Joann Fletcher - The Search for Nefertiti: The True Story of an Amazing Discovery

As the early morning mist began to rise slowly from the silent waters, our boat crossed over to the Land of the Dead. It was here on the west bank of the Nile that the pharaohs had been buried some four thousand years ago, and we were on our way to the most famous cemetery in the world, the Valley of the Kings. With little more than three hours sleep, I felt unprepared for what was to come. It was the stuff of dreams, the fulfilment of a lifetimes ambition and an opportunity given to very few. I hardly dared think of what we were about to do, let alone who we were about to see, having waited twelve long years for an audience with perhaps the most familiar figure in the history of ancient Egypt.

Lost in a world of my own, I made my way down the narrow gangplank to where the water lapped the shore. As the sun made its first appearance of the day, I stepped into the bus. Id made this journey so many times before, but now it was very different, and nerves began to play with my mind. What if the tomb was empty? What if there was nothing there? And what if the official permissions wed worked so hard to obtain from the Egyptian authorities had been withdrawn at the very last minute? It did happen.

I comforted myself with the knowledge that the perceived identity of the one we were about to meet was to all intents and purposes unknown, and, together with the two other bodies which had been laid to rest close by, protected by anonymity. When mentioned at all, they tended to be passed over as minor members of a royal house whod played little part in ancient Egypts story, so my request to see them was not particularly controversial.

As the ancient landscape whizzed past my window and the two colossal stone figures of Amenhotep III loomed up in front of us, I could almost hear the blood pumping through my head. I had to stay calm, I kept telling myself. I was about to meet Egypts Head of Antiquities, Zahi Hawass, who was at this very moment flying in from Cairo to meet me inside the tomb. It was important at least to try to maintain an appearance of professionalism not that Id ever been much good at playing that game. The word nervous doesnt even begin to describe it.

We passed lush green fields fringed with palm trees, farmers off to work and overburdened donkeys trotting along beneath great bales of sugarcane, all of them reassuringly familiar on this otherwise emotionally fraught morning. Even the bleary-eyed children getting ready for school still managed a smile or a wave at the funny-looking hawajaya (foreigner) with her big orange hair and little black glasses looking at them from the bus.

The hillside of Qurna stretched up before us, a fabulous backdrop of colourful houses built alongside the ancient tombs. Turning right, the bus sped on past the temple of Ramses II, Shelleys Ozymandias, and then to Deir el-Bahari, built by one of Egypts great female pharaohs, the mighty Hatshepsut. Today, however, my mind was firmly fixed on one who came after her, and who wielded no less power.

In case I needed any reminding why the Valley of the Kings was a place familiar to everyone, we turned left at Castle Carter, home of the twentieth centurys most famous archaeologist. Howard Carter, the man who discovered the tomb of Tutankhamen in 1922, has always been something of a hero for me, a working-class lad made good who stuck two fingers up at the sneering establishment by making the greatest archaeological discovery of all time. Carter and Tutankhamen are very much part of this story, both of them closely linked to the three who now awaited us in the valley whose barren, limestone sides loomed on either side. As the bus rattled on and the summer temperature began to rise steadily towards its 40C June average, I spared a thought for Carter and his trusty donkey.

Slowing down, the bus stopped at the first of numerous security checks, the legacy of the terrible events of 1997 when Islamic extremists had murdered foreigners and Egyptians alike in their attempt to destabilise Egypts secular government. And in todays political climate another attack can never completely be ruled out. But thanks to a stack of official paperwork and security clearances, we were waved through the barrier where vehicles normally have to stop to offload their passengers, and drove right up to the entrance gates of the Valley itself. Carrying nothing more dangerous than a camera, torch and my trusty umbrella, I began the final walk up to the tomb.

I had first come here as a dumbstruck teenager, unable to take it all in as tomb after tomb revealed some of the most beautiful images I had ever seen. Their hidden chambers and sealed doorways only fired my long-held determination to become an Egyptologist, and by the time of my second visit I was an Egyptology student at last, able to start making sense of the complex blend of wall scenes, passageways, corridors and side chambers unique to each tomb. Many more visits followed, initially for postgraduate research, then accompanying groups of tourists, students and television researchers, and most recently as part of a team excavating KV.39, quite probably the first royal tomb to have been built here. Yet today was something else, a visit to a very different royal tomb. Unlikely to be repeated, it was surely my one and only chance to confirm what I had believed for so long.

Approaching the small group of officials and police who clustered around the tombs entrance, I was greeted by the local antiquities inspector and his staff, smiling nervously and chain smoking as they awaited their new boss. Several local workmen with their tools and baskets were also waiting, beside a temporary sign announcing that the tomb was Closed for Restoration. We had in fact been given permission to remove a wall and enter the tombs remaining sealed chamber the ultimate archaeological clich, perhaps, but an amazing prospect nevertheless.

As walkie-talkies beeped and crackled into life, a voice announced that Dr Hawass was on his way from Luxor airport and would be here within the hour. With official permission to proceed, I took a deep breath, stepped through the entrance and began the descent into the depths of the rock-cut tomb.

As I made my way down the endless steps of the corridor which penetrated deep into the cliff face, I could feel both temperature and humidity rising steadily. The ground levelled off momentarily to pass through the first chamber and a modern bridge took me safely over the deep well shaft, designed to trap the floodwaters which periodically hurtle down the valley and the tomb robbers whose ancient ropes have been found at its bottom. I went on through the first pillared hall, down the final flight of steps and out into the vast burial chamber, its walls covered in row upon row of animated little black stick figures acting out scenes from the Book of Amduat. This is the guide book to the Afterlife, in which the dead are confidently assured safe passage with the sun god on his eternal journey through the Underworld.

Above me, the star-spangled ceiling of midnight blue and gold was supported by six great square columns, each decorated with three of ancient Egypts greatest gods: Osiris, lord of the underworld and resurrection; the jackal-headed Anubis, god of mummification and the guardian of the Valley; and Hathor, goddess of love, here appearing as the Lady of the West who takes the souls of the dead into her protective care. All three of them held out an ankh sign to bestow eternal life on their son, the dead king Amenhotep II, whose twenty-six-year reign saw the building of this impressive tomb in which he had been buried around 1401 BC.