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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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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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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