“Sealed within the iron hills.”
The Approach
The moon had risen as we rode down the steep, sandy road and threaded our way through the little mud enclosures, where dogs, alive for the excitement of the night, were prowling on the walls, listening with ears pricked up for warnings of enemies, looking with vigilant eyes  for some alien to draw near. As we crossed into that part of the village where they did not know us, a hoarse storm of barking filled the air, but in a minute or two we had passed beyond this, and were out among the sand-hills between the tombs, where the whole plain was flooded with a misty, uncertain light.
Song and merry-making had begun in the villages, for the full moon is festival for those who have no artificial light; but the thud of the drums, the sound of children’s voices, and the barking of dogs faded and died away, and we came out into a great emptiness, threading a narrow path between the tumbled heaps; on each side the tombs gaped dimly at our feet. On  the right hand we looked far away over desert and field to the great dark pylons of a temple across the river: on the left rose sharply the sandy spur of the hill we were rounding. No one was in sight and on no side could we see any human habitation.
We turned round the spur of the hill into a boulder-strewn valley, arid and silent. Even at midday there is little sign of life here, except on certain days when a stream of people traverse it and return; otherwise you find but a chance sown seed, dropped in a favourable spot; a withering leaf let fall by some traveller, a stray pigeon, an “evil bird” the Arabs think, who has left the abode of men and foresworn its final service for  their use, to live its hermit life in the wilderness. Otherwise you see but the golden limestone rocks, radiating back the golden Egyptian sunshine. Then all is bare and keeps no secret, for the very shadows are broken by reflected light.
But now the colour of the limestone showed but faintly in the white light, and the shadows fell dark from boulder and rocks. The valley was empty of life, penetrated with mystery.
There, as we turned, at an angle of the path was a figure, solitary in the moonlight, a man in a long, dark garment, holding by him his donkey with a sheepskin over its saddle. He stood waiting here to give us a message, and having delivered it went  back by the way we had come. And now looking back we could see nothing of mud village or vast old temple, no living man of the present, no stone memorial of the past; we were alone in a world half lit, wholly empty, stone and sand as far as eye could see, with an empty sky above where the moon had quenched all lesser lights.
The valley, which we began to see more clearly, was narrow and rose steeply on each side; the ground beneath our feet looked like a river-bed, on each side of which were large boulders casting deep black shadows. From time to time the rocks which walled the valley so crossed one another that it seemed the way was barred  in front of us, until, as we neared it, we found the road swept round a corner of rock. Turning such a corner, again we found three people silently awaiting us, two of them the companions who had preceded us; the third a slim figure all in white, on foot with a staff in his hand. He was a man of some authority over the guard, who, as we learned later, had lain seven years in jail for a murder. He ran with noiseless steps in front of us, and so heralded we went on to where the valley broadened out a little, branching to the right; and at the entrance a great rock jutting out of the cliff seemed in the moonlight to take a fantastic likeness to some colossal statue of a king, carved, you  would have said, by an Egyptian of old.
Our path led us to the left, and here the cliffs began to close in on us, until they rose like a wall on each side of a narrow way, at once so steep and so rugged that we could not tell whether the defile was natural or the work of man. It led at last to where a wall of rock, barring the way, had been rudely cut through. In this rough gateway we halted—behind us the rocky passage through which we had come; before us, as far as we could see, the hills ran down, like a great amphitheatre, to a floor of tumbled sand-heaps.
Here, as we halted, one of our companions blew a whistle, and the  next moment the hills re-echoed to the sound of a gun. After a moment’s pause he blew again, and now dark-draped figures suddenly appeared among the desolate rocks, running noiselessly towards us. After a moment all but two or three dispersed again, and we rode forward with the white, slim figure still in front and two men in flowing dark garments following us behind.
The great emptiness, the silence, the white, uncertain light by which the rocks showed faintly tinged with the rose and golden colour of the limestone, the dark figures suddenly appearing, noiselessly moving, dispersing into the night; the strange, desolate valley winding through all  apparent barriers into the heart of the hills seemed like a dream. Surprise vanished; even observation was dulled.
So we went forward to the head of the valley, ringed about with sheer mountain walls, and perceived that here the mounds which lay about the way gaped with open mouths, and we could see the moonlight shining through grated doors on the painted walls of galleries that ran down deep into the hill.
These we passed, and dismounting from our beasts, climbed a little mound, turned behind a projecting buttress of rock, and found ourselves opposite to a door cut in the cliff. One of the men who had followed us  went in and left us for a while sitting without in the moonlight.
The Presence
The great square doorway of the tomb showed inky black on the face of the cliff, golden in the moonlight; the shaft plunged steeply downwards into the rock, with short, high steps roughly cut against one wall. Down these we slowly made our way, the utter darkness pricked here and there by the flame of a candle in some one’s hand. A flame shone for a moment on the little shelf cut back into the rock, where the string bed and wooden pillow of the guard still wait his return, just where he went out and left them so  many thousand years ago. The steps stopped suddenly on the edge of a pit deep and broad; by the light of a candle held high we could dimly see the red and blue patterns painted on its plastered walls. A hole had been broken through them on the opposite side of the chasm, and crossing by a little plank bridge we crept through, still deeper into the heart of the cliff. On the other side of the wall the tunnel still went downwards, but the faint light showed a deep alcove to the right. On the rocky floor lay a man, bound upon a crumbling wooden boat; the painful bonds still held the brown and shrivelled limbs, his knees drawn up, his head pressed back.
Again down the steep stairway we  climbed, feeling along the rough-cut wall, and again at the bottom a chamber opened to the right. A man, a woman, and a girl lie here, side by side in the middle of the floor. They have suffered the indignity of stripping; wounds are in their breasts; the thick black hair upon their heads makes the small faces and limbs seem the more withered and unhuman. It is a pitiful sight.
For the third time the rock-hewn ladder led us down to the square-cut doorway which opened to the presence-chamber of a king of Egypt. The great hall stretched back into the darkness, dimly lighted by hidden candles, heavy with the silence of three thousand years. The faint  gleam fell upon the painted walls and pillars of the eternal dwelling-place, the work of such far-off hands clear and fresh with the freshness of yesterday. On the great square pillars Amenhetep still feels the fullness of his earthly life and draws strength from mysterious communing with the life-giving god. On the walls a huge papyrus seems unrolled where the spirit of the King, in the depth of the nether world, may learn to wrestle with and overthrow the serpent-monsters brought by each gloomy Hour. At the back of the hall two steps lead down to the high vaulted space where stands the great rose-granite sarcophagus. In the darkness and the silence the lid or the inner  coffin was raised and we were in the presence of the King.
The dim-veiled figure lay before us, wrapt in an inexpressible mystery, the impress of his kingship still upon him, crowned with the greater dignity of death. Far from the loved Egyptian sunshine, from the sweet breath of the north wind, from the fleeting ways of men, the inhabitant of the rock holds his solemn court through the centuries which have no power upon him, with the records of his life and warfare around him and the mimosa wreaths upon his breast.
[Since the above was written plunderers penetrated into the tomb in the absence of the guard, and the body of Amenhetep II. no longer rests in his Eternal Habitation.]