Curse of Ages
The morning was still and warm; the slight breeze shook the tops of the palm trees and promised another hot day to come.
The year was nineteen twenty, and Egypt was still trying to shake off the crown of British presence; it was still a time of unease. Everywhere there was still a huge administrative shadow that fell over the Nile and traced its way through the consulates and the cafes of the city of Cairo. Whispers of full independence had begun to push the shadows back and to slowly expose the county to home rule.
The Spanish flu had taken many before their time, and it was still around; it had ravaged the world and finally was becoming tamed. Many men, who had returned to the fields after the war, spoke in thin and tired voices. Villages had been emptied, work crews were assembled now with care, and people had changed.
A small team of explorers was gathered in Alexandria, ready for their latest expedition. Hoping that the guides they had paid for would soon arrive.
This group of intrepid, yet foolish, adventurers was led by the distinguished Dr Stephen Westwood, who was a Cambridge-educated man and in whose hands the others trust lay. He was of reasonable height, with strong but narrow shoulders; his hair was sandy brown and had faded in the hot sun. His hands were worn from scratching in the dust, and his manner was cool and calm. He was good at his job, and his financiers knew it; money flowed, and he always provided.
His second in command, as it were, was the self-made millionaire and explorer Merrick Atley. He was the opposite of Westwood; he was arrogant and liked to take chances. However, the two men got on well together. Atley was short and dark-skinned, Arabic from his mother’s side, and he had a temper when riled.
It was he who had arranged and paid for the transport on this dig, such as it was. He also expected glamour and sought it out eagerly, although on the day they were due to travel, he appeared quiet and reserved.
The third main member of the team was an odd choice. Sandra Bailey, the daughter of a talented Egyptologist mother and a father who was a member of parliament. She had cut her teeth at the British Museum, and she spoke both Arabic and one or two of the local dialects. She was also the expedition's cataloguer and artist.
And finally, the enigmatic ex-major Anson Smedhurst, retired from the army and now the well-paid liaison between the team and the locals. He had the usual handlebar moustache and was a typical stiff-upper-lipped British officer.
The other members were Ussan, a local guide who had assisted Westwood before. He was experienced and could tell the difference between chipped and worked stone. He was quiet, rarely spoke, but conveyed his meaning through his pin-sharp brown eyes.
Finally, the assistants and photographic record keepers, Ralph Linnet and Gamel El-Bakry. These two could spend many hours trying to coax images onto glass plates with harmful chemicals, and produced wonders that were used in all the best magazines. Both had worked together for years and had been present to witness the opening of the combined tombs of Shereen and Tricia, who were queens of ‘Zahir al-Mashriq’. When the newspapers reported this, certain antiquities experts originally thought it to be a joke. And when the place the tombs were located in was reported as Makhadat al-Malik and that huge quantities of Leopard skins had been found. The expedition leader had pleaded with the pair to make sure the photographs were the best they could take.
The instruments and procedures that they used would soon be superseded by better and easier-to-use tools. Pre-coated glass plates, decent sieves and trowels, and proper tents with screens to stop the sandflies.
After two days of trekking across the desert and into a sparsely populated area, they camped and talked by firelight. The sky overhead was clear, and it was lit with many stars; the temperature dropped, and it started to get cold. Westwood suggested an early night, as they would be surveying the area just after sunrise.
Ussan and a pair of local diggers had been awake since dawn, and they had discovered the mouth of a tomb. It was partly buried along the sides of an ancient cairn; a few discarded blocks poked through the sand. Westwood, with Atley and the Major, examined the area, and Westwood suggested they dig from both sides. The major was quiet and offered no encouragement, something Atley thought was strange at the time.
After ten or so minutes, a pick struck a worn but well-dressed limestone block, its top corner exposed like a small pyramid. Westwood examined the stone; it was of a style he had never seen before. Could they have finally found a previously undiscovered tomb?
They frantically dug until the stone was fully excavated and found that it formed part of a doorway. Many carefully cut and dressed stones blocked the entrance, but the men easily removed the stones.
In front of them was a gently descending corridor that led down into darkness. Along the side of the corridor was a long, straight chiselled line. Sandra’s fingers trembled as she felt the stone and realised that she must be the first person to touch this in thousands of years. Westwood took out his ruler and urged Sandra to draw the opening; he instructed the diggers to mark the stones in the order they had removed them, and then he called Atley over and told him to get the lamps and candles.
Sandra quickly sketched the opening and checked for hieroglyphics, but she could find none. She wondered about that and thought it was rather strange for there to be no markings at all. She was just going to mention this to Westwood, but he had called over Ralph to take some photographs.
The corridor was straight and true as they slowly followed its length; the air was cool and smelt faintly metallic and of long-dried resins. Sandra looked about her and again saw no markings on the walls, just the flicker of the candles as they walked along. There was a regular clanking from Ralph as he manoeuvred the tripod and camera along the low corridor.
They came at last to a small chamber; it was correct in size to all the other chambers that had previously been unearthed. Ralph and Gamel worked methodically; they poured collodion onto the glass plates and then into silver nitrate. The plates were then placed in the camera while still wet. The exposures were long and time-consuming in the faint light and could not be hurried.
Stephen Westwood surveyed the chamber; it had been cleared. Maybe recently, possibly many centuries ago; it was hard to tell. No second exit was to be found during the initial search; there were niches for jars, and the sarcophagus sat against one wall, its lid dislodged but not fully removed. Stephen wondered who the thieves were; Merrick was still happy, as the discovery would still mean some fame, although he still had a worried look on his face. Sandra headed to the walls; the inscriptions were worn, so she took crayon rubbings. Ussan laid a hand on a chest that was carved out of the rock, and he stiffened. A feeling of dread washed over him; everyone was silent, with no laughter from any of them.
The major had remained outside, and he called down to ask if they had found anything; one of the diggers ran up and told him of the discovery.
In the camp that night, during dinner, talk was sparse. Something had changed, and the air was thick with tension. Westwood suggested an early night, and they could examine the chamber again in the morning. None of them had a good night's sleep.
Ralph suffered bad dreams, reflections in silver dishes of eyes that bled candlelight.
Merrick dreamt of writhing fans that sucked up sand and hopes.
Ussan sat up for hours and watched the bats flutter between the sparse trees, their calls eerie in the dark night. When he slept, he imagined the noises were those of children screaming.
Sandra woke in the night; sweat covered her brow, and she had a word in her mouth, a word without a place. She grabbed her notebook and drew an outline of a boat. The ‘Mesektet,' or night boat, that Wepwawet and Anubis pilot.
Major Smedhurst woke once or twice to the sound of marching, but he fell asleep again quickly.
The morning came finally; it was dull and moist, with the beginnings of a storm brewing. They laughed off the dreams as fatigue and disappointment from the day before. The diggers, however, were sullen; the women from the village arrived and dropped the food and went quickly away. They all seemed to be on edge, and the refusal of one old woman to bring bread was not the only unusual thing to happen.
Ralph was clumsy; plates would slip from his normally safe hands. Gamel allowed sand into the camera one morning, and the plates were all streaked from overexposure. One plate that, at first glance, was just a view of the corridor with the three explorers standing in the candle and lamplight showed the faint trace of a fourth figure. Just the suggestion of a shoulder and a head with brightly shining eyes was burnt onto the negative as if they had lingered only long enough to register on the plate, and then they were gone.
Soon they were all becoming nervous; Atley developed a cough that would not settle, even after honey and hot water were administered. He stopped eating and was wasting away. Sandra, normally the level-headed one, found her thinking to be woolly. Words failed her, and simple sketches went wrong. Ussan would wander the dunes at night, saying silent prayers while holding his amulet to his lips.
As the days went by, more little things burdened the explorers: water tasted bitter, the compass needle spun idly on its own, and tea turned from brown to red and spoilt the milk. Stephen Westwood decided that there was no scientific pattern, just a series of coincidences that together were worrying them all.
Then there was a death, no dramatic scene or a bloodcurdling scream. Ibrahim, who was Ussan’s youngest cousin, went down to the chamber to clear a small side passage. When he had not returned by mid-afternoon, everyone just thought he was sheltering from the heat. Ussan and one of the other diggers were sent to find where Ibrahim was. They found him in the side passage, his face contorted in agony and his eyes open and staring. There was no sign of a wound, nor blood on any part of his body; his skin still felt warm to the touch. A doctor was sent for, and as there was a Red Crescent medical team in the next town, he checked the body and pronounced apoplexy had occurred. Ussan, on the other hand, called it a curse.
The body was wrapped and placed in the corridor away from the sun, and from then on Stephen demanded that the chamber be left alone and the party spend their time cataloguing what they had so far found. Complete photographic records and sketches were made of everything before anything else was to be moved. Sandra demanded that someone translate the inscription from the wall. The diggers and porters wanted to leave this place.
Stephen sat down and translated the inscription; he found that it was just an ordinary line of text, and he showed it to Sandra, who exclaimed. “It seems so innocent, but what can it mean?”
The inscription simply said, ‘For he may pass through the night; he may not return to the new day.’
The others agreed that it had no meaning. In the catalogues in the museum, there were texts that had been written to deter robbers and invoke the gods to serve justice. This was nothing like that, but did it have the power to fog photographic plates and give dreams? Neither did the words suggest that they might cause a healthy man to die in an hour or so.
Stephen Westwood took action; he wrote to the authorities in Cairo, and he sent a carefully worded message to the consulate and asked for an inspector to call. These messages were sent on horseback, and the team waited for a response. Everyone was on edge that night, and guards were posted around the camp; nobody ate or drank alone.
The next morning a cart appeared, and within it was a man named Jonah Laverick, a softly spoken Englishman from the northern counties. He was well-travelled and had spent time in the colonies as a police officer; he was well-versed with the complexities of human nature. His dress was comical, a tweed suit and a bowler hat; his watch, Albert, hung from his pocket, and he carried a small leather-bound notebook. Introducing himself to everyone in person, he took his time and noticed everything. His grey, smiling eyes hid the shrewd intelligence of a well-trained inspector; his gaze stopped on the camera setup, the chest with the chemicals and Sandra's easel.
Inspector Laverick was well educated in words, and he translated the inscription for himself to assess its meaning. He examined the body and noticed the boy's eyes were bloodshot, and then he allowed it to be taken away for burial. This impressed the locals, and they warmed to this man. He asked for the doctor’s notes and nodded as he read the diagnosis. He enquired about the weather during the previous days, what food the diggers had been given and the conditions in the chamber. The photographs were handed to him to look at.
Ralph gave the inspector the plates; he looked twice at the one that caused the consternation. There was definitely something there, but such things as fogged plates and partial double exposures were not unheard of; these could be explained. He asked if Ralph could duplicate the photograph but from a slightly different angle. Ralph carefully set up the camera, and when developed, the plate showed a whiteness where it first had shown the suggestion of a figure. Under Jonah’s gaze, it looked more like a failure of the camera than some shadowy figure. Ralph then confessed that some dust had blown in while he was developing the plate; simple human error, maybe.
Then Jonah interviewed the men; he listened to the stories, that of Atley’s cough, Sandra waking in the night to sketch, and Ussan wandering the dunes. These all sounded like the deeds from a curse, but he believed in men and motives. The tomb may have been disturbed earlier; a bad date or fouled meat might cause the cough and the dreams. It was to look where human hands had been and to disregard coincidence; that was his watchword.
But Inspector Laverick felt there was something more here, and he requested that he be allowed to enter the tomb alone. Westwood refused at first, but he then relented due to the fact that Jonah suggested he had been in far more precarious places than a private burial chamber.
Armed with two lamps, Jonah approached the arch and felt the smoothness of the stone; he traced the joints and found, with amusement, the traces of a repair job to one stone. Inside the corridor he examined a smear on the wall, no doubt made by some hand covered in oil. The passage that held the body was small, and he knelt so he could see better. In the dark of a small recess he found something that had been missed, a small pottery shard, the rim maybe, and under it there was a beaded amulet. Jonah, ever a practical man, picked it up using his handkerchief. That night he slept soundly, and no ghosts awoke him, yet in the morning he felt dislocated. He took out his magnifying glass and closely examined the amulet; it appeared to have some remnants of glue on its surface, modern glue by the look of it. This meant that someone had been here before the present team had arrived, but when?
Jonah Laverick kept his discovery to himself, but his attitude started to lighten the tone in the camp. His own decision was that if human hands had been in the tomb previously, then the explanations could not be mystical. In this light, he started to interrogate the staff and locals with an open frankness that was subtle but probing. He asked if the diggers had been this way before and if any of them had contacts in Cairo who might offer money for trinkets. He spent time with each of the team and asked if any of them had links with smugglers.
Sandra was the most grounded of the team. She was fond of Jonah and happily offered information when asked.
Jonah had succeeded in uncovering some small details. One of the diggers had taken a small loan in cash, and a porter had been seen at the tomb carrying an oilcloth package. However, under closer scrutiny, the loan was because the man had tuberculosis, and the porter was just taking food for his family. As each clue was discovered, some seemingly ordinary motive was uncovered, neutralising it.
After some days Jonah was still baffled, Atley’s cough worsened, and he developed a fever. Sandra started dreaming again, and she talked in her sleep, her words deranged and unintelligible. Dr Westwood cut his hand on one of the discarded plates; Ralph and Gamal argued over the chemicals and the camera; the Major complained of headaches and diarrhoea; and Ussan now loudly insisted that the tomb be resealed and they leave.
The colonial doctor returned and administered help where he could; aspirin in large doses was prescribed, and for some this relieved their symptoms. His prayers were said more as a courtesy for the living. Westwood firmly refuted the call to seal the tomb, and he continued to catalogue the items while Sandra recovered.
When the second death happened, the team were stunned; one of the diggers had foolishly returned to the side chamber, and he had inhaled dust when a block fell to the floor. Two days later he was dead. The doctor labelled it as a case ‘of acute pneumonia exacerbated by the inhalation of silicon dust’.
Westwood had recorded the death in his journal, and he noted that the digger had suffered from ‘Spanish flu’ the previous year. It was therefore possible that he had not fully recovered.
There was no indication of a curse, but that didn't stop everyone from thinking that was the cause. Laverick, asked to read the journal and see the doctor’s notes, agreed on the diagnosis. The mood soured, and the team started to behave abnormally; they went around in pairs, never wanting to be alone. The food was cooked in front of them, and they all shared the same cups for water. The old woman who had refused to bring bread was now forced to work in the camp. She went around whispering about bringing down a curse, and the dead would be avenged.
Photographs became fogged, and in some, figures could be seen, but only if you exercised great imagination. Which the team was now doing on a continuous basis; Ralph and Gamal nearly came to blows, but Laverick separated them.
Then one evening Ralph was found near the opening of the tomb; he was unconscious. And in his hand was a partly developed plate; its wet chemicals had run onto his hands. He was carried to his tent, where he died within the hour.
The camp was overcome with fear; the diggers abandoned their work, the porters ran off into the night, and the team knew they had to leave. Westwood wanted to stay and catalogue the rest of the finds; Atley, now suffering from coughing spasms, wanted to leave. Sandra appealed to the inspector to do something, and he took charge. He asked the major to stand watch, even though he was still very ill and weak. The one remaining porter was sent off with Ussan to the nearest settlement to wire a message to Cairo.
The camp woke the next morning to the beginnings of a dust storm; they unhappily took shelter in the corridor of the tomb. Westwood decided to use the time to search for other items; he then insisted that the team examine the sarcophagus, and an argument broke out. The major said that it would be unwise to tempt fate further; Sandra just sat there, the lights flickering in her eyes. Inspector Laverick calmly agreed with Doctor Westwood. So together the men lifted the lid.
Inside were the usual trappings of the funerary craft: an undisturbed inner coffin, nested boxes and, inside the coffin, a mummy wrapped in linen. Around the body were placed the canopic jars and bottles of resin and perfumes. At the feet of the body was a small wooden chest, with carved animals and deities on its lid. The Major and Westwood carefully lifted the chest and set it on the floor. The wind outside suddenly blew down into the chamber, and the dust whirled in little spirals. Sandra screamed.
Housed within the chest were many things, which included some small wooden animals, a model of a Nile boat, a carved tile, and some amulets woven from animal hair. Gamal was instructed to photograph the chest and the items from it; Atley helped with setting up the camera. Inspector Laverick examined the finds; they were of a similar quality to the little amulet he had discovered, and he was then convinced the previous visitors were unable to lift the slab from the sarcophagus; otherwise, these items would also have been looted. He began to consider the possible cause of the deaths might be disguised as crimes, but who among them had the motive?
Once the worst of the storm had passed, they returned to the surface and checked the tents for damage. Apart from one or two tears and one tent on which the flap had blown loose, there was surprisingly little damage. What remained of the local help soon cleared up, and a fire was burning brightly, and pots of water were set boiling. The mood in the camp was cold and sullen; everyone was on edge, and to be honest, trust was a scarce commodity now.
The next morning saw more troubles; Sandra had awoken in the night and had left her tent. She was found shivering and cold, hiding behind one of the large stone blocks; her memory of the night was blank, and she was helped back to her tent. Westwood gave her a small sleeping draught, and she fell into a troubled sleep, words coming from her mouth in languages they knew she did not know.
Just after breakfast came the news that they had been dreading: the consulate general in Cairo insisted that they close the dig, return any burial goods and make their way to the nearest hospital. Westwood complained bitterly as he itched his healed wound; the skin around it was red and flaking. Atley and Westwood started to make preparations to seal the tomb, but still Westwood wanted to catalogue and even remove some of the items. Secretly so did Atley, as he was hoping to sell them one. Inspector Laverick strongly suggested they leave everything in the tomb; he had already hidden the little amulet back where he had discovered it.
Finally they all agreed to replace the items just as they had found them, and upon exiting the corridor, Laverick said a small prayer as the final stone was replaced. The old woman from the village also said a chant and threw some sand at the doorway; she huffed and went on her way. The team packed quickly, the weight of their losses great: Westwood because he had felt this tomb was unique and he wanted the glory for the discovery; Atley for the prestige and, of course, the fortune; Sandra wanted to be able to catalogue the finds in the Cairo Museum and to be known for this; the Major just wanted his cut and then to sit in the sun and drink tea on his terrace; and Gamal knew an incomplete photographic record would not help his cause. He spent the rest of the day mourning the loss of his friend and cursing the bad luck they had with the plates.
Once the trucks were laden, the team got in, and they rumbled away slowly back to Cairo; only Inspector Laverick remained. He stood and watched the trucks leave, his mind in a turmoil as he refused to believe in a curse. But he was still unable to show or even prove any motive for what had transpired.
His final act was to gather an imam from the village, and by luck, an English chaplain was available. Both holy men said prayers and performed rites to bind the tomb.
The remaining people from the village then buried the tomb, and they all departed. With the imam going back to his flock, and the chaplain was travelled to Cairo, and he joined the inspector.
Back in the city, Laverick turned in his report. It mentioned nothing about a curse, just a series of unfortunate incidents that could not, or would not, be easily solved.
Atley died within a week of his getting back to Cairo; he was admitted to hospital, and the verdict was that his lungs had collapsed due to infection or a case of the flu. Westwood partly recovered and then succumbed to a fever a couple of months later. His death was reported to be from complications arising from the cut to his hand. Sandra returned to the museum and fully recovered; she sometimes had headaches, but these were not as bad as they had been. The major recovered and continued to assist on digs for a few more years. Ussan never left his village again, and tragically Gamal died when he fell from his camel at a dig in Thebes.
Years passed and the political landscape changed. Egypt finally had its independence confirmed in 1922. Although it would be some years before full stability would be assured. Men would, once again, head off into the deserts, and the Valley of the Dead would reveal more treasures. The reports about the ‘Westwood camp’ and its failure would be just a tragic footnote in history. A small party plagued by fever and misadventure; less salubrious newspapers mentioned the curse, but the story was widely disregarded.
Inspector Laverick had a distinguished career; he had a hand in stopping two revolts, he prevented the embarrassment of a princess and he saved an actor's career and his marriage. He had long held the belief that there are two kinds of darkness, the one people bring with them and the one that is lurking around them. Respecting the second and using the law to its best advantage would take care of the other.
He retired in nineteen twenty-eight and headed for a quiet seaside town on the East Sussex coast, where he tended his vegetable and flower gardens, played chess on a Saturday and walked the promenade on Sundays. His attitude towards his fellow man was not diminished by his retirement.
He was sitting at the breakfast table and had been reading the newspaper, and he had been shocked to see the headline saying that ex-Major Anson Smedhurst had been found dead at his country home in Winchester. An accident had been announced, as he had been at home alone and had, apparently, tripped on the head end of the lion skin that adorned his landing floor. His neighbour was shocked as to the position of the skin, as the major made sure the head always looked through the bannisters, as it was the first thing you saw when you came in the front door. The current position of the head would have led him to trip and fall to his death.
He put the newspaper down and was just going to start his second cup of tea when the bell sounded. He went to the front door of his lovely cottage and accepted the mail from the postman. Thanking him, ex-inspector Laverick took the mail back into the breakfast room and looked at it. Bills and circulars were all unnecessary but time-consuming, but under them all was a stiff letter with a slightly faded address and the words on the reverse. ‘On my death, please send to the addressee.’
“Strange thought, Jonah, who would be sending me a dead man’s mail?”
He opened the envelope and smoothed the single sheet out on the table. It read as follows.
Inspector Laverick.
If this finds its way to you, then I must be dead. Do not feel any sorrow for me, as it will, I hope, come as a relief, as I can finally come to terms with my actions all those years ago.
You see, I had previously discovered the tomb, and it was I who had looted it. I was therefore very surprised when we came upon the location on that fateful day.
I think that one or more of our party might have wondered why I was shocked when we stopped and started digging at that spot. After a day or so, Ibrahim came to me and asked why I had said nothing about my search in this area to the others. He remembered my previous visit, but I was alone, and no workers came near me during the time I was there. I told the boy that my search was fruitless, but I don't think he believed me.
There had to be some way I could get the team to leave, and then it struck me: a curse might work. I added a tiny amount of potassium iodide from the chemicals used for the wet plates into the tea the first night. The dose was tiny, and it had the desired effects; everyone felt ill, but the lure of the tomb was too great. It would not do for me to poison everyone, including myself, with the same stuff. I had to work out a better plan, and again the boy came to me, in desperation, lest he tell others I had to silence him, and so I followed him down to the chamber with some water, which was laced with a huge dose of arsenic. I cleaned him up and then stole away.
I felt no remorse and continued to slowly add minute amounts of the arsenic to Atley’s food, and then luckily, Westwood cut his hand on a broken plate, and I seized my chance to infect his wound. The other death of the digger was a genuine accident, but it helped to ‘muddy the waters’, as it were.
I go to my grave, safe in the knowledge that someone now knows what happened at the tomb and no curse was to blame.
Your servant
Major Anson Smedhurst.