced would have been particularly personal to the scribe,
Wenemnefer’s appearance before Djhwty, Thoth, the god of writing
and patron deity of the scribe. According to Egyptian mythology it
was Djhwty who gave the ancient Egyptians the ability to read and
write. The hieroglyphs were the medew netjer, the divine words of the
god Thoth.
Djhwty was depicted seated upon a Semaa throne, the legs of which
were carved into the two symbols of Upper and Lower Egypt, the lotus
and the papyrus reed entwined around a central image of lungs and
wind pipe, showing the unity of the Two Lands. Djhwty held in his
hand the Was scepter of Power and the Ankh of Life, and he stood
poised ready to bestow eternal power and life to his servant
Wenemnefer who was kneeled before him. Between the two was
painted a wooden gilded stand containing the scribal reed pen and
palette, a gift from Djhwty for Wenemnefer to enable him to read and
38
write in the afterlife. Intrigued by what Wenemnefer was holding in his
hand, Jefferson edged carefully closer.
‘What have you seen Dr Jefferson?’
‘I’m not sure Magdi; I’ve never seen this before. The scribe is holding
something in his hands, an offering to the god. The problem is that
the artwork is faded and some of the plaster is missing.’ Jefferson
unbuttoned the top right pocket on his khaki waistcoat and pulled out
a magnifying glass. He held it up to the wall and squinted at the faded
depiction of the mysterious object. ‘It’s difficult to tell what it is, but
by the colour and shape it appears to be a gold cylinder inscribed with
hieroglyphs, but they are too faint to read.’
He stepped back and rubbed the stubble of his chin scrutinizing the
image of the kneeling scribe. ‘What are you offering to your god
Wenemnefer?’ he pondered. He turned to Magdi. ‘You know Magdi,
this is so unusual. Something strange is going on here. It’s not
conventional in Egyptian art to have the deceased make an offering like
this to Djhwty. What the hell is he holding?’
‘Perhaps it’s a gold reed pen holder, Dr Jefferson?’
‘You may be right, but it doesn’t make much sense and there’s no
reference to it in the hieroglyphs above, just the usual chapter of text
from the Book of the Dead.’ Jefferson was intrigued by the enigma, he
instinctively knew it was something significant, but its meaning eluded
him. ‘Do you have a handkerchief, preferably a clean one?’ Magdi
reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of white tissues, bought
on the streets of Cairo from one of the many begging children.
‘Just this, Dr Jefferson.’ He said handing him a tissue. Without taking
his eyes off the painting, Jefferson grabbed the tissue and moistened it
with a little spittle. He gently dabbed the wall to bring the colours back
to life and studied it again.
‘Only one word is readable Magdi and part of that is missing. The
first glyph appears to be a stick, reading Medew. The next two glyphs
are unreadable and the last two is a coil of rope and a small domed loaf
39
of bread, the letter w and t, giving the word a plural feminine ending.
Reading, Medew, something, something wt. Jefferson wet the tissue
again and dabbed the surface a second time. He squinted hard through
the magnifying glass. In his mind he ran through the possible shapes
of glyphs that would match. ‘The end of the third letter, may be a snake
or a horned viper, the sounds dj or ef and the beginning of the fourth
letter, perhaps an arm, giving the letter a.’
‘What does it mean Dr Jefferson?’
Jefferson scratched his head. ‘What it means Magdi is that I haven’t
got a bloody clue what the hell it is.’ They both laughed, from the
excitement and humor of the situation. As Jefferson tried to regain his
composure a possible meaning for the group of hieroglyphs came to
him. ‘Wait! …Wait a minute Magdi…..I think I know what it might
be.’ Jefferson said trying hard not to laugh. He waved his right hand
to signal Magdi to listen. ‘Shush! Wait a minute. Listen.... Listen,’ He
said giggling. ‘If you ignore, the viper, the effing horned viper, then….’
It was enough to set them off again.
With their ribs aching they finally came round to an air of seriousness.
Jefferson patted Magdi on the back. ‘Come on Magdi, let’s get on with
this.’ He said returning to the problem in hand. He adopted a serious
tone. ‘Now!’ He said, taking a deep breath, ‘Joking apart, without the
eff glyph, I believe the word becomes, Medwdjawt. The root of the word
is clear, Medew which means words to be spoken, but the meaning of
the word as a whole eludes me. Let’s forget about it for now, and see
what other surprises Wenemnefer has in store for us.’
They crept through the rich deposit of treasures towards the original
tomb entrance on the south side of the antechamber. The entrance
corridor ran horizontally for a few meters before coming to a mud
brick sealing wall the other side of which was probably, by tradition,
filled with rubble. Jefferson wondered where the original tomb
entrance came out on the escarpment above.
40
The rectangular antechamber faced in an east-west direction. On the
south side lay seven tall fluted clay wine jars, capped and sealed with
the cartouche of the king. The date on the wine dockets gave the years
of vintage, ranging from the seventh regnal year of the king
Netjerikhet, to the nineteenth. ‘The last date on this wine seal Magdi
suggests that Wenemnefer died less than one year, before his father,
who reigned for nineteen years, which means that Wenemnefer was
only at most, eighteen years old when he died.’ On the west wall stood
the stepped entrance to the burial chamber and either side of this stood
two gilded black ebony kha statues of Wenemnefer, carved in the
striding position with left leg forward, the statues were meant to serve
as secondary resting places for the wandering kha soul of the deceased,
his mummified body being the soul’s primary resting place. Each one
stood life sized and bore the living image of Wenemnefer as a young
man wearing only a kilt, his royal jewellery and papyrus sandals. The
statues were mounted upon miniature papyrus reed boats and in his
right hand Wenemnefer held the Sekhem scepter, the symbol of power
and authority and high position in pharaoh’s court and in his left hand
a sealed papyrus scroll. Around his neck and bare chest was painted a
jewelled pectoral necklace. The two statues provided the dualistic
symmetry found in much of ancient Egyptian art and symbolized the
unity between Upper and Lower Egypt.
Jefferson came up close to inspect the ancient scribe’s face. His
carved wooden statue depicted Wenemnefer in his prime, his face was
round and tanned and his lips full. He stared inquisitively into his
glazed and piercing inlaid eyes made of black obsidian and white rock
crystal. ‘What do you know Wenemnefer?’ He said wondering what
secrets may be uncovered by inspection of the contents of the tomb or
lost forever. It was an unnerving thing to stare into the soul eyes of the
deceased scribe. Jefferson shuddered at the thought and stepped to
one side, passing between the pair of kha statues to enter the
descending stairway.
41
The rock cut steps descended deep into the bedrock at an angle of
twenty six degrees, and pointed northwards at the same angle as the
Earth’s axis inclined in 2645 BC allowing Wenemnefer’s glorified spirit,
his Akh to ascend to the imperishable polar stars, the ones which never
set below the horizon. On his way down he counted forty two steps, a
significant number in ancient Egyptian mythology - forty two being the
number of ruling deities in the Judgement Hall of Osiris. Either side of
the descending passageway were painted scenes from the Book of the
Dead, including images of the mystical Apep serpent, the evil god of
the Underworld, the enemy of Ra, and images of Osiris, and the
goddesses Isis and Nephthys. The lintel over the tomb entrance
depicted the goddess Maat, painted with outstretched wings,
symbolising an act of protection over the burial chamber. He read the
hieroglyphic inscription.
‘Maat, daughter of Ra, Protector of the Great Royal Scribe, Son of Ra,
Wenemnefer, True of Voice.’
It was a mistake for Jefferson to have read the inscription out loud. ‘I
not go any further Dr Jefferson. I go back.’ Magdi said with obvious
fear in his eyes and step.
‘It’s okay Magdi, the inscription is not a curse, but a wish for
protection.’ Magdi saw this as one and the same thing and refused to
go any further, his superstitious beliefs ran deep and so he turned and
left, taking three steps at a time with his galabaya raised to his knees.
Jefferson shook his head and pressed on through the passageway. The
long corridor ran horizontally southwards into the dark interior of the
tomb, but in excitement to reach the burial chamber his carelessness
caught him out. He suddenly found himself falling headlong into the
darkness of a deep pit and before he had time to consider his fate he
struck the hard rock floor. The oil lamp crashed at his side and
plunged the pit into lamp black darkness.
42
A few minutes later he came round, his head rang like the bells of a
Sunday morning call to church and his whole body ached with pain,
groaning in the darkness, he finally summoned the strength to lift the
dead weight of his bruised body to lean against the rocky wall of the
pit. Under his breath he mouthed obscenities chastising himself for his
stupidity. How could he, of all people, forget about the possibility of
the ancient stone cutters carving out a protective mythological pit on
route to the burial chamber?
In agony, Jefferson lifted his cut and bleeding hands and cupped
them around his mouth to shout. ‘Magdi, get down here, and now!’ He
yelled as hard as his pained ribs allowed. Only the ringing in his ears
broke the silent reply. ‘Where the hell is that idiot?’ he muttered, trying
to move into a more comfortable position. He took a deep breath and
yelled again. ‘Magdi can you hear me?’ There was still no reply.
Gradually the feeling came back into his legs and arms, but his head
still throbbed and a trickle of warm blood ran down from his forehead
where his head had grazed the ground. With his hands still shaking he
untied his neckerchief and wiped the blood and sweat from his face.
Not knowing how long it would be before Magdi realised his fate he
crawled around the stone floor searching for the oil lamp. ‘Ah!’ He
said with relief in his voice. He lifted himself to his feet, lit the lamp
with the inbuilt flint and turned up its wick. Wanting to see exactly
how far he had fallen he raised the lamp and peered upwards only to be
faced with the frightening image of a giant fanged serpent high above
his head, startled, he dropped the lamp to the floor plunging the pit
back into darkness again. ‘Blast, dam and blast, you stupid fool,
Jefferson, get a grip.’ He scrambled around in the darkness for the
lamp and lit it again. ‘Magdi!’ He yelled upwards. ‘If you don’t get
yourself down here, I’ll f…’ At that moment Magdi appeared at the
top of the shaft.
‘Yes, Dr Jefferson? Need any help?’ He said leaning over with a grin
on his face.
43
‘Don’t say it! Don’t say a word, Magdi, or believe me, I’ll…just go
back and get a rope, oh and a long plank!’ Magdi sniggered to himself
and disappeared down the passageway.
On his return, he dropped a rope and wrapped it around his waist and
shoulder, while Jefferson tied it around himself. Magdi used all the
strength he could muster in his sinuous little body to slowly lift poor
old Dr Jefferson’s twelve stone dead weight out of the pit. It was more
than a struggle and a few times Magdi had to give up and lower him
back into the pit. ‘It’s no good …Dr Jefferson; we must go …and get
help.’ He yelled gasping for breath.
‘Rest a rest a minute Magdi and we will try one last time.’
‘Okay Dr Jefferson, I rest a bit.’ They both dropped to the floor
exhausted, Magdi with his efforts and Jefferson with the pains and
aches of his bruised body.
‘It would be a disaster,’ he thought if Magdi had to go and get help,
breaking into an intact tomb without the authorities permission would
land them both in big trouble, no matter how many friends in
government. Jefferson struggled to his feet and yanked on the rope.
‘Okay Magdi, let’s try again and give it all you’ve got!’ Magdi
wondered if there was any point since they had already failed, and now
he was exhausted.
‘Okay Dr Jefferson, I will try my best.’
Together, they summoned deep reserves and pulled and climbed
through the pain and the exhaustion until Jefferson was inches away
from grabbing the edge of the rock, Jefferson nodded to Magdi and
with one last mighty heave he grabbed a firm hold and lifted his body
over the ledge to lie exhausted. Magdi slumped to the floor and gave a
huge sigh of relief..
Once assured that the Dr Jefferson was strong enough to go on by
himself deeper into the tomb, Magdi left him there and returned to the
anti-chamber. Jefferson dropped the plank over the pit and balanced
44
his way across. On either side of the leading corridor were three pairs
of small storage chambers, each one rich with enough gold artifacts to
satisfy any man’s desire for fortune and glory. Taking it steady this
time Jefferson pressed on deeper into the tomb, breathing heavily in its
thin air. After some thirty meters there stood another doorway, the
entrance to the burial chamber, his heart was in his mouth with
anticipation. He stepped reverently inside and panned the torch
around the chamber. He could hardly believe its magnificence as his
blood shot eyes fed on the marvelous sight before him.
The burial chamber was large, some twelve meters by ten, with a star
studded ceiling supported by four beautifully painted solid rock Djed
pillars and like the other chambers it was full with Wenemnefer’s
priceless possessions. Gilded boxes, of clothes and jewellery, kha
statues, weapons, and ornate furniture, including three low lying
wooden beds beautifully gilded and inscribed and wonderfully jewelled
chairs and stools. Immediately in front of him, stood a white alabaster
canopic chest containing the mummified internal organs of
Wenemnefer. Seated recumbent as its lid was a black diorite statue of
Anubis, the jackal god of embalming. The claws of its spindly legs
were gilded with gold, as were the eyes and inner parts of its pointed
upright ears and around the jackal’s neck was slung a sash of red fine
weave linen, the sash of Osiris. It sat staring with its gold lined
slanting eyes directly at Jefferson daring him to approach. Jefferson
was not a superstitious man, but still the sight of the jackal sent a shiver
down his spine. On all four walls were painted scenes from the Book
of the Dead, the Book of Gates and the Book of Portals, mythological
passageways through the underworld. He stepped towards the centre
of the chamber until the lamp light fell upon the centrally placed yellow
quartzite sarcophagus.
He gasped at the sight. Carved in raised relief the sarcophagus was a
work of supreme art and as pristine as the day it was cut. On each
corner was carved the goddesses, Isis, Nephthys, Serket and Selkis with
45
outstretched wings, each in an act of protection. The sarcophagus lid
was cut from a single block of quartzite covering what he hoped was
the mummified body of the Great Royal Scribe, Wenemnefer. He
approached it with reverence drawing closer until he was in reach to
draw his hand across its white polished surface. ‘Are you in there?’ he
thought as he remembered the face of Wenemnefer on the kha statue
above. He was at the pinnacle of a dream; the priceless treasures in the
tomb, for an Egyptologist could only be surpassed by the intact burial
of its owner.
He stood in awe, savoring the moment and the privileged position of
being the first person for millennia to gaze upon its incredible beauty.
Without Magdi’s help he could not shift the heavy stone lid and so he
returned to the burial chamber entrance, cupped his hands and shouted
back up the passageway. ‘Magdi, get down here. I need your help.’
While he waited for Magdi's return he examined the niches cut into the
four walls. Each one contained a magical brick for the deceased; the
significance of which was still a mystery. It was possible, Jefferson
thought, that each brick placed north, east, south and west, represented
a foundation for the deceased’s house in the afterlife. Each one was
inscribed with Wenemnefer’s name and its orientation. Finally he
heard the sound of Magdi’s steps echoing through the corridors, the
flip flop of his sandals was highly recognizable.
Jefferson sniggered to himself at its comforting comical sound; Magdi
was a good friend, someone who he would trust with his life. Magdi
finally appeared at the entrance of the burial chamber fearful to enter,
but in awe of the wealth of its contents. ‘Come on in Magdi,’ Jefferson
summoned, waving his hand, ‘it’s perfectly safe.’ Magdi was a little
hesitant, but took encouragement from Jefferson’s words, and so
removed his sandals out of respect for the house of the deceased and
walked silently into the burial chamber.
46
‘Sorry Dr Jefferson. I know I am very foolish, but I do not like
disturbing the dead.’
‘It’s okay Magdi, I understand, but I need help moving this
sarcophagus lid?’
Using hammer and screwdriver, they soon managed to lever the
heavy alabaster lid over enough to grip with their hands. One working
on each end, they heaved the lid clockwise just enough to leave a gap.
The emerging smell of aromatic oils and bitumen was encouraging.
Jefferson held his breath as he shone his torch through the gap and
together they peered inside. Their perspiring faces were illuminated
with the reflected light of gold; it was the gilded coffin of Wenemnefer.
‘It’s beautiful Magdi, a pure work of artistic skill.’
‘Yes, it is, it’s wonderful Dr Jefferson, absolutely wonderful.’
The gilded coffin was sealed tight with amber plant resin darkened
and hardened brittle by the passage of time, giving Jefferson the
satisfaction of knowing that Wenemnefer’s mummified body was still
intact. It would take many hours of careful painstaking work to chip
and melt away the resin; this work could be done after the official
opening of the tomb. The face of Wenemnefer had the same
appearance of youth as on his kha statues in the upper chamber. His
gilded face was polished smooth and his obsidian and rock crystal eyes
looked upwards transfixed on the yellow star studded vaulted ceiling.
Jefferson shone his torch deeper inside to view the length of his
jewelled coffin, the glint of a small gold object resting on the coffin
caught his eye.
‘There’s something placed on the coffin Magdi,’ he said handing him
the torch. Jefferson rolled up his sleeve and reached inside. He
wrapped his fingers around it, recognizing the touch of chain. He
pulled it out into the light. It was a small gold pendant. Attached to
the fine gold chain was a solid gold sun disk embedded with blue
turquoise, the perimeter gold was finely engraved with a hieroglyphic
inscription. ‘Wenemnefer, Guardian of the Gate of Hathor.’ Jefferson
47
looked pleased, yet a little puzzled. ‘That’s a strange title Magdi; I have
never seen that before, fascinating!’ After allowing Magdi time to
examine it, he took it back and then to Magdi’s surprise, dropped the
pendant into his waistcoat pocket.
They remained in the tomb till the late hours examining the many gold
and jewelled personal possessions of Wenemnefer. ‘It’s time we got
back to the surface Magdi,’ Jefferson said examining his watch. Now
the existence of the tomb had been confirmed and knowing that the
burial was intact, he would go to the Egyptian authorities and make the
claim public. ‘We’ll have to back track our steps and cover up any
signs of our presence down here.’ This would not be easy, but he knew
it was not impossible; after all, it had been done once before by an
Egyptologist in the nineteen twenties.
They heaved the heavy quartzite lid back over Wenemnefer’s
sarcophagus and were about to return to the ante-chamber when Magdi
spotted something in the corner of his eye. He tapped Jefferson on the
shoulder and pointed to the base of the southern wall. ‘What is that
over there Dr Jefferson?’
‘Where Magdi, I don’t see anything I haven’t seen already?’
‘Behind that gold shield and fixed to the wall!’ The shield stood next
to an engraved red sandstone statue of the deceased. Before moving
the shield Jefferson took a moment to examine its artwork, it was
gilded bronze, hammered into the shape of an elongated shenew ring
with a central register of Wenemnefer drawing his bow. Under his feet
lay a group of terrified and bearded Asiatic warriors. The bottom
register was inscribed with his name and titles and a brief account of
his victory. He lifted the heavy shield away to see a square gold plate
nailed to the wall. It was about twenty centimeters square and
inscribed with two lines of hieroglyphic text.
48
‘Well spotted Magdi.’ He said pondering on its significance. ‘Now
this is unusual,’ he said taking his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe
the fine dust from its surface. He read the hieroglyphs:
‘I am Haat and Heh,
the Sacred Knot of the Shenew.
When I am Temu, I am Was and I am Khwy’
‘Now we have a real mystery Magdi!’
‘What does it mean Dr Jefferson?
‘I am not sure, but I’ll give you the full translation.
I am First and Last,
the Sacred Knot of the Eternal Ring,
When I am Complete, I am Power and I am Protector.’
Jefferson stood up and scratched his head. ‘I have never seen any
thing like this before,’ He took his handkerchief to the sweat on his
forehead and wiped his hands puzzling over the strange artefact.
‘Wenemnefer had this gold plate put here for a reason, but for what
purpose, and why is it written in the first person? Is he actually
referring to himself in the inscription? It just doesn’t make sense.’
He thought about a similar mystery, the magical bricks, and then it
came to him. ‘Niches, that’s it Magdi, the gold plate is not referring to
itself or Wenemnefer, but what lies behind it!’ Jefferson immediately
dropped to his knees and pulled out a penknife. The gold plate was
pinned to the wall by four gold nails, one in each corner and with the
skill of a surgeon he gently levered the plate until the whole thing came
away in his hands. ‘Ah, see a niche!’ Handing the gold plate and nails
to Magdi he reached inside. ‘There’s something in here Magdi,
something solid and whatever it is, it is very heavy. If I can just get my
fingers around it, ah, I’ve got it.’ Jefferson gently pulled the artefact
49
clear and held it up in his hands. It was a beautifully engraved gold
cylinder.
In the stillness of the dark ambient night a black saloon screeched to a
halt outside the guarded catacomb gates sending a swirl of dust into the
night air. Woken by the sudden intrusion the guards on duty at the
gates jumped shakily to attention and squinted into the bright lights of
the parked car, its engine still running. Their hearts pounded with the
fear of being caught lax in their duties and so they glanced at each
other and swallowed hard. Their worst fears were immediately realised,
in the distance stood the dark silhouette of a tall gangly man, it was
Stassy, the Head of the Egyptian Antiquities Police. He marched with
pace straight upto them, and halted a hand’s breath away from the
senior guard on the right of the gate. He turned his head sideways to
take a puff of his cigarillo and then leisurely breathed a cloud of smoke
into the guard’s terrified face. He looked him in the eye and whispered.
‘If I ever catch you or your girlfriend over there asleep on duty again, I
will personally rip off your balls and string them up on the barbed wire
for the vultures. Do I make myself clear?’
The guard stood trembling at his sight and words, ‘Yes sir!’ He
croaked. ‘I understand sir, very clearly sir.’ Stassy quizzed them on the
comings and goings of the day. They informed him that Dr Jefferson
was still inside the catacombs. ‘What? Unlock the gates immediately.’
Below in Wenemnefer’s tomb oblivious to Stassy’s arrival Jefferson
was admiring the strange artefact in his hand.
‘What do you think it is Dr Jefferson?’
In response to Magdi's question Jefferson spun the heavy gold
cylinder around, examining every detail of the exquisite engraving on its
polished gold surface.
‘From the shape of it Magdi and the inscriptions which honor the god
Djhwty, I would say this is the very object Wenemnefer was offering to
the god Thoth in that painted scene in the antechamber. And now I
50
have it in my hands! And what’s more Magdi I think I have an idea of
what it may be.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The image on the painted wall, I believe is a scribe’s sacred medjat,
medjat being the Greek word for it, but in ancient Egyptian it is
pronounced Medwjawt.’
Magdi was none the wiser. ‘I still don’t understand Dr Jefferson,
what is a medjat?
‘Let me explain.’
The gold cylinder was exquisitely inscribed with the hieroglyphic
testament of its owner and an image of the scribal god Djhwty. At its
top end was a hinged gold cap sealed with gold twine and two gold
seals each in the shape of a scarab beetle. The underside of one scarab
was impressed with the seal ring of the king, Netjerikhet, the other with
the personal seal of Wenemnefer.
‘Egyptologists have come across a few references to a scribe’s medjat
in New Kingdom papyri, but no one has ever found one, many believe
the medjat to be a mythological symbolic offering to their patron deity,
Djhwty, and not an actual object per se. It’s recorded that at the end of
a scribe’s life and in preparation for his death and journey into the
afterlife, a great scribe, like Wenemnefer, would prepare a final offering
to his god. It was a gift to be carried by the scribe on his journey
through the Underworld and placed at the feet of the god Thoth upon
the scribe’s arrival in the Hall of Osiris. It contained the scribe’s best
and most sacred work, texts unique to that scribe, in this case
Wenemnefer. In ancient Egyptian mythology it had special protective
powers, powers which protected the scribe against the demon deities of
the Underworld and Ra’s eternal enemy, the Apep serpent.’ Jefferson
read the main inscription.
‘I am the Great Royal Scribe of Netjerikhet, the Scribe of Hidden Things, and
the Scribe of the Secret Book. I am the Scribe of Clever Fingers, Wenemnefer is my
51
name, and Existing in Beauty its Meaning, I am the Scribe of Osiris, Lord of the
Underworld and the Servant of the Great god of Wisdom, Djhwty. That which I
record Is. This is my First and Last Book an offering under the reign of the Great
Lord Netjerikhet and written by my own hand for my Lord and Master
the Great God Djhwty.’
‘Turn on the generator!’ Stassy shouted as he ran down the steps to
the catacomb entrance. The guard fumbled around in the darkness
looking for the keys hung on the wall of the hut which housed the
generator. ‘Get on with it man,’ Stassy yelled impatient to find out
what Dr Jefferson was up to this late at night. The terror of Stassy’s
voice made the guard fumble even more, and having finally found the
keys, he promptly dropped them. ‘Fucking idiots! Why am I always
surrounded by fucking idiots?’ Stassy paced around the entrance to the
catacombs, puffing hard on his smoke. Working in haste the guard
finally opened the door and switched on the generator, billows of dirty
black smoke swirled into the night sky. Immediately the catacomb
lights flickered to full brightness and Stassy headed inside.
‘Do you hear that Magdi?’ Magdi listened and nodded his head.
‘Bloody hell, it’s the generator, that means we have visitors. Quick let’s
go.’ Panicked, they sprang to their feet and ran back through
Wenemnefer’s tomb. It was not long before Stassy arrived at
Jefferson’s Aegyptiaca chamber to find it in darkness. He switched on
the lights. The room was empty, but before leaving to search
elsewhere he rummaged through the papers on the desk.
‘Where are you Dr Jefferson? He said frustrated at his mysterious
absence. He immediately made for the secondary chambers, starting
his search in East Catacomb-9, directly opposite the catacomb which
led to Wenemnefer’s tomb.
At last they were back in the antechamber vestibule. They quickly
climbed through the freshly made breach in the wall and into the partly
cleared secret chamber. The oil lamps were almost out. Finding
52
nothing, Stassy made his way back to arrive at the entrance of West
Catacomb-10, he switched on the electric lights and the whole length
of the long corridor lit up sending a shaft of light into the secret
chamber where they stood dusting themselves down.
‘Where are you Dr Jefferson? Are you in there?’ He yelled.
‘Bloody hell it’s Stassy,’ Jefferson whispered, ‘let’s get out of here.’
The panic immediately showed on their faces as they scrambled out
through the hole. ‘Quick Magdi, behind those crates.’ He whispered
‘What about the hole in the wall Dr Jefferson?’
‘Shit, I’d forgotten about that. Quick, grab those crates and we’ll
cover it up.’ The sound of Stassy’s footsteps grew dangerously near as
they placed the last crate in position and dived into the adjacent
subsidiary chamber behind a shoulder high stack of rubble crates
placed there earlier by Magdi. At that point, whether by fate or by
luck, the lights of the catacombs flickered out and the generator went
silent. Stassy immediately stopped in the darkness next to the crates
hiding the wall breach and mouthed obscenities. He struck a match
and searched around in the dim light while moving to the entrance of
the side chamber where Jefferson and Magdi were hid.
‘Are you in there Dr Jefferson?’ He called, hearing only the dying
echo of his own voice. Stassy stood still straining his ears for the
faintest sound. The lit match flickered to a dim light and went out.
‘Dam and blast you Dr Jefferson, I know you’re down here
somewhere.’ Furious, he lit another match and made his way back
down the chamber mumbling more obscenities on his way. Jefferson
and Magdi recognised some of the colloquial phrases.
‘That was close Magdi. Thank god for these crates, hey? He
sniggered.
Magdi laughed.
Still fuming, Stassy found his way to the surface and to the locked
entrance gate; he waited impatiently as the guard again fumbled to find
the right key. ‘Come on, get on with it man.’ The guard opened the
53
gate and Stassy marched through, ‘You idiots, you fucking idiots,
there’s nobody down there. I will have your backsides for this.’ The
guards looked at each other puzzled. The lieutenant opened his mouth
to call after Stassy, when the other kicked him.
With relief they watched Stassy finally drive away.
‘Pompous bastard,’ the senior guard said offering his mate a cigarette.
Jefferson took Magdi home, to a small gardened villa in the suburbs of
El Haram in Giza and left him with instructions to return to the
catacombs early the next morning to dispose of the rubble stored in the
west chamber of Catacomb-10. Jefferson’s intentions were to go
public with the discovery, but there were things he needed to do first.
Late that same night he returned to his country villa, Neferper, situated
among the palm groves of the Nile valley south of Giza. Having
parked his car a little way from the villa, he headed for the front porch
entrance to find at the foot of the door his slippers and a clothes brush,
routinely left there by Janet for his return from the Saqqara
escarpment. He brushed himself down and crept inside with slippers
in hand. He headed straight for the study and placed Wenemnefer’s
heavy gold Medjat upon the green leather mat of his antique Georgian
desk. He put on his slippers and quietly turned the lock of the study
door, then sat at his desk to admire the precious artefact. The fine
engraving upon its polished surface was exquisite, a master piece of
work by one of the royal artisans under Netjerikhet’s reign, if not by
Wenemnefer himself. It was a magnificent piece of work.
The hieroglyphic inscriptions on the gold cylinder case were the most
intricate he had ever seen. He inspected its base, where it depicted a
central image of the Medjat surrounded by seven Was scepters, laid
head to tail in a circle outside of which spiralled the giant Apep serpent.
Jefferson surmised it represented the mythological protective power of
the Medjat. He then placed it back on the table and twisted it to
admire the cylinders main register. Each hieroglyph was perfectly
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formed and the proportions of the image of the Ibis headed god
Djhwty, god of wisdom, writing and intelligence, were magnificent.
Djhwty was seated upon a gilded Semaa throne similar to the one he
saw in the tomb.
As in the tomb painting Wenemnefer was shown kneeling in front of
Djhwty offering to the god his sacred Medjat. Inscribed beneath the
scene were the words:
‘I am the Great God Djhwty.
I accept the Medjat offering of my servant Wenemnefer.
The First and Last Scroll.
I give you the eternal pen and the everlasting palette.
And the skill to read and write in the afterlife.
I give you Life and Power for a hundred thousand eternities.’
‘Now that’s an unusual title, The First and the Last Scroll?’ It sounds
prophetic. What kind of special work, Wenemnefer, have you sealed
up in your Medjat to offer to your god?’
Whatever the Medjat contained Jefferson knew that it would be
something special in the eyes and heart of Wenemnefer, the pinnacle of
his work prepared from many ancient and sacred texts, a wealth of
hidden knowledge. If still preserved within the sealed cylinder it would
represent the earliest work ever discovered. Very few papyri date
before the New Kingdom period in Egypt’s history. By the very nature
of the material on which much of the ancient knowledge was written,
papyrus, was perishable. The slightest amount of moisture would rot
the papyrus, rendering it useless. But this was a sealed tomb showing
very little evidence of decay and Jefferson concluded, and hoped, that
the papyrus would be well preserved.
He lifted the heavy cylinder and handled it with the gentleness one
would a baby, he was an archaeologist; a man with a passion for ancient
knowledge and in his very hands lay secrets untold for millennia. The
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temptation to break the seal was almost more than he could bear;
reluctantly he placed it back down on the desk. In his mind he
weighed the rights and wrongs of breaking the seal, but could not
justify such an action, except for his pure curiosity. He shook his head.
‘No, no, you can’t open it, David, it’s not professional. Wenemnefer’s
secret will have to wait.’
He left the Medjat where it stood and headed for the kitchen to
prepare something that would help him sleep, he settled for a hot glass
of milk with a shot of whiskey. He locked his study door and tip toed
upstairs, passed Janet’s room, who, by her loud snoring was sound
asleep. His bedroom was in its usual state of clutter, filled with
scattered books, scribbled notes, papers and personal artefacts. His
bedroom was his last refuge against the efficiencies of his housekeeper.
He threw his soiled clothes on the basket chair and showered quickly
before retiring.
In the heat of the night he tossed and turned, his head thronged with
the thoughts and images of the last two days. He finally fell asleep, but
soon broke into a tortuous sweat under the heat and spell of vivid
dreams of endless twists and turns until he finally woke up with a start.
The bed side alarm clock read 2:30 AM. ‘Blast!’ he said thumping his
pillow into shape and dropping back down to sleep.
He lay on his back and kicked off the stifling bed clothes, then
grabbed the remote to switch on the air conditioning and ceiling fan.
In the refreshing down steam of cool air he stared hypnotically at the
rotating blades which caught the ice blue light of the gibbous Moon
breaking in through the window. ‘The first and the last scroll?’ He
whispered with eyes wide open. His decision to not open the cylinder
was beginning to trouble him. ‘What if it’s bloody empty? I will look a
right fool, but there again what if it contains something of vital
importance, shouldn’t I be the first to know what’s inside?’ That was
enough, the justification he needed. He leaped out of bed and headed
for the study.
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With little sleep Jefferson arrived back at the catacombs the next
morning. Dr Phillip Davis was stationed at the enclosure entrance
checking a delivery list. ‘Good morning David. A bit late for you isn’t
it?’ He joked as Jefferson briskly marched up to him. Davis seemed
amused by the state of his clothes.
‘Exactly what time is it Phillip?’
‘Nine thirty!’ He said as one of the Egyptian workmen went by
heavily laden. ‘Three cartons of bottled water!’
‘Yes, I suppose it is a bit late. Lot’s to do.’ Without engaging in the
usual morning pleasantries Jefferson marched down the entrance steps
and into the main catacomb chamber. Davis puzzled by his colleague’s
unusual behavior shrugged his shoulders and carried on with his
business.
‘Magdi! Magdi! Where are you?’ He shouted as he paced down the
corridor with immediate purpose.
‘Here I am Dr Jefferson.’ Magdi was sat recumbent in the Aegyptiaca
room at Jefferson’s desk drinking a cup of hot mint tea.
‘I thought I told you to keep an eye on West Catacomb-10?’
Jefferson spoke harshly, taking Magdi by surprise. He immediately
leapt to his feet, drank the last dregs of his tea and raced off down the
passageway.
‘Now where did I put that radiometric camera?’ Jefferson said
appearing more than a little distracted. He grabbed the camera from
the bottom shelf of the safe and marched stone faced towards the
entrance of West Catacomb-10. Without stopping he yelled down the
passage entrance as he walked by. ‘I will be back sometime this
afternoon, and if anyone asks where I am…Tell them nothing! And
whatever you, do not let anyone near that entrance.’
‘Okay Dr Jefferson I will stay on guard here till you come back.’ His
distant reply echoed down the corridors. After subtly disposing of the
rubble the rest of that day Magdi spent guarding Catacomb-10 and
making all sorts of excuses for Dr Jefferson’s absence. By midday a
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pack of hungry press had gathered outside the catacomb fencing
hounding Dr Phillip Davis for an interview with Dr Jefferson.
‘I must see Dr Jefferson,’ demanded the white suited gentleman, he’s
an old colleague of mine, knew him years ago, at Cambridge. I’m sure
he will see me. Just give him my name. Dr Donald Frumpton-
Granger, he’ll remember me,’ the old gent pleaded.
‘I am sure he will, Dr Frumpton. It’s just that he’s just not here at the
moment. In fact we don’t know where he is. He’s off on business
somewhere, and as soon as he comes back I will tell him you called.’
Disgruntled, the old man waved his black willow cane at him and then
promptly marched off. ‘Better make dam sure you do, or you’ll hear
about it.’ Before Dr Davis could make his excuses and leave he was
stampeded by a gaggle of officials.
It was eight twenty five in the evening when Jefferson finally returned
to the catacombs. Davis who was about to leave met him at the gates.
Jefferson's appearance betrayed the nature of his activities. He looked
exhausted and his clothes were filthy with dust.
‘Where the hell have you been David?’ Davis said eying him up and
down. ‘The press have been hounding me all day. It’s been bloody D-
Day here! We also had a visit from the Egyptian Antiquities
Department; they brought some dignitaries to see you and were not too
pleased when I told them you were not here.’
Jefferson dismissed Davis’ worries. ‘No time to talk now Phillip. I
will explain everything tomorrow,’ he said marching past. He turned
back to him and smiled, ‘and don’t worry Phillip, it will be worth the
wait. I promise.’ Davis was just relieved that Dr Jefferson was back.
He hated officialdom and most of all he hated dealing with the press.
Jefferson was good at that, he thought. ‘My skills are in Egyptology, I
am not very good at handling people.’
‘Go home now Phillip.’ He said striding down the entrance steps. ‘I
will take care of things here.’
‘Okay then, but I’ll see you in the morning?’
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‘Yes, of course, I promise.’
Davis left wondering what Jefferson had been up to all that day, ‘he
did seemed pleased with himself,’ he thought, ‘and what did he mean it
would be worth the wait?’
Meanwhile, Jefferson headed directly to the Aegyptiaca room and took
the radiometric camera out of his khaki canvass and locked it in the
safe. He found Magdi who was still on guard down West Catacomb-
10. ‘Oh, am I glad to see you Dr Jefferson. It has been panemonium
down here.’
‘You mean pandemonium Magdi.’
‘Yes, that’s what I mean Dr Jefferson, panemonium.’
Jefferson smiled and immediately set about to shift the stack of
storage crates hiding the breach to the secret chamber, ‘Help me
Magdi, and quickly,’ he said with urgency in his voice.
‘Where have you been Dr Jefferson, I was really worried about you.
We all were.’
‘No time to explain, now Magdi, first things first. Let’s reseal this
tomb. Do you have the stuff?’
‘Yes Dr Jefferson it’s inside.’
‘You stay here and keep watch.’
David crawled inside and lit one of the oil lamps. ‘If any body comes,
start whistling ‘Rule Britannia or something, and loudly.’ His heart
pounded with the thought of his latest discovery as he marched
through the tomb and the wondrous gold treasures of Wenemnefer
and down into the burial chamber. The glint of gold and precious
artefacts all around him energized him. He needed at least another day,
he thought, before he could public. Wenemnefer’s tomb was only a
prelude, a shadow against the greatness of Wenemnefer’s Medjat and
the revelations it contained.
Jefferson lifted the gold Medjat from his shoulder bag and placed it
carefully in the secret niche where it had laid for nearly five millennia.
He replaced the gold covering plate and shield exactly has he had
59
found it and hastily made his way out of the treasure filled burial
chamber. He was about to make the ascent of the stone cut stairway
when he heard the sound of Magdi’s warning signal echo through the
tomb. ‘Bloody hell, somebody’s here.’
Jefferson’s stomach leaped into his mouth as he raced up the forty
two steps three at a time. ‘Who the hell could it be this time of night?’
he muttered while finally making his way through the last chamber.
He placed the oil lamp through the hole in the wall and grabbed the
ledge to climb in, but to his horror, in the process his right foot caught
the top of a tall copper vase. The vase swayed precariously about its
centre of gravity and toppled to the floor, taking another with it. With
a loud resonant clash the loosed copper lids flew off adding to the
alarming sound. The ringing echoed through the tomb like a brass
band orchestra’s finale. Jefferson hung there motionless until the loud
echoes finally died away. He strained his ears, hoping for no response
to his noisy clumsiness.
‘Magdi, are you still there?’ He whispered loudly. Only silence
returned and so he dropped into the half cleared chamber and lifted the
lamp to make his way to the secret exit hole, but to his horror as he
approached he noticed that the passageway the other side was in
darkness. He dropped to his knees to go through.
‘Nice to see you again Dr Jefferson,’ came a voice from the shadows.
Startled, Jefferson caught his head on the wall and recognizing the
voice his heart sank. Resigned to his fate and rubbing his head he
came out and stood up to face him.
‘I thought I recognised those dulcet tones.’ He said nonchalantly still
rubbing his head while noticing Magdi was nowhere in sight. ‘It’s a bit
past your bedtime isn’t it?’
‘Very funny doctor, as usual your dry sense of humour amuses me,’
he said before striking a match to light a smoke hanging from the
corner of his mouth. His illuminated face confirmed his identity. He
60
took a deep satisfying puff and exhaled a cloud of smoke while
speaking, ‘I see you’ve been busy doctor?’
‘You know me, these are very busy times, much work to do, I ...’
‘Cut the crap doctor, this is me you’re talking to. I know what you
have been up to with that little Egyptian friend of yours.’
Jefferson changed his tone. ‘Look, it’s late and I am tired, now what
is it you want?’
‘Now that’s an interesting question doctor, what do I want?’ He took
another puff and walked a few paces back before answering his own
question. ‘You see doctor, what I want is …what’s on the other side of
that wall.’
‘Rubble?’
‘Very funny doctor, but you and I know, exactly what’s in there.’ But
before Jefferson could come up with another witty reply, there came
the flash and the noise of two gun shots. The excruciating pain of the
hot metal bullets piercing the flesh of his side and leg sent him
immediately to the floor. Straightaway, warm blood oozed from his
side and leg flooding his canvass shirt and Chinos a crimson red. In
agonising pain and sweat pouring profusely from his face he tried to
stop the bleeding.
‘Are you crazy?’ He shouted.
‘Probably doctor, but you see, there is going to be an accident, a cave
in of the catacombs, and you poor doctor, privileged and famous
archaeologist, will be its victim and when all the fuss is over and the
rest of the pompous team of archaeologists have left, I will collect my
just reward.’
‘You don’t understand, there is more at stake here than just gold
artefacts, there…’
‘Enough!’ he shouted angrily. Then with an evil grin he lit a stick of
dynamite with his smoke and threw it behind a stack of storage crates
and turned on his eels to flee.
‘Goodbye, Dr Jefferson! See you in the afterlife.’
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END OF PREVIEW
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