Free The Mamur Zapt and the Spoils of Egypt by Michael Pearce Page A

decapitated torso of a colossus, broken capitals exquisitely sculpted with designs of lotus stems and buds, fragments of wall fitted together jigsaw-like to yield a vivid murâl of a field in harvest time, reapers bent to the sheaves.
    The façade itself, however, was perhaps most striking of all. It was part of extended sculpting which ran the whole length of the colonnade. Cut in bas-relief, never more than a third of an inch deep, were delicate representations of ships with all their intricate cordage, their crews and merchandise, and in the waters below all the fishes of the Nile and the Red Sea.
    There, too, was the port, and beyond that the villages of the interior with their thatched huts and people going about their daily business, all carved with intimate knowledge and consummate skill.
    ‘Come to see the loot?’ asked a crisp voice beside him.
    It was Miss Skinner, armed with parasol and lorgnette, which she poked in the general direction of the exhibits.
    ‘Would you like a guided tour?’
    She tucked an arm beneath his and led him along the fragments of façade.
    ‘This depicts an expedition to the Land of Punt. Here are the spices—that’s what they went for—and here is a leopard, a cub, I trust, being brought on board.’
    A man dressed in European clothes came into the courtyard, followed by two workmen in galabeahs. He was, however, not a European but an Egyptian, from his face a Copt.
    He glanced at a sheet of paper he was holding in his hand and then tapped one of the capitals with his foot. The two workmen bent, lifted it on to their shoulders and staggered off.
    ‘Is that a list? May I see it, please?’ said Miss Skinner, holding out her hand.
    The man hesitated.
    ‘I’m sure Mr Parker would be glad to let you have a copy,’ he said.
    ‘That won’t be necessary. It is merely a matter of an item or two which I would like to check.’
    The man was still reluctant.
    Miss Skinner took the paper from him.
    ‘Thank you,’ she said.
    She perused the list for a moment.
    ‘The sarcophagus,’ she said: ‘where is that?’
    ‘Gone already.’
    ‘And were there not some smaller pieces?’
    ‘They were in the first load.’
    ‘They are not on the list.’
    ‘This is just the second page of the list.’
    ‘Have you got the first page?’
    ‘It went with the consignment.’
    ‘What list is this?’ asked Owen.
    ‘All finds have to be listed,’ said Miss Skinner. ‘The list is then sent to the Museum.’
    ‘I was sending the things anyway,’ said the man, ‘so I sent the list with them. It makes it easier for the Museum.’
    ‘You work for the Museum?’
    ‘No,’ said the man. ‘I work for Mr Parker.’
    ‘This is Tomas,’ said Miss Skinner, with a vague introductory wave of her hand, continuing to examine the list.
    ‘I look after the transport,’ said the Copt.
    ‘It all goes up to the Museum? All this stuff?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘It’s
all
going to be exported?’
    ‘No, no. There are two different things. These are only going up for inspection.’
    ‘All finds have to be recorded,’ said Miss Skinner. ‘Then, if they’re movable, they have to be sent up to the Museum. That’s a requirement of the licence. A means of control.’
    ‘I see. And after that, they’re the property of the Museum?’
    ‘Would they were,’ said Miss Skinner. ‘Would they were.’
    ‘What happens to them, then?’
    ‘If it’s an excavation conducted by the Department of Antiquities, the items pass into the custody of the Museum. If it’s a private excavation, a disposition has to be agreed. In practice, if it’s financed from abroad, most of the finds go abroad.’
    ‘So they are exported, then?’
    ‘The Museum keeps some.’
    ‘And some are returned to the Pasha,’ said the Copt softly.
    ‘The Pasha?’
    ‘The Pasha Marbrouk.’
    ‘Why him?’
    The Copt looked surprised.
    ‘It is his land,’ he said, almost reprovingly.
    ‘The site, or part of it, is on the Pasha’s