True to their origins, the Ramessides were soldier pharaohs. Egypt’s foreign possessions had been rather neglected during the Amarna Period, and now there were new threats to contend with, notably the Hittite empire. So the first kings of the 19th Dynasty embarked on a series of military campaigns to re-establish Egyptian control in the Near East. They were assisted by mercenaries and by other soldiers of foreign origin who had settled in Egypt and adopted Egyptian customs – men such as the general Urhiya (no. 68) and his son Yupa (no. 69). Indeed, Ramesside Egypt was a decidedly cosmopolitan society, with people from Syria-Palestine, the Mediterranean, Libya and Nubia living happily side by side with native Egyptians. Though the memory of their foreign ancestry might endure for generations, like the draughtsman Didia (no. 74) they were only too happy to enjoy the benefits of living and working as loyal subjects of the pharaoh.
Despite concerted military campaigns by Ramesses II (no. 70) and his successor Merenptah (no. 75), it proved impossible to impose Egyptian supremacy throughout the Near East. Indeed, the Battle of Kadesh, which Ramesses II presented as a famous victory, was notably inconclusive and led to the establishment of peaceful relations between Egypt and the Hittite kingdom as a more productive long-term solution than permanent conflict. But other, third-party powers were now in the ascendant throughout the eastern Mediterranean, and they proved a persistent irritant to Egypt. The most serious threat came in the reign of Ramesses III (no. 78), when a combined land-force and naval armada of Sea Peoples nearly overwhelmed Egypt’s defences. Decisive leadership and forceful military action won the day for Egypt, but national security of the kind understood in previous eras could not be re-established.
Aside from the complications of foreign relations, Ramesside Egypt was a dynamic and prosperous place. The ancient cities of Thebes and Memphis had been joined by a third capital city, the Ramessides’ dynastic stronghold of Per-Ramesses in the northeastern Delta. Each of these three great centres of court culture had its distinctive attributes. Per-Ramesses was the centre of royal ceremonial, where Ramesses II received dignitaries and celebrated many of his jubilee festivals. Memphis remained the seat of government where officials great and small, like Raia (no. 71) and Mes (no. 73), served out their careers and built their tombs for the afterlife. The more ancient funerary monuments of the Memphite necropolis, notably the pyramids of the Old Kingdom, attracted the attentions of the first recorded Egyptologist, Ramesses II’s son Prince Khaemwaset (no. 72). His restorations and small-scale excavations at Saqqara and Giza marked an upsurge of interest in Egypt’s own past, a development that also led to the compilation of the most comprehensive of all king lists, the Turin Canon.
It is not Per-Ramesses or Memphis, however, that dominates the archaeological record of the Ramesside Period, but Thebes. Both Ramesses II and his father Seti I commissioned spectacular additions to the great temple of Amun-Ra at Karnak, while the 19th and 20th Dynasty royal mortuary temples on the West Bank were even more impressive than their 18th Dynasty precursors. Members of the Theban religious and administrative hierarchies continued to be buried in lavish tombs, adorned with images and texts relating to their official duties. A few individuals, such as the scribes Thutmose (no. 81) and Butehamun, left copious personal correspondence. An extraordinary survival from the same period is the will of an ordinary Theban woman named Naunakht (no. 80), which sheds light on the ancient Egyptian law of inheritance as well as on her own personal circumstances. An even more important source of evidence for daily life in New Kingdom Thebes is the community of necropolis workmen at Deir el-Medina. Here, ‘servants in the Place of Truth’ like Sennedjem (no. 67) lived with their extended families. They were prone to the same joys and the same irritations as every community, with the serial criminal Paneb (no. 76) proving a particular thorn in the village’s side.
The royal court itself was not immune to serious criminal activity, as the plot to assassinate Ramesses III demonstrates. This was, however, merely the latest episode in a long-running series of dynastic intrigues which had plagued the Ramesside ruling family since the end of the 19th Dynasty. The role played by senior courtiers like Bay (no. 77) remains murky, but it seems that, beneath the veneer of dignified order, the royal succession was riven by disputes. Egypt had experienced on previous occasions the destabilizing influence of a weakened kingship, but it failed to learn from its own history. A succession of feeble and ephemeral kings in the middle of the 20th Dynasty, balanced by powerful dynasties of officials (for example Ramessesnakht, no. 79), set the stage for the civil disturbances and power politics of Ramesses XI’s reign. Under the competing egos of strongmen like Panehsy (no. 82) and Herihor (no. 83), the government was torn asunder. Egypt once again split along regional lines, never again to regain its national vigour. The era of the last great pharaohs had passed.
66 | Horemheb
F
OUNDER OF A NEW AGE
The rise of a permanent, professional army is a distinctive feature of the New Kingdom. The wars of liberation against the Hyksos and the consequent involvement of Egypt in the wider Near East created the need for a well-organized military class. Warrior pharaohs such as Thutmose I and III defined their reigns by their foreign conquests, extending the borders of Egypt to encompass most of Syria-Palestine and much of Nubia. At first, the army had little apparent influence in domestic politics, but in the wake of the Amarna Period, that changed fundamentally.
Akhenaten’s revolution closed most of the major temples, scattering and neutralizing the previously powerful priesthoods. Most of his own appointees to high office were parvenus, men who depended for their position on the king’s personal favour. Hence, when Akhenaten died, the country was left with no obvious organ of government to pick up the pieces: none, that is, apart from the military. The man who stepped forward to restore order and dignity to a profoundly disturbed nation, to ‘calm the Palace when it had fallen into a rage’, was a career army officer. He would be revered by later generations as the first legitimate pharaoh since Amenhotep III and the founder of a new dynasty. His name was Horemheb.
His background is virtually unknown, other than that he came from the town of Herakleopolis (ancient Hnes) in Middle Egypt and was apparently of fairly humble parentage (although he later hinted at a descent from the great pharaoh Thutmose III). Like many of his generation, he achieved success by his own merits, and chose the army as the best route to promotion. Born in the reign of Amenhotep III, he would already have been rising through the ranks by the time Amenhotep IV/Akhenaten came to the throne. Given Horemheb’s later repudiation of the heretic king, it is scarcely surprising that he kept quiet about what he was doing during Akhenaten’s reign. Perhaps, as a senior army officer, he was able to spend most of his time outside Egypt, keeping his head down.
Horemheb rose rapidly to prominence after the accession of Tutankhamun. Indeed, the range and seniority of Horemheb’s titles at this time demonstrate the extraordinary scope of his powers: King’s Two Eyes Throughout the Two Banks (Egypt), King’s Deputy in Every Place, Foremost of the King’s Courtiers, Overseer of Generals of the Lord of the Two Lands, Overseer of Every Office of the King, Overseer of Overseers of the Two Banks, Overseer of All Divine Offices, Hereditary Prince of Upper and Lower Egypt. The last title designated Horemheb as heir apparent. He certainly seems to have been closely involved in every department of government, and it may be suspected that he was the effective power in the land, the de facto ruler in a country where the king was still a minor.
Despite such a raft of responsibilities, Horemheb did not turn his back on his main profession and power-base, the army. His private tomb at Saqqara, built during the reign of Tutankhamun, was decorated with scenes from his career, and military episodes featured prominently. As commander-in-chief of the army, Horemheb led at least two campaigns, one to Syria and one to Nubia. In his own words, ‘He was sent as the king’s messenger to the very limits of Aten’s rising, returning when he had triumphed.’ He was shown observing the scribes as they registered prisoners of war from the latter campaign, and being rewarded by the king with the gold of honour. Horemheb’s Memphite tomb served as the burial-place for his first wife, Amenia, but not for Horemheb himself, for he proceeded to take a step that would relegate his life as a private citizen to history.
Although he was the heir apparent, Horemheb did not succeed to the throne after Tutankhamun’s untimely death. Whether he missed his chance, being away on campaign, or simply came to an arrangement with Ay, it was his rival, the great survivor of Akhenaten’s reign, who became the next king. Horemheb must have known that the old man would not last long; indeed, within three years, Ay too was dead. With the powerful backing of the military, Horemheb seized his chance and the throne. He immediately signalled his policy direction by dating his reign from the death of Amenhotep III: under Horemheb, the Amarna Period – ‘the time of the enemy belonging to Akhetaten [Amarna]’, as he called it – would be erased from the national consciousness.
Official inscriptions might be able to rewrite history, announcing that Horemheb had been singled out for kingship while still a child; but, for pragmatic reasons, it was none the less important to establish his legitimacy, after a sequence of four tainted rulers. His bold and calculated move was to timetable his coronation to coincide with the annual Opet Festival at Thebes. What more powerful sanction for his accession could there be than the patronage of Amun-Ra himself? After communing with the image of the god in the sanctuary of Luxor Temple, Horemheb emerged, wearing the blue crown, to popular acclaim. As a further sign of the return to orthodoxy, he made his first priority the restoration of the temples closed by Akhenaten:
‘From the Delta marshes to Ta-Sety [Nubia] he renewed the gods’ mansions and fashioned all their images… they having been found wrecked from an earlier time.’
He reinstated the daily rites and re-staffed the depleted and demoralized priesthoods with new appointees ‘from the pick of the home troops’: Horemheb the army officer was relying on his tried and trusted colleagues to help restore stability to the country. He carried out reforms of the army itself, separating it for operational purposes into northern and southern divisions, each with its own commander.
As king, it was Horemheb’s duty to enhance and embellish the great temples of Egypt, but he showed little appetite for grand construction projects. Even his new, royal tomb in the Valley of the Kings remained unfinished. Of far greater interest to a career tactician was the thoroughgoing reform of government. To this end, Horemheb issued an edict which remains one of the most extensive examples of pharaonic legislation. In its prologue, he set out his purpose: ‘His Person took counsel in his heart… to crush evil and destroy iniquity.’ Moreover, he described himself as ‘a ruler zealous and watchful against greedy men’: those opposed to his reforms had been warned. The decree contained nine principal measures. All were concerned in some way with rooting out corruption, in economic or judicial practice. There were new laws to prohibit the requisitioning of slaves and of boats required for state purposes, and to guard against the seizure of hides during the annual cattle count; new penalties for fraud in the assessment of taxes, combined with the abolition of the state tax on animal fodder; reform of the system for provisioning the court during the regular royal progresses; new regulations for local law courts, including the introduction of the death penalty for judges found guilty of corruption; general guidelines for the application of justice, warning against bribery and partiality; and, last but not least, new regulations to ensure that the royal bodyguards were well and regularly rewarded – Horemheb had seen enough of palace intrigue to take a keen interest in his personal security. The end result of this raft of new legislation was that ‘Maat returned and reoccupied her place… and the people rejoiced.’
As he neared the end of his reign, Horemheb’s final task to embed stability and security was to pave the way for a smooth succession. His second wife, Mutnojdmet, had died in childbirth, and the king thus had no heirs of his own. Ever the military man, he turned to his fellow army officers for the solution, and in particular to his close colleague Paramessu (Ramesses I), who was duly proclaimed heir apparent. It was an inspired choice: Paramessu already had a son and grandson, and the Ramessides would provide stability to the monarchy for generations to come. As for the great legislator himself, the epilogue to his edict turned out to be a fitting epitaph for his impact on Egypt:
‘I shall be renewed unceasingly, like the moon… one whose limbs shed light on the ends of the earth like the disc of the sun god.’
67 | Sennedjem
W
ORKMAN IN THE
V
ALLEY OF THE
K
INGS
The most important construction project of any reign was the royal tomb, designed not only to afford eternal protection to the king’s body, but also to provide him with the wherewithal, practical and magical, to be reborn into the afterlife. The very public royal tombs of the Old and Middle Kingdoms – the pyramids – had invited robbery, and the rulers of the New Kingdom were determined to provide themselves with greater security. So they chose an isolated valley in the Theban hills as the location for their tombs, which were to be hewn into the cliff, thus remaining out of sight. The work of cutting, dressing and decorating the tombs in the Valley of the Kings was highly sensitive, and steps were taken to prevent details of the work becoming generally known.
Most significant in this respect was the foundation, in the early 18th Dynasty, of a special walled community (Deir el-Medina), isolated from the rest of the Theban population, to house the necropolis workmen and their families. It remains a time-capsule of daily life in the New Kingdom. It has yielded a wealth of evidence relating to the local economic activity, social relations, judicial proceedings, religious beliefs, and so on. Many of its inhabitants are known to us by name and one of them, Sennedjem, left behind a particularly rich store of information. His life provides an insight into the goings-on in the workmen’s village in its heyday at the beginning of the Ramesside period.
Sennedjem was a simple necropolis workman, a Servant in the Place of Truth. Like most of his fellow workers, he had a large family. He and his wife Iyneferti shared their compact house with their ten children: four sons, Khabekhenet, Bunakhtef, Rahotep and Khonsu; and six daughters, Irunefer, Taash-sen, Hetepu, Ramessu, Anhotep and Ranehu. The house itself was divided into two parts. Fronting onto the narrow street was the public room, in which guests were received and entertained. Behind it, at the back of the house, were the family’s domestic quarters, including a kitchen area. A staircase led to the roof, which provided additional sleeping space. It was crowded and noisy, fairly typical of an Egyptian dwelling. During the day, the children played in the streets with their friends and neighbours, while Iyneferti carried out the essential economic transactions of the household, often meeting the other womenfolk of the Place of Truth by the village well. She was as fashion-conscious as the next woman, and enjoyed wearing her long wig.
For Sennedjem, the rhythm of life followed a weekly routine. At the start of each working week, he and the other necropolis workmen left their houses, to walk up the hill behind the village and along the edge of the cliffs until they reached the col overlooking the Valley of the Kings. Here there was an encampment of small, stone-built huts, where the workmen slept at the end of each day’s work. After leaving some of their personal belongings at the camp, the men continued down the hillside to the tomb construction site itself. Sennedjem himself worked on the tomb of Seti I – at that point the most magnificent in the valley to date – and perhaps on the tomb of his son, Ramesses II. Using copper tools and wicker baskets to collect the chippings, the stone-cutters slowly chiselled their way into the bedrock, following the guidance of the architects and foremen, to create the long descending corridor of the tomb. Behind them came plasterers and painters to finish and decorate the walls. It was long, hot and tiring labour, but work in which the men could take pride.
The necropolis workmen were well paid, but not wealthy. They lived in comfort, not opulence. Leisure pursuits were simple, such as playing the board-game senet. They did, however, have the advantage of access to some of the best craftsmen available: their own colleagues. The objects in Sennedjem’s tomb attest to the skills of his neighbours. They included a bed, a chair inscribed with the name of his eldest son, and six walking sticks. There were also some of Sennedjem’s own tools, such as a cubit measure. Iyneferti’s treasured possessions included a wooden box decorated with the figure of a leaping gazelle, a toilet box and a vase.
The tomb is justly famous for its decoration; again, it seems likely that this was carried out by one of Sennedjem’s workmates. Reflecting his personal priorities, prominence was given to depictions of Sennedjem’s extended family. The most striking scenes in Sennedjem’s tomb, however, are those which envisage life beyond the grave. He is shown adoring the open Gates of the West, the entrance to the next world; and an entire wall is devoted to a detailed portrayal of the Fields of Iaru, the agricultural idyll in which Sennedjem and his family hoped to spend eternity. A blessed afterlife was not just the reward of the pharaohs buried in the Valley of the Kings: it was equally within reach of the men who built the royal tombs with the sweat of their brows.
68 | Urhiya
F
OREIGNER WHO BECAME AN ARMY GENERAL
In pharaonic times, to be considered an Egyptian it was merely necessary to adopt Egyptian customs and an Egyptian way of life. Ethnicity and background were irrelevant so long as an individual lived according to Egyptian norms. At all periods, Egyptian society welcomed and incorporated people of foreign origin, from the lands bordering the Nile Valley and from further afield. At certain times, increased immigration or forcible re-settlement of prisoners of war boosted the number of ‘foreigners’ within Egyptian society. The Ramesside Period, when the pharaoh ruled an empire extending from Upper Nubia in the south to Syria in the north, was one such time. Egypt in the 19th Dynasty was especially cosmopolitan. The army that defended Egypt’s empire drew upon large numbers of foreign mercenaries. Ethnicity was no bar to success, and at all levels of society, people of foreign origin achieved positions of importance.
The influence of foreigners at the Ramesside court is epitomized by the life and career of a man called Urhiya. His name is Hurrian (the main language spoken in eastern Anatolia and northern Mesopotamia from around 2500 to 1000 BC) and means ‘true’. It is striking that Urhiya kept his own foreign name rather than adopting an Egyptian one in order to assimilate more readily into Egyptian society. He was clearly confident of his own abilities and felt no need to hide his ancestry. This self-confidence and resilience found their perfect outlet in the Egyptian army. Urhiya had been born in the reign of Horemheb, the general who became pharaoh, and therefore grew up in a society where the military played a central role. The army offered the best chance of advancement to an ambitious young man. Joining up when he reached adulthood, just as Seti I came to the throne, Urhiya rose prominently through the ranks. He was promoted to troop-commander, in charge of a section of several hundred men, and ultimately to the rank of general.
After three decades of active service, Urhiya made the move into civilian life when Seti I was succeeded by his son, Ramesses II. The loyal military man was given a key position at court, that of High Steward to the new king. This meant that Urhiya had overall responsibility for administering the pharaoh’s personal estates and income. This was a highly responsible job, entrusted only to the king’s most loyal officials. Urhiya clearly discharged his duties in an exemplary manner, for he was further promoted, in Ramesses II’s tenth year, to Steward of the Ramesseum. For a decade Urhiya was ultimately responsible, in a practical sense, for the king’s immortality: the Ramesseum was Ramesses’ cult temple for eternity; the proper maintenance of the royal mortuary cult depended upon a steady flow of income; that income was derived from the Ramesseum’s own estates; and those estates were administered by Urhiya.
For a man of foreign extraction to have ended his career in charge of the king’s mortuary provision is a powerful demonstration that Egyptian society rewarded ability and loyalty above narrow ethnic considerations. Urhiya not only integrated himself into pharaonic culture, he also achieved the same for his family. His wife Tuy became a lay servant of two of Egypt’s major cults, as chantress of Amun and songstress of Hathor. His brother Tey went one step further, entering the priesthood. And, as we shall see, in the next generation, one of Urhiya’s three sons, Yupa (no. 69), rose to even greater prominence than his extraordinary father.
