The Rise and Fall of Ancient Egypt

by Toby Wilkinson

  Not that Thutmose III was immune to the attractions of a propaganda coup. For his eighth campaign, he decided to set the seal on his grandfather’s achievements, following in his footsteps to the very borders of Mittani. As it had two generations earlier, the Egyptian army journeyed by sea from the delta to Kebny. There, timber was cut and ships were built, which the pharaoh’s men proceeded to haul overland to the banks of the Euphrates. Having “crossed the great bend of Naharin in bravery and victory at the head of his army,”15 Thutmose found the Mittanian forces ill-prepared for battle. Their king fled, and his nobility sought refuge in nearby caves to escape the Egyptian onslaught that devastated the surrounding towns and villages. Thutmose took the enemy’s retreat as a surrender, and recorded his triumph on a stela set up right next to Thutmose I’s victory inscription. History was repeating itself, just as the king intended. To complete the coup de théâtre, the pharaoh proceeded to Niye, where he killed 120 elephants in direct emulation of his grandfather. He then took time out to visit the local bow-making industry at nearby Qatna and participate in a sporting conquest, before collecting more tribute from the native princes and marching back to Egypt. Altogether, the campaign lasted a record five months. The plaudits from Mittani’s fellow enemies came thick and fast. Babylonia sent gifts of lapis lazuli; the Hittites sent shipments of silver, gems, and wood. Assyrian envoys brought tribute, too—as, a little later, did delegations from Ashuwa, on the Ionian coast, and the land of Tanaya (perhaps Mycenae), which provided silver and rare iron. Egypt’s reputation was at its zenith, and Thutmose III, Egypt’s warrior pharaoh, was the toast and envy of foreign capitals from the Aegean to the Persian Gulf.

  There remained only the unfinished business of Nubia. Where brute force had failed to crush Kushite opposition, perhaps a more calculated policy might succeed. Kerma had been rebuilt time and again by its loyal citizens, so rather than razing the city to the ground, Thutmose III took the simpler expedient of founding his own Egyptian settlement next door. Drawn away by opportunities for trade and employment, the population of Kerma slowly but surely migrated the short distance to the new town of Pnubs. Starved of commerce, the old city, talisman of Kushite nationhood, withered and died. Instead of killing the local rulers and hanging them upside down from his bowsprit, Thutmose III brought them and their families back to Egypt for a spell of assimilation, before repatriating them, thoroughly acculturated, to continue administering their homelands on behalf of the Egyptian crown. While Egyptian control was never as strong in Kush as it was in Wawat, Thutmose’s policy was a success, and serious rebellions did not trouble the New Kingdom pharaohs again.

  Thutmose III was justly hailed in his lifetime as the ruler “who makes his boundary as far as the Horn of the Earth, the marshes of Naharin.”16 In the eyes of posterity, he was, perhaps, the greatest of all pharaohs.

  CHAPTER 12

  KING AND COUNTRY

  ALL THE KING’S MEN

  THUTMOSE III’S FOREIGN CONQUESTS LOOM LARGE IN CONTEMPORARY accounts of his reign and still dominate our view thirty-five centuries later. Yet, while the king spent long periods away on campaign, especially during the first two decades of his sole rule, he could not afford to neglect domestic affairs. Egypt was geographically extensive, and a nation of strong local and regional traditions. The forces of decentralization were never far beneath the surface. Bitter experience, twice in Egypt’s history, had shown that in the absence of firm central government, the country could easily fall prey to political fragmentation, internal conflict, and foreign invasion.

  For the early Eighteenth Dynasty kings, Ahmose and Amenhotep I, rebuilding their shattered realm had been the priority, overseas adventures an unaffordable distraction. That Thutmose III was able to devote his considerable reserves of energy to widening the frontiers of Egypt is a testament as much to his forebears’ administrative reforms as to his own leadership skills. For the system of government that the early New Kingdom rulers put in place strengthened the absolute power of the monarch while releasing him from the day-to-day exigencies of running the country. The king might be the sole source of power, simultaneously head of state and government, commander in chief of the armed forces, high priest of every cult and the gods’ representative on earth, and the arbiter of policy, but in practice he delegated matters to a small handful of trusted officials. Reveling in their status and wealth, these men (and they were all men—Egypt might have accommodated itself to a female pharaoh, but the corridors of power remained an all-male preserve) who ran the country during the New Kingdom commissioned for themselves beautifully decorated sepulchres in the Theban hills. The so-called Tombs of the Nobles are a favorite tourist attraction today, but also a revealing window on the king’s inner circle. Look beyond the brightly colored wall paintings, and the murky reality of power politics comes sharply into view.

  For practical purposes, the administration of Egypt was divided into separate departments. Central government combined the office of royal construction projects, headed by an overseer of works, with the all-important treasury, under the control of the chancellor. The army had its own overseer, as did the Nubian gold mines, so vital to the prosperity of the Egyptian economy. Provincial government was the responsibility of regional appointees, such as the king’s son and overseer of the southern countries, who administered Egyptian-controlled Nubia, while individual towns had their own mayors. Thebes, the monarchy’s theological power base, was treated as a special case, with its own devolved administration entrusted to ultraloyalists. Each temple in the land had its own priesthood with economic as well as religious authority. First among equals was the high priest of Amun, who exercised effective control over the vast landholdings and other assets that belonged to the temple of Ipetsut. Finally, there was the department responsible for the royal household and for the estate that supplied its material needs. Here, the royal steward held sway, controlling access to the king’s person and enjoying privileged access to the monarch. At the very top of the government machine, filling the role of intermediary between every department and the king, was the office of vizier (effectively prime minister). In the Eighteenth Dynasty, this position was divided into two, with a northern vizier based in Memphis and a southern vizier in Thebes. All in all, it was a highly effective system, giving the king, through his placemen, control over every aspect of the nation’s affairs.

  In the days of the pyramids, the major offices of state had been reserved for male members of the royal family, but such a system would have provided the king’s younger brothers and sons with opportunities to build up rival power bases, and could have proved disastrous. In the late Fourth Dynasty, the upper ranks of the administration had been opened to men of nonroyal birth. Not only did this keep the king’s potential rivals away from positions of influence, but it also enabled the government to be run in a more professional way. By the early New Kingdom, with Egypt engaged in international relations and empire building on an unprecedented scale, the king’s male relatives—with the exception of the crown prince—could be safely packed off to join the army (much like the younger sons of British monarchs in more recent times). There, they could find an outlet for their skills (and frustration) in the service of the state. Meanwhile, back at home, an entire ruling class of bureaucratic families had established itself at the pinnacle of ancient Egyptian society. Its members monopolized the best jobs, often passing them down from one generation to another. Within this small and claustrophobic clique, men of talent and ambition jostled for power, currying favor with the king to advance their own careers.

  A quartet of high-ranking bureaucrats who served under Thutmose III and his successor illustrate particularly well the nature of authority in ancient Egypt and the atmosphere of sycophancy and suspicion that permeated the king’s inner circle. Through them, we may glimpse the inner workings of the Egyptian state at the height of its power and prestige.

  CHURCH AND STATE

  MENKHEPERRASENEB WAS HIGH PRIEST OF AMUN, IN OVERALL CH
ARGE of the great temple of Amun-Ra at Ipetsut, the most important religious foundation in Egypt. The string of titles inscribed in Menkheperraseneb’s tomb emphasizes his status as occupant of the senior sacerdotal office in the country: superintendent of the priests of Upper and Lower Egypt; administrator of the two thrones of the god; superintendent of advanced offices; superintendent of the double treasuries of gold and silver; superintendent of the temple of Thes-khau-Amun, set over the mysteries of the two goddesses. Typically for a senior member of the ruling elite, Menkheperraseneb’s chief qualification for high office was his personal connection with the royal family. “Menkheperra” was the throne name of Thutmose III, and Menkheperraseneb’s very name—“Menkheperra is healthy”—expressed his devotion to the monarch, a loyalty born of close family ties. Menkheperraseneb’s grandmother had grown up in the royal palace as a foster sister of the young Thutmose I, while his mother had been a royal nurse. It is quite likely that Menkheperraseneb himself grew up on the fringes of the royal household, and these connections undoubtedly played a part in his rapid promotion through the ranks of the Theban priesthood.

  For the ordinary citizens of Thebes, the Eighteenth Dynasty ushered in a new era of public religious spectacle, far removed from the rarefied and secretive activities that had characterized state cults in earlier periods. The city at large had been transformed into a giant open-air arena for the celebration of divine kingship, and the gods themselves had been brought out from behind the high walls of temples to spread their beneficence among the populace. In the privacy of their humble homes the peasant farmers of Upper Egypt continued to worship their traditional household deities: Taweret the hippopotamus, protector of pregnant women; Bes the lion-faced dwarf, guardian of mothers and children; and the cow goddess, Hathor, who watched over all her devotees with a maternal eye. But these familiar companions were now joined by altogether more exalted members of the state pantheon, notably the moon god Khonsu; his mother, Mut; and her consort Amun-Ra, king of the gods. During the great processions that were a feature of Theban religion in the New Kingdom, this triad of deities became directly accessible to the common people for the first time. On high days and holidays—in particular the Beautiful Festival of the Valley and the annual Festival of Opet—the barque shrines of Amun, Mut, and Khonsu were borne on the shoulders of priests from the great temple of Ipetsut through the crowded Theban streets. Farmers and blacksmiths, as much as scribes and priests, could bask in the warm glow of the divine presence as it passed by. Not only did these spectacles bring color and gaiety to humdrum lives, but the rites also allowed the citizenry to feel more closely allied with the official dogma of the state. As always, pharaonic religion was as much about politics as about piety.

  From its headquarters at Ipetsut, the cult of Amun dominated Theban society on every level. To judge from the scenes and texts in his tomb, Menkheperraseneb’s secular duties as high priest were more important than his sacred role. He took a keen interest in Thutmose III’s building projects at Ipetsut, and boasted of having directed the work on his monuments. More important still was the administration of the temple’s economic assets: its extensive herds of cattle, its landholdings throughout Egypt, and its mining interests in the Eastern Desert and Nubia. Menkheperraseneb spent much of his time inspecting livestock, supervising the delivery of agricultural and mineral revenues, and ensuring that the temple granaries were kept restocked—all, of course, on behalf of the sovereign. Part of the wealth that poured into Ipetsut was destined for the temple workshops, which employed the finest craftsmen in the land. Their job was to manufacture costly objects not only for the temple itself, but also for the royal household.

  Temple and palace—in ancient Egypt the two institutions were inextricably intertwined and mutually reinforcing. As high priest, Menkheperraseneb’s primary duty was to bolster the monarchy, ideologically and financially. These twin strands came together most spectacularly in the formal presentation of foreign envoys to the king. The parade of colorful foreign emissaries with their exotic goods—Minoans with animal-headed drinking cups, Syrians with tame bears, Hittites and Asiatics with weaponry and metal ingots—served to emphasize the superiority of the Egyptian ruler over all other lands, and also his fabulous material wealth.

  While Menkheperraseneb ensured that the temple of Amun-Ra and its priesthood remained loyal to the monarch, his colleague Rekhmira was tasked with an even greater responsibility, the smooth running of the civilian administration throughout Upper Egypt. As southern vizier, Rekhmira exercised a combination of courtly, judicial, and administrative authority, hearing petitioners with a grievance against the authorities, presiding as chief judge in important cases, and receiving daily briefings from other government ministers. In his own words, he was “second [only] to the king.”1 Rekhmira, too, owed his exalted position more to influence than to innate ability, coming from a long line of viziers. In accordance with the Egyptian concept of maat (truth, justice, and righteousness), the vizier was sworn to carry out his duties with impartiality. At Rekhmira’s installation, the king himself delivered the admonishment with these words:

  These, then, are the teachings: you shall treat just the same the one known to you and the one not known to you, the one near you and the one far away.2

  For his part, Rekhmira claimed to have observed this injunction scrupulously. Yet there is something rather telling about his protestations. They suggest that the reverse was the norm, and that most ordinary Egyptians received rough justice from those in authority.

  The balance of Rekhmira’s activities is also revealing. Aside from his tours of inspection and his daily audience when he listened to plaintiffs in the Hall of the Vizier, flanked by the master of the privy chamber on his right and the receiver of income on his left, his schedule was dominated by briefings from subordinates. Alongside reports from the treasury and the royal estate, key intelligence was provided each day by the head of the palace guard, the garrison commanders, and the head of the security service. The king’s personal safety seems to have weighed as heavily as the national economy, underlining the autocratic nature of the ancient Egyptian regime. As well as prime minister and first lord of the treasury, the vizier was effectively commissioner of police, minister for the armed forces, and interior minister as well.

  Rekhmira also paid regular visits to Ipetsut, no doubt to ensure that the high priest was performing up to the mark—further evidence of the close connection between religious and secular spheres. Having received information from every department of state, Rekhmira relayed this to the king at a daily conference. While the vizier might coordinate government policy, there was no doubt where ultimate authority lay—and where the power to hire and fire senior officials rested. Despite impeccable connections, Rekhmira’s family did not succeed in holding on to high office for a further generation. When Thutmose III was succeeded by Amenhotep II (1426–1400), the old vizier’s sons, who might have expected to follow in their father’s eminent footsteps, were passed over in favor of another family altogether. A new broom, a deliberate break with the past, brought about a decisive change of family at the top of the Upper Egyptian bureaucracy, and reminded the ruling elite of the precariousness of power in an absolute monarchy. The king giveth and the king taketh away—blessed be the name of the king.

  PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

  THE CHIEF BENEFICIARY OF THE NEW REIGN WAS A FAMILY WITH EQUALLY strong royal connections to Amenhotep II, not his predecessor. As a young prince, Amenhotep II had received instruction from a man named Ahmose-Humay, who was also overseer of the harem palace, the institution that provided a home for the king’s wives and children. Ahmose-Humay’s two sons grew up, if not side by side with the prince, then certainly in the same milieu. When Amenhotep came to the throne, he lost no time in promoting his childhood companions to high office. The elder brother, Amenemopet, gained the southern vizierate in succession to Rekhmira, while the younger brother, Sennefer (literally “good brother”), was appointed mayor of The
bes. Between them, Amenemopet and Sennefer controlled virtually every aspect of the Upper Egyptian administration. Moreover, both brothers reinforced their membership in the new king’s inner circle by marrying women from the same background. Amenemopet married a woman of the harem palace, and Sennefer a royal wet nurse.

  Sennefer is one of the few New Kingdom officials whose true character can be seen in the official record, through the carefully chosen biographical details inscribed in his tomb. Although granted the extremely rare privilege (along with his brother) of a burial in the Valley of the Kings, it is his second Theban sepulchre that is the more famous. Dubbed “the tomb of the vines,” it is remarkable for its ceiling, which is molded and painted to resemble a fruitful vine, laden with pendant bunches of grapes. It conjures up an image of Sennefer the bon vivant, the mayor “who spends his lifetime in happiness.”3 This is reinforced by a painting in the tomb and a beautifully carved statue of Sennefer and his wife, both of which share the same small detail—a pendant in the shape of two conjoined hearts, worn by Sennefer around his neck. The pendant is inscribed with the throne name of Amenhotep II and must have been a royal gift. It was evidently Sennefer’s most treasured possession, talisman and symbol of his king’s favor. Not for nothing did Sennefer describe himself as “one who satisfies the heart of the king.”4 The pun may have been intentional. Sennefer’s statue is signed by the two sculptors who fashioned it, which is unusual. Amenmes and Djedkhonsu were “outline draftsmen of the temple of Amun.” Sennefer seems to have used his contacts at Ipetsut to procure the services of skilled craftsmen for his own personal project. Such arrangements must have happened all the time, and reflect the private face of public office.