Wrath of the Pharaohs
How the god kings proved their power on the battlefield
Three-thousand threehundred years ago, just to the west of the fortified city of Qadesh in Syria, King Ramesses II stared at the chaos unfolding around him. The fence of shields that formed a rectangular barrier around his camp had been flattened by an onslaught of Hittite chariots. All around, Egyptians were in danger of being slaughtered, crushed under horses’ hooves, pierced by arrows, or slashed by sickle-swords. Many troops fled. Egypt’s other army divisions were either too far away to help or had already been scattered by Hittite warriors en route. Ramesses was alone, riding on his chariot, his scale-armour gleaming in the sunlight. He’d been abandoned. Worse, he’d failed at one of the fundamental roles of a pharaoh – keeping his Egyptian subjects safe.
Taking Qadesh was meant to be easy. Intelligence provided by two local Bedouin suggested that the Hittite army was in Aleppo, 190km away, so Ramesses had pushed ahead to Qadesh with the army’s Amun Division, leaving his other divisions far behind. It was only when his soldiers captured two Hittite scouts that the truth was revealed: his enemy had actually gathered on the eastern side of Qadesh. There were thousands of
troops and chariots. Now, they were on the move. After a hasty council meeting, the vizier ran to warn one of Egypt’s nearby divisions, but it was too late. Ramesses’ camp would soon be overwhelmed by the Hittites – his Anatolian rivals.
That moment had now arrived. Amid the chaos, as his enemy circled, Ramesses did what many find themselves doing in desperate times: he appealed to the divine. He prayed to the god Amun, his father, asserting his devotion and listing the great deeds he’d accomplished for him. Surely the god wouldn’t abandon his son? Like in a movie, when all seemed lost, Amun heard the pharaoh’s call and joined him on the battlefield – just in the nick of time. Within moments, thousands of Hittite chariots lay smashed and broken. Guarded by Amun, Ramesses slaughtered his enemies with ease.
When the battle ended, Egypt’s soldiers and charioteers returned to camp to face a verbal assault from the pharaoh. Did they forget their training, Ramesses asked. Had he done nothing for them? How could they abandon him? What will people say? The next morning, the Egyptian army once again faced the Hittites. This time, the battle ended with an agreement: the two sides were to return home and there would be peace – for now. But Qadesh would remain in Hittite hands. It was a stalemate.
So goes Ramesses’ account of his exploits at Qadesh. If the king is to be believed, it was only Amun’s intervention that saved his life. It was he alone who defeated Egypt’s enemies – his troops merely cowered in fear. The reality of how events actually played out at Qadesh that day around 1274 BCE is hard to say. One suggestion is that a specially formed Egyptian army division, the
Nearin – which took a different route to Qadesh from the others – arrived at Ramesses’ camp just in time to surprise the Hittites, and pushed them into retreat. If so, perhaps Ramesses did say a prayer to Amun in his moment of need. And perhaps he truly regarded the Nearin’s arrival as Amun’s response – after all, a true king had the ear of the gods.
The Cosmic Significance of Warfare
When crowned pharaoh, Ramesses II inherited a divine role, already more than a millennia old, that held cosmic significance. He had a duty to protect Egypt’s population and expand the country’s borders for the gods. Whenever an enemy destabilised Egypt’s interests abroad – most often by interrupting trade routes or entering Egyptian-controlled territory – it represented a loss of divine order and balance, a concept that the Egyptians called maat. It was the king’s job to fix this. Foreigners weren’t simply non-egyptians causing trouble, but embodiments of disorder threatening the stability of the world. This is why, in stateproduced texts and in sacred locations like temples and tombs, foreigners are typically presented in a negative light. They are smited by the king, bitten by animals, and bound in painful positions. This symbolism was so key to Egyptian ideology that the ‘nine bows’ – symbols representing the totality of Egypt’s enemies – were painted on palace floors and woven into royal sandals so that the king crushed his foes underfoot with every step. Give it a try the next time someone puts you in a bad mood.
That the king had this role is not surprising: he was part divine, and Egyptian mythology is filled with warfare and violence. Every day and every night since the beginning of time, the sun god and his followers had fought the enemies of order, represented by the chaos snake Apophis, whose sole aim was to destabilise the cosmos. There are myths describing Horus and Seth’s dispute over who should become king of Egypt, after Seth had murdered Osiris, Horus’ father. The gods Geb and Shu, father and grandfather of Osiris respectively, also both faced rebels during their mythological reigns.
Clearly, the gods knew a thing or two about warfare. Perhaps this is why the king had to seek their approval before marching abroad on campaign. In war scenes, often carved on temple walls, divine endorsement of a campaign is symbolised by a god handing the king a weapon. After the war, the king is shown executing foreign prisoners before the gods. Normally, he holds his terrified
“Foreigners weren’t simply non-egyptians causing trouble, but embodiments of disorder threatening the stability of the world”
enemies by the hair, about to bring his mace down into their skulls. Such smiting scenes are often found at the entrance to temples, intended to magically prevent the disruptive forces of disorder from entering the sacred space.
The First Egyptian Armies
For much of early Pharaonic history, the Egyptian army was non-professional. With little danger from outside forces, there was no need for a standing army, so whenever the king or local leaders needed a fighting force, they simply gathered up men from Egypt’s provinces, handed them weapons, and ordered them to march into enemy territory. Mercenaries and prisoners of war, often brought from Nubia and Libya, swelled the numbers. Army leaders were typically chosen because of their loyalty to the king, and so weren’t trained warriors. One such individual, a man named Weni, had been a master of the royal robing room and a judge before the king sent him to lead thousands of troops into the Levant. He clearly had a knack for the job because he returned a hero, and was sent out five more times to fight Egypt’s enemies.
The army’s main battle tactic was to overwhelm the enemy, then decimate their land and resources, removing the
possibility of any future threat. Their weapons were as straightforward as their military organisation and tactics. Archers were armed with simple bows, their arrows tipped with stone or bone arrowheads. Everyone else had axes with stone blades, daggers, or spears. Cowhide shields and leather straps, wrapped around the torso, were the troops’ only protection.
There’s frustratingly little detail in the early written accounts of Egyptian warfare, which tends to be described in the idealised funerary biographies of courtiers, inscribed in their tombs. These mention the task assigned by the king and the ensuing success, but little more. The content focuses on the courtier’s closeness to the king and proof of good service – meant to entice tomb visitors to leave funerary offerings – rather than historical details about military activity. This is the case with the above-mentioned Weni in the Old Kingdom (2584-2117 BCE), who mainly focuses on listing the ranks of people he led and his service as a good commander, before summarising the destruction his army caused.
Early war depictions are equally unhelpful. Though detailed battle scenes aren’t generally found in the early evidence, there are paintings of sieges, which show Egyptians climbing ladders to reach their enemies high on the walls of fortified Levantine cities. Meanwhile, around 2380 BCE, King Sahure had a scene of defeated Libyan enemies, along with their names, carved into a wall at his pyramid complex in Abu Sir, not far from modern Cairo. This might have been regarded as a true event from the king’s reign, if not for the fact that other kings included the exact same scene on their own monuments – even with the same Libyan names. So did Sahure fight this campaign, or did he too copy it from a previous ruler? We may never know.
New Kingdom, New Innovations, New Army
A major shift in Egyptian warfare occurred as a reaction to the Second Intermediate Period (1781-1549 BCE), a phase of political breakdown. When central power collapsed and the country fragmented, an independent kingdom emerged in Egypt’s north-east, centred on a town today called Tell el-daba. During the Middle Kingdom (2066-1781 BCE), immigrants from the Levant had moved to this region, and the Egyptians settled Levantine prisoners of war there too. Over time, these individuals became Egyptianised. Some even gained positions of power in the local government. With the loss of royal control, these individuals formed a new ruling dynasty. Slowly, they expanded their influence across the Delta and then south, until a plague devastated the population – including the rulers at Tell el-daba. Their vacant position was either filled by another group of Egyptianised people of Levantine
“Campaigning, either to extend or regain territory, claim tribute, or show power, became an annual activity”
origin, or by the arrival of new immigrants from the Levant. Whatever the case, they called themselves heka khasut, ‘the rulers of foreign lands’, a phrase that reaches us today as the word Hyksos.
After bloody campaigns led by three successive kings, the Egyptians succeeded in expelling the Hyksos from the country. This triggered a new phase in Egyptian history: The New Kingdom, a time of wealth and empire that lasted from around 1549 BCE to 1069 BCE. To Egypt’s elite, the Hyksos episode highlighted the urgent need for greater control over the regions bordering the country and to modernise their military and its technology. In the Near East, the chariot and the more powerful composite bow had been used for centuries. With the Hyksos gone, the Egyptians swiftly adopted both.
Chariots now became popular among pharaohs and the nobility as symbols of power and prestige, used for hunting and combat, as well as for getting around (elite villas even had entrances wide enough for chariots to enter the grounds). They also made innovations, designing their chariots to be lighter faster than those ridden by their enemies such as the Hittites. During battle, each chariot had one man steering a pair of horses and another shooting arrows, though other weapons, such as axes and daggers, were always close at hand. A third man, armed with a javelin, ran alongside the chariot, fending off any enemies that posed a danger to the horses. And unlike other soldiers, charioteers were protected by leather or bronze scale armour, and bronze helmets.
As part of this professionalisation drive, the Egyptians broke with the past and created a standing army, though mercenaries and prisoners of war continued to play a major role. The army was now split into four divisions (at least, it was during the reign of Ramesses II), each named after a god: Amun, Re, Ptah and Seth. Each division had 5,000 men, commanded by the great overseer of the division, with various sub-divisions below. Becoming a soldier was now a career option, and provided a way for people of humble backgrounds to be noticed by the highest elite – even the king. If a soldier could read and write, or was willing to learn, a future in the government might be a possibility. Indeed, those who achieved this did quite well for themselves. A soldier named Ahmose Pennekhbet, who fought in the wars against the Hyksos and then in multiple campaigns under successive kings, rose to become a treasurer and royal tutor – an unimaginable career for earlier generations of Egyptians.
The Pharaoh as A War Leader
Using this professional army, the pharaohs expanded their influence south into
Nubia, which they violently annexed, and into the Levant. This brought them into contact with powerful Near Eastern empires – in particular the Mitanni of
Syria and Anatolia, and after their collapse, the Hittites of Anatolia. Campaigning, either to extend or regain territory, claim tribute, or show power, became an annual activity. And as kings tend to do in these situations, the pharaohs promoted themselves everywhere as great warriors. Of the most famous, Tuthmosis III, proclaimed his victory over a Mitanni coalition at Megiddo, which ended in a seven month-long siege. Ramesses II promoted Amun’s favour at Qadesh and Ramesses III defeated the mysterious Sea Peoples on land and sea, and quashed two Libyan incursions.
As well as promoting their strength in combat, the New Kingdom pharaohs presented themselves as excellent decision-makers and strategists. During his empire-expanding campaigns in the Levant, Tuthmosis III met with his commanders at a small Levantine town called Yehem to discuss the best road to take to Megiddo. Against their advice, he chose the most dangerous route, marching his troops in single file through the narrow Aruna Pass that led to the city. Naturally, this turned out to be the best strategy and his campaign ended in success. Similarly, Ramesses II was closely involved in all the decisions taken during his march to Qadesh – including the bad ones. He personally spoke to the two Bedouin who led him to believe that the Hittites where nowhere nearby, prompting his Amun Division’s rushed march to Qadesh. Later, once he’d interrogated the two Hittite scouts, he had to summon his officers to explain that he’d been misled – though here he blames his administration in the Levant for failing to keep track of the Hittites’ movements rather than himself. The royal texts describing these events appear to have been based on administrative documents, so no doubt reflect some level of reality, despite becoming idealised when describing the king on the battlefield.
Indeed, it’s hard to say whether New Kingdom pharaohs actually fought on the front line with their troops. In our sources, the king kills all enemies, zapping
“As well as promoting their strength in combat, the New Kingdom pharaohs presented themselves as excellent decision-makers and strategists”
around the battlefield like a shooting star, destroying them in an instant. He is likened to an iron wall, keeping his troops safe. Soldiers never said that they killed enemy fighters; instead, they took prisoners or collected hands from their bodies – a way for Egypt’s scribes to tally the number of enemy dead. The New Kingdom royal mummies, meanwhile, bear little evidence that the pharaohs lived lives of danger and combat. There are no healed bones or wounds that could be attributed to them putting themselves in harm’s way.
To find a king who died violently on campaign, we need to look a little earlier than the New Kingdom, to Seqenenre
Tao II of the Second Intermediate Period. Around 1553 BCE, Seqenenre’s killers hacked at his face with axes and smashed his nose with a mace or the haft of an axe. Because all the blows were inflicted against his head, and involved different weapons, it’s probable that Seqenenre was killed during a ceremonial execution, rather than fighting on the battlefield.
King Senebkay of the Abydos Dynasty
– a line of rulers at Abydos during the Second Intermediate Period – was also killed at the hands of enemies. But unlike Seqenenre, the unfortunate Senebkay is riddled with deep wounds, from his head to his feet, perhaps reflecting death during combat against a number of foes. As far as we can tell, no New Kingdom pharaoh bears any such wounds or scars. This doesn’t necessarily mean that they didn’t fight, just that they weren’t perhaps as active on the battlefield as they liked to present themselves.
War and Peace
Just as important as fighting in battle or deciding on a war strategy is knowing when to establish peace – a decision that was also in the pharaohs’ hands. Under King Amenhotep II, the Egyptians may have established treaties with the Babylonians, Mitanni and Hittites, as gifts were sent from their kings to the royal court. Afterwards, correspondence between the great kings of the Near East and Egypt is evidenced by the Amarna Letters, discovered at Tell el-amarna
(the ancient royal city of Akhetaten) in Middle Egypt. These present a picture of frequent gift exchange, travelling envoys, diplomatic marriages and an equality between rulers. Relations with the Hittites soured over time, ultimately leading to Ramesses’ brush with death at the Battle of Qadesh. But years later, even Ramesses II and the Hittite king Hattusilis decided that the time had come to forge closer relations, ending the years of distrust and fighting between their two empires. Their negotiations resulted in the world’s first known parity peace treaty – one between equals.
After the treaty was established, correspondence travelled between the two courts (including two letters containing disagreements about Ramesses’ recollection of events at the Battle of Qadesh). Ramesses married two Hittite princesses, and the Hittite crown prince visited Egypt. Ramesses also invited Hattusilis to come to Egypt, though the Hittite king seems not to have accepted the offer. Due to this newfound cooperation, life improved, and people could travel in safety, particularly in the Levant, which was no longer caught up in the wars between two powerful empires. The pharaoh may have officially regarded all foreigners as embodiments of disorder, and warfare may have been key to royal presentation and ideology, but in the end the reality is that cooperation and peace are always the more sensible and prosperous options. Even for a warrior pharaoh like Ramesses II.
“seqenenre’s killers hacked at his face with axes and smashed his nose with a mace or axe”