Into the Tomb 
Author: Siamun-Re 
Date:   02-27-01 20:28

Part One: An Accidental Discovery

The spectacular ruins of Luxor and Karnak, rising on the site of Ancient Thebes, enthralls all who come to gaze upon the glories of Ancient Egypt. With the end of the Great War European archaeologists flock black to the land of the Nile. Yet it is not the colonnaded temples, crumbling pylons or shattered avenue of sphinxes which draws them. Rather it is the allure of the valley beyond the river. There, under the jagged summit of El-Quen, lays the Valley of the Kings. 

One June morning in the year 1921 a terrific blast echoes in the rarely visited West Valley. Near one sheer cliff a plume of grey smoke rises ominously in the air. The sight delights an elderly European gentleman clad in white. Peering from beneath a pith helmet he points his silver handled walking stick in the direction of some cowering Arabs. 

“Kapdoulla!” Professor Ludwig Von Dribblestein snaps, focusing his attention on one fat and rather greasy Arab worker in particular, “Vat are zou vaiting for? Khristmas!” 

The turbaned foreman, scratching his wide, flat nose, grins, 

“Why Siheeb,” he answers, tongue in cheek, “We are Moslems! Why would we be waiting for a Christian holy day?” 

The European is displeased. 

“Zou miserable blockhead!”, Von Dribblestein hisses, “Get za men into za hole und dig or I vill rake my valking stick on zou vorthless hide!“ 

Kapdoulla obeys. His words fly fast and shrill. He yells a series of command in Arabic to the laborers. The men, looking a bit fearful, reluctantly pick up their axes and shovels. With hesitant steps they head down into the crater. 

As they pass the German one native worker moves a trifle slow. Kapdoulla kicks the man in the rump shouting, 

“You lazy son of a camel,” he bellows, bowing with mock solemnity to the European archaeologist, “The professor is an important man. He can’t wait all day!” 

Professor Ludwig Von Dribblestein, with a brisk nod of his head, turns and returns to the shelter of a tent. It’s already hot here in the desert and by the afternoon the temperature will be stifling and scorching. 

The old man, like a stiff marionette, seats himself down on his traveling chair. An dark skinned Arab boy kneels beside the German. With a large palm leaf the boy begins to fan. Casually the silver haired Von Dribblestein removes his pith helmet. Setting it down on a small table he pulls out a neatly pressed handkerchief and dabs a few beads of sweat from his brow. Then the professor lifts off his golden pince-nez from his thin nostrils and wipes off a layer of dust. 

A few paces away a couple of other Europeans hover over a worktable. They are graduate students working on their first dig in Egypt. The tall fair-haired lad is Fritz Kipper while the shorter and stockier youth is Hans Kunkemoeller. The two arrange splintered cedar planks which once made up a cedar chest. Hieroglyphics are etched in the dry wood. Fritz gently matches two pieces of wood together. Two badly shattered cartouches are revealed. 

“Let me see,” mumbles Fritz, “Zis says “Nebmaatre und Anpua Thutmose...long life und joy on zour 15th vedding anniver...from zour grateful per’a....” 

Hans looks thoughtful, 

“Who are zey?” he asks with astonishment, checking the inscription, “Zey must have been important nobles in zeir day to have found favor vis za pharaoh!” 

The professor, shifting in his chair, casts an incredulous gaze on his young assistants, 

“Bah!” the professor replies icily, “Zou have not translated zat properly!”

The two graduate students whirl around and stand at attention. Von Dribblestein, wrinkles his thin nose with disdain. 

“Zere is in za records evidence of a Nebmaatre und Anpua Thutmose” he concedes, “But zey vere not nobles! Za Leontopolis Papyrus Fragments, discovered in za Tomb of Kaptah, konklusively prove zat zose two vere swinish thieves und great krimmals. Zis fact is kollaborated from a damaged vall painting in ze burial vault in vich zese vretchs (vis zir names) are show being trampled under za heel of za great noble Baron Kaptah before being fed to za krokodiles!” 

The students look at each other. Then Fritz replies in an apologetic voice, 

“Ve are sorry Herr Professor. Zou are za great expert in za field of Egyptian Archaeology!” 

The old scholar, adjusting his spectacles, permits a faint smile to show on his pale lips. 

“Fritz und Hans,”he continues in a condensing tone, “Zou are both very jung und vill learn. Vat excuse has Herr Howard Carter? Zat dumbkoff is vasting his time in za Eastern Valley looking for za tomb of za mythical pharaoh Tutankhamun!” 

The old archaeologist springs to his feet. The startled graduate students straighten their backs while clicking their heels. 

“Und vile za pathetic Englishman looks around in za dirt und za rocks of za Eastern Valley,” Von Dribblstein vows, pulling out a map from a leather case, “Za German Expedition from za University of Berlin vill make za greatest find in za annals of archaeology!Ve vill find the tomb of Pharaoh Nesnut!” 

Like a field marshal preparing for an assault, the old scholar unfolds a large yellow document on the worktable. Taking out a gold pen he scratches an “x” on the paper. The worm map is dotted with many similar “x”s. Von Dribblestein, stroking his pointed waxed moustache, smirks. 

“Ve will dynamite za whole Western Valley until ve find Nesnut’s tomb!” 

Fritz and Hans are thrilled. Their young hearts beat with excitement. They admire the fanatical precision of their revered instructor. Von Dribblestein is prepared to blast away at every possible burial site in the western valley until he uncovers the final resting place of the 1st monarch of the shadowy 34th Dynasty.

Little is known about this last dynasty which ruled in Egypt. Few records survived the centuries intact. The discovery of Nesnut’s royal tomb could shed valuable knowledge on this obscure and poorly documented era in Egyptian history. 

A half hour later a dull, muffled cry can be heard. Kapdoulla, his hands waving wildly, appears over the rocky crest. He hails his employers. 

"Siheeb,” he shouts, “We have found something! The dynamite has loosend an opened!” 

Professor Von Dribblestein, rubbing his pale hands together, is ecstatic. 

"Vunderbar!” he exclaims, “Kome Fritz und Hans! Get za lamps und za ladder. Zar moment of glory has arrived!” 

The Germans make their way down to the drilling sight. There, at a bottom of a ravine, Arab workers can be seen clearing away debris. With bare bleeding hands they toss jagged rocks aside from a gaping hole in the ground. The natives look fearfully at the opening, as if it is the entrance of the bowels of hell. They mutter unhappily to Kapdoulla. The pudgy foreman waddles over and bows to the Europeans. 

“Siheeb,” he warns, “The men are afraid! They say it is ill luck to go in.
The spirits of the long dead pharaohs will be furious. They will be sure to strike down all who desecrate their burial tombs.” 

Professor Von Dribblestein, standing erect like a piece of marble, is untouched by these petty fears. 

“Rubbish!” he snarls, “Zat is only za whimperings of an cowardly, inferior, mongrel race! Ve enlightenedTeutons know better!” 

Fritz and Hans squat down along the opening. The shorter man lowers a lamp into the darkness. Almost immediately he jerks up his head and looks up joyfully at the silver haired archaeologist. 

“It’s a room of some sort,” he announces, “Und I see inscriptions in bright kolors on za valls!” 

Within minutes a ladder is lowered. The Germans descend one by one followed by Kapdoulla. The remaining natives are left above ground. Professor Von Dribblestein, adjusting his eyes to the gloom, realizes that they have entered an antechamber of some sort. Rubble and smashed furniture, caked in layers of dust, litters the cold stone floor. 

“Drat!” he curses, “Za tomb robbers have been here!” 

Hans, holding up a lamp to a wall, gestures to the elderly man. 

“Herr Professor,” he asks, “Look at zis.”

Von Dribblestein’s pale blue eyes pore over the brightly colored mural. The upper portion is filled with vivid images of several people while the lower walls is covered in hieroglyphics. The professor studies the images first. In the center is the relief of an old man wearing the famed double crown of Egypt. On the left he is flanked by three women. To the right of the royal image are two other women and a boy. 

The professor sighs. His assistants and Kapdoulla look at him expectantly. The disappointed archaeologist points the tip of his walking cane at the image of an old man shown wearing the double crown of Egypt. 

“Zis is not za tomb of Pharaoh Nesnut,’ he announces glumly, “It’s some other burial vault.” 

Squinting his eyes, he deciphers a cartouche before saying in a disappointed voice, 

“From za inscription, it appears ve have found za plundered tomb of some other, more insignificant ruler. It reads: Siamun-Re, Protector of za Two Lands, Keeper of Ma’at, Slayer of Enemies, Mighty in za Eyes of Re, of Lower und Upper Egypt, Pharoah!”