Curse of the Pharaoh
American businessman Ellsworth Pope made it to the Southampton docks just before the ship's gangplank was raised and the anchor weighed. He had been detained in London, making sure his cargo was carefully packed and all the necessary paperwork was in order. Only after he had personally seen his crate loaded into the ship's cargo hold did he finally board the ocean liner.
A fawning steward, no doubt hoping for a substantial tip at the end of the voyage, showed Pope to his first-class stateroom where he was expected to rest before dinner. However, the wealthy capitalist never napped or rested during the day and slept little at night. After all, Ellsworth Pope hadn't become a self-made multimillionaire by taking things easy. Rather, it was his tenacity and hard work that had made him a success.
After Pope spent several hours catching up on his correspondence, he sent a message to Fadil Hassan, who was traveling in second-class accommodations. The man immediately responded to his summons. Fadil was a petite man with black hair, piercing brown eyes and a dark complexion. Although he was an Egyptian by birth, he spoke English with a crisp British accent, indicating he had been schooled in England.
Oddly enough, the two men had never met before that afternoon. Ellsworth's offer of employment had been issued by telegram, and Hassan had accepted in like fashion.
"Do you know what this job entails?" Pope asked Hassan after the two men exchanged the obligatory pleasantries required by social custom.
"Professor Aylesworth of the British Museum told me you require the services of an Egyptologist, particularly one who is proficient at deciphering hieroglyphics."
"That's correct, and Aylesworth recommended you highly. He said you are one of the best in your field."
Hassan nodded his head, humbly acknowledging the compliment.
"I hope you have no objection to starting work this evening."
Apparently, Pope didn't like to waste time, the Egyptologist thought.
"None at all."
"Good. But first, I invite you to be my guest at dinner."
"That is most kind of you, but I don't mind eating below deck."
"Nonsense! The food is usually much better in first class. Besides, I could use the company since I'm traveling alone."
Although Pope had as much money as most of the other first-class passengers, he didn't consider himself one of them. For one thing, he had made his fortune the hard way; he hadn't inherited it at birth as many of them had. For another, he did not belong in their social circle. He did not have a grand house on Park Avenue or a summer cottage in Newport, nor did he attend Harvard, Princeton or Yale, as so many of America's elite had. He was not a swell, and he had no desire to become one.
As Pope had predicted, the meal in first class was superb. When dinner at last came to an end, the two men returned to Ellsworth's stateroom.
"How about an after-dinner drink?" the host inquired.
"I would like one very much," Hassan replied, expecting a brandy. "Whiskey?" he asked with surprise when he saw Pope take the bottle of Scotch out of one of his suitcases.
"Whiskey is a man's drink, Fadil. Let all those upper-crust monkeys in their fancy coattails drink brandy, port and sherry. I'll take a single-malt Scotch any day."
Once he and Hassan drained their glasses, Pope took a stack of papers out of the lockbox he carried with him whenever he traveled. He was ready to begin work.
"Your first assignment," he instructed his new employee, "is to translate as much of this document as possible. It's a duplicate; the original is at the British Museum. Professor Aylesworth arranged for this copy to be made for me."
Pope didn't bother adding that the British professor had only done so after Ellsworth paid him handsomely.
"Well?" the employer asked hopefully. "Do you think you can do it?"
"I believe so," Hassan replied. "The hieroglyphs here are very similar to others I've seen. If I may borrow this copy, I can go to my room now and begin work."
"I have a better idea," Pope declared, reluctant to let the document out of his possession. "You can work in my sitting room. It's quiet and well-lit and so much more conducive to scholarly pursuits than a second-class cabin."
"As you wish, sir," the Egyptian said and then went to the sitting room where he immediately began the task at hand.
* * *
Fadil worked through the night, stopping shortly before dawn and returning to his own cabin for some much-needed sleep. When he opened his eyes a few hours later, he saw Ellsworth staring at him.
"Why don't we go get some breakfast?" the American suggested.
Pope was quite talkative over the morning meal. His companion, who had gotten barely two hours of sleep, was content to simply listen, asking only an occasional question out of politeness. Eventually, the subject of Pope's immense wealth came up in the conversation.
"What business is it that you're in?" the exhausted Egyptian asked.
"I'm an entrepreneur."
Pope liked that word: entrepreneur. It made him sound respectable—not that there was anything illegal or immoral about his business. He had been born and raised on a farm in Pennsylvania, but when the family fell on hard times, they were forced to sell their land and their livestock. Pope kept only his pet mare and later joined a traveling carnival, giving horse rides to small children. Unfortunately, he made nowhere near enough money to feed both himself and the mare, so he sold his pet to the animal trainer and began working as a barker.
The real money in carnivals, he soon learned, was in human and animal oddities. People from small towns and large cities across North America were eager to purchase tickets to see a hermaphrodite, a bearded lady, conjoined twins, a two-headed calf or a man who topped the scales at over nine hundred pounds.
As a young man, Pope lived spartanly and saved his money. He soon earned enough to strike out on his own. He had a knack for dealing with people and was able to convince several of the sideshow "freaks" to join him. As the band of social outcasts crossed and re-crossed the country, their audiences grew in size, and Pope's profits soared.
Within ten years, Ellsworth had enough money to buy a permanent building to house his growing collection of extraordinary exhibits. Not since P.T. Barnum had anyone tapped the country's morbid curiosity and fascination with all things bizarre. Consequently, the former farm boy made his first million by the time he was thirty. Now, at forty-five, he traveled the world seeking new exhibits to titillate the museum's patrons' love of the freakish and unusual. It was this ongoing quest for rare human and animal oddities that had led him to Egypt and then to Britain.
* * *
Shortly after noon the following day, Fadil finished deciphering the document that had been written in hieroglyphics more than three thousand years earlier: a powerful tale of ambition, love, jealousy and ultimately revenge.
Pope poured himself a large glass of whiskey, lit a cigar and sat back to listen.
"This document appears to have been written more than fifteen hundred years before the birth of Christ," the Egyptologist began. "The reigning pharaoh had recently died. His son, Akhenaten, and daughter, Sekhet, were to reign together in his stead, but since royalty was believed to pass through the females, Akhenaten had to marry Sekhet in order to become king."
"He married his own sister?" Pope asked with amazement.
"It was common practice then," Fadil explained. "A man often married a sister or other female relative in order to become pharaoh. Cleopatra married her brother, Ptolemy, and even the goddess Isis married her brother, Osiris.
"Akhenaten and Sekhet, although siblings, were quite different, both in appearance and personality. Where Sekhet was plain and unattractive, her brother was a man of incomparable beauty. Sekhet was ambitious and sometimes cruel; Akhenaten was good-natured and lighthearted. The sister excelled at her studies and was well-suited to be queen of Egypt, but her brother had no love of learning and little interest in politics. Given her hunger for power, Sekhet was feared and hated by her own people as well as her enemies. Akhenaten, on the other hand, was loved by all. He was so striking and good-tempered that even his sister—who believed herself to be of divine birth—adored him.
"The royal siblings might have reigned together in comparative harmony had not Akhenaten met and fallen in love with Kamilah, the daughter of one of Egypt's most revered generals. As was his right, Akhenaten took the young woman as his second wife. Kamilah, like her husband, was exceedingly fair of face and had a sweet, loving disposition. The two lovers discovered a happiness little known then, one not common even now. They were devoted to one another.
"Although Akhenaten still cared for his sister as a loyal brother would, Sekhet saw his marriage to Kamilah as a hurtful betrayal. While the jealous queen dared not hurt the pharaoh, she took no pity on her rival. She hired an assassin to strike in the night and murder her brother's wife. Naturally, Akhenaten was bereft over the loss of the woman he loved. Unaware that it was Sekhet who had arranged Kamilah's murder, the heartbroken Akhenaten sought comfort from his queen, which she was only too happy to give. Then the spirit of Kamilah appeared to her grieving husband and told him who had caused her death. Once Akhenaten found evidence corroborating the charge, he was livid.
"Despite his desire for retribution for his beloved's murder, he knew that if he should kill Sekhet, it would be Egypt that suffered most. So, he bided his time. More than twenty years after Kamilah's death, Sekhet fell ill and died. She was buried in a gold sarcophagus, with all the pageantry and riches attendant to her station as queen of Egypt."
"So, the pharaoh never got his revenge?" Pope deduced. "Seems a shame the queen got away with murdering her brother's wife."
"She didn't," Fadil explained. "You see, the early Egyptians were firm believers in the afterlife. Akhenaten was certain that once his sister died, she would be taken by the god Anubis to the underworld. Years later, as Akhenaten lay on his own deathbed, he cursed his sister, forbidding her to ever rest peacefully in the hereafter."
"A curse, huh?"
Pope was skeptical of both deathbed curses and the concept of eternal life. Still, he found the story intriguing.
"Whether it was her brother's curse or a simple coincidence," Hassan continued his narrative, "Queen Sekhet's tomb was raided. The jewels and other valuables buried with her vanished. All that remained was the gold sarcophagus that held her mortal remains."
When the Egyptian finished recounting his translation, Pope smiled with satisfaction.
"Well done, Fadil," the American businessman declared.
"And now that I have finished translating the document, Mr. Pope, what would you have me do?" Hassan asked.
"Relax and enjoy the rest of the voyage," his employer magnanimously suggested. "When we arrive in New York, I'll need you to help me with my newest exhibit. As an Egyptologist, you will be invaluable."
"And what exactly is to be in your exhibit besides a copy of this document?"
Ellsworth smiled, and his eyes twinkled mischievously.
"I suppose there's no harm in my telling you. After all, we must be out of British waters by now. Down in the cargo hold, I have the mummified remains of Queen Sekhet."
* * *
"I still can't believe it," the Egyptian cried as he stared down at the thirty-five-hundred-year-old corpse lying inside a modern coffin.
"She's remarkably well-preserved, don't you think?"
"But this is no mummy," Fadil observed. "You must have been swindled. The corpse is still fresh."
"It's the real thing, all right," Pope insisted. "It was found inside Queen Sekhet's gold sarcophagus along with the original of the document you translated."
"But the sarcophagus belongs to the British museum. How did you ...?"
"Don't worry. I didn't steal it—technically. I paid Professor Aylesworth a substantial amount of money for the body. It seems he was more interested in the sarcophagus than the mummy itself. He sold me the remains of the real queen and then substituted a dummy in its place."
"Do you realize what you have brought aboard this ship?" Fadil cried with horror. "I am familiar with the discovery of the gold sarcophagus. Several years ago, four wealthy Englishmen excavating at Luxor unearthed Queen Sekhet's raided tomb. Within weeks, all four suffered a tragic reversal of fortune. One was accidentally shot by his servant, two others lost their entire savings and the fourth vanished in the desert without a trace."
Pope was not concerned with the misfortunes of the men who discovered Sekhet's tomb. He cared only about the money he would make when he placed the mummy in his museum of oddities.
"The sarcophagus was then shipped to England," Fadil continued, "where a wealthy businessman—one very much like you—purchased it. Again, tragedy struck. Three members of the man's family were involved in a road accident, and his home was destroyed by fire. He knew what a cursed life he would have if he kept the mummy, so he donated it to the British Museum."
Pope brushed his employee's concerns aside.
"Don't you understand?" Fadil cried. "Akhenaten cursed his sister's spirit, and she in turn brings bad luck to all those who disturb her eternal rest."
"Balderdash! Utter nonsense!"
"I read the firsthand accounts of the discovery of the tomb. One of the Englishmen claimed two very attractive young Egyptians—a man and a woman—led him to the site and bid him dig. When the seal of the tomb was broken, the couple vanished before his eyes."
"You're a highly educated man, schooled at Oxford. Surely you don't believe in curses and ghosts."
"I may have been educated in England, but I was born in Egypt. In my youth, I saw many extraordinary things, and not all of them could be explained by science. I urge you—I beg you—to get rid of this mummy. It will only bring you bad luck. Let us toss it overboard where it will rest in peace at the bottom of the Atlantic."
"Do you know how much money I paid Professor Aylesworth for this mummy or how much I stand to make exhibiting it in my museum? There's no way in hell I'll toss it overboard. Now, do I make myself clear?"
So saying, Pope closed the coffin, shut the lid on the wooden crate and tapped the nails with a mallet.
* * *
Ellsworth was troubled all evening by Fadil's reaction to his latest acquisition. He hadn't expected a modern, intelligent man to regard the mummy with fear and superstition. Perhaps it would be necessary to replace Fadil when they arrived in New York, but where was he going to find an Egyptologist at such short notice?
Shortly after eleven Pope was awakened by a loud knocking on his stateroom door. When he answered, he saw two crewmen standing on either side of Hassan.
"Excuse me, sir," one of the men said. "I hate to bother you at this hour, but we discovered this man down in the cargo hold, trying to open that crate you brought on board. He says he's your employee and that he has your permission to do so. We just want to make sure he's telling us the truth."
Pope was furious.
"No, he's not. He's in my employ, yes, but he certainly doesn't have my permission to open that crate."
"We'll keep an eye on him, sir," the crewman assured Pope. "Then once we arrive in New York, you may press charges if you'd like."
"Thank you," Pope said and closed the door as the two crewmen dragged Fadil away.
Pope did not return to bed, however. He couldn't risk Hassan sneaking back down into the cargo hold and throwing Queen Sekhet's mummy into the North Atlantic. Pope was not about to trust anyone else to guard so valuable an investment; he would do it himself.
He dressed quickly, yanked the blanket off his bed and headed down toward the cargo hold. When Pope pulled the nails loose from the crate lid for the second time that day, he was relieved to find the mummy still inside. Gently, he picked up the thirty-five-hundred-year-old body and carefully wrapped it in the blanket. He would bring it to his stateroom and keep watch over it until the ship docked.
Once on deck, Ellsworth hid in the shadows of the stairway, waiting for the passengers to enter their rooms. He didn't want anyone to see him carrying a dead body.
"You'll be safe in my room," he told the mummy, as though comforting a frightened child.
Suddenly, a grinding, scraping sound came from the starboard side of the ship. Pope lost his balance, fell and hit his head. The impact caused him to temporarily lose consciousness. When he came to, he heard a commotion on the promenade deck directly overhead, but his only concern was for the mummy. For a moment, he thought it had disappeared, that someone had taken it. Then he saw the blanket-wrapped object less than three feet away. He quickly retrieved it, and clutching his precious treasure to his breast, he stepped out of the shadows.
People were being roused from their cabins and urged to put on their life jackets. Crew members were shepherding the first-class passengers up to the boat deck. Against his will, Pope was caught up in the sweep of the crowd.
"What's happened?" he asked a man who owned several of the most valuable parcels of land in New York City.
"It seems we've hit an iceberg," the man replied. "But have no fear. This ship is unsinkable. Getting people to the lifeboats is only a precaution. Of course, the captain is being a bit inconsiderate making women and children leave their warm beds to stand shivering outside in the cold. I'm sure the White Star Line is going to get more than one complaint when we reach New York."
For several moments, Pope watched the activity around him on the boat deck. He saw annoyance on the faces of many of the passengers. Apparently, a good number of them felt the same as the real estate tycoon did. They had complete confidence in the integrity of the ship. When Pope looked into the eyes of the junior officers shouting out instructions to the passengers, though, a chill went down his spine. There was fear in their eyes. They knew to be true what the passengers refused to believe: the great ship was sinking.
Pope, more fearful for the safety of his precious cargo than for his own life, ran toward the lifeboat stations.
"Women and children only," the junior officer ordered each time a man approached.
Pope abruptly stopped. There was no way for him to get off the ship. He looked at the lifeboats that had been lowered into the water, some barely half full. There would not be enough boats for everyone aboard, he realized with a jolt. Before the night was over, most of the passengers and crew would be as dead as Queen Sekhet.
"Well, at least the curse will come to an end," he said with a harsh laugh born of disappointment and defeat. "You can rest peacefully at the bottom of the ocean—along with me and hundreds of other doomed souls."
Just as the ship began to list to port and the terrible awareness of their fate descended upon those passengers who hadn't been lucky enough to get to a lifeboat, Pope saw two figures emerge from the shadows: a man and a woman, dark in color like Fadil and both remarkably good looking. The man signaled to Pope to follow them.
"Where are we going?" the businessman asked, still carrying the blanket-wrapped mummy of Queen Sekhet.
Neither of the mysterious Egyptians replied. Instead, they silently led Pope to the opposite side of the ship where one lifeboat hung askew on its davit, like a broken wing on an injured bird. The woman stopped and pointed toward the lifeboat.
"How do you expect us to get into that thing?" he asked.
She didn't answer, but her companion leaned forward and righted the boat.
Pope hesitated briefly. Then he heard the sound of gunshots. The ship was listing further, and panic began to spread. Pope tossed the mummy into the lifeboat and then climbed over the side of the ship and jumped in beside it. The two Egyptians were already seated there waiting for him.
Pope never knew how the lifeboat was lowered into the water or why the terrified passengers on the sinking ship hadn't spotted it and tried to board it. Those were but two of the many questions he dared not ask himself while he sat in the darkness of night, cradling the corpse of Queen Sekhet in his arms, and along with his two silent companions, watched the majestic ship go down.
When the stern of the Titanic finally disappeared beneath the surface of the water sometime after 2:00 a.m., Pope turned to thank the two Egyptians for saving his life. But Akhenaten and Kamilah, like the doomed ocean liner itself, had vanished into the night, having once again made certain that the curse on Queen Sekhet would continue.
Anyone who doubts the power of curses should live with Salem for a week!
