Valley of the Kings stands on a narrow gorge on the west bank of the Nile, near Thebes, where most of the Pharaohs were buried in highly visible pyramids.
Each tomb lies at the end of a succession of descending corridors, punctuated by shafts to prevent grave-robbers reaching the burial area. This would consist of a burial chamber containing a sarcophagus, and other rooms of furniture and equipment it is believed he would need in the afterlife. Many rooms would be decorated with carved and painted hieroglyphic texts, magical and symbolic scenes depicting his life.
A flickering of light danced upon the dark walled passageways. A man dressed in a three-quarter cotton white tunic, raised a fire torch: illuminating four golden candlesticks, standing at each corner of a raised platform, where the gold casket bearing his Pharaoh would be placed.
The eyes glanced off into infinity, gazing at the long line of stationery guards that stood in death like silence, from the chamber to the entrance.
Silence was broken, by the whispering sound as Ignatius Reator, in his strap sandals, scraped over the stone floor, moving along the tunnel to the vast gallery. With its twenty foot high domed ceiling, and pillared arches. Its walls laced with cavities bearing ornate gold and pottery ornaments.
Ignatius examined the large collection of wooden crates stacked to one side, checking numbers against those on a scroll he flattened out, on a small stone table. Sweat began to show through the layers of dust blanketing his skin, in this dry and airless chamber. Finally satisfied all was in order, rolled up the scroll and slid it into a sash about his waist.
Ignatius was not a young man, considered old for his time, reaching the age of fifty-two. As he retraced his steps to the anti-room, he exhaled a deep sigh of regret; he would never see or touch this wonderful array of artefacts, symbolising the life of his Pharaoh. The face heavily lined, with sunken cheeks, and the dragging of his feet, exposed his weariness. Yet, within he felt satisfaction, the project neared its end, and a great burden would soon be lifted from his shoulders.
His Pharaoh was dying, having just day’s to live; and soon his remaining artefacts would take their place in his burial chamber. His guard of honour would be entombed, in a time honoured tradition, with their Pharaoh.
Passing by many tunnels to other parts of the pyramid, he remembered one, which entombed thousands of slaves, who died in the construction. For them, better to have died in the service of their Pharaoh, than suffer prolonged misery at the hands of the Empire.
His mind was elsewhere, when screams echoed through from the outside shaft, jolting him back to the present time.
Ignatius out of concern breathlessly hurried to the entrance; as he stepped out into the light, the heat rays of the sun, forced him to squint his eyes.
News rocked him that his Pharaoh had died… Day’s later his embalmed body was placed in its Sarcophagus, and taken to his burial chamber. Placed with him were four Canopic Jars containing his organs; as tradition states, they would assist the dead to assist through the after-life.
Over the coming weeks; two ebony effigies of the Pharaoh gold sandaled, with staff and mace, were positioned either side of his tomb. A collection of inlaid caskets; alabaster vases, black shrines, and a gold throne were set about his chamber. The final doorway sealing his chamber contained a hand carved seal of the Pharaoh: Tutankhamen upon it, marking his final resting place.
The legend of the Pharaoh Tutankhamen, buried with all his wealth, in the Valley of the Kings, brought many an archaeologist or treasure hunter in search of fame and fortune.
Many tried to find the fabled burial chamber, only to find entrances that led nowhere, but to an early grave.
Seven years previous, on another dig, the Mantle brothers; James and Daniel, found a Canopic Chest, containing four Canopic Jars containing the stomach – intestines – lung and liver. A scroll found within, named the architect of Tutankhamen’s Pyramid: Ignatius Reator, along with rough plans of the build. It was enough to put them in the general area of the Pyramid, and lead them to the biggest find ever!
“I am hot, and exhausted, can we stop for a moment,” called out Daniel in a weary voice.
James, paused and looked behind him at his brother Daniel, coming up behind him. “It is not safe to stop here, much of the shaft is unstable.”
At that moment, a tremor was felt in the shaft, as their scaffold and boarded support vibrated violently above them.
“Do you feel it?” asked Daniel.
“Of course I do, it must be a quake, the third one this month,” James said in an uneasy voice, “wedge yourself between the poles, it is our only hope.”
“If this shaft shakes much more, it will collapse with us under it,” suggested Daniel, while sand was falling away from the sides.
Briefly and violently sand fell away from the tunnel sides, they feared the scaffolding would soon fall about them. However, the gods must have been on their side, for as quick as the quake started, it stopped in a matter of minutes. Slowly their gaunt faces emerged from the sand, spitting out lumps of sand, whilst clearing the grit from their eyes.
“I warned you, it would be a risky adventure, before we started this, but the profits and fame would well be worth the risks,” James reminded his brother Daniel, gazing back at him, as he brushed away the loose sand covering him. “We have spent four years digging this tunnel, from the upper to the lower floors, in our belief of finding the fabled tomb… many believe we are wasting our time, but I know we are in the right area. So let’s clear away the fallen sand and re-fix the scaffold.”
James expected Daniel to reply, but there were a few groaning moans. Daniel looked in the direction of James, and lifted himself out of the sand, pushing it to the side, and re-fixing the scaffold.
As Daniel pushed the sand against the sides, his hand felt a shape protruding from the walls. “I have found something; it could be a seal or something?”
James waited patiently as Daniel brushed away the sand, hoping it could be what they desperately craved, for he knew they were in the right area according to the map… So many times over the last six months they thought they had found something, believing it might lead to an entrance, only to find yet another dead end.
“It is the hand carved seal of Tutankhamen, well worn, but I would know it anywhere,” Daniel laughed and smiled with joy.
“If we hadn’t had that cave in, we might have gone right past it,” suggested James.
Their life-time dream, and four years of sweat and toil was drawing to a close, when in March 1922, they made that magnificent discovery… the hand carved seal telling them they had found the burial chamber of Tutankhamen, the Egyptian Pharaoh of the 18th dynasty… This was to send the airwaves clattering around the world, for they became famous overnight, having found, what many had sought.
Their first glimpse within the burial chamber revealed; two black ebony effigies of the Pharaoh, gold sandaled, with staff and mace, stood out from the dark cloak. The walls lined with golden coaches, caskets, alabaster vases, black shrines with a gilded snake, his gold throne, gold chariots, and much more… they were speechless.
At the far end another doorway, set between two guarding statues; at that point they knew they had found the final resting place, of the boy Pharaoh … untouched since the day he was laid here in his sarcophagus.
The tour guide, a young, dark-haired woman in her early twenties, crossed the wide gallery, her low heels clicking off the polished hardwood floor precise as a metronome. When she reached the archway that led to the grand staircase, she turned and waited for the tour to file into the room. It was a large group today, and the gallery was one of the most popular rooms. After this room, she could expect several to drop off from the tour and head for the gift shop or even the parking lot, their curiosity had been satisfied.
She took a microphone from its hook on the wall and waited. When the group had settled into rows of standing, waiting faces, she flashed her best tour guide smile and began.
“Welcome to Mantle House, once the famous home of archaeologists James and Daniel Mantle …” She said, her voice amplified by several small speakers perfectly concealed about the room. “Mantle House is one of the oldest and best preserved homes in this part of Knightsbridge.”
She waited, for someone to ask the most relevant question… there was always one on every tour.
“What about the Mantle deaths?” asked a voice from the rear.
“It all started on the 8th March 1972, the 50th anniversary of the Tutankhamen find, when the Mantle brothers were found dead.” She looked around, all eyes and ears were on her, listening to her every word. “An amulet from the dig lay on the coffee-table, now situated in the display case to my right,” as she pointed out.
The police were summoned, and all London was buzzing with curiosity and fear. People questioned who had committed this dreadful deed, and the pathologist questioned how two healthy people died of natural causes on the same night, and at the exact same time.
The police received a challenging autopsy report from the pathologist. The joint medical opinion stated they had not been poisoned, brutally murdered or killed by any known means they could find. At the time of their death, they had been in perfect health, except now they were all dead. Each body had the look of terror upon its face, and they had been frightened to death all at the same time. What event caused this, is anyone’s guess … it has become one of the great unsolved mysteries of our time!
The mysterious deaths caused great concern to the police. They had two dead bodies, and no witnesses! If only the house could talk, its memories have been locked up within, never to be resolved. Since that fateful day the place remained locked, never to be lived in again, that was until 1994, when according to solicitors acting on behalf of the Mantle estate, stated one Trevor Mantle, came of age. It was he who has it brought back to its former glory, under the terms of the will, and re-opened it as a museum.
“What about the ghosts?” someone asked.
The gallery is said to be haunted by several ghosts, although historical identities of the spirits are unknown. The ghostly sightings began in 1879, shortly after the main house was built. The first ghost to be seen at Mantle House is described as a tall man in a long coat, some say it looks like Abraham Lincoln, who died in 1865. He is made up entirely of shadows, with burning red coal for eyes.
According to witness statements of 1892, ghostly sightings of one referred to, as the man in grey, so unnerved the master of the house at that time that he took a loaded musket from above the fireplace, and shot himself through the mouth.
The servant is said to have run from the house to a neighbour’s residence. Her story of terror seemed too real to be a charade. In fact, the servant suffered from the trauma for the rest of her short life. She died mysteriously in an asylum three years later.
When neighbours rushed to investigate the servant’s wild tale, they found the remains of the master’s body stretched out on the floor; his musket lay close by. The corpse had been burned nearly to ash, yet the remains were cool, and the rest of the house showed no signs of fire.
In the late 1930’s, the Mantle’s had an extension built on the side of the house, where we are now standing, to store their collection of artefacts from many archaeological digs. Some years later, visitors report of seeing Tutankhamen, sitting at one end on his gold throne.
ATo this day, the ghost of The Grey Man, Tutankhamen, and the one believed to look like Abraham Lincoln look alike stalk this house, and have been seen by staff and visitors alike.
The tour guide smiled, and took her thumb from the microphone switch. The tour group stood in a single silence, their expressions ranging from shock to peculiar exhilaration.
“If you will please move forward, we will continue to the next room.”
The group had just begun to move, when a young man to the rear of the group asked. “What about the ghost of the Mantle brothers?”
The mention of the Mantle ghost sent cold waves through the group. A woman screamed then collapsed.
The episode lasted only a matter of minutes, but it was enough to put everyone on edge. The woman who fainted recovered and was helped to her feet, by other members of the tour party.
“Young man,” she spoke with a stern voice. “Starting on the 8th March, and ending on the 22nd March, each year, numerous unexplained events would take place: Display cases are known to crack, lights would shimmer on and off, or would explode without reason, room temperatures would drop below zero one minute, followed by a fire engulfing the far wall, hot to look at, but cold to the touch…ghost like images would openly walk the corridors.”
The faces of the group said it all … she had sent fear into each and everyone. “That is why we don’t speak their names out loud, during those two weeks. The mention of their names would invoke terror!”
The young man put his fingers to his face, and they came away wet. The blood vessels in his right eye had burst, and he was weeping bloody tears.
“See what I mean,” stated the tour guide. He nodded in response. “There’s a first aid station next to the gift shop.”
Archaeologists James and Daniel Mantle found the ultimate prize; the Tutankhamen burial chamber … but the curse on the amulet was to cost them their lives.