In 1342, the royal family, starred in a spectacular jubilee ‘seated upon the great palanquin of electrum to receive the tribute of Syria and Kush, the West and the East … even the islands in the midst of the sea [the Greeks], presenting tribute’. The foreigners were unimpressed by this sun cult: ‘Why,’ wrote King Ashuruballit of Assyria, ‘should my messengers be made to stay constantly outside to die under the sun?’ The sun was about to lose its dazzle, and its eclipse would bring the most famous of all pharaohs to the throne.
TRANSITIONING: THE MALE NEFERTITI, TUTANKHAMUN’S WIFE AND THE PRINCE OF HATTI
A new male co-pharaoh was named as Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti, who was probably the queen transitioning into a male king. But the sun cult depended on one man – and in 1336 Akhenaten died, to be succeeded by a mysterious pharaoh named Smenekhkara, most likely Nefertiti in male guise, who ruled with her own daughter Meritaten as King’s Great Wife. But courtiers were enraged by the sun cult, and knives were out: Nefertiti died – or was killed. Her replacement was a nine-year-old son of Akhenaten by one of his secondary wives: Tutankhaten – Living Image of Aten – who was swiftly married to another of the daughters of Akhenaten and Nefertiti, Ankhesenpaaten.
The vanishing of Nefertiti heralded a counter-revolution to undo the Atenists and restore Amun-Ra. The capital returned to Memphis, the new city abandoned; Tutankhaten became Tutankhamun, his wife Ankhesenamun.
The pharaoh, five foot six, was not strong – he may have fractured his leg in a chariot accident; he also suffered from malaria and it sounds as if he had a temper. Now he consulted ‘with Amun’, which meant his powerful advisers, Ay, his great-uncle, and the top general Horemheb, who boasted that Tutankhamun promoted him to ‘Lord of the Land’. The boy-pharaoh declared ,‘The temples of the gods and goddesses had fallen into ruin …’ but he himself ‘drove away chaos’. The royal couple were half-siblings, the queen was barely pubescent and two daughters were stillborn (their tiny mummies buried with Tutankhamun, his paternity proved by their DNA). The pharaoh faced the relentless advance of the Hattian king Suppiluliuma. ‘If armies were sent east,’ admitted Tutankhamun, ‘they had no success.’ He sent an army northwards. Suppiluliuma’s chariots routed it.
In 1322, Tutankhamun died at the age of nineteen – whether as a result of malaria, some other infection or murder – but his tomb was not ready, so his entombed regalia was paltry compared to the treasures prepared for kings who died in predictable old age.
Only one of House Ahmose was left: Queen Ankhesenamun, also nineteen, was alone in a vicious court at the mercy of Great-Uncle Ay who was angling to marry her and become pharaoh himself. Overseer of the Army Horemheb had, he claimed, been designated as heir, but he was campaigning in Syria. In a desperate move, the daughter of Nefertiti turned to the other great dynasty.
Great King Suppiluliuma was at war, besieging Carchemish (Türkiye). In a letter, included in The Deeds of Suppiluliuma, an account written by his heir and found among the ruins of Hattusa, teenaged queen Ankhesenamun wrote: ‘My husband has died and I have no son. They say that you have many sons. You might give me one of your sons to become my husband. I would not wish to take one of my subjects [she meant Ay] as husband … I am afraid.’
Suppiluliuma sent a son, Prince Zannanza, through Canaan towards Egypt. But he was too late. The journey took a long time; the old minister Ay was acclaimed pharaoh and married the young queen. But Zannanza was still on his way. We do not know what happened, but Horemheb surely intercepted and murdered him. It was a favour Pharaoh Ay did not forget. No one knows for how long Ankhesenamun survived, but Ay soon died, leaving the throne to Horemheb.
Suppiluliuma was incensed – ‘Oh gods, the people of Egypt did this to me’ – sending his charioteers to ravage Egyptian Canaan. But the soldiers and their prisoners returned with a plague, always a symptom of an interlinked world. Soon afterwards, Suppililiuma died and the crown prince, leaving his domineering Babylonian queen Tawananna ruling an empire beset by rebellion. In 1321, Mursili II, son of Suppiluliuma, grieved: ‘O gods, what have you done? You’ve let plague into Hatti and everyone is dying.’ The pandemic decimated the capital, Hattusa. Out of the chaos in Egypt and Hatti, two potentates emerged who would now clash in the greatest battle of the ancient world.
The day began with a surprise.
CLASH OF THE CHARIOTEERS: RAMESES AND MUWATALLI
In May 1274, north of Kadesh, Rameses II, aged twenty-five, five foot seven, fair-skinned with ginger wavy hair, the monarch of a new dynasty, rode out of his camp in a golden chariot wearing his full regalia, followed by his army of over 20,000 divided into four divisions. His mission: retake Kadesh, a walled city surrounded by water. But his manoeuvres were more leisurely parade than vigilant advance.
The capture and interrogation of two Bedouin confirmed that the Hattian army under King Muwatalli was 120 miles away near Aleppo. Closer to his home base, the Great King of Hatti deployed a much larger force of 47,500, including 3,500 chariots – but they were far away.
Fording the Orontes, the Egyptians set up a new forward camp to begin the siege. Just five years on the throne, Rameses, slim, fit, aquiline, was energetic and confident like his father. The family were new: Tutankhamun’s general Horemheb had had no children: he appointed a commoner as King’s Deputy, Paramessu, a general, whom he then promoted to King’s Son. Paramessu took the regnant name Rameses, but it was his son Seti, another tough, athletic general – still impressive as a mummy – who restored the empire with parvenu vigour. Even while his father was still alive, Seti was storming up the coast of Canaan, where he forced the rulers of Lebanon to cut timber for his navy then seized Kadesh. But the Hattians, now under the impressive team of Muwatalli and his brother, Hattusili, grandsons of Suppiluliuma, seized it back.
When Rameses II succeeded his father – taking the throne name Usermaatra (Ozymandias) – Kadesh was his first priority. Rameses was flamboyant and narcissistic, engraving his name on more monuments than anyone else. He had already begun to build a capital, Per-Rameses – House of Rameses. His tomb builders lived in a workers’ village at Deir el-Medina, proud of their speciality – ‘I am a craftsman,’ wrote one, ‘who excels in his art at the forefront of knowledge.’ In his works, Rameses would define the very word pharaonic.
Maestro of bow and chariot, Rameses first defeated the fleets of the Sherden, raiders of the eastern Mediterranean. Then he turned to Kadesh.
As Rameses set up camp, Muwatalli’s spies were watching, but they were spotted, captured and tortured to reveal alarming news: the Hattians were very close, poised to attack. Rameses was outraged by his generals’ incompetence. He took personal charge, sending the royal princes out of the battle zone, dispatching his vizier to bring up the Ptah division. Before they were ready, the Hattians ambushed them, their chariots smashing into the Amun division commanded by Rameses, who sent out the calclass="underline" ‘His Majesty is all alone.’ Then they hit the Ra division as it crossed the river. Thousands of chariots crashed into each other. Commanded by Muwatalli, Hattian chariots broke the Egyptian lines with their flimsier chariots; the Egyptians fled. It was a desperate fight in which the pharaoh himself, riding his chariot and firing his bow, was almost killed, only rescued by his Greek guards resplendent in horned helmets and hacking swords. There is no reason to doubt Rameses’ claims that his own personality saved the day. He was lucky: the Children of Hatti started plundering the pharaonic camp. As chariot reinforcements arrived in the nick of time, Rameses, shouting orders from his chariot, rallied his forces for Muwatalli’s charge. Rameses’ counter-attack broke the Hattian lines.