WRATH OF THE PHARAOHS

Three-thousand three-hundred 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