Imagining the Past: Historical Fiction in New Kingdom Egypt [1 ed.] 0199947228, 9780199947225, 0199982228

Table of contents :
Cover
Contents
Preface
List of figures and plates
List of abbreviations
Note to the translations
Chronology
1. Intimations of an earlier age: History and fiction in New Kingdom Egypt
Imagining the past in New Kingdom Egypt
The intertextual universe of New Kingdom historical fiction
Historical fiction: An Ancient Egyptian literary genre
Historical fiction as physical and linguistic artifacts of the scribal profession
2. The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre
British Museum EA 10185 (Papyrus Sallier I): An introduction
The characters: Seqenenre, Apepi, and Scribes
The setting: Hutwaret and the “Southern City”
Introduction: Two kings and pestilence in Egypt
Apepi, servant of Seth
Apepi dictates a message; Seqenenre worships Amun-Re
The message delivered: “Expel the Hippopotami”
Seqenenre summons his council
The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and the “Instruction of Letter Writing”
Riddles and intertextualities
3. The Capture of Joppa
British Museum EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500): An introduction
The protaganist: General Djehuty
The place: Joppa
Strong drink and horses
A request with unintended consequences
Soldiers in baskets: The art of deception
Props: Baskets, ropes, and manacles
Foreign women and the “Mistress” of Joppa
An Ancient Egyptian “Trojan Horse”: Military strategem in The Capture of Joppa
Djehuty congratulates Pharaoh
4. Thutmose III in Asia
Papyrus Turin 1940+1941: An introduction
A fragmentary beginning
Darkness, fowlers, and Paser’s speech
Divine interventions: A hostile wind with three Montus
Thutmose III defeats the enemy
5. The Libyan Battle Story
Papyrus Louvre N 3136: An introduction
Pharaoh, the divine son, in the palace
Fortresses in the Western Delta
The Libyan battle at the fields of Perire
6. A thematic survey of New Kingdom historical fiction
Audience and function of Egyptian historical fiction: Entertainment and empire
Scribal victory: The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre
Charioteers, loan words, and menace: The Capture of Joppa
Recreating a battle: Thutmose III in Asia
Knowing the enemy: The Libyan Battle Story
Theology in the tales
Historiography in the tales
Appendix 1: BM EA 10185
Appendix 2: BM EA 10060
Appendix 3: P. Turin 1940+1941
Appendix 4: P. Louvre N3136
Notes
Bibliography
Hieroglyphic Plates
Index
A
B
C
D
E
F
G
H
I
J
K
L
M
N
O
P
Q
R
S
T
U
V
W
Z

Citation preview

Imagining the Past

lys Ha

Troy

Hattusha

HATTI

KHANIGALBAT ris Tig

Carchemish

LUKKA

Lit A an MU i RR

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Washukanni(?) Alalakh ASSYRIA AleppoMITANNI Ashur Ugarit Oro nte ALASHIYA s Kadesh Byblos Eu ph Beirut rat Damascus es Tyre M ed i t er ra n ea n S ea Megiddo Joppa Piramesses Ashkelon Jerusalem Gaza Marsa Dead Matruh Sharuhen Sea Kom Firin Tjaru Avaris Memphis Siwa Oasis Sinai Fayum Peninsula AN

Babylon

CA

NA

BABYLONIA

Bahariya Oasis

Persian Gulf

Akhetaten

Oasis Akhmim Deir el-Ballas Thebes Elkab Kom Ombo Aswan

Abydos Dakhla Oasis Kharga Oasis

Red Sea

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Wadi es-Sebua

M e d i ter r

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AN

Joppa Avaris Ashkelon Gaza Piramesses Sharuhen Kom Firin Buto Bir el-‘Abd Tjaru Kom el-Hisn Bubastis Wadi Tell el-Yahudiya Natrun Giza Heliopolis Sinai Saqqara Memphis

CA

Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham Marsa Matruh

0

Siwa Oasis

Jerusalem

Dead Sea

Peninsula

Fayum

Serabit el-Khadim

Heracleopolis

Bahariya Oasis Hermopolis Akhetaten

Farafra Oasis

Asyut Akhmim Abydos Tundaba

Dakhla Oasis

Qena Bend

Alamat Tal Road

Deir el-Ballas

Hierakonpolis

Kharga Gebel Oasis Ghueita

Thebes Elkab

Gebel Silsila

Kurkur Oasis

Edfu Kom Ombo Aswan

Dunqul Oasis 0 0

250 km

Aniba

250 mi

Egypt and the Near East during the New Kingdom

Wadi es-Sebua

R e d S e a

250 km 250 mi

Imagining the Past Historical Fiction in New Kingdom Egypt Colleen Manassa

1

1 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford New York Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto With offices in Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016

© Oxford University Press 2013 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Manassa, Colleen. Imagining the Past : Historical Fiction in New Kingdom Egypt / Colleen Manassa. pages cm ISBN 978–0–19–998222–6 (hardback) 1. Historical fiction, Egyptian—History and criticism. 2. Egyptian literature— Translations into English. 3. Egypt—Civilization—To 332 B.C. I. Title. PJ1487.M36 2013 893'.1—dc23 2013036266

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

CONTENTS

Preface viii List of figures and plates ix List of abbreviations xi Note to the translations xv Chronology xvii 1. Intimations of an earlier age: History and fiction in New Kingdom Egypt 1 Imagining the past in New Kingdom Egypt 7 The intertextual universe of New Kingdom historical fiction 13 Historical fiction: An Ancient Egyptian literary genre 19 Historical fiction as physical and linguistic artifacts of the scribal profession 25 2. The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre 30 British Museum EA 10185 (Papyrus Sallier I): An introduction 32 The characters: Seqenenre, Apepi, and Scribes 34 The setting: Hutwaret and the “Southern City” 39 Introduction: Two kings and pestilence in Egypt 43 Apepi, servant of Seth 46 Apepi dictates a message; Seqenenre worships Amun-Re 51 The message delivered: “Expel the Hippopotami” 53 Seqenenre summons his council 58 The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and the “Instruction of Letter Writing” 61 Riddles and intertextualities 63 3. The Capture of Joppa 66 British Museum EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500): An introduction 68

The protaganist: General Djehuty 70 The place: Joppa 73 Strong drink and horses 75 A request with unintended consequences 82 Soldiers in baskets: The art of deception 88 Props: Baskets, ropes, and manacles 90 Foreign women and the “Mistress” of Joppa 91 An Ancient Egyptian “Trojan Horse”: Military strategem in The Capture of Joppa 94 Djehuty congratulates Pharaoh 98 4. Thutmose III in Asia 102 Papyrus Turin 1940+1941: An introduction 104 A fragmentary beginning 105 Darkness, fowlers, and Paser’s speech 108 Divine interventions: A hostile wind with three Montus 111 Thutmose III defeats the enemy 114 5. The Libyan Battle Story 117 Papyrus Louvre N 3136: An introduction 120 Pharaoh, the divine son, in the palace 121 Fortresses in the Western Delta 128 The Libyan battle at the fields of Perire 130 6. A thematic survey of New Kingdom historical fiction 143 Audience and function of Egyptian historical fiction: Entertainment and empire 144 Scribal victory: The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre 146 Charioteers, loan words, and menace: The Capture of Joppa 148 150 Recreating a battle: Thutmose III in Asia Knowing the enemy: The Libyan Battle Story 151 Theology in the tales 152 Historiography in the tales 156 Appendix 1: BM EA 10185 (P. Sallier I) 165 Appendix 2: BM EA 10060 (P. Harris 500) 177 Appendix 3: P. Turin 1940+1941 187 Appendix 4: P. Louvre N3136 195 Notes 203 Bibliography 275 Hieroglyphic Plates 319 Index 333

[vi]

Contents

PREFACE

The present study is an attempt to define a genre of historical fiction in the corpus of New Kingdom literature. While many authors have described The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and The Capture of Joppa as “historical stories,” the following is the first attempt to treat works of historical fiction as a source for historiographic traditions. Although it has been tempting to intersperse anecdotes from my own favorite modern historical fiction— from Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe, to Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s The Last Days of Pompeii, and George MacDonald Frasier’s Flashman series—these asides would detract from the philological project at hand, which seeks to define a genre that can be traced in the ancient Egyptian sources. Although no reading of ancient literature can (or should) be completely objective, I have sought as much as possible to define the Egyptian genre purely within the context of other ancient Egyptian (primarily New Kingdom) texts, and when Egyptians sources lie silent about genre, I have utilized frameworks of intertextuality and modern genre theory (particularly Mikhail Bakhtin’s chronotope), without making comparisons to modern historical fiction. The different components of this book—from the introduction to the universe of New Kingdom historical and literary texts to the translations and commentaries of the texts themselves to the text notes in the appendices—make no claims to be comprehensive in all respects, but it is my goal to bring the type of attention to these fragmentary tales that has been lavished (and rightly so) on Middle Kingdom fictional literature. The present work includes hieroglyphic transcriptions based on published photographs or high-resolution digital photographs of each papyrus, in addition to personal examinations of the papyri in the British Museum. The text notes in the appendices are intended to address lexicographic, syntactic, and grammatical aspects of the stories. I am grateful to the Yale University Department of Near Eastern Languages and the many members of the department who contributed

helpful comments throughout the writing of the book. My first reading of several of these stories was with William Kelly Simpson, and I  thank him for fond memories of those classes. Discussions of these papyri with Hans-Werner Fischer-Elfert and Anthony Spalinger were useful in framing the scope of the survey, and Prof. Spalinger kindly provided a study photograph of P. Louvre 3136. John Coleman Darnell offered several helpful readings of the hieratic texts and our discussions often led to new insights into the understanding of the corpus. Edward Castle provided advice about weights and measures. For references on the Arabian Nights, I would like to thank Beatrice Gruendler; John Collins kindly provided references for Greek and Biblical literary letters and Mohsen Ashtiany (Columbia University) and Abbas Amanat assisted with the Shah Nameh and Persian sources. Aaron Butts and David Klotz provided several useful references. John Radcliffe and Janet Montefiore offered several references to Kipling’s use of foreign words. In the course of teaching these texts, several Yale graduate and undergraduate students helped me to see the text through new eyes—to all of my former students, I give my sincerest thanks. Three anonymous reviewers offered an abundance of helpful comments, for which I am most grateful. This study would not have been possible without the kindness of the staff of several museums. At the British Museum, I  would like to thank Neal Spencer, Richard Parkinson, Marcel Marée, and Elizabeth O’Connell. At the Museo Egiziano, Turin, I  am indebted to Eleni Vassilika and Sara Caramello. My study trips were funded by the William K.  and Marilyn M.  Simpson Egyptology Endowment. The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago kindly provided permission to reproduce images from the temple of Medinet Habu, and I would like to thank Julia Hsieh and Alberto Urcia for preparing the line drawings and a papyrus facsimile. I owe a tremendous debt to the dedicated staff at Oxford University Press. I would like to thank Stefan Vranka for all of his assistance, as well as Sarah Pirovitz. Susan Meigs copy-edited the manuscript, and her suggestions improved several areas of the text. For the layout and proofs of the book, I would like to thank Kate Nunn and a very dedicated group of compositors at Newgen. Last, but not least, I  would like to thank my parents, Charles and Cornelia, whose love and support has been a constant blessing.

[viii]

Preface

L IS T O F F I G U R E S A N D P L ATE S

FIGURES

1.1 1.2 1.3

2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5

3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4

Pylon of the temple of Ramesses III “United with Eternity” (Medinet Habu), Western Thebes 9 Ramesses III in a chariot charging into Libyan enemies (courtesy of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago) 11 Scribes recording the number of severed hands following a military campaign, from the temple of Ramesses III “United with Eternity”, Western Thebes (courtesy of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago) 28 BM EA 10185 (Papyrus Sallier I), column 1 (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum) 33 Lunette of the Four Hundred Year Stela (inking by Julia Hsieh) 48 Stela of Seqenenre Djehuty-aa and Amun-Re, from Karnak Temple (inking by Julia Hsieh) 53 BM EA 10185 (Papyrus Sallier I), column 2 (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum) 54 BM EA 10185 (Papyrus Sallier I), column 3, with white box outlining the title “Beginning of the Instruction of Letter Writing” (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum) 61 BM EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500), column 1 (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum) 69 Golden Bowl of Djehuty (Musée du Louvre N713, Gianni Dagli Orti / The Art Archive at Art Resource, NY) 72 Ruler of Naharin carrying an awenet-staff, from the tomb of Iamnedjeh (inking by Julia Hsieh) 85 BM EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500), column 2 (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum) 89

3.5 3.6 4.1 4.2 4.3

5.1 5.2 5.3

Large baskets, from the tomb of Paheri (inking by Julia Hsieh) 91 BM EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500), column 3 (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum) 99 Papyrus Turin 1940–1941 (courtesy of the Fondazione Museo delle Antichità Egizie di Torino) 104 Bound and manacled Pelset war captives, from the mortuary temple of Ramesses III (photograph by Marc LeBlanc) 109 Thutmose IV attacking Asiatic foes, while Montu rides in the king’s chariot, from the decorated cab of a chariot of Thutmose IV (after Carter and Newberry, The Tomb of Thoutmosis IV) 115 Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, Karnak Temple 119 Papyrus Louvre N 3136, columns x+1 and x+2 (drawing by Alberto Urcia) 122 Egyptians manning fortresses during the Year 11 Libyan campaign, from the temple of Ramesses III “United with Eternity” (Medinet Habu) Western Thebes (courtesy of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago) 130

HIEROGLYPHIC PLATES

1a 1b 2a 2b 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

[x]

BM EA 10185 (P. Sallier I), column 1, lines 1–6 319 BM EA 10185 (P. Sallier I), column 1, lines 7–10 320 BM EA 10185 (P. Sallier I), column 2, lines 1–6 321 BM EA 10185 (P. Sallier I), column 2, lines 7–11 322 BM EA 10185 (P. Sallier I), column 3 323 BM EA 10060 (P. Harris 500), column 1 324 BM EA 10060 9 P. Harris 500), column 2 325 BM EA 10060 (P. Harris 500), column 2 326 P. Turin 1940+1941, fragments and column x+1 327 P. Turin 1940+1941, column x+2 328 P. Turin 1940+1941, column x+3 329 P. Louvre N3136, column x 330 331 P. Louvre N3136, column x+1

List of Figures and Plates

L IS T O F A B B R E V I AT I O N S

ÄA ÄAT ADAIK Ä&L AH ASAE AV BASOR BiOr Bib.Aeg. BdE BIFAO BSAK BSEG BSFE CCE CdE CHANE CRIPEL DE EA ÉMÉ EniM EPM FIFAO GM

Ägyptologische Abhandlungen Ägypten und Altes Testament Abhandlungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Kairo Ägypten und Levante Aegyptiaca Helvetica Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte Archäologische Veröffentlichungen. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Bibliotheca Orientalis Bibliotheca Aegyptiaca Bibliothèque d’Étude Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire Beiheft SAK Bulletin de la Société d’Égyptologie, Genève Bulletin de la Société Française d’Égyptologie Cahiers de la céramique égyptienne Chronique d’Égypte Culture and History of the Ancient Near East Cahier de recherches de l’Institut de la papyrologie et égyptologie de Lille Discussions in Egyptology Egyptian Archaeology Études et Mémoires d’Égyptologie Égypte nilotique et méditerranéenne Egyptian Prehistory Monographs Fouilles de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire Göttinger Miszellen

GOF HÄB HdO IBAES IFAO JARCE JEA JegH JNES JSSEA KÄT KRI KSGH LÄ LEM LES LingAeg LingAeg SM MÄS MDAIK MIFAO MMJ MonAeg MRE OBO OIMP OIP OLA OLP OMRO Or. PdÄ RAPH RdE RdT RITA

[xii]

Göttinger Orientforschungen Hildesheimer Ägyptologische Beiträge Handbuch der Orientalistik Internet-Beiträge zur Ägyptologie und Sudanarchäologie Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt Journal of Egyptian Archaeology Journal of Egyptian History Journal of Near Eastern Studies Journal of the Society of the Studies of Egyptian Antiquities Kleine Ägyptische Texte Kenneth Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions Königtum, Staat und Gesellschaft früher Hochkulturen Lexikon der Ägyptologie, 7 vols. (Wiesbaden, 1975–92) Alan Gardiner, Late Egyptian Miscellanies Alan Gardiner, Late Egyptian Stories Lingua Aegyptia Lingua Aegyptia Studia Monographica Münchner Ägyptologische Studien Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo Mémoires publiés par les Membres de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire Metropolitan Museum Journal Monumenta Aegyptiaca Monographies Reine Élisabeth Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Oriental Institute Museum Publications Oriental Institute Publications Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica Oudheidkundige Mededeelingen uit het Rikjsmuseum van Oudheden te Leiden Orientalia Probleme der Ägyptologie Recherches d’Archéologie, de Philologie et d’Histoire Revue d’Égyptologie Recueil de Travaux rélatifs à la Philologie et à la Archéologie Égyptiennes et Assyriennes Kenneth Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions, Translated and Annotated, Translations

List of Abbreviations

RITANC SAGA SAK SAOC SACE SDAIK UGAÄ UÖAI Urk. USE VA Wb. WdO WZKM YES ZÄS

Kenneth Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions, Translated and Annotated, Notes and comments Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization Studies, Australian Centre for Egyptology Sonderschrift des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo Untersuchungen zur Geschichte und Altertumskunde Ägyptens Untersuchungen der Zweigstelle Kairo des Österreichischen Archäologischen Institutes Urkundes des ägyptischen Altertums Uppsala Studies in Egyptology Varia Aegyptiaca Adolf Erman and Hermann Grapow, eds., Wörterbuch der ägyptische Sprache, 7 vols. (Leipzig and Berlin, 1926–1963) Welt des Orient Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes Yale Evgyptological Studies Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde

List of Abbreviations [ x i i i ]

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N O T E T O T H E TR A N S LAT I O N S

[...] [] {}

° anx

lacunae partially damaged words that can be confidently restored erroneous addition words omitted in error by the author “verse points” in the hieratic text text written in red ink

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CHRONOLOGY

The absolute chronology presented here and in the following chapters follows that of Shaw, ed., Oxford History of Ancient Egypt. Entries in bold refer to pharaohs in whose reign the stories are set or were known to have been composed and/or copied. Predynastic Period Early Dynastic Period: Dynasties 1–2 Old Kingdom: Dynasties 3–8 First Intermediate Period: Dynasties 9–11 Middle Kingdom: Dynasties 11–14 Second Intermediate Period: Dynasties 15–17 15th Dynasty (Hyksos) Salitis/Sekerher Khyan Apepi (Aauserra) Khamudi 16th Dynasty 17th Dynasty (Theban) Rahotep Sobekemsaf I Intef VI Intef VII Intef VIII Sobekemsaf II Siamun (?) Senakhtenre Seqenenre (Djehuty-aa) Kamose New Kingdom: Dynasties 18–20 18th Dynasty Ahmose

c. 5300–3000 BCE c. 3000–2686 BCE 2686–2160 BCE 2160–2055 BCE 2055–1650 BCE 1650–1550 BCE

c. 1555 BCE

c. 1560 BCE 1550–1069 BCE 1550–1525

Amunhotep I Thutmose I Thutmose II Thutmose III (Menkheperre) Hatshepsut Amunhotep II Thutmose IV Amunhotep III Amunhotep IV/Akhenaten Neferneferuaten Tutankhamun Aye Horemhab 19th Dynasty Ramesses I Sety I Ramesses II (Usermaatre-setepenre) Merneptah (Baenre-meryamun) Amenmessu Sety II Saptah Queen Tausret 20th Dynasty Sethnakht Ramesses III (Usermaatre-meryamun) Ramesses IV Ramesses V Ramesses VI Ramesses VII Ramesses VIII Ramesses IX Ramesses X Ramesses XI Third Intermediate Period: Dynasties 21–25 Late Period: Dynasties 26–30 Ptolemaic Period Roman and Byzantine Periods

[xviii]

Chronology

1525–1504 1504–1492 1492–1479 1479–1425 1473–1458 1427–1400 1400–1390 1390–1352 1352–1336 1338–1336 1336–1327 1327–1323 1323–1295 1295–1294 1294–1279 1279–1213 1213–1203 1203–1200(?) 1200–1194 1194–1188 1888–1186 1186–1184 1184–1153 1153–1147 1147–1143 1143–1136 1136–1129 1129–1126 1126–1108 1108–1099 1099–1069 1069–664 BCE 664–332 BCE 332–30 BCE 30 BCE–AD 641

Imagining the Past

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C H A PT E R 1

Intimations of an Earlier Age History and Fiction in New Kingdom Egypt There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparell’d in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe’er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. William Wordsworth, Ode. Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

A

n educated young man, well versed in ancient Egyptian history, walks purposely towards a small pyramid, its surroundings choked with sand and debris. The man looks in vain for the name of the pyramid’s owner—and so he begins to search the vicinity for a hieroglyphic inscription that would illuminate the monument’s history. Eventually, after much research on site and in nearby libraries, he solves the ancient riddle and posts a sign identifying the pharaoh who commissioned the pyramid as his final resting place. The “sign” in question can still be seen today, for the educated archaeologist and historian imagined here is not a modern Egyptologist, but Khaemwaset, a son of Ramesses II, who lived over three millennia ago.

Born around 1280 BCE, Khaemwaset developed an avid interest in the monuments of the Old Kingdom—already more than a thousand years old by Khaemwaset’s time—including the great pyramid fields of Giza, Saqqara, and Dashur.1 The hieroglyphic inscriptions Khaemwaset added to the ancient sepulchers did more than label them, the texts literally renewed the memory of those buried within, benefiting their spirits in the afterlife.2 For the ancient Egyptians, the study of history was not only an academic endeavor but also a tangible interaction with the past. In an inscription Khaemwaset added to a statue of the prince Kawab (who lived around 2500 BCE), the royal Ramesside antiquarian explicitly stated the motivation of his actions: “because he loved antiquity and the noble ancestors and (because) all that they did was efficacious.”3 Khaemwaset’s archaeological endeavors are only one thread within the once brilliantly colored, but now faded tapestry of ancient Egyptian historiography. Other gilded threads abound—documented occasions when the pharaohs themselves consulted temple libraries, searching for historical precedents to religious rituals and construction projects.4 All of these personal investigations into history are intertwined with the larger corpus of “historical” texts from New Kingdom Egypt—a warp of royal monumental inscriptions and stelae5 and a weft of private autobiographical inscriptions.6 At the corners of our imagined historiographical tapestry are a series of enigmatic tableaux, history as recounted through literature, and it is with these fraying edges, in works of historical fiction, that the present work concerns itself. In the course of the chapters that follow, historical fiction will emerge as a genre of New Kingdom literature and a hitherto overlooked corpus for historiographical information. Placed within their proper context, the modern reader can enjoy these tales of conquest, adventure, and even comedy. While the intervening millennia prevent us from appreciating these tales as Khaemwaset and other ancient audiences would have, our wonder at the existence of ancient historical fiction itself might help bridge the gap.7 Four fictional tales preserved on papyri from the Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties represent the only extant compositions from the New Kingdom that can be identified as “historical fiction.” The goals of the present study are first, to provide a new and comprehensive treatment of these four stories, with detailed commentary and wide-ranging historical analysis, and second, to use these analyses to define a previously overlooked Egyptian genre, historical fiction. The works of literature to which the following chapters are devoted are The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, The Capture of Joppa, Thutmose III in Asia, and The Libyan Battle Story; all of these are modern designations, as the ancient titles are unknown.8 The

[2]

Imagining the Past

four stories9 are set in three different periods of Egyptian history: the concurrent reigns of the Theban king Seqenenre and the Hyksos ruler Apepi at the end of the Seventeenth/Fifteenth Dynasties, ca. 1560 BCE (The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre), the reign of Thutmose III, ca. 1479–1425 BCE (The Capture of Joppa, Thutmose III in Asia), and the reign of Merneptah, ca. 1213–1203 BCE (The Libyan Battle Story).10 The first two time periods are certain, since the rulers are named or appear as characters within the story, while the third, the setting of The Libyan Battle Story, can be determined based on the appearance of a toponym that is the known location of a battle during the reign of Merneptah. Each of the four stories here defined as “historical fiction” is thus far extant in only a single papyrus copy, and the total scholarly literature on these four tales is significantly smaller than that devoted to the longer texts within the corpus of Late Egyptian stories and only a fraction of the scholarship on the great works of Middle Kingdom literature.11 The present study is the first to classify these four tales within a single genre. The connection between the proposed ancient genre of historical fiction and modern genre theory is presented below (pp. 20–24), but the following definition outlines the main features of this Egyptian literary category that will inform the presentation of each text. A work of “historical fiction” is a narrative in which a process of historical events is itself an actor within the plot and whose characters are directly and repeatedly influenced by those events. A specific time period permeates, limits, and defines the actions of the characters and the plot development in a work of historical fiction—the flow of historical events, even if augmented by fictional elements, provides the boundaries for the narrative. Similarly, the primary characters in a work of historical fiction are either fictionalized versions of known individuals or are entirely fictional characters that interact with known individuals. Any study of an example of ancient Egyptian literature must begin with a detailed examination of the text itself. The present work includes new critical editions of the stories, updated transcriptions of the papyri, grammatical and syntactic analyses, lexicographic examinations of key terms, and the collection of parallels in a wide range of other textual genres; the majority of this scholarly apparatus can be found in the appendices. The four main chapters introduce the historical background of each tale, with particular attention to the relationship between the date of the individual papyri and the setting of the fictional story. These historical introductions utilize not only textual material, but also archaeological (and in one case even bioanthropological) evidence, in order to reconstruct the story’s setting for the modern reader, while carefully noting information that was not accessible to an ancient audience. Where appropriate, specific sections

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introduce named characters, such as the rulers Apepi and Seqenenre (Chapter 2) and the general Djehuty (Chapter 3), highlighting an often surprising wealth of extant textual and material sources about the historical figures who appear as characters within the tales. Each story is presented in a prose translation, with the physical arrangement of the lines mirroring the narrative structure of the text (e.g., subordinate clauses are indented). The stories are divided into sections, enabling the reader to consider each plot event separately,12 and commentary following each translation section focuses on the meaning of the text as revealed through allusions and parallels in other sources relating to Egyptian history, culture, and religion. The fragmentary nature of the papyri lessens the reader’s enjoyment of these tales as narrative literature, so this commentary seeks ultimately to restore the context of the stories, enabling us to enjoy once again their clever word-play, humorous plot elements, and incorporation of historical episodes. The first story, The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, is at its heart a tale of two rulers, two cities, and two gods, a literary presentation of a historical challenge to a core tenet of Egyptian culture: the unity of Upper and Lower Egypt and its rule by a single pharaoh. The preserved portion of the tale presents an imaginary scenario that occurred near the end of the Second Intermediate Period, at the onset of the war between the Thebans and the Hyksos. The narrative establishes a tension between the office of “king,” held by the foreigner Apepi, and the lesser title, “sovereign of the southern city,” given to Seqenenre; the new readings within The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre presented below suggest that the author used this opposition to highlight Seqenenre’s claim to kingship and the illegitimacy of Apepi’s rule. This ancient politico-historical commentary is nowhere overtly stated, but accomplished through subtle alterations to an existing literary genre (the so-called “royal novel”) and an exchange of letters, including Apepi’s still-mysterious request relating to Theban hippopotami. The lack of a preserved ending makes it difficult to draw additional conclusions, but the story appears to reinforce the legitimacy of the ruling Ramesside dynasty, while mitigating the negative associations between Seth, one of the divine patrons of the Ramesside rulers, and the foreign Hyksos. The juxtaposition of the tale with an instructional text for letter writing opens new vistas into the function of at least one of the works of historical fiction. The second tale, The Capture of Joppa, shares with The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre the plot element of an interaction between an Egyptian and a foreigner, but is instead set during the height of Egyptian imperial power, the reign of Thutmose III. The first extant portion of The Capture of Joppa provides the setting: a meeting between the Egyptian general Djehuty and

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the “enemy of Joppa”; details such as maryannu-warriors, chariots, and Apiru-brigands provide a rich vein of historiographical data, from which one can extract an image of Ramesside knowledge of military events during the reign of Thutmose III, as well as an appreciation for contemporaneous Ramesside involvement in Syria-Palestine. Djehuty’s successful ruse de guerre may also be read as an alternative to monumental records of royal military leadership, which typically eschewed the adoption of stratagems; within an overall framework that presents a normative view of foreigners and Egyptian domination thereof, some potentially “subversive” elements may be identified in the role of general as hero, who uses a clever deception rather than direct force. The story Thutmose III in Asia is set during the same reign as The Capture of Joppa, but with Thutmose III present on the battlefield. Only one column of the story is well preserved, and it includes a dialogue between Thutmose III and an official named Paser. The speech of Paser utilizes a different standard of decorum than royal inscriptions, as revealed in a comparison with the recorded dialogue of the charioteer Menna with Ramesses II at Kadesh. Evaluating Thutmose III in Asia alongside the Kadesh Battle texts is particularly apt, since the former quotes from the latter, and both appear to describe the most significant battles of the pharaohs’ reigns. A series of new readings within Thutmose III in Asia suggests that the story is not simply a general fictional rendering of Thutmose III’s campaigns in Syria-Palestine, but is specifically based on the Battle of Megiddo. The fourth and final tale, The Libyan Battle Story, lacks any named characters but possesses specific ethnonyms and toponyms that connect the narrative to successive waves of Libyan invasions during the reigns of Merneptah and Ramesses III. Only a generation— approximately thirty years—separates the likely date of composition of The Libyan Battle Story from its main historical template, the Battle of Perire, which took place during the fifth regnal year of Merneptah. The pairing of two campaigns against similar foes, but in different reigns, appears also to be at work here, just as Thutmose III in Asia may intentionally link Thutmose III’s victory at the Battle of Megiddo with the exploits of Ramesses II at the Battle of Kadesh. The strong parallels between The Libyan Battle Story and the historical records of Merneptah also provide insight into the source material for the works of historical fiction, which included versions of the hieroglyphic records that have survived to this day on temple walls. As this brief summary reveals, the four tales all share a thematic focus on military conflict, and history as well as historical fiction is here written by the victors. The martial events within the stories range from a Trojan-horse like ruse in The Capture of Joppa to set-piece battles in Thutmose III in Asia and

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The Libyan Battle Story. All four texts thus display the greater emphasis on military activities that began in the late Seventeenth Dynasty and became strongly entrenched during the imperial expansion of the Eighteenth Dynasty, when Egyptian control extended from the Euphrates in the northeast to Karoy, between the Fourth and Fifth Cataracts of the Nile, in the south.13 The following Nineteenth and early Twentieth Dynasties expended significant resources in maintaining Egyptian influence in both portions of the empire, and the resulting cultural exchange was not simply one-sided. The New Kingdom was also a period of greater internationalism in Egyptian culture: a time when foreign deities were incorporated into the Egyptian pantheon,14 foreign myths were transformed into plots of Egyptian stories,15 and increasing numbers of foreign individuals became part of the Egyptian state, both in its domestic administration and its foreign colonies.16 While the authors of the four works of historical fiction are unknown, the copyist of one of the tales was a military scribe, and the subject matter of the narratives would have been particularly relevant to the expanded professional military and foreign service arms of New Kingdom administration. The extent of the historicity of the fictional tales provides the foundation for the final level of analysis within the present work—the principles of ancient Egyptian historiography revealed through historical fiction. An exhaustive treatment of ancient Egyptian historiography lies outside the bounds of the present work, but few texts from the pharaonic period provide a direct channel of information concerning the mechanics of the study of the past in ancient Egypt (see below, pp. 156–157); the very placement of most royal historical texts within temple contexts creates additional hermeneutic complications. The existence of New Kingdom literature set in the past, with known historical locations and protagonists, sheds welcome light on the historical knowledge the authors and audiences of these tales possessed. As will be argued below, the historical tales are not didactic compositions, but require a pre-existing understanding of certain historical events. The playful narratives of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and The Capture of Joppa cannot be appreciated by an audience—ancient or modern—devoid of historical knowledge. Set within the disparate pieces of evidence that provide information concerning ancient Egyptian historiography, New Kingdom historical fiction adds to an appreciation of the interplay of history and homo ludens.17 For the apparently more sober tales Thutmose III in Asia and The Libyan Battle Story, the fictional texts possess more significant intertextual relationships with the royal historical tradition. The settings of these tales are identical to specific intersections of historical time and place attested in extant hieroglyphic inscriptions. Unlike

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the mythic time and exotic locations of other New Kingdom stories, the works of historical fiction show a desire for authenticity, an almost scholarly gaze, on the part of their ancient authors.

IMAGINING THE PAST IN NEW KINGDOM EGYPT The Egyptians who live in the cultivated parts of the country, by their practice of keeping records of the past, have made themselves much the most learned of any nation of which I have had experience. Herodotus, Histories II, 77, 118

The year is 1150 BCE and the setting, a temple constructed for the cult of Ramesses III on the western bank of Thebes, part of the “estate of Amun,” a spiritual and economic territory that linked royal and divine cults on both sides of the river.19 Now, less than a decade after the death of the king, the temple is a bustling urban microcosm, complete with the expected priests and songstresses, as well as scribes, administrators, and a variety of agricultural and pastoral workers. The temple of Ramesses III, like Thebes itself,20 can be personified as a noble goddess, with the lengthy name “the temple of Usermaatre-meryamun (Ramesses III), ‘United-with-Eternity’ in the Estate of Amun on the West (Bank) of Thebes.” At the center of this redistributive economic center rises the monument itself—an enormous sandstone temple with thousands of lines of ritual and historical hieroglyphic texts—from calendrical lists of festival offerings to lengthy narratives of military conflict.21 While so much of the day-to-day life of the New Kingdom audience of historical fiction is now lost, from their educational curriculum to the settings in which they enjoyed the stories, physical monuments, like the temple of Ramesses III (now referred to as Medinet Habu), mitigate the great distance between modern readers and their ancient counterparts. While most of the authors’ sources for the stories are now lost, extant hieroglyphic texts and scenes in temple contexts are part of the textual universe of the ancient author and audience to which the modern reader also has access.22 Among the many recorded biographies from New Kingdom Egypt, one can identify only a handful of named individuals who visited or worked at the temple United-with-Eternity and who might have been among the audience of the works of historical fiction. In this subset of recorded lives is Amunmose, a well-traveled royal document scribe and treasury official23 whose lifetime encompassed the years immediately following the

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construction of the temple of Ramesses III and its initial period as a fully functioning religious and economic center. Amunmose commemorated his geographically wide-ranging administrative duties with the donation of at least two scribal statues—one in the Delta and the other on the west bank of Thebes. The autobiographical inscriptions on these statues describe his activities, which included acting as overseer of works in the Delta town of Na-amunre (a place that, as he describes it, began as a lake and was built from the ground up24) and in the temple United-with-Eternity in Thebes. As a document scribe and overseer of works, Amunmose was probably among the small percentage of the population of Twentieth Dynasty Egypt who had access to the full range of historical records, including the hieroglyphic texts that decorated the temple walls and the papyri stored within temple and private libraries, including the four works of historical fiction presented here. For the following brief tour of the temple United-with-Eternity, this recorded historical individual will provide one possible ancient viewpoint through which to observe the interplay of text, image, and history within the decoration of an extant monument. Assuming that Amunmose approached the temple United-with-Eternity from the east, he traveled along a canal to a quay, and after disembarking, ascended a stairway, then walked through a migdol-tower25 and into the temple compound. Arranged before him was a historical record in three dimensions—the temple of Ramesses III incorporated within its enclosure wall a smaller temple constructed by Hatshepsut and Thutmose III.26 Amunmose would most likely have been aware of the three centuries that separated his lifetime from the original founding of the smaller Thutmoside temple;27 as overseer of works, he also knew that the temple of Ramesses III was patterned on that of his illustrious predecessor Ramesses II.28 Amunmose displayed a corresponding sense of the past in the text carved on the scribal statue that he dedicated to the temple of Menisut, located at the northern end of the Theban necropolis;29 in the Theban statue, he describes acting on behalf of the cult of the early Eighteenth Dynasty queen Ahmose-Nefertari and places his statue “under the authority” of the same Ahmose-Nefertari, whose honored status was maintained four hundred years after her death.30 Amunmose interacted with earlier monuments in his own lifetime, and his scribal statue is part of a larger corpus of evidence for historical “tourism,” including possible fieldtrips to already ancient structures, such as scribal students’ visits to Djoser’s Step Pyramid at Saqqara.31 Once Amunmose turned his attention away from the earlier Thutmoside temple complex within the larger enclosure of United-with-Eternity, he, like a modern visitor, would be confronted with the monumental decoration of the pylons of the great temple of Ramesses III: enormous depictions

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Figure 1.1 Pylon of the temple of Ramesses III, “United with Eternity” (Medinet Habu), Western Thebes

of the king smiting his foes, as the gods Amun-Re and Amun-Re-Horakhty present to him a khepesh-sword (Figure  1.1).32 Within these elaborate depictions, the center of each image is relatively free of text and image, drawing the viewer’s attention to the main action, which emanates outwards from two fists—one belonging to the king, who grasps the hair of the “chiefs of the foreign lands” he is about to smite, the other belonging to the deity who presents the khepesh-sword to the king. Behind and below the king and god are dozens of “name rings,” personified depictions of foreign lands. The topographical lists that form the content of the name rings were not composed specifically for Ramesses III, but borrowed from earlier lists of Thutmose III and Ramesses II.33 Would an educated visitor, such as Amunmose, have understood the complexities of textual transmission within these topographical lists? Perhaps not, but Amunmose’s experience in the Delta gave him a much more direct relationship to another part of the decoration of the pylon at the temple of Ramesses III—on the north tower is a smaller smiting scene in which Ramesses dispatches two Libyan foes, below which is a “poetical” version of the Year 11 Libyan campaign record. The Libyan tribes that invaded during the fifth and eleventh regnal years of Ramesses III affected much of the western edge of the Delta, as stated explicitly in the historical record;34 if Amunmose did not experience

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these events directly in the course of his career, the stress and trauma of the Libyan incursion were still part of the living memory of the inhabitants of the region of the newly founded town that he administered, Na-amunre. The principles of decorum35 dictated the decorative program of a pylon— from visual hierarchy (i.e., the relative scale of the god and the pharaoh to the enemy), to identity (the use of name rings for geographic entities, but lack of labeled enemy chiefs), to the juxtaposition of eternally recurring cosmic actions (the king smites his foes) with specific historical events (Year 11 Libyan campaign). History as present on the pylon of Ramesses III’s temple is both an ongoing ritual of the destruction of chaos and the commemoration of a single, unique example of pharaoh’s victory over foreigners.36 The relative emphasis on these two aspects of history in the decoration of the temple changes between the front of the north pylon tower and the rear of that same tower, creating a dichotomy expressed in visual and architectural terms. The rear of the north pylon and the north and west exterior walls of the temple contain pictorial and textual representations of the three major campaigns of Ramesses III’s reign: the Year 5 and Year 11 wars against the Libyans and the Year 8 battles with the Sea Peoples,37 with many of the scenes and texts from these same campaigns distributed throughout the first and second courts of the interior of the temple.38 The large-scale images and lengthy inscriptions express the same dominion over foreigners as the smiting scenes on the fronts of the pylon towers, but do so through specific iterations of royal triumph (Figure 1.2).39 Within individual battle reliefs, decorum allows for the naming of foreign chiefs, and a clear relationship exists between monumental records and other historical sources. The reliefs depicting the battles between the Egyptian armies and the different enemy forces clearly distinguished each group by skin-color, costume, hairstyle, and weaponry;40 the pictorial war records also represented the landscape of the military conflict, from the desert fortresses that formed a part of the Libyan campaign to the aquatic melée of the naval battle against the Sea Peoples.41 The dual careers of our ancient guide, Amunmose, in the Delta and the Thebaid may have made him particularly attuned to the geography of the reliefs, and the war records of Ramesses III may suggest a wider ancient Egyptian interest in historical geography.42 The Libyan campaigns of Ramesses III as they appear on the walls of the temple United-with-Eternity relate directly with the corpus of historical fiction, since those military events were probably the impetus for the composition of The Libyan Battle Story, a story that an official like Amunmose might have read. If our ancient guide entered the temple, he would have found himself inside the first of two open courts. The south wall of the first court, with its prominent “Window of Appearances,” served as the façade of a palace—real

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Figure 1.2 Ramesses III in a chariot charging into Libyan enemies (courtesy of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago)

or symbolic—attached to the temple (see further, pp. 125–126 below); here Amunmose may have spent a moment to enjoy a humorous element of the temple’s decoration—taunting dialogue between wrestling opponents, memorials of ritual combat that probably would have occurred when the king was present at the Window of Appearances. In the first court, Amunmose could continue his perusal of Ramesses III’s exploits against the Libyans and Sea Peoples. Ascending a ramp on the west side of the court, Amunmose entered the temple proper,43 and in the second court, he, like the modern visitor, would be surrounded by depictions of the Sokar and Min Festivals.44 A few military scenes and texts, again commemorating Egyptian victories against the Libyans, occur within the second courtyard, but the majority of the decoration is given over to celebrations of those key annual festivals. Within this religious context, history is still strongly present, as evidenced by a scene on the northeast wall of the second court. As part of the Min Festival, priests carried statues of previous kings, thus legitimizing the current ruler by outwardly demonstrating his possession of the royal ka-spirit, which had been transmitted for millennia through the office of pharaoh.45 In the temple United-with-Eternity, one group of statues includes that of Ramesses III and his eight “legitimate” predecessors, the last two of which, Horemhab and Amunhotep III, show that the Amarna Period was intentionally omitted.46 A parallel

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scene from the nearby Ramesseum includes an even longer pedigree of royal predecessors, continuing straight back through the Eighteenth Dynasty, then concluding with Ahmose, Montuhotep II, and Menes.47 The juxtaposition of those three earlier pharaohs elegantly demonstrates the Ramesside recognition of greater “periods” that transcend the succession of dynasties—Montuhotep II reunified Egypt and began the Middle Kingdom, but did not begin a new dynasty;48 Ahmose reunified Egypt and founded the Eighteenth Dynasty, although by family he belongs to the earlier Seventeenth Dynasty royal line. The organization of the past as evidenced by documents such as the Turin Canon and the search for common features of reigns separated by centuries (e.g., the “unifiers” of Upper and Lower Egypt) form important elements of New Kingdom conceptions of the past.49 These hints at historiographic processes can be combined with the existence of historical fiction to illuminate further the historical knowledge of an educated Egyptian official and the interest or ability of a scribe to research, compile, and analyze historical records. Amunmose’s tour ends in the second court of the temple Unitedwith-Eternity, concluding with an unassuming text on the south side of the eastern doorway of the second court (that may or may not have been present in Amunmose’s lifetime). Here, in relatively large-scaled hieratic script, is a short inscription that was not part of the original decoration of the temple, but a later graffito that reads “Beginning of the instruction of life.”50 Carved by an idle scribe, this text is the title to a lengthy work of didactic literature known now as the Instruction of Amenemope. This apparent expression of admiration for a beloved text leads us to a part of the temple United-with-Eternity that one cannot visit today: the “House of Life,” a combination school, scriptorium, and library attached to a temple complex.51 A small number of royal inscriptions refer to the pharaoh conducting research within such temple archives, seeking historical precedents to ritual practices, building projects, and other forms of religious activity.52 The scarcity of such statements may belie a more pervasive “scholarly” attitude among Egyptian scribes,53 who could boast about their knowledge of literary passages and the contexts thereof54 as well as their mastery of the study of “everything that has happened since primordial times.”55 One can safely assume that without substantial collections of historical texts within the “house of life,” scribes could not have compiled such texts as king lists and historical retrospectives within royal inscriptions.56 The “house of life,” administrative archives,57 and other document repositories (e.g. royal and personal libraries58) throughout the Nile Valley contained not only the records necessary for the day-to-day functioning of

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the pharaonic administration, but also the “cultural texts” that defined the conceptual heritage of Egyptian society—fictional literature, poetry, histories, biographies—in sum, the written intellectual artifacts of a culture.59

THE INTERTEXTUAL UNIVERSE OF NEW KINGDOM HISTORICAL FICTION The function (or meaning) of any one genre will be shaped most fundamentally by its place in—or outside—the system of canonical genres that obtain in a given historical moment and, hence, by its relation to other genres.60 Bracht Brahnam, Bakhtin and the Classics

Theories of “intertextuality” posit that every text exists within an interconnected “universe” of texts of different genres, types, and registers, leading inevitably to parallels, allusions, quotations, and other manifestations of influence and textual relationships.61 A  proper understanding of New Kingdom historical fiction must proceed from an intertextual approach that explores the allusions to established historical and literary genres and alterations thereof, as well as additional texts that may illuminate particular passages within the stories; as Michael Riffaterre has noted, “the most important component of the literary work of art, and indeed the key to the interpretation of its significance, should be found outside that work, beyond its margins, in the intertext.”62 The intertextuality of historical fiction is one of the defining characteristics of its “literariness,”63 and the application of an intertextual approach has proven fundamental to the study of other corpora of Egyptian literature.64 Beyond the papyrus medium of most literary texts, the placement of hieroglyphic texts on monuments also creates possibilities for “three-dimensional” intertextualities, a means by which the ancient Egyptian material can expand the boundaries of modern theoretical approaches.65 The intertextuality between New Kingdom monumental historical texts and historical fiction is strong and pervasive,66 and the works of historical fiction provide yet another example that a permeable boundary exists between war records and fictional literature.67 The following chapters will examine the stories within the universe of New Kingdom (and earlier) compositions: while particular attention will be given to historical and literary texts, the search for allusions and intertext will also extend beyond these genres. Intertextuality can also be seen as a search for relationships between texts as well as genres, or groups of texts, since

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both the single exemplars and their larger aggregations do not exist in a vacuum, but can only be analyzed as part of the entire textual universe of a civilization.68 From a single composition, one can move outwards into the intertext, and from a comparison of types among that intertext may arrive at the level of “generic intertextuality.”69 Among the many possible intertextualities in the vast textual universe of ancient Egypt (and the broader Mediterranean world), two genres are particularly relevant for the interpretation of historical fiction: Egyptian historical texts recording warfare and combat, and fictional narratives from the New Kingdom. The role of military conflict in the Egyptian textual record is an enormous topic of research, since recorded episodes of violence stretch back even into the prehistory of Egyptian writing. From Tomb 100 at Hierakonpolis, to the Scorpion Tableau at Gebel Tjauti, to images from the reigns of Narmer and Den,70 the pharaoh smiting his enemies can be simultaneously a single historical event—as the hieroglyphs label them in some cases—and an eternally recurring phenomenon—as the standard and long-lived iconography demonstrates.71 As the Egyptian textual tradition expanded through the Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period, records of military conflicts became more detailed. Even a modern reader cannot help but be stirred by the poetic description of the triumphal return of the Egyptian army after “devastating the land of the sand-dwellers” in Weni’s autobiography, circa 2270 BCE.72 Similarly, the bombastic self-presentation intertwined with a narrative of local recruiting, military conflict, and personal leadership in the autobiography of Ankhtyfy, ca. 2100 BCE, displays the pride of an individual in his accomplishments.73 Prior to the cusp between the third and the second millennia BCE, narrative descriptions of battles in Egyptian texts appear to have been confined to the private sphere; the reunification of Upper and Lower Egypt and the founding of the Middle Kingdom may have provided the impetus for the formal invention of a narrative royal war record that functioned alongside the traditional annals.74 The preserved military records of Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period campaigns still remain primarily private documents, but scattered royal monuments that have survived indicate that a parallel royal tradition of war-reporting also existed. Tantalizing, yet isolated pieces of evidence, such as a war relief from the mortuary temple of Montuhotep II showing a mass of slain Asiatic enemies, hint at now lost corpora of textual and pictorial records.75 The first millennium and a half of military activity in ancient Egypt and its transformation into a written history is a vast topic, but for the present work, the existence of a long tradition—both textual and iconographic—of combat serves as part

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of the cultural background for the writing of historical fiction in the New Kingdom.76 The surviving military documents of New Kingdom Egypt represent a large corpus of private and royal inscriptions whose original media included hieroglyphic texts carved on walls of tombs and temples as well as stelae (both rock-cut and in temple settings), and a much more limited corpus of papyrus documents.77 A re-analysis of this corpus and the possible genres contained within it also lies outside the scope of the present work, but the following chapters address the intersections between the fictional tales and historical documents from the periods in which the stories are set, as well as the time in which they were composed and copied. The diversity among the four works of historical fiction ultimately requires a discussion of most of the major types of New Kingdom historical texts. The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre subtly employs and humorously exploits the textual genre of the royal novel, the origins of which lie in the early second millennium BCE; by the time of the Ramesside Period, it had become highly developed as a presentation of royal activities, both military and pacific.78 The events in The Capture of Joppa and Thutmose III in Asia intersect with the Annals of Thutmose III as well as the literary presentations of his exploits in stelae, such as that erected at Gebel Barkal, which summarized the highlights of his military accomplishments;79 Thutmose III in Asia also includes a quotation of the Kadesh Poem of Ramesses II, a historical inscription whose “literariness” is demonstrated by its transmission in papyrus copies. The specific toponymns and ethnonyms in The Libyan Battle Story require a thorough analysis of the lengthy historical inscriptions from the reigns of Merneptah and Ramesses III, as well as the historical sections of Papyrus Harris I. The reconstruction of the source material for historical fiction need not rely only on theoretical models, but possesses a concrete corollary in the analysis of a known source for published military records: the day-book.80 The term “day-book” is a direct translation of ancient Egyptian heruyt, a noun-formation derived from the adjective of heru “day.” The heruyt was an official journal, organized chronologically, kept by different administrative units of the pharaonic state.81 One of the earliest preserved day-books,82 and the most extensive papyrus copy of an actual palace journal, is Papyrus Boulaq 18, which records half of a month of activity at the palace during the reign of an early Thirteenth Dynasty pharaoh, Sobekhotep II;83 this papyrus provides an astonishing level of detail regarding economic transactions, a window into the ancient Egyptian “bureaucratic mind.”84 Papyrus Boulaq 18 includes some details regarding foreign policy, such as a record

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of a visit of Nubian Medjoy troops, and one section of the papyrus appears to be a copy of a military day-book.85 Scribes recorded entries in the day-book of the royal court both when the king was in residence in a palace or when the king was out on campaign. Battles in which the king did not participate were recorded in separate rolls that were deposited in the temple; although the existence of these scrolls is known only through a reference in the Annals of Thutmose III,86 The Capture of Joppa provides additional indirect evidence for historical texts that focused on military events during which the king was not present. Thus, while many hieroglyphic accounts of military campaigns derive from day-book material,87 no hieratic document containing an actual military day-book of the New Kingdom, or copies thereof, has yet been recognized. Papyri such as The Satirical Letter of Hori (P. Anastasi I) and several texts belonging to the Late Egyptian Miscellanies88 record aspects of the day-today functioning of the Egyptian military that are typically absent from monumental texts.89 These papyrus documents, together with the royal records and, where possible, archaeological material, are significant components of the intertextual universe of New Kingdom historical fiction and will be quoted extensively in the following chapters. Egyptian texts neither record the process by which works of historical fiction were composed nor provide direct evidence of agency. Even a preliminary analysis of such aspects must await future research, but the first step is to determine the defining features of the genre of historical fiction and its full range of intertext. Cross-cultural comparisons are also fruitful, since the process of transmission within other ancient societies can be recovered in more detail. The following summary of the steps within the production of Roman military records provides thought-provoking parallels to their Egyptian counterparts:90 “First comes the res gesta, the exploit worthy of record; then the rewards for achievement, honores and the triumph; then the monumentum to preserve the memory of the deed; then the celebration of it by story-tellers and learned historians, for the unlettered multitude and the literate élite respectively.” Most studies of Egyptian historical texts stop at the monumentum—the extensive scenes and war records of Egyptian temples—and attempt to proceed backwards to reconstruct the res gesta. The present study will look to the final stage of the historiographical process—the “storytellers” and “learned historians” who would perpetuate the res gesta not through monumental commemoration, but through fictional tales. Now, one must now turn from the historical intertext to the corpus of fictional works to which New Kingdom historical fiction belongs. The fantastically rich corpus of New Kingdom literature91 includes such diverse

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themes as the antics of divinities in The Contendings of Horus and Seth,92 the attempt to escape fate in The Tale of the Doomed Prince,93 and the mythological and psychological transformations in The Tale of the Two Brothers.94 Most of the stories within the corpus of fictional tales known as the Late Egyptian Stories date to the Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties, while few “new” works can be assigned to the Eighteenth Dynasty. New Kingdom literature is thus typically divided into “pre-” and “post-Amarna” periods, with the expansion of Late Egyptian during the Amarna Period being a key cause of the latter’s literary flowering.95 The discovery of the introduction of Astarte and the Insatiable Sea, which includes a hymn in praise of Amunhotep II, has opened new vistas into the production of literature during the Eighteenth Dynasty;96 as Anthony Spalinger has noted, “Should we not conclude that the 18th Dynasty had its own interests in myth and folktale, and that the rapidly increased Asiatic interests and influences effected Egyptian intellectual currents at that time?”97 Before defining historical fiction as such, it is useful to examine the historical and historiographical elements within two tales that form part of the corpus of the Late Egyptian Stories, to which many additional examples could be added. The most striking example of a story that otherwise exists in mythic time, but which the Egyptians could key into a particular reign, is Astarte and the Insatiable Sea.98 The extant portion of the mythic story begins in the middle of a sentence, and among the lacunae in the three columns of text is a narrative about two Asiatic divinities, the sea-god Yam and the goddess Astarte, as well as a number of Egyptian gods and goddesses. Like the protagonists, the story’s plot has its roots in a foreign tradition, most likely a tale originally composed in Ugaritic.99 The translation and adaptation of a Near Eastern tale into Egyptian reflects the “cosmopolitan” nature of New Kingdom Egypt.100 Yet the extent to which Egyptian scribes intentionally recontextualized and transformed the tale remained unrecognized until the missing introduction to Astarte and the Insatiable Sea was rediscovered.101 Although the story’s narrative revolves around divine actions in what appears to be an atemporal setting, the first line of the papyrus gives a specific date: “Year 5, month three of Peret, day 19: may the King of Upper and Lower Egypt . . . Amunhotep (II) live.”102 The following lines of text contain a hymn praising Amunhotep II, but far from being standard formulae, the epithets make specific and repeated allusions to the story that follows.103 Although incorporating a “mythological” tale, Astarte and the Insatiable Sea may have belonged to the ancient Egyptian genre of “victory narratives,”104 thus linking known monumental hieroglyphic texts with a tale now classified within the Late Egyptian Stories. In its original Ugaritic context, the story of Baal’s fight with Yam is part of a larger “Baal

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Cycle,” which is related to royal legitimation and confirmation.105 The transfer of the plot, characters, and, most importantly, the sociopolitical context from the Ugaritic original to its Egyptian version suggests that the Egyptian scribes and their royal patron were not interested solely in an “exotic” flavor, but understood the multiple levels of meaning within the Ugaritic story.106 The second story that will serve as a case study for historiography in New Kingdom fictional literature beyond the four tales discussed here is Khonsuemheb and the Spirit.107 Surviving in a version written on a series of sherds from ceramic vessels, the story Khonsuemheb and the Spirit evinces an interest in the past that combines the visitation of a long-deceased spirit with archaeological research. The story begins with a fictional high priest of Amun, Khonsuemhab, who summons the spirit of Niutbusemekh, a man who died eight centuries earlier, during the reign of Montuhotep II; Khonsuemhab inquires after the name of the spirit and the name of his parents, to which Niutbusemekh responds and provides a curriculum vitae—including two of his administrative titles and a description of his death and burial. Lamenting the destruction of his tomb and four previous attempts to restore his sepulcher, Niutbusemekh requests that Khonsuemhab complete his promise to “cause that one make (your) burial anew.” Although the text is riddled with lacunae, the main stumbling block to Khonsuemhab’s plan in the story seems to be that the location of Niutbusemekh’s tomb is lost, but Khonsuemhab dispatches three men to locate it, which they successfully do—the text even specifies the distance between the tomb and the causeway of the temple of Montuhotep II at Deir el-Bahri. The ending is lost, but one can assume that Khonsuemhab fulfilled his promise to the ancient spirit. While the story Khonsuemhab and the Spirit is presented in an obviously fictional context, there is abundant archaeological evidence for real-life corollaries. Just as the prince Khaemwaset visited and restored Old Kingdom monuments in the north, his near contemporaries in Thebes venerated much earlier sepulchers; for example, the Eleventh Dynasty tomb of a treasurer named Khety contains a fragmentary hieratic graffito—dedicatory text is perhaps more accurate—from the vizier Paser, who served under Seti I and Ramesses II.108 Khonsuemhab and the Spirit and its historical and archaeological concerns provide a nice pendant to the four works of historical fiction—while set in the present of New Kingdom Egypt, this “ghost story” displays the same fascination with the past. The rediscovery of the introduction of Astarte and the Insatiable Sea and the existence of Khonsuemhab and the Spirit on a handful of pottery sherds highlight the dependence of scholarship on the chance

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survival of fragile material. Not only did many more literary works certainly exist in the New Kingdom, but additional compositions that one might also classify as “historical fiction” might once have been part of the textual corpus. In the pictorial records of Ramesses II’s campaign against the Syrian city of Satuna is a unique depiction of a man treed by a bear, and an allusion to this event appears in The Satirical Letter of Hori (P. Anastasi I), all suggesting that a comic narrative of a hapless Syrian attacked by a bear may once have been part of the literary production of the Ramesside Period. 109 If so, this story would be another example of how humorous events during a campaign could enter into pictorial as well as literary traditions. Other unusual vignettes in military reliefs, such as the Asiatic who drives cattle away from the attacking Egyptian forces,110 may also allude to other stories, either oral or written, that circulated in the Egyptian army or the population at large.

HISTORICAL FICTION: AN ANCIENT EGYPTIAN LITERARY GENRE Just as a prism catches the light and turns it into colours he stands between the historical generalisation and his readers and he breaks up the general into the particular and projects it as a picture. The result is like the condensing of a cloud into raindrops. Fiction is like the dust which creates a sunbeam and helps the sunlight show that it is there.111 Herbert Butterfield, The Historical Novel Literary history needs finer distinctions, not fewer categories.112 Bracht Brahnam, Bakhtin and the Classics

The extant textual corpus from the pharaonic period does not preserve any overt literary commentary or criticism,113 yet self-referential comments about “literariness” are not lacking.114 While the Egyptians do not appear to have written “commentaries” to their own literary productions,115 subtle alterations in New Kingdom copies of Middle Kingdom stories suggest later reflection on and study of characters and plot.116 The lack of textual criticism in the ancient Egyptian record extends to genre classifications—although the “list” is a common textual type from the Early Dynastic Period onwards,117 no similar hierarchies of literary texts exist, and no library catalogs record ancient Egyptian organization of papyrus rolls in physical or mental space.118 Despite these limitations, Egyptian texts do preserve significant clues that one may use to reconstruct ancient Egyptian genre classifications,119 and the

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existence of “clear genre signals” argues for the validity of a genre-based approach, as Richard Parkinson has argued:120 Perhaps the most inherently important aspect, however, is that an awareness of genre enables an appreciation of the artistry of ‘perfect speech’, similar to the ‘entertainment’ envisaged by those who commissioned the compositions (Neferti 11-m); it avoids a reductive (or patronizing) approach to the structure of Egyptian high culture. While there is a danger of imposing interpretations, the consistent presence of clear genre signals shows that a generic approach is correct.

The major genres of Middle Kingdom literature can be identified through analysis of aspects of form, mode, and theme, and the inclusion of titles in some categories of literature offers a means by which to test the ancient classification system with modern assumptions about genre divisions. For example, the texts that include the term sebayt “instructions” in their titles possess a clear didactic purpose, although individual texts can diverge significantly from a single template.121 Even if the instruction texts did not have obvious titles, their structure and content would enable a modern scholar both to identify their similarities to one another and their distinctiveness in relation to texts of other literary genres, such as narrative tales. In New Kingdom literature, titles can also coincide with modern genre classifications (again, instructions provide a convenient example122), but such is not always the case. A  select corpus of New Kingdom military inscriptions is designated by the phrases “beginning of the victories” or “recitation of victories,”123 but the same term “victories” serves as the title of a text classified as the “praise of cities” genre;124 the theme and mode of a “victory” text is thus not strictly a genre for presenting military conflict and, like the “royal novel,” can encompass a wide range of royal activities.125 The identification of additional genres in New Kingdom literature has relied on thematic and stylistic criteria, such as “travel literature,”126 “trial literature,”127 and the “literary letter.”128 The combination of texts of various genres within a single manuscript has contributed to the identification of a possible “meta-genre” of “courtly literature.”129 The classification of New Kingdom literary texts and the defining of distinct genres ultimately aids in the interpretation of those pharaonic compositions, providing a framework in which to compare and contrast texts across time and space. Without an ancient tool to divide New Kingdom literary texts into distinct categories, one may turn instead to modern genre theory. An attempt to isolate the genre boundaries of the four works of historical fiction will follow the guiding principle set forth by Antonio

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Loprieno: “there can be no hermeneutic reading of Egyptian texts without theoretical equipment, nor an Egyptologically relevant theory if it does not ultimately contribute to a better understanding of Egyptian co(n)texts.”130 The definition of the genre of historical fiction in New Kingdom Egypt is here presented within the context of Alastair Fowler’s notion of genre as a dynamic force131 and intersects with Mikhail Bakhtin’s theory of the chronotope. These two theoretical approaches are appropriate for the Egyptian material, since they capture features of texts that are neither lengthy nor complete, in contrast to the analysis of most genres, ancient and modern, that assume a fully extant composition. Due caution will be given to the potential trap of overly equating the ancient Egyptian genre with the popular modern genre of historical fiction.132 Recourse to the theoretical framework of Bakhtin is helpful in comparing the two manifestations of a similar genre hugely separated in time and space, while retaining a nuanced and culturally specific approach to the ancient material.133 The four stories presented here fall into the overarching category of “tales,” a type of literature that fulfills the three main criteria of literariness set forth by Loprieno:  fictionality, intertextuality, and publication beyond the monumental sphere.134 The primary purpose of further genre analysis is to determine what features might differentiate these four tales from the other members of the corpus of New Kingdom fictional narratives, as well as genres of nonfictional texts (e.g., historical inscriptions, “praise of city” texts, and epistolographic compositions). Recognizing a smaller, distinct corpus opens new means of conceptualizing New Kingdom literature and its place within ancient Egyptian textual production, spanning the Middle Kingdom through to the flowering of demotic literature. The essence of genre is not the existence of fixed categories, but rather the fact that “all genres are continuously undergoing metamorphosis.”135 Generic definitions are an attempt to stop a moving target within the literary history of a culture—“it is only in the context of changing generic paradigms that a single genre’s function can be grasped.”136 Both of the genres most closely related to historical fiction— historical inscriptions and fictional tales—existed in the Middle Kingdom, but one aspect separating the New Kingdom genre “historical fiction” is precisely the transformation of those earlier genres into a new type of story. In one of his key works, The Dialogic Imagination, Mikhail Bakhtin proposed a new means of viewing genre, the “chronotope.” The term chronotope, literally “space-time,” is just that—a specific time and place, a four-dimensional framework that all types of literature possess: “We cannot help but be strongly impressed by the representational importance of the chronotope. Time becomes, in effect, palpable and visible; the chronotope makes narrative events concrete, makes them take on flesh, causes

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blood to flow in their veins.”137 The definition and use of both of these properties within literature “is not simply another ingredient of genre, to be added to the other qualitative or quantitative constituents,”138 but provides a means of comparing genres that themselves come from widely separated times and places.139 Much of Bakhtin’s analysis focuses upon the classical romance novel (e.g. Achilles Tatius, Leucippe and Clitophon) that he identifies with the use of “adventure-time,” which does not conform to chronological time, but rather exists as a series of endlessly expandable units.140 The main characters within the Greek romance do not change or age; the specific events of the narrative follow the rules of chronological time, but in the context of the story, the overall plot and the characters are removed from the necessity of historical processes. The spatial aspects of the chronotope are less significant for Bakhtin’s analysis than time, but the chronotope of “adventure time” utilizes exotic and foreign, but ultimately interchangeable, geography; even if the geographic setting is described in detail, it exists on a plane different from that of the everyday world of the classical audience.141 The chronotope of “adventure time” finds a strikingly close parallel in the New Kingdom Egyptian work The Tale of the Two Brothers.142 The expression “now many days had passed after this” serves to separate events such as the plowing of the fields and tending of the cattle in the introductory stanzas of the tale.143 The same phrase describes the length of time required for Bata to flee from Egypt to the Valley of the Cedar, and the journey to and from the Valley of the Cedar by the agents of the pharaoh. All of these examples demonstrate the endlessly expandable units of “adventure time”—the author of The Tale of the Two Brothers could have added event after event to Bata’s stay in the Valley of the Cedar without concerning himself with chronological time. The disjunction between chronological time and “adventure time” is particularly evident after Bata’s death and Anubis’ search for his brother’s heart—more than three years pass in a single sentence describing Anubis’ fruitless quest, but then, “now after dawn and the next day had come about,” he suddenly finds the heart.144 A year, a day, an hour—such radically different divisions of chronological time each have the same significance for the characters within a tale governed by “adventure time.” It is only at the end of the Tale of the Two Brothers that chronological time is acknowledged, giving Bata an ideal thirty years to reign before his death and the succession of his elder brother Anubis. In addition to “adventure time,” Bakhtin notes other chronotopes within classical literature: “The time of ancient epic and drama was profoundly localized, absolutely inseparable from the concrete features of

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a characteristically Greek natural environment, and from features of a ‘man-made environment,’ that is, of specifically Greek administrative units, cities, and states. . . . Historical time was equally concrete and localized—in epic and tragedy it was tightly interwoven with mythological time.”145 A historical time that is inextricably linked with a single moment in time and space provides a template for defining the chronotope of historical fiction. All four stories, The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, The Capture of Joppa, Thutmose III in Asia, and The Libyan Battle Story, share the same temporal scheme (i.e., are similarly situated in time): each narrative is located within a specific range of time in the past, and the events of the narrative are “tightly woven” to that time period. The “historic time” of each of the four stories is demonstrably not a mythic past nor in any way linked to such, but a time period that could be verified and even researched in ancient archives—the chronotope of historical fiction is a recorded, knowable past populated at least in part by people who existed within that same historical time. Not only the events of the narrative, but the very identity of the characters in the tales are bound by the chronotope of historical fiction: Apepi and Seqenenere can only act within a story set at the end of the Second Intermediate Period; the exploits of the general Djehuty can only take place during his historically known lifetime (the reign of Thutmose III); and the Libyan enemies in The Libyan Battle Story are fought by appropriately contemporaneous Egyptian auxiliary troops (e.g. Sherden). At the same time, within the framework of “historical time,” the chronotope of historical fiction enables the alteration of known historical events to contribute to the meaning of the narrative; thus Thutmose III in Thutmose III in Asia uses words spoken by Ramesses II, and The Libyan Battle Story combines details of a battle from the reign of Merneptah with enemy forces and Egyptian auxiliaries first attested in the reign of Ramesses III. The geographical setting of the historical fiction chronotope is similarly concrete and not interchangeable146—Apepi and Seqenenre each dwell in their respective capital cities as known from historical records; Thutmose III and Djehuty appropriately fight in the Syro-Palestinian territories in which Thutmose III’s annals memorialize annual campaigns; and the battle against the Libyans occurs on a historically known battlefield at Perire. Neither aspect of the historical fiction chronotope can be transposed— to alter either time or place would be to dissolve the fabric of the narrative. Caught within the warp and weft of this chronotope are the characters, who may or may not be fictional, but who are nevertheless bound by the constraints of historical reality. The fictional world of these tales is not only

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limited by the laws of the physical world, but by known and recorded events. In each story, independent, non-literary sources exist to confirm the existence of the characters and the basic outline of the narrative events. As fiction, the tales need not conform slavishly to that recorded history, but the setting, characters, and plot must be believable and authentic within the framework of historic time. The dual nature of ancient Egyptian historical fiction—both embedded in the historical record and yet possessing clear markers of fictionality—finds a parallel in the modern, and entirely independently created genre of historical fiction, as summarized by Anne Rigley:147 From Walter Scott and Victor Hugo to Umberto Eco and José Saramago, by way of Tolstoy and Virginia Woolf, what defines the historical novel as a genre is precisely the interplay between invented story elements and historical ones. As novels, they are written under the aegis of the fictionality convention whereby the individual writer enjoys the freedom to invent and the reader enjoys the freedom to make-believe in the existence of a world ‘uncommitted to reality.’ As historical novels, however, they also link up with the ongoing collective attempts to represent the past and invite comparison with what is already known about the historical world from other sources.

The chronotope of historical fiction differentiates the four tales presented here from all other works of New Kingdom literature. The mythic chronotope of The Tale of the Two Brothers, The Blinding of Truth and Falsehood, and The Contendings of Horus and Seth shares neither the specific time nor place of historical fiction, and, unsurprisingly, the characters themselves transcend the human sphere or are divine beings. The Doomed Prince shares the named, foreign setting of two of the works of historical fiction but does not possess the specific time aspects of the historical chronotope. The cultural milieu of The Doomed Prince is broadly that of the New Kingdom,148 but the tale could be transposed to multiple individual reigns without affecting the narrative. The chronotope of historical fiction also allows one to distinguish between historical fiction and fiction with a historical setting. 149 The former maintains throughout the narrative the same inextricability of time and place that limits and defines the actions of the characters—in a work of historical fiction, historical events, either real or authentically imagined, continually and repeatedly intersect with the plot. In other words, Egyptian historical fiction consists of tales with “the active presence of a concept of history as a shaping force”150 and in which “historical probability reaches a certain level of structural prominence.”151

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HISTORICAL FICTION AS PHYSICAL AND LINGUISTIC ARTIFACTS OF THE SCRIBAL PROFESSION Be a scribe and frequent the ‘House of Life’ —become a chest of writings!152

Instruction of Amennakht

Now, indeed, it was a great and mysterious occurrence, a splendid marvel, unknown and unheard of in oral tradition (literally “mouth to mouth”), not remembered in the writings of the ancestors.153 Hittite Marriage Text

All four works of historical fiction are preserved in a single medium, papyrus, all written in hieratic, and for each story only a single copy has been identified. Internal textual evidence and paleography indicate that the papyri range in date from the reigns of Seti I or Ramesses II (The Capture of Joppa) and Merneptah (The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre) to the reign of Ramesses III or a slightly later Twentieth Dynasty pharaoh (The Libyan Battle Story); the copy of Thutmose III in Asia is traditionally dated to the Twentieth Dynasty, although a late Nineteenth Dynasty date is also possible. None of the papyri have a definite provenance, although they appear to derive from either Memphite or Theban contexts, and nothing suggests that the original distribution of the tales was limited to a single location. The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and The Capture of Joppa are written on papyri that contain additional texts, a fact that is of some significance in the analysis of those texts presented below; the papyri of Thutmose III in Asia and The Libyan Battle Story do not preserve any other compositions, although The Libyan Battle Story was later reused for nonliterary purposes. No ostraca have thus far been identified that contain any of the four works of historical fiction or a fragment of another text that may belong to the same genre.154 The abundance of New Kingdom literary ostraca makes it plausible that the four works of historical fiction were transmitted at least in part on ostraca during the lifetime of their readership, since ostraca copies of parts of literary texts may have been the equivalent of our “paperback” books, as opposed to the more expensive, archival-quality papyrus editions.155 Paratextual elements156 among the works of historical fiction are few. No titles are preserved,157 but the extant copy of The Capture of Joppa contains a colophon. Colophons within literary papyri,158 like that in The Capture of Joppa, assert the completeness and accuracy of the text copy:159 “It has come well (to its conclusion) by the ka-spirit of the scribe excellent

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of his fingers, the military scribe [ . . . ].” While the copyist’s name is not preserved, his title “military scribe” accords perfectly with the cultural milieu of New Kingdom historical fiction within the military and foreign service (see pp. 99, 145). The only named copyist among the corpus of historical fiction is the scribe Pentaweret, who wrote out the beginning of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre before turning his attention to an instruction of letter-writing (see below, pp. 61–63). No evidence provides any information about the identity of the authors of the four tales—authorship is rarely recorded for any New Kingdom literature, with the exception of a few exceptional individuals from Deir el-Medina.160 Rubrics, the standard method of distinguishing stanzas, are present throughout The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, within a single example in Thutmose III in Asia, but they do not appear within the narrative of The Capture of Joppa or The Libyan Battle Story.161 On the other hand, The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and The Capture of Joppa162 lack “verse points” (red supralinear dots), while they are present in Thutmose III in Asia and The Libyan Battle Story. Their use is not universal in New Kingdom literature; copies of major compositions such as The Contendings of Horus and Seth (P. Chester Beatty I) do not contain verse points.163 The implications of the presence or absence of verse points remains a topic of debate: they may indicate versification (hence the common name “verse points”) or represent a method of proofreading a completed copy.164 By the time a Ramesside scribe composed one of the tales presented here, the Egyptian language had been written for almost two millennia.165 A  scribe of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties had at his disposal a variety of grammatical forms that represent gradations within the chronological development of the language; in modern scholarly classifications these are divided primarily between Middle Egyptian and Late Egyptian forms, but a substantial number of intermediate or hybrid forms are common in New Kingdom literary texts.166 A single literary or historical text of the Ramesside Period could draw upon not only different chronological stages, but other geographically and socially bound dialects; the resulting diglossia167 could be mobilized within those individual texts to indicate different registers of discourse.168 New Kingdom scribes were also exposed to Middle Egyptian through texts that were considered to be at the apex of the ancient Egyptian literary canon—including instruction literature (e.g. Instruction of Amenemhat I, Instruction of a Man for His Son), tales (e.g. Story of Sinuhe), and hymns (e.g. Hymn to Hapi) of the Middle Kingdom.169 The revered textual masterpieces of the Middle Kingdom, composed in Middle Egyptian, thus served

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as grammatical as well as literary paragons for New Kingdom scribal students.170 The library of Pentaweret, the copyist of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, exemplifies the wide-ranging exposure of a Ramesside scribe to different genres of “classics” and contemporary literature (see below, pp. 32–33). In the context of New Kingdom scribal output, the grammar of the four works of historical fiction fits well within the hybrid “literary” Late Egyptian that has been well known since Fritz Hintze’s seminal study.171 As Friedrich Junge observes, “from the everyday texts through literary to ideological and theological works, the proportion of Middle Egyptian elements increased constantly—or rather these have been maintained longest in the linguistically more protected higher registers of the hierarchy of textual expression.”172 Unlike the “medio-Late Egyptian” of hieroglyphic historical texts carved on stelae and temple walls,173 the hybrid grammar of the works of historical fiction is one of the many signals of their fictionality. Their reading or oral performance might have been one way in which historical events were “popularized” beyond the monumental sphere. Available evidence does not allow even a preliminary estimation of the size and composition of the audience of New Kingdom literature—it is an investigation that leads into murky depths of population studies and the propagation of social norms. The percentage of the Egyptian population that was literate at any point during the pharaonic period, including the New Kingdom, is notoriously difficult to compute, and such calculations are further complicated by definitions of literacy itself (Figure 1.3).174 In addition to the small literate population of the Nile Valley, the audience for narrative tales may have been expanded through oral recitation.175 Internal literary references to oral performance sometimes appear alongside an imagined written record of the orally transmitted tale within the stories themselves (e.g. Prophecies of Neferti and The Eloquent Peasant),176 and one can propose dual paths of transmission. Claims about the orality of New Kingdom literature177 for the works of historical fiction must be tempered with the fact that an understanding of the characters and plots is predicated on knowledge of written historical accounts. Ultimately, the sole surviving evidence for the four works of historical fiction are the manuscripts themselves, and any reconstructions of reading practices, performances, or oral transmission must remain speculative. Most significantly, however, a written text and oral performance are not contradictory uses of a narrative, but the existence of formulae, repetition, and short metrical units can complement reading as well as reciting of a text.178 Since only one copy of each work of historical fiction survives, we cannot assess potential adaptations of the textual record to

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Figure 1.3 Scribes recording the number of severed hands following a military campaign, from the temple of Ramesses III, “United with Eternity,” Western Thebes (courtesy of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago)

performance.179 Although no internal evidence suggests that the tales were publicly performed, New Kingdom evidence suggests a few possible contexts for oral recitation. Since “songs of victory” were sung during annual religious festivals,180 perhaps the works of historical fiction presented here were also performed on these occasions, or during annual celebrations of prior military victories. During the pharaoh’s coronation or celebration of the heb-sed jubilee, a wide range of “gifts” were presented to the pharaoh, including military equipment;181 the jubilee would be an appropriate setting for the recitation of a king’s exploits in historical and fictional tales for a wider, nonliterate audience.182 Personal stories of bravery might also have been recited at this time—one can imagine a trained military scribe retelling the feats of Djehuty, as the audience—perhaps a mixture of literate and nonliterate military and administrative officials—thought of their own encounters with enemy forces abroad. Other geographic and temporal settings can be imagined for performances of the four works of historical fiction. The reciting of The Quarrel of

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Apepi and Seqenenre at Avaris or Thebes would have potentially evoked different emotions in the different urban settings. Did the citizens of Avaris feel that the story justified the existence of a “quarter of Seth” within their city, despite its former status as the Hyksos capital? How many of the citizens of Piramesses knew the history of their region? Was The Libyan Battle Story composed in commemoration of Ramesses III’s victory over the Libyans and performed at the festival celebrations thereof? Was Thutmose III in Asia similarly commissioned as part of the glorification of Ramesses II after the Battle of Kadesh? No evidence survives to answer these questions or additional queries about what Egyptians other than the most highly educated officials knew, but the existence of historical fiction suggests that such historical knowledge may have extended at least to the potential readers of the tale and any audience that heard a performance of the story or some oral version thereof. The small community at Deir el-Medina, home to the scribes, stoneworkers, and draughtsman (and their families) who constructed the royal tombs in the Valley of the Kings, provides a uniquely rich source of information about reading practices, but the village’s exceptionalism make it difficult to apply to any larger-scale analysis of literacy rates.183 For the study of New Kingdom historical fiction, however, the literate men of Deir el-Medina provide a hypothetical audience. The full breadth of New Kingdom literature, from theological and magical texts to dream books, love poetry, and narrative tales, was present in the library of Kenherkhopeshef.184 The expansion of literary genres during the New Kingdom may suggest an increase in literacy rates or “imply that those who created literature looked to a greater familiarity with texts among the literate.”185 The genre of historical fiction may cast additional light on at least one potential audience—literate officials who administered Egypt’s territories in Syria-Palestine and Nubia.

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C H A PT E R 2

The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre

A

s the scribe Pentaweret dipped his rush pen in red ink to copy the first words of the story now known as The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, approximately three hundred and forty years separated the Egyptian treasury official from the events described in the tale he was reproducing. The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre begins with a specific time and place: Egypt during the tribulations of foreign rule. For approximately three generations, between 1650 and 1550 BCE, the Nile Valley from its Delta shores to southern Middle Egypt was under the control of a dynasty of foreign kings, the Hyksos, a Greek rendering of ancient Egyptian heqau-khasut, “Rulers of the Foreign Lands.” The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre begins with a dramatic summary of this complex period in Egyptian history: without a single Egyptian pharaoh as ruler of the Two Lands—a state of chaos according to Egyptian political theology—pestilence runs rampant throughout the land. The main characters of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre are two historically well attested pharaohs: Aauserre Apepi, one of the last kings of the Hyksos Fifteenth Dynasty, and Seqenenre Djehuty-aa, the penultimate pharaoh of the Theban Seventeenth Dynasty. The story introduces the Hyksos king as he calls together his scribes and dictates a message addressed to the Theban ruler Seqenenre. Following the description of Apepi’s letter as “offensive,” the text breaks off, and among the broken lines the story reports that just as Apepi devotes his religious activity solely to Seth, so does Seqenenere direct his worship to Amun-Re. Once the Hyksos messenger arrives in Thebes, he repeats the content of Apepi’s missive: the Hyksos king demands that Seqenenre take an action against hippopotami east of Thebes, because their noisiness is keeping Apepi awake; this request

lacks any context or explanation within the preserved portions of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, compelling the modern reader to look for parallels in other sources. Five hundred kilometers separate Avaris from Thebes (as the crow flies), making Apepi’s request ridiculous to ancient and modern audiences alike. The absurdity of the message causes Seqenenere to pause, unable immediately to respond to the Hyksos messenger. After a long pause, Seqenenre asks the messenger a question; although the actual content of the question is not preserved, the Theban king may use grammar that signals a sarcastic or mocking response. Seqenenre consults his council, repeating to them Apepi’s bizarre request. The next event in the narrative will remain unknown until another copy of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre is discovered—for the scribe Pentaweret stopped copying at this point in the story and began to write out a “manual of letter writing.” Pentaweret’s possible motives for combining these two texts in such an unusual fashion may in fact be found in the content of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre itself. The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre existed within a rich ancient intertext, some of which is still extant, and details within the narrative can be tested against intensive excavations at sites mentioned within the story. Like ancient Troy, Avaris and Thebes exist as archaeological sites as well as literary settings (see below, pp. 39–43). Few lengthy inscriptions survive from either the Hyksos-controlled north or the capital city Avaris, but archaeological investigations at the latter have revealed details about the physical layout of the city and the social identity of its inhabitants that the modern reader can compare with the characterization of Apepi in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre. This modern recovery of data may not be entirely at odds with the knowledge of the Ramesside author and the ancient audience—the political capital of the Nineteenth Dynasty was Piramesses, located just to the north of the site of Avaris. In contrast, Seqenenre’s Thebes is archaeologically much less well known, with east bank material limited to scattered Second Intermediate Period remains beneath the later sprawl of Karnak Temple. Yet Karnak Temple was also the find-spot for the Second Stela of Kamose, one of the most significant historical records of the Second Intermediate Period; the second of an original pair of stelae, the text is the most detailed source for Kamose’s campaign against Avaris, including battles in northern Middle Egypt and a naval battle outside the Hyksos capital.1 The First Stela exists in a fragmentary copy from Karnak, as well as an excerpt copied in hieratic on a writing board, discovered in a tomb courtyard on the west bank.2 Termed the Carnarvon Tablet after the financer of the excavations (later of Tutankhamun fame), this writing board not

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only preserves key historical details from Kamose’s reign, but suggests a “publication” or at the least accessibility of the historical text beyond the hieroglyphic stelae.3 From the Theban west bank is another quintessential Egyptian object that has a direct bearing on the interpretation of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre: the mummy of Seqenenre. Reburied in a cache of royal mummies around 935 BCE, apparently as part of a state-sanctioned robbing of royal tombs,4 the mummy of Seqenenre was rediscovered in 1881, part of a dramatic tale of tomb robbery and hasty clearance.5 Remarkably, though, this discovery means that the body of one of the two characters in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre is available for modern study.6 Early examinations of the mummy suggested that Seqenenre died in bed at the hands of an assassin, but more recent investigations indicate that he died from wounds sustained during battle.7 Judging from the position and size of the wounds, the first blow may have been struck while Seqenenre was standing in a chariot, and two of the prominent wounds are small rectangular holes in the skull.8 The size of these wounds matches that of the long, thin-bladed axes found in warriors’ burials at Avaris dating to the late Fifteenth Dynasty,9 a type of weapon not attested in the Egyptian panoply of the time. The physical evidence makes it likely that the pharaoh Seqenenre died in battle against a Hyksos army.10 No extant contemporaneous texts record the end of Seqenenre’s rule, nor is his violent death mentioned in later sources. Seqenenre’s mummy is thus a unique historical record.

BRITISH MUSEUM EA 10185 (PAPYRUS SALLIER I): AN INTRODUCTION

The fragmentary tale The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre appears in only a single papyrus, British Museum EA 10185 (Papyrus Sallier I), dated to the tenth regnal year of Merneptah.11 In addition to The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, the recto of the papyrus also contains a letter-writing manual, and on the verso the Instruction of Amenemhat I.12 The Pentaweret who copied The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and “the instruction of letter writing” is the same Pentaweret responsible for the copy of the “Kadesh Battle Poem” in Papyrus Sallier III.13 Although its find-spot is not recorded, British Museum (BM) EA 10185 was probably part of a set of papyri from a single tomb at Saqqara, including BM EA 10182 (Papyrus Sallier II), BM EA 10183 (Papyrus D’Orbiney), BM EA 10247 (Papyrus Anastasi I), and BM EA 10222 (Papyrus Anastasi VII).14 If this assumed provenance is accurate

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and represents a “library,” The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre was part of a collection of manuscripts that included such Middle Kingdom classics as the Instruction of Khety, Instruction of Amenemhat I (two copies), and the Hymn to Hapi, as well as the lengthy New Kingdom story Tale of the Two Brothers and the popular Satirical Letter of Hori. Most significantly for the appearance of a work of historical fiction within Pentaweret’s papyri, his library also contained the above-mentioned copy of the lengthy historical “poem” commissioned by Ramesses II following the Battle of Kadesh. The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre appears in the first three columns of the recto of BM EA 10185 (Figure  2.1), ending mid-sentence at the left margin of the third line of the third column; the final two lines of the excerpted portion of the story appear again across the second and third columns of the verso.15 In line four of the third column of the recto, the scribe then wrote the title to the next composition:16 “Beginning of the instruction of letter writing”17 (Figure 2.5). The letter-writing manual contains eleven communications between the scribe Pentaweret and the chief record-keeper18 of the treasury, Ameneminet,19 which were apparently chosen for their didactic value, as the use of “instruction” in the title suggests.20 Far from being unrelated to the following letter-writing manual, The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre appears to provide an entertaining and instructive beginning to the manual, specifically chosen by the scribe to introduce the additional, more sober contents of the papyrus. Although the significance of this juxtaposition has been overlooked, it offers unique information concerning the audience of historical fiction and the multiplicity of purposes it might serve for that audience.

Figure 2.1 BM EA 10185 (Papyrus Sallier I), column 1 (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum)

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Translated multiple times and included in standard handbooks of Egyptian literature,21 The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre has been interpreted in widely divergent ways. The only monographic presentation of the text proposed an exaggeratedly historicist reading, which rested on extreme emendations to the existing text and treated parts of the fictional narrative as if it revealed definite evidence of factual events.22 Other historicist approaches have read Apepi’s apparent monotheism within the Ramesside tale as evidence of actual religious practices during the Hyksos Period,23 or interpreted the rivalry between Avaris and Thebes in the story as reflecting conflict between Piramesses and Thebes during the Nineteenth Dynasty.24 A major thread of analysis has been to filter the characters and events in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre through the lens of “cultural memory”;25 first presented by Jan Assmann,26 this approach to the story essentially argues that the narrative is a conflation of two traumatic events: Hyksos rule and Akhenaten’s reign.27 Among the specific aspects of the text, the alternating titles of Apepi and Seqenenre and the significance of the hippopotami mentioned in Apepi’s message have also received limited attention (see pp. 36–37 and 57–58 below). The genre of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre has previously been analyzed in terms of the “royal novel,” regarded either as a serious motif28 or a “mockery” of the form.29 Finally, recent interpretations of the story have also examined the story using modern theoretical tools; as demonstrated in Chapter 1, the application of modern genre theory and intertextuality contribute greatly to the interpretation of ancient Egyptian historical fiction. However, not all theoretical approaches have the same applicability to the fragmentary narrative, and results of some theory-based approaches advocate readings at odds with an intertextual approach to the story.30

THE CHARACTERS: SEQENENRE, APEPI, AND SCRIBES

The two named characters in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre are known from historical documents, royal and private monuments, king lists, and, in Seqenenre’s case, a mummy. The kings Apepi and Seqenenre ruled concurrently, and Apepi’s reign would last through that of Seqenenre’s two successors, Kamose and Ahmose. From his capital at Avaris (ancient Hutwaret), Apepi controlled the Delta south to the region of Hermopolis, while Seqenenre ruled from the Thebaid and held sway over the region from Elephantine to the border at Cusae.31 Among the Hyksos pharaohs of the Fifteenth Dynasty, Apepi enjoyed the longest rule, probably around

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forty years.32 Although Apepi did not use the title heqa-khasut, “ruler of the foreign lands,” at least one Egyptian text refers to him as “sovereign (wr) of Retjenu (Syria-Palestine),”33 which probably reflected the reality of his origins as well as the Upper Egyptian opinion about his unsuitability for the office of pharaoh. Lacking lengthy historical texts from the Hyksos perspective,34 small scarab seals,35 scattered monuments,36 and above all the archaeological record at Avaris provide the bulk of the information concerning the identity of these foreign rulers. Apepi ruled over a mixed population of Egyptians and Syro-Palestinians, the latter partially Egyptianized. The “ethnicity,” or more likely multiple ethnicities,37 of the Hyksos rulers and their foreign subjects remains a topic of debate. The names of the Hyksos rulers, complicated by incomplete overlap in hieroglyphic and later classical sources, remain a tenuous criterion for determinations of origins.38 The last two decades of Apepi’s rule saw his authority threatened by the rising power of Thebes.39 Apepi’s capital was sacked during the reign of Kamose, and the Hyksos dynasty was finally driven from Egypt during Ahmose’s reign, an event that marked the reunification of Upper and Lower Egypt under the rule of a single Egyptian pharaoh. The expulsion of the Hyksos at the end of the Second Intermediate Period appears not just to have been an attempt to reunify Upper and Lower Egypt, but to have embodied a new imperialist spirit in Egyptian foreign relations.40 As a pharaoh who ruled only the southern portion of the Nile Valley, the historical kingship of Seqenenere Djehuty-aa41 was a precarious balance of traditional political ideology and contemporary realities. No extant historical texts from his reign provide details concerning the mechanics of his legitimization or any measures taken to mitigate the unusual circumstances of his rule, or indeed the rule of the entire Seventeenth Dynasty. The lengthy stelae of Kamose offer a window into the mind of a Theban apologist, forced to reconcile his pharaoh’s difficult position as king of only “this part” of Egypt. The introductory portion of the text, as preserved on the Carnarvon Tablet, speaks of Kamose’s kingship in terms that parallel the beginning of the story The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre:42 The victorious king within Thebes, Kamose, given life forever was a beneficent king. It is Re who placed him as veritable king, and who truly granted victory to him.

Such statements of the divine legitimacy of a pharaoh’s rule appear in other royal texts,43 but in Kamose’s stela, the institution of kingship itself bears

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a heightened emphasis. The terms that describe Kamose’s kingship (e.g. victorious, beneficent,44 and veritable45) provide an interesting contrast to the description of Apepi in the next line of the Carnarvon Tablet:46 How should I understand my power, with a sovereign (wr) in Avaris and another in Kush?

Finally, the difficult passage at the start of the Second Stela of Kamose specifically contrasts the ranks of the Theban king Kamose with that of the foreigner Apepi:47 Your speech is wrong (lit. narrow), when you make me as a sovereign (wr), while you are ruler (HoA).. .

In a historical inscription, Seqenenre’s successor Kamose could thus characterize Apepi as a mere “ruler,” while the Egyptian leader was a proper king, despite Apepi’s claims to the contrary.48 The same situation obtains in the introduction of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre—Seqenenre is a “king” while Apepi is a “ruler.” Following the short introductory setting, however, The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre consistently uses entirely different epithets:  Seqenenre is “sovereign of the southern city” and Apepi is “king.”49 This dichotomy in the characters’ titles serves a dual purpose. The introduction of the story reflects the political message of Seventeenth Dynasty Theban texts, which were probably among the historical sources that the Ramesside author would have been able to consult when composing the story. The terms “king (nswt)” and “sovereign (wr)” in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre mark the same differentiation in political roles that concern the authors of historical texts of the late Second Intermediate Period.50 Interestingly, the preserved portions of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre avoid the use of the title heqa-khasut, “ruler of the foreign lands,” which was used by the early Hyksos rulers in their own monuments and appears as the description of the Fifteenth Dynasty in the Turin Canon (compiled in the reign of Ramesses II).51 Second, the change in titles between the introduction and the main narrative forces the reader to reconsider the legitimacy of the officeholders. The Egyptian audience would expect the Egyptian-born Seqenenre to be the proper possessor of the title “king” at the beginning of the tale, and the jarring change to the foreign “king” Apepi calls into doubt the latter’s actions.52 The preserved portions of the story appear to suggest that Apepi does not deserve the title “king,”53 whereas Seqenenre acts according to maat, or cosmic order,

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and, despite his lesser position as “sovereign of the southern city,” is the actual, divinely appointed “king.” The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre does not directly mention the ideology of the royal ka, the inherited spirit of kingship that is transmitted from generation to generation of pharaohs by the god Amun-Re, who impregnates the chosen queen.54 Seqenenre’s change in status from “king” in the introduction to “sovereign of the southern city” within the story, however, may be explained most clearly through reference to the concept of the royal ka. Even if pharaohs are not of the proper gender (e.g. Hatshepsut) or not of royal parentage (e.g. Horemhab), they possess the royal ka from conception, when the creator god Khnum fashioned both their earthly and spiritual royal incarnations upon his potter’s wheel. Thus, historical precedents to Seqenenre’s change in status exist—the introduction to the tale acknowledges that Seqenenre possesses the royal ka, while the remainder of the narrative recognizes that his authority was limited to Upper Egypt and thus his office is in practical terms that of “sovereign of the southern city.” The extant monuments of Seqenenre’s reign derive from overtly theological or funerary settings, all situations where Seqenenre’s identity as inheritor of the royal ka entirely overshadows the unfortunate realities of his reign; thus, one should not expect the title “sovereign of the southern city” to be preserved in documents from Seventeenth Dynasty Thebes.55 An additional and previously overlooked aspect of the naming of the characters in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre is the choice of the nomen (birth name) versus the prenomen (coronation name). Apepi is a nomen, the birth name of the Hyksos pharaoh, while Seqenenre is a prenomen, a name that he adopted upon his ascension to the throne and which means “the one whom Re has made mighty.” Why would the ancient author choose different types of names for the two kings? The answer probably lies in the theology of the tale—The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre characterizes Apepi as a worshipper of Seth, a king who acts so offensively that he renders to Seth offerings appropriate for Pre-Horakhty at Heliopolis. Yet all three of Apepi’s attested prenomens contain a reference to the god Re: Aaqenenre, “the might of Re is great,” Aauserre, “the power of Re is great,” and Nebkhepeshre, “Lord of the khepesh-sword of Re.”56 To use any of Hyksos king’s prenomens would undermine a driving element of the story’s plot. Similarly, Seqenenre’s nomen is Taa, written like the word for ta, “bread,” but it is more accurately transcribed as Djehuty-aa, “Thoth, the great.”57 The author of the tale seems to have been intentional in his alternation of types of royal names; one of Apepi’s prenomens, Aaqenenre, is only two syllables different from Seqenenre, and both names proclaim the might of the solar god Re. Naming, as well as namelessness, has profound implications

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for the hermeneutics of Egyptian literature,58 and The Quarrels of Apepi and Seqenenre partakes of the same literary tradition. Before moving on to the role of scribes within the The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, it is useful to conclude the summary of the two royal characters with their commemoration or lack thereof in the Nineteenth Dynasty, when the sole papyrus copy was written. The capital of the Ramesside dynasties was Piramesses, adjacent to Avaris, the Hyksos capital. The Delta associations of the Ramesside royal family may have contributed to interest in the Hyksos dynasty, and on one level The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre can be read as an apology for perpetuating the cult of Seth so favored by foreign rulers. As the analysis below will demonstrate, no evidence within the tale or any other Ramesside texts suggest that the foreign Apepi rather than the Egyptian Seqenenre is the “hero” of the tale. Textual sources do not indicate a positive commemoration of Apepi or any other Hyksos rulers during the Ramesside period, although the reality of their rule was acknowledged in king lists such as the Turin Canon.59 Seqenenre, on the other hand, does appear in Ramesside sources, as is to be expected of a Theban pharaoh who was of the same family as the local royal “saints” Amenhotep I and Ahmose-Nefertari.60 A dedicated antiquarian such as Prince Khaemwaset or the fictional Khonsuemhab could have visited Seqenenre’s tomb at Dra Abu el-Naga, since the pyramid-crowned tomb was included in the list of monuments inspected in the course of the tomb robbery investigations during the reign of Ramesses IX (the papyrus record of the commission indicates that the tomb was still intact).61 Although not as popular as Amenhotep I, Seqenenre’s cartouche does appear on an offering table of Kenherkhopeshef,62 and Seqenenre is depicted in two tombs at Deir el-Medina.63 The preservation of the memories of Apepi and Seqenenre—for Ramesside Egyptians as well as modern readers—is due primarily to the scribes that copied king lists, composed historical inscriptions, and formatted the hieroglyphic texts that adorned royal and private monuments. Since the function of the partial copy of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre within BM EA 10185 may be as a lively introduction to a letter-writing manual, the ancient scribe who read the tale would be both edified and entertained, while being convinced of his own centrality within Egyptian society. The importance of scribes and written communication in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre relates the fictional tale thematically to the manual of letter writing—a previously overlooked connection. Scribal “propaganda” promoting the scribal profession itself is a ubiquitous feature of New Kingdom normative texts.64 The injunction, “Be a scribe!” was reinforced by an entire genre of texts, and the preeminence of

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the written word extends to the funerary sphere—the reed pen is mightier than a pyramid.65 The significance of scribes in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, whether in the court of the foreign king or of the Egyptian pharaoh, lies at the core of the preserved portion of the story. A Ramesside scribe with access to documents such as the Kamose Stela would have confirmation that Egyptian was the lingua franca of Second Intermediate Period Egypt, since the stela reproduces the text of a letter sent from Avaris to Kerma and captured along the oasis road. Logically, only Egyptian enabled the Hyksos and Kerma kings to communicate with one another or with their Theban counterpart—Egyptian scribes in all three political centers made an interchange of messages possible. Through the fictional narrative of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, Ramesside scribes were thus reminded of their centrality in Egyptian society, as well as of their role in the making of history.

THE SETTING: HUTWARET AND THE “SOUTHERN CITY”

In the political theology of ancient Egypt, the unification of Upper and Lower Egypt under a single pharaoh was coeval with the creation of a national capital. The “White Walls,” a name for ancient Memphis, at the apex of the Delta, possessed a more symbolic moniker:  “Balance of the Two Lands.”66 The paradigmatic role of the capital city—the “Residence”— becomes even more in evidence during the Middle Kingdom.67 Among the genres of New Kingdom literature is the “praise of cities,” poetic expressions of admiration and desire for an urban center that finds some of its closest parallels in love poetry.68 The urban focus of these works of Egyptian literature finds an interesting corollary in the descriptions of the rival kings in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, which situates each ruler within his capital city. The specification of a time and correspondingly accurate historical places represents the two parts of the chronotope of historical fiction—the very aspects that unify the different members of the New Kingdom genre. The author of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre adhered to the genre of historical fiction through his interest in historical geography, a topic not confined solely to fiction. King lists such as the Turin Canon can identify dynasties through their capital city,69 and in the historical retrospective of Hatshepsut, Avaris is mentioned prominently as the center of the noxious Asiatics.70 The capital of the Hyksos dynasty was Hutwaret, Greek Avaris, and modern Tell el-Daba, on the Pelusiac branch of the Nile in the eastern Delta; constructed atop an earlier “cross-roads” (the original name of the city was

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Ra-waty, “beginning of the two roads”), Hutwaret became a literal boomtown under Hyksos patronage.71 By the late Twelfth Dynasty, a foreign population was in evidence at Avaris, as attested by both architectural and ceramic remains; while the “middle hall” houses of this date originate in the northern Levant, imported ceramics from the same levels show links with Canaan—simply stated, the origins of the first substantial Asiatic population of Avaris are culturally and geographically heterogeneous.72 Living within the borders of the highly organized bureaucracy of Twelfth Dynasty Egypt, these foreigners served the pharaonic state as soldiers, traders, and expedition members.73 Asiatics continued to function within the administration of the following Thirteenth Dynasty; one such Asiatic official commissioned a monumental statue (using the Egyptian artistic canon, but with foreign iconographic elements)74 and may have been associated with a large palace complex constructed at Avaris. The instability of the Thirteenth Dynasty and a plague contributed to a collapse of this incipient power base at Avaris around 1730 BC, which was followed shortly thereafter by the rise of a local, northeast Delta dynasty: the Fourteenth Dynasty. This new power was not the result of additional immigration, but the creation of a Delta fiefdom from existing population elements in the area of Avaris.75 The origins of the Hyksos Fifteenth Dynasty should also not be sought in a single homogenous group, and the maintenance of their century-long rule was due to complex interactions between the foreign kings, Egyptian officials, and a diverse foreign population with particularly strong links to the northern Levant.76 The overall layout and population of Avaris is not part of the narrative of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre , which instead focuses on Apepi’s palace and the temple of Seth. Assuming that the tale is describing an actual building complex, the most likely candidate is the extensive “citadel” area of ancient Avaris, known by its modern name Ezbet Helmi. 77 The excavations of this citadel area, carried out by the Austrian Archaeological Institute in Cairo, also provide a window into the transformation of Hutwaret, the Hyksos residence, into nearby Piramesses, the Ramesside capital; 78 such a transformation demonstrates the alterations to the urban landscape between the time in which the story The Quarrels of Apepi and Seqenenre is set and the time of its composition. The first large-scale structure at Ezbet Helmi was constructed during the late Fifteenth Dynasty and was perhaps part of a Hyksos palace-fortress. 79 The preserved outer element of the palace is a rampart with projecting towers, which can be reconstructed as tall structures topped with crenellations (in comparison with Middle

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Kingdom forts in Nubia); to the south, a large casement platform, probably the base of a monumental building, is oriented similarly to the outer fortification wall. Beyond the fortification walls, gardens, and a water-delivery system, the main building of the Hyksos palace has not been identified, but Manfred Bietak suggests that “it is likely that there were remains of a major palace of the late Hyksos period deep in the subsoil.” 80 About five hundred meters east-southeast of the palatial compounds at Ezbet Helmi was a temple dedicated to the god Seth, 81 which shows use during the late Middle Kingdom and the Eighteenth Dynasty (particularly during the reigns of Tutankhamun/ Horemhab), but the Hyksos-period temple to Seth has not yet been identified. 82 However, one can assume that another Seth temple used during the Fifteenth Dynasty was located near Ezbet Helmi, a juxtaposition of urban elements further suggested by the content of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre. After the capture of Avaris and the expulsion of the Hyksos king during Ahmose’s campaign, tombs at Avaris were plundered, but many parts of the site appear to have been left unharmed. 83 In the early Eighteenth Dynasty, the symbolically significant Hyksos palace was converted into another palace complex, which used the outer rampart from the earlier palace, but added extensive magazines and silos; this early Eighteenth Dynasty phase corresponds to the billeting of a substantial number of soldiers in the former Hyksos capital, with some members of the prior population continuing to inhabit the city as well.84 By the middle of the Eighteenth Dynasty, additional, even larger-scale palaces were constructed at Avaris; recent re-dating of the Minoan-style paintings from Avaris, complete with bull-leapers and griffons, suggests that these images decorated a mid-Eighteenth Dynasty palace. 85 Eighteenth Dynasty Avaris appears—like its Hyksos predecessor—to have been an important harbor and entrepôt. 86 After a brief hiatus in activity at the site, the late Eighteenth Dynasty pharaohs Tutankhamun and Horemhab renovated the temple of Seth at Avaris. 87 By the reign of Ramesses II, Avaris was transformed into the new capital city at Piramesses (modern Qantir), located adjacent to the northern portion of the old Hyksos capital. The family of the Ramesside line appears to have originated in the north, hence the location of their capital and their emphasis on the worship of Seth.88 Piramesses, like its predecessor Avaris, was a cosmopolitan center, a place where people and goods from the larger Mediterranean world entered Egypt. Piramesses was not only a trading port, but also a military harbor, arsenal, and home to royal stables,89

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as expressed eloquently by a Ramesside scribe in praise of the pharaoh Merneptah:90 How delightful is a day of your reign, how pleasant your voice when speaking, when you built (in) Piramesses (l.p.h.), the forefront of every foreign land, and the rear portion of Egypt! The (city) beautiful of windows (of appearance91), shining of halls of lapis lazuli and turquoise. The place of giving commands to your chariotry; the place of marshalling your army; the place of mooring your naval troops.

Along with the two northern cities Piramesses and Memphis,92 ancient Thebes represents the third urban node of Ramesside Egypt and the second major location in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre. The largest city in Upper Egypt, Thebes originally owed its economic and strategic significance to the desert highways that connected the Thebaid with the Red Sea and rich mining areas of the eastern desert and the widespread caravan routes of the western desert.93 When The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre was composed and read, Thebes was a vibrant urban center and contained among its many monuments the sprawling religious complexes of Karnak and Luxor on the east bank and the extensive royal “mortuary” temples and tombs on the west bank.94 The major temples of ancient Thebes were economically and theologically integrated into a massive “estate of Amun,”95 and The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre perfectly captures this feature of the “southern city” in Seqenenre’s devotion to Amun-Re. Two stelae from Karnak Temple show Seqenenre worshipping Amun-Re, and these small monuments are only a small portion of Seventeenth Dynasty construction activity at the large complex.96 The story does not specifically mention Seqenenre’s palace or the temples of Amun. Ironically, the impressive standing monuments of Thebes belie the scant traces of the residential and palatial quarters of the city. Only small portions of the Second Intermediate Period city of Thebes have been uncovered;97 the palace of Seqenenre envisaged in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre has not survived archaeologically. Furthermore, no evidence exists to confirm that the author of the tale was referring to a specific building. For the modern reader, the archaeological site that has the most bearing on Seqenenre’s physical setting in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre is Deir el-Ballas, about

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45 kilometers north of Thebes on the west bank of the Nile.98 At Deir el-Ballas two large palaces were excavated, both of which included casemate mud-brick platforms—a construction technique similar to that used for part of the Hyksos palace-fortress at Avaris. A  lintel of Seqenenre from Deir el-Ballas99 as well as abundant ceramic remains100 indicate that the Seventeenth Dynasty rulers maintained a presence at this strategic location, close to Thebes but protected by the bluffs of the western desert.101 Without comparative evidence from Thebes, one cannot determine whether Deir el-Ballas would have been the proper historical setting for the reception of the Hyksos messenger in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre. Was the author of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre even aware of the palace at Deir el-Ballas, or was Thebes intentionally chosen for its theological significance as the home of the cult of Amun and the location of a now lost palace? The answer to such questions must await the recovery of additional evidence, either archaeological or textual. The historical background for the characters—Apepi, Seqenenre, and scribes—and the examination of the potential physical setting of the tale are all necessary for understanding the actual story, to which we now turn. The preserved narrative is not lengthy and the lacunae in the first column render much of the interpretation uncertain. The lack of an ending, albeit intentional, creates additional hermeneutic difficulties, since one cannot reconstruct the outcome of some of the key plot elements. Nevertheless, the following translation and commentary attempt to bring to a modern audience the meaning of the tale, both as a serious work of politico-theological commentary and a playful work of fiction.

INTRODUCTION: TWO KINGS AND PESTILENCE IN EGYPT 1,1

Then it happened that the land of Egypt was in a state of pestilence, no (legitimate) lord102 (as) king at that time. At the same time, it happened that as for king Seqenenre, he was the sovereign of the southern city (Thebes). Pestilence was in the city of Re (Heliopolis) because of them (i.e. the Hyksos), while the ruler 1,2Apepi was in Hutwaret; and the entire land was controlled for him, bearing their taxes, the north as well bearing all the good produce of the Delta.

The introductory sentence of the story uses the traumatic term “pestilence” combined with a description of an interregnum. The potential savior is

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Seqenenre, sovereign of the southern city, but introduced already as “king”— an apotropaic allusion to the role Seqenenre will hold after he dispels Egypt’s woes. The enemy is Apepi, who is given the lesser title “ruler,” although in the rest of the composition Apepi receives the title “king” before his cartouche. In two apparently simple sentences, The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre summarizes a complex situation: the false king (who is by his immoral nature only a ruler) has caused a pestilence that can only be rectified by the sovereign of the southern city (whose character and birth makes him the true king). The term “pestilence” possesses a dual meaning: the disease can be either physical or psychic. Archaeological evidence from Avaris suggests that a plague swept through the Egyptian Delta prior to the rise of the Fifteenth Dynasty,103 and there are references in Egyptian medical texts to the “Asiatic disease,” which may be a type of plague.104 The specification of pestilence “in the city of Re” suggests that the Ramesside author intended the reader to contemplate the association of foreigners and plague (e.g. the “Asiatic disease”) as well as the strong theological and solar allusions embedded in the word pestilence. The following circumstantial statement, “while the ruler Apepi was in Hutwaret,” indicates that he is responsible for the pestilence. The presence of the plague within Egypt and within the “city of Re” suggests that Apepi’s noxious influence extends beyond this world and into the divine sphere. The “pestilence” in the introduction of the tale recalls the “annual pestilence,” the potentially evil fate that Sakhmet rains down upon Egypt.105 Only the proper celebrations and rituals enable the pharaoh to transform this negative event into a renewal of royal power and the cosmos itself.106 The introduction of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre indicates that rather than a yearly threat, pestilence has become Egypt’s permanent condition, its inhabitants continually suffering the injustices of isfet—the chaos that is the antithesis of maat, cosmic order—due to the divided state of the country. The political situation within the story, reflecting the realities of late Second Intermediate Period Egypt, is summarized succinctly as “no lord (as) king in that time.” Indeed, two self-styled “kings” rule the land of Egypt—in the mind of the author of the tale, one of the kings is legitimate, while the other is a pretender. The expression “no lord as king,” although seemingly routine, is redolent with political theology. For this phrase one need not necessarily seek other documents as parallels, because a model letter from the very same papyrus as The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre illuminates the use of the term “lord.”107 In a letter praising Merneptah, the king’s accession is described in the following dramatic terms: “A lord has arisen in all lands, and order has come down to its (proper) place.”108 A divinely appointed and legitimate king rules as “lord,” but Seqenenre cannot assume his proper role until Apepi is no longer proclaiming himself “king.”

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Even when a legitimate lord rules as king over the Two Lands, foreign enemies can still cause psychic and physical pestilence. Historical inscriptions from the reigns of Merneptah and Ramesses III use the pestilence metaphor within a historical retrospective. This “time of troubles” topos describes how before the current pharaoh’s reign, the land was plagued by chaos, which was then dispelled through the military and administrative prowess of the ruling pharaoh.109 For the ancient audience of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, the first lines of the story could be understood in a similar fashion: Seqenenre must overcome the pestilential influence of Apepi’s rule, which burdens all of Egypt with its tax levies. While the “time of troubles” is a literary motif found in many historical inscriptions, the motif is typically specific to a particular reign and particular situation (e.g. military invasion, collapsed temple, abandoned shrine); the equation of pestilence and enemy activities can be overtly stated, such as in the Year 8 Sea People inscription of Ramesses III:110 Egypt was a fugitive, without a shepherd; while they bore pestilence because of the Nine Bows.

Whether or not research was done in earlier records in order to describe the perilous state of affairs, such archival scholarship is claimed, as in the juxtaposition of “annals” and “pestilence” in the Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah:111 It was not seen in the annals of the Lower Egyptian kings. Namely, the fact that112 the land of Egypt was in their possession, in a condition of pestilence in the time of the Upper Egyptian kings, (and) one was not able to repel them [. . .]113

The Merneptah inscription uses the image of pestilence to express the severity of the Libyan threat; the passage quoted above occurs at the end of the description of the pitched battle at Perire (see pp. 128–129), and the significance of the Egyptian victory lies in having overcome an unprecedented threat, one not encountered in the annals of former reigns. For the present analysis, the veracity of Merneptah’s claim is immaterial—the passage in the Great Karnak Inscription reveals the same interest in historical research (or at the very least the appearance thereof) as the introduction to The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre. Considering that the sole copy of the story in BM EA 10185 was copied only five years after the Battle of Perire, one can assume the audience of the historical inscriptions of Merneptah and the story overlapped.

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In The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, the “pestilence” throughout the land is not simply caused by Apepi’s rule from Avaris, but is the direct result of the Hyksos king’s economic exploitation of Egypt. Burdensome taxation is not a common literary device used to express the evils of foreign rule, but appears to be an intentional reference to historical documents of the late Second Intermediate Period. The introduction of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre corresponds closely to a description of Hyksos rule in a hieratic copy of a historical stela commissioned by Kamose (the Carnarvon Tablet):114 There is no bypassing him (the Hyksos ruler) as far as Memphis, the water of Egypt. Look, he (even) possesses Hermopolis. A man cannot rest, he having been devastated with the taxes (baku) of the Asiatics.

Emphasis on taxation even forms part of Apepi’s self-presentation as a ruler of Egypt, as demonstrated by a stone vessel with his name and epithets:115 The good god, lord of the two lands, whose power reaches the limits of victories; there is no country free of paying tax (bak) to him. The King of Upper and Lower Egypt Aauserre, the son of Re Apepi.

In both of these texts, the term for taxes, bak(u), is identical to the word for taxes in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre. The fictional text thus transforms aspects of the historical record into a plot device, explaining the evils of Hyksos rule and providing an additional cause for the pestilential state of the land. The use of such a specific detail—the levying of taxes—that appears in both Theban and Hyksos documents strongly suggests that the author of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre engaged in documentary research (see further pp. 156–163).

APEPI, SERVANT OF SETH [Then] King Apepi 1,3made Seth as lord, and he did not work for any other god who was in this entire land, except Seth; and he built a temple of fine workmanship for eternity, beside the domain of [King] Apepi; 1,4 and he appeared [each(?)] day in order to make sacrifices, [doing it(?)] daily for Seth,

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while the officials [of the palace] carried wreaths, like what is done (in) the temple of Pre-Horakhty, exactly as is correct. Meanwhile, [the 1,5king] Apepi desired to send an offensive message to the king Seqenere, the sovereign of the southern city.

The political division of Egypt and its pestilential influence find an additional explanation in this section of the story—Apepi’s monolatrous worship of Seth. The link between these different activities is signaled in the Egyptian text by a single lexeme:  bak, “to work, serve, pay tax.” The entire land of Egypt renders their baku-taxes to Apepi, who in turn diverts this wealth in his bak-service to Seth, including a temple constructed with bak nefer “excellent craftsmanship.” Paronomasia is well recognized in Middle Kingdom literature, and its elegant use to tie together economic, political, and theological messages within the story The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre should be noted as an achievement of New Kingdom literature.116 The choice of Seth as the focus of Apepi’s worship possesses a clear historical template. From the Fourteenth Dynasty, if not before, Seth was worshipped at Avaris, and his cult was elevated to that of dynastic patron during the Fifteenth Dynasty and again during the Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties.117 The historical origin of the cult of Seth in the northeastern Delta is outside the scope of the present study, but one cannot properly interpret The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre without an appreciation for the Ramesside understanding of those origins. The key text for this investigation of Ramesside “theological historiography” is the Four Hundred Year Stela, discovered at Tanis, but originally erected at Avaris, probably within the temple of Seth (Figure 2.2).118 The lunette contains an image of Ramesses II offering wine to Seth (fully anthropomorphic, wearing the crown and kilt of Baal119), and the text is dated not to Ramesses II’s reign, but that of Seth: “Year 400, month 4 of Shomu, day 4.” Ramesses II explicitly states that he set up this granite stela “in order to establish the names of his forefathers,”120 thus linking the Ramesside dynasty’s ancestry to the four hundreth year of Seth’s rule.121 The extent of Seth’s “reign” coincides with the archaeological record at Avaris, where approximately four centuries separate the reign of Ramesses II from the first evidence for the worship of Seth at the site.122 In hymns of praise of the city Piramesses, the southern portion of the urban area (i.e. the portion corresponding to ancient Hutwaret) is appropriately named the “domain of Seth.”123 Archaeological and textual evidence indicate that The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre describes a cult of Seth that was alive and well at Avaris

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Figure 2.2 Lunette of the Four Hundred Year Stela (inking by Julia Hsieh)

when the story was composed, and the author of the tale had at least some understanding of the historical theology of Avaris-Piramesses. The Four Hundred Year Stela demonstrates that an ancient reader of the tale could have envisaged Seth as the object of Apepi’s worship in a positive light, as befits the Ramesside Period, a time when royal military inscriptions, monuments, and personal names (royal and private) all attest to Seth’s popularity.124 The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre emphasizes Apepi’s worship of Seth but does not imply that Seth in turns acts on behalf of Apepi. Therein lies the crux of the interpretation of the tale: foreigners delude themselves into thinking that Seth is “on their side,” yet Seth remains eternally loyal to Egypt. No matter how many temples Apepi builds for Seth or how many sacrifices he makes, Seth will not aid foreigners who transgress maat. In military inscriptions and other literary works (especially The Capture of Joppa), Seth plays out this very role—foreigners lament that Seth has abandoned them, and it is Seth who deceives the citizens of Joppa (see pp. 92, 152–156). Any conclusions regarding Seth’s role in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre must recognize the multivalent symbolism of the story. The tale does not use Seth solely for historical authenticity, but provides the context for the hippopotamus episode that follows. Although dueling theologies are present, the focus on Seth is not necessarily monotheistic and Seth’s role in this story is best understood as a divine “double agent.” The seeming monotheism of Apepi’s religion has led to different interpretations of the two exclusive worshipper–divinity relationships in the

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story:  Apepi—Seth and Seqenenre—Amun-Re. According to Assmann’s memno-historical interpretation, Apepi’s apparent monotheistic devotion to Seth is a veiled reference to the monotheism of Akhenaten, and the conflict with Seqenenre, worshipper of Amun-Re, symbolizes the Amarna rejection of the Theban cult.125 Historicist readings of the theology of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre have contended that the story reveals the actual nature of Hyksos theology,126 and Apepi could then vie with Akhenaten for primacy in the invention of “monotheism.”127 The trauma of Hyksos rule certainly formed a part of Egypt’s historical consciousness (see above, pp. 34–36), and while authors such as Manetho intertwined the “cultural memory” of the Second Intermediate Period with the upheavals of the Amarna Period,128 The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre may not necessarily be part of this tradition. The historiographical precision of the characters and setting of the tale suggests that a more direct form of memno-history is at work, and no internal evidence within the story corroborates a dual identity of the character Apepi as a cryptogram for Akhenaten. An overly historicist reading of the theology within the tale also fails to note that textual evidence from Apepi’s reign attests to his worship of other deities.129 Seth, lord of Avaris, was part of the theological landscape of Avaris prior to Apepi’s reign, and no contemporaneous Fifteenth Dynasty evidence suggests a “monotheistic” turn. Simply stated, outside of the portrayal of Apepi in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, no evidence from the Hyksos Period supports an interpretation of Apepi’s devotion to Seth as monotheistic, and Apepi’s prenomens themselves indicate his recognition of Re’s divinity (see above, p. 37). Other aspects of New Kingdom theology may also enable a reading of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre that moves beyond a characterization of Apepi’s worship as “monotheistic.” Most significantly, any discussion of Seth must recognize his membership among the Heliopolitan Ennead. Seth’s identity as a divine being exists primarily in relation to this corporation of deities; both Seth’s negative roles (e.g. murderer of Osiris) and positive ones (e.g. slayer of Apep) as the “god of confusion” consist of interactions with other divinities. To worship Seth monotheistically would essentially be to worship a god devoid of theological context. Instead, Apepi’s religious beliefs may represent an extreme form of henotheism130 exploited for its literary qualities—two dueling cities and two dueling divinities. The henotheistic aspects of Apepi’s worship are further suggested by the way in which the ritual actions are described; Apepi makes daily sacrifices to the god, while his courtiers bring floral wreaths—rituals that are done “like what is done (in) the temple of Pre-Horakhty, exactly as is correct.” The precise implications of this description are uncertain,131 since the text may be sarcastically

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indicating that Apepi worships Seth inappropriately (i.e. with rituals intended for the temple Pre-Horakhty), or the passage may be a reflection of Apepi’s zealous piety towards Seth. A previously unrecognized facet of Apepi’s worship, however, is the implied reciprocity (or lack thereof) in the Hyksos king’s actions. Because Apepi is a foreigner and not an Egyptian pharaoh, the reader need not assume that Apepi’s actions toward Seth result in a reciprocal relationship with the divinity. The principle of do ut des is well attested for Egyptian pharaohs—a particularly relevant parallel is the speech of Ramesses II to Amun at Kadesh. Ramesses II describes the monuments that he has constructed for the deity, declaring that he has obeyed the god’s every command and deserves Amun’s aid in battle against the Hittites.132 Ramesses II’s speech is an unusually direct expression of a god’s obligations towards a king within a historical inscription; in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, Apepi’s actions towards Seth should be viewed through a similar lens. The reader of the tale would assume that the character Apepi believes that building a temple for Seth creates an obligation for Seth to aid him in his endeavors, possibly including combat. Yet, Apepi’s premise is flawed—as a foreign king “who rules without Re,”133 Seth will not come to the Hyksos king’s rescue as Amun would do for the legitimate Egyptian pharaoh at Kadesh. The first event in the narrative of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre is Apepi’s decision to dispatch a message to his Theban rival Seqenenre. The missive is described with an adjectival form of the Egyptian verb meaning “to transgress” and appears to express the offensive nature of the letter’s contents from the Theban perspective; comparative uses of the verb “to transgress” suggest that Apepi’s letter contains statements and/or requests that are a transgression against the gods.134 The traces in the damaged lines following the description of Apepi’s message indicate that they contained the content of the letter that is later reported at Seqenenre’s court. The modern reader must wait until the second column, when the message is reported to Seqenenre, to learn what might be considered offensive, but the original text emphasized the content by repeating it (possibly verbatim). Apepi’s meeting with scribes and councilors is characteristic of the ancient Egyptian textual form known as the “royal novel.” Such texts often begin with a king conversing with his councilors about a proposed royal action, either military or pacific (for more on the “royal novel” genre, see below, pp. 63–65). While some texts expand upon the royal speech and include the council’s response, the king typically goes on to demonstrate how his plan is superior, a fact borne out by an invariably successful result.

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Examples of this form of the “royal novel” include the Second Kamose Stela and the Battle of Megiddo within the Annals of Thutmose III—in both cases, the council advises a safer, more conservative plan, which the king rejects in favor of a bold action against enemy forces.135 In The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, Apepi summons his knowledgeable scribes, but the text breaks off before indicating whether he follows their advice; however, in col. 2, ln. 2, the text explicitly notes: “Then King Apepi sent (a message) to the sovereign of the southern city (concerning) the communications that his knowledgeable scribes told to him.”136 The intertextual relationship between the setting of a “royal novel” and Apepi’s court in the tale suggests an intentional subversion of the expected actions of the king, resulting in a portrayal of Apepi as an illegitimate ruler.137 When the story’s narrative moves to the court of Seqenenre, the tale becomes in part two “dueling” royal novels.

APEPI DICTATES A MESSAGE; SEQENENRE WORSHIPS AMUN-RE Now after many days following this, then 1,6 [King Apepi] summoned [ . . . ] his commanders (?) [ . . . ] sent [ . . . .] communications [ . . . ] 1,7 [ . . . ] river [ . . . ] knowledgeable scribes [ . . . ] officials [ . . . ] the sovereign, 1,8 [our lord . . . ] [ . . . ] canal, hippopotami [ . . . ] they do not allow [ . . . ] 1,9 [ . . . ] then the ruler of the [southern] city [ . . . ] 1,10

[ . . . ] command(?) [ . . . ] 2,1 with him as protector. He does not rely on any god in this entire land, except for Amun-Re, king of the gods.

The remaining lines of the first column are frustratingly lacunae-ridden, which has led some translators to postulate the content of missing lines. Edward Wente restores the lengthy lacuna in col. 1, ln. 7 as: “[but he was unable to compose it himself. Thereupon his] scribes and wise men [ . . . ] and high officials [said, . . . ].”138 The erudite scribes are present in the fragmentary text, but the restoration “he was unable to compose it himself,” a denial of the Hyksos king’s literacy, would have larger implications for the story.139 The papyrus at the beginning of column 7 is not preserved, and thus no physical evidence supports Wente’s proposed restoration. However, the very process of written communication in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere, by which each ruler dictates a message to court scribes, hints at the topic of royal literacy, both for the Hyksos and Egyptian kings.

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An examination of the evidence reveals that dictation, such as that in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere, has no bearing on the literacy of either king. Circumstantial evidence indicates that Egyptian pharaohs were expected to be literate and at times composed not only day-to-day administrative texts and legal documents, but also literary compositions.140 One particularly illuminating Eighteenth Dynasty parallel for The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere is the royal letter preserved on the stela of the Nubian viceroy Usersatet; a boyhood companion of the pharaoh, Usersatet memorializes the royal communication, which is introduced as a “copy of the decree that his Majesty made with his own two hands.”141 The direct and personal nature of Amenhotep II’s letter to his viceroy in Nubia supports the claim of royal authorship and provides a real-world corollary to the multileveled literate world of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere, a story about writing set within a letter-writing manual. The Ramesside audience of the tale probably assumed that Seqenenre was fully literate.142 Did those readers assume the same of the foreign, Hyksos king? Apepi is vilified for improperly worshipping Seth exclusively, but even that characterization implies at least some knowledge of ritual activities and possibly literacy. Texts from the Fifteenth Dynasty do not provide any direct evidence of Hyksos royal literacy, a situation that obtains for the Theban Seventeenth Dynasty as well. Circumstantial evidence for Hyksos royal literacy includes the copying of a lengthy Egyptian mathematical papyrus during Apepi’s reign143 and a scribal palette that was a royal gift and extols Apepi as “the scribe of Re, whom Thoth himself instructed.”144 Even if Apepi had been able to read and write Egyptian fluently, he would still have dictated much of his royal, official correspondence, and the same could be said of Seqenenre; such was even the case for upper-level administrators, who rarely show themselves writing, but rather are surrounded by diligent scribes engaged in the actual pen-to-papyrus work.145 The text of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre becomes legible again at the beginning of the second column, which describes Seqenenre’s devotion to Amun-Re (Figure 2.3); a rubric and the passage of several days then sets off the next section, in which Apepi’s messenger is dispatched to Thebes. The historical evidence for Seqenenre’s worship of Amun-Re needs no explanation,146 and for a Ramesside audience, Amun-Re’s significance for political theology was omnipresent. A vivid illustration is provided by the Kadesh Battle Poem: following the ambush by the Hittite forces, Ramesses II calls out to Amun, then later, in his speech to his cowardly army, states, “Amun is my protector, his hand being with me.”147 For Seqenenre, as for Ramesses II, the principle of do ut des dictates that Amun-Re will come to the pharaoh’s aid in any conflict, although, as noted above, one cannot

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Figure 2.3 Stela of Seqenenre Djehuty-aa and Amun-Re from Karnak Temple (inking by Julia Hsieh)

assume that the same was true for Apepi and Seth. Ramesses II’s call to Amun within the much larger context of the divine in military conflict suggests that the apparent monotheism of the main characters in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere can be read as worship of deities who would support their “candidates” in the event of war. Both parties, the Thebans and the Hyksos, were well aware that conflict was looming, hence Apepi’s inflammatory message. In the story, the character Apepi may have believed that Seth could aid him and thus directed all of his economic resources to Seth’s temple. Similarly, in the south, Seqenenre had one logical patron in war, Amun-Re. Removed from a strictly historicist reading, this more specific use of dueling divinities obviates the need to see latent monotheistic tendencies, either in the Ramesside audience or the Theban and Hyksos kings represented in the tale.

THE MESSAGE DELIVERED: “EXPEL THE HIPPOPOTAMI” Now after many days passed following this, 2,2 then King Apepi sent (a message) to the sovereign of the southern city (concerning) the communications that his knowledgeable scribes told to him.

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2,3

Then the messenger of King Apepi rea[ched] the sovereign of the southern city. [Then he was tak]en into the presence of the sovereign of the southern city. 2,4 Then One said to the messenger of King Apepi: “Why have you been sent to the southern city? Why have you reached me with these journeys?” Then the messenger 2,5said to him: “It is King Apepi who sends to you saying: ‘Expel the hippopotami from the swamp that is in the eastern waters of the city, because they do not allow 2,6that sleep come to me, day or night, because their noise is in his [my(?)] ear!”

In this stanza of the tale, the Hyksos messenger reaches Seqenenre, sovereign of the southern city (Figure 2.4). Upon his arrival at the palace, the messenger is ushered in before the presence of the Theban sovereign. Seqenenre asks the messenger two questions, inquiring as to the purpose of the messenger’s arrival in Thebes, to which the messenger responds with an intriguing demand about hippopotami, canals, and sleeplessness. Before analyzing the rich allusions contained within Apepi’s request concerning the hippopotami, it is important to note that five hundred kilometers separate Apepi’s residence at Avaris from Seqenenre’s capital at

Figure 2.4 BM EA 10185 (Papyrus Sallier I), column 2 (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum)

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Thebes. In addition to all of the serious, theological comments that might be made about this passage, one should not lose sight of the humor of the situation. Apepi claims to hear the roars of hippopotami over an impossibly long distance—his sensitivity to the noise keeps him awake day and night, and for a supposedly powerful pharaoh, Apepi’s complaint sounds suspiciously like an ancient Egyptian version of “The Princess and the Pea.” Although it is impossible to prove, the story was probably intended to provoke laughter. It is a form of humor also found in The Capture of Joppa and in abundant textual and pictorial sources from the pharaonic period.148 Laughter is not at odds with the theological and political message of the tale, but rather enhances the significance of that message through entertainment; the overall function of the tale within its single preserved copy (BM EA 10185) might be to provide a humorous introduction to the following letter-writing manual. For the meaning behind the humor, one can turn next to the significance of hippopotami in Egyptian cultural and religious traditions. As early as the fifth millennium BCE, the ancient Egyptians used the hippopotamus hunt to express the triumph of order over chaos.149 From the First Dynasty, royal iconography can depict the pharaoh—alone in a skiff—harpooning a hippopotamus; in some of these early images, fallen, even decapitated enemies, are juxtaposed with the royal hunt, proclaiming the conquest of the natural as well as the human world.150 Depictions of hippopotami in marsh scenes and group hunts exist from the Old Kingdom onwards,151 and during the Middle Kingdom, the hippopotamus also begins to display positive associations.152 Hippopotami in the Second Intermediate Period and New Kingdom possessed a similarly rich dual iconography. Strongly associated with the god Seth,153 the hippopotamus was a chaotic creature that trampled fields154 and attacked people.155 Yet the Sethian hippopotamus can also appear in a more benevolent context—a Nineteenth Dynasty stela from Deir el-Medina depicts a worshipper before Taweret and two hippopotami manifestations of Seth.156 A festival for the “white hippopotamus”157 along with a “pool of the white hippopotamus” in Book of the Dead Chapter 110158 provide further attestations of benevolent hippopotami.159 If one expands the corpus of hippopotamus representations to include hybrid images, the positive associations become much stronger and more specifically associated in time and place with the characters of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere.160 Iconographic evidence from the Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period suggests that hippopotami and hybrid deities with hippopotamus attributes exercised specific apotropaic functions. Faience statuettes of hippopotami and “magical knives” and other objects

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decorated with standing hippopotamus goddesses (Taweret/Ipi) are among the Middle Kingdom artifacts that harness the protective power of the fearsome creature.161 Taweret, along with related hippopotamus-headed goddesses with crocodilian and leonine attributes, served as a protective deity within the home.162 During the Middle Kingdom, rock inscriptions of Taweret were carved along rock-faces at key points on ancient desert tracks leading to and from Thebes.163 Taweret appears as a royal protector on the throne base of a statue of the Seventeenth Dynasty king Sobekemsaf I,164 suggesting a function well outside of her typical domestic purview. In The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, the hippopotami are said to inhabit the “swamp that is in the eastern waters of the city,” and in a relief from the solar chapel of Medinet Habu two Taweret goddesses flank a series of images representing the eastern horizon.165 However, the story does not indicate whether such a cosmic orientation is intended. In conclusion, the hippopotami in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere almost certainly have a relationship with the god Seth, who appears prominently in the tale, and may have a connection to Taweret, which would suggest that the hippopotami function as protective deities acting on behalf of the Thebans. Returning then to the text of Apepi’s letter, the short statement about the hippopotami provides only two details: (1) they are noisy and (2) they inhabit a swampy area on the eastern side of Thebes. Egyptian representations of hippopotami commonly depict the beasts with their mouths agape, as if roaring.166 The term for the hippopotami’s noisiness in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere is not hemhemet, a roaring sound most often associated with lions and the pharaoh’s war cry, but kheru, a more general term for “voice”167 or “sound.”168 Seth shares with his hippopotamus avatar a penchant for noisiness—he is the one who “thunders in the sky.”169 Seth, noise, and the Hyksos all coincide in a rather unlikely place—the Rhind Mathematical Papyrus (BM EA 10058), copied during the reign of Apepi, and attesting to the types of papyri available to the “knowledgeable scribes” imagined in the Hyksos court in the tale. A series of “jottings” on the verso describe the northern push of the Egyptian juggernaut during the reign of Ahmose, and the regnal date “Year 11” within the short notations probably refers to the last Hyksos king, Khamudi.170 In what may have been one of the last texts ever composed by a “knowledgeable scribe” in the court of a ruling Hyksos king, the evocative text states:171 “Regnal Year 11, first month of Akhet, day 3, birthday of Seth: the Majesty of this god gave voice (kheru); birthday of Isis: the sky made rain.” These divine manifestations are recorded with the same narrative infinitives as the earlier entries describing the entry of Heliopolis and the overrunning of Tjaru (northeast of Avaris). The “birthday of Seth” actually occurs during

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the third epagomenal day after the end of the fourth month of Shomu, and the five-day discrepancy may be due to the time it took for the event to be reported.172 Possibly the mythological allusions to Seth’s noisiness and Isis’ storminess conceal the fall of Avaris, since it lay between the other cities mentioned in the Rhind jottings: Heliopolis and Tjaru. Although the interpretation of these small, but significant, notes remains a topic of debate, the fall of the Hyksos strongholds in the Delta during the reign of Ahmose appear to have coincided with the epagomenal days, and a notable military event occurred on the birthdays of Seth and Isis. Three hundred years after the founding of the New Kingdom, it is possible that the coincidence of battle and Seth’s noisiness survived in the mytho-historiography of the Hyksos Wars. Finally, one may ask why the hippopotami’s roars are directed against the Hyksos king in particular. Several previous theories have been proposed concerning Apepi’s request and the intent of the noisy hippopotami and the Hyksos king. One theory suggests that Apepi, as a worshipper of Seth, is attempting to save the sacred hippopotami from being slaughtered by Seqenenre.173 Ritual hunting of hippopotami is an attested royal icon from the First Dynasty onwards,174 but nothing within The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre suggests that the Theban pharaoh is about to slaughter the large beasts in the eastern waters of Thebes. Additional interpretations have made further guesses at the meaning behind Apepi’s request, seeing the hippopotami as a riddle without specific religious significance175 or relating the roaring hippopotami to the dueling kings Seqenenre and Apepi.176 A final interpretation, and the one adopted here, argues for a more straightforward reading of the text:  the Sethian hippopotami roar threateningly at Apepi because he represents Seth’s enemy, Apep, and thus Apepi wants the beasts driven out from their swamp.177 Although Apepi worships Seth, his selfish request will bring him into direct conflict with the god to whom hippopotami are sacred. If Apepi is requesting that a negative action be taken against hippopotami that represent Seth and/or another deity, then the template for the Hyksos king’s actions is Apep, the chaotic serpent and solar enemy, whom Seth himself spears at the prow of the solar bark.178 In other historical documents, subtle allusions can cast foreign leaders as Apep—such equations are never made outright, but created through cosmic symbolism. For example, in the Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, the Libyan leader Merey flees past an Egyptian fortress during the “deep of the night,”179 an allusion to the time during which Re combats Apep in the Underworld.180 Based on the above analysis of the “pestilence” throughout the land that is the direct result of Apepi’s rule, the theory that the hippopotami are acting

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against the Hyksos king remains the most likely explanation, although any theory based on such a fragmentary text must remain at best an educated guess. Unfortunately, without the ending of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, one cannot know how or when Seth may have turned against the Hyksos king, or if the tale contained a more direct association of Apepi and Apep. Helpful in this context is The Capture of Joppa, which similarly alludes to Seth’s unique role as a deity against foreign enemies, and Thutmose III in Asia, which describes how Seth and manifestations of Montu aid the king in battle (see pp. 154–156).

SEQENENRE SUMMONS HIS COUNCIL Then the sovereign of the southern city was surprised for a long moment, being unable to 2,7respond to the messenger of King Apepi. [Then] the sovereign of the southern city said to him: “Did your lord actually hear the words concerning 2,8 [ . . . ] [in the east] of the southern city? T[hen the messenger . . . the] words about which he sent me. 2,9 [Then the sovereign of the southern city had] one issue provisions for the [messenger of King Apepi, consisting of] good [things], namely meat and biscuits [ . . . ] 2,10 [ . . . ] As for everything which you say to him, I will do it,” thus you [should say to him(?)] 2,11 [ . . . ] [Then the messenger of the king] Apepi betook himself quickly to the place where 3,1his lord was. Then the sovereign of the southern city had his great officials summoned, as well as every commander of his; and he 3,2repeated to them every communication about which King Apepi sent to him. Then they were all together quiet for a 3,3long time, not knowing how to respond to him, good or bad. Then King Apepi sent . . .

After the Hyksos messenger delivers Apepi’s demand to expel the hippopotami, Seqenenre sits in stunned silence. In comparison with the standard formulae within New Kingdom royal inscriptions, the Theban king’s reaction is as surprising as the content of the Hyksos message. The genre of the “royal novel” often contains a specific episode in which a messenger arrives to report enemy activity to the king, who is typically in his palace.181 Within this literary form, a messenger’s report of

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enemy activity is met with a violent reaction on the part of the pharaoh, and these texts often use standard phraseology to describe the king’s response, such as “to rage like a panther.”182 In The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, Seqenenre not only does not rage like a fearsome creature, but he is “surprised for a long moment, unable to respond.” The Theban king may display cowardice or at the very least passivity here—and this passage in particular has led to interpretations of the tale that place Apepi in the position of “active” anti-hero 183—but within the overall context of the story, Seqenenre is the legitimate pharaoh, worshipper of Amun-Re, and in historical terms, a member of the dynasty that drove out the Hyksos. Egyptian literature need not flatter a royal character— one need only think of Khufu in Khufu and the Magicians or Neferkare in Neferkare and Sisenet—but in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, Seqenenre’s reaction to the Hyksos messenger appears to be his only “negative” action. Again, such judgments are difficult to make lacking more than half of the narrative of the tale, but some light may be shed by an interesting historical corollary to Seqenenre’s apparent passivity. A historical text from the reign of Seti I provides a possible avenue to interpret the silence of Seqenenre following the report of the Hyksos messenger. Two stelae from the reign of Seti I  record an Egyptian campaign against Irem, a land to the south (and possibly west) of Egypt.184 The date of the stela and a series of epithets are followed by the arrival of a messenger and the king’s response:185 One came to say to his Majesty: “The enemy of the foreign land of Irem—they are planning rebellion.” Then his majesty gave them time, in order to become thoroughly cognizant of their plans.

Following the report, Seti I patiently awaits further developments, giving the Iremites time to give away their plans and thus make the Egyptian strategy that much more effective. The Nubian War stelae of Seti I demonstrate that the Egyptians were not simplistic in their military strategy and that delay was not automatically equated with cowardice. The actions of Seti I may resolve the apparent contradiction within The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and provide a parallel for Seqenenre’s stalling action as strategic decision. In the context of a literary tale, the Theban king’s pause may also humorously reflect the audience’s own astonishment at Apepi’s demand. When Seqenenre does respond, the grammar of the king’s question suggests that he may be asking a rhetorical question. The end of the question is

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not preserved, so whether it is actually sarcastic is uncertain.186 Before the Hyksos messenger returns to Avaris, Seqenenre provides him with provisions, including “meat and biscuits.” The hospitality of the Theban pharaoh suggests that even after the exchange with the messenger, Seqenenre does not commence to “rage like a panther.” Although only fragmentarily preserved, the next line contains the statement: “As for everything which you say to him, I  will do it.” Seqenenre187 appears to be assuring the Hyksos messenger that he will do anything that Apepi asks—namely, remove the hippopotami from the canal east of Thebes. Without the original context of the statement or the conclusion of the tale, one cannot determine if Seqenenre actually intends to follow the Hyksos king’s demands, or if this statement is intended deceptively. One can only look at the frustratingly fragmentary broken fibers in the hopes that another copy of this marvelous story will one day be uncovered. In the final passages of the tale and in keeping with the literary form of the “royal novel,” which often employs the messenger topos discussed above, Seqenenre, like Apepi, then consults with his courtiers. The members of the Theban court are also unable to respond “whether good or bad” to the Hyksos message. The named groups in Seqenenre’s palace—“great officials” and “every army commander of his”—indicate that the message has military implications. The “officials” are also not necessarily detached from a council of war—in the historical record of the beginning of hostilities with the Hyksos, Kamose also addresses his “council of officials.”188 No soldiers are specifically mentioned in Kamose’s account, but a list of administrative and military officials becomes standardized in later Ramesside military texts.189 In The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, the stymied council is not questioned further by their ruler, and the final sentence switches back to King Apepi. While Apepi appears to take the advice of his council when composing the letter to Seqenenre (see above, pp. 50–51), the standard “royal novel” genre would suggest that in the remainder of the story Seqenenre may have taken further action on his own initiative. Without the ending of the tale, several potential questions about the last section of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre are yet to be answered: Is the message a riddle to which Seqenenre does not yet have an answer? Is Seqenenre surprised that the Hyksos king would act so obviously against his patron deity Seth? Is Seqenenre portrayed in this section at a disadvantage that he later overcomes? Not surprisingly for a story that ends literally in the middle of a sentence, the reader is left with more questions than answers.

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Figure 2.5 BM EA 10185 (Papyrus Sallier I), column 3, with white box outlining the title “Beginning of the Instruction of Letter Writing” (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum)

THE QUARREL OF APEPI AND SEQENENRE AND THE “INSTRUCTION OF LETTER WRITING”

The end of the third line of the third column of British Museum EA 10185 (Papyrus Sallier I) is the middle of a sentence of the story of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, but Pentaweret chose to end his copy here (Figure 2.5). In the next line he began to copy another composition with the title “Beginning of the instruction of letter writing, made by the scribe Pentaweret in Year 10, month 4 of Shomu, day 7, while One (the king) was in Piramesses (beloved of Amun), ‘The Great Spirit of Pre-Horakhty.’ ”190 The unusually abrupt ending of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre suggests that the presence of both texts within the papyrus might indicate a similar “instructional” function for the fictional tale. Since the juxtaposition of these two compositions is one of the only paratextual signals that illuminates the function of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre or any work of historical fiction, the physical relationship between the “instruction of letter writing” and the content of the story is considered here.

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The “instruction of letter writing” in British Museum EA 10185 (Papyrus Sallier I) contains eleven different pieces of correspondence between the scribe Pentaweret and the “chief record keeper of the treasury, Ameneminet.”191 Of these eleven letters, ten are written by Ameneminet, with only one reply by his subordinate, the scribe Pentaweret. The letters divide into three categories: practical, bureaucratic affairs (three letters); disquisitions on the superiority of the scribal profession (six letters); and praise of the king and Thoth (two letters). Ameneminet often chides his correspondent for poor behavior, and continually urges Pentaweret to attend to his professional development: “Devote yourself to writing in the day, and reading at night.”192 The excerpt of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre in the papyrus similarly focuses on correspondence, but rather than a treasury official and his subordinate, the writers are the Hyksos king and his Theban counterpart. At Apepi’s court, “knowledgeable scribes” either help compose or write out the oral communication that Apepi desires to “send” to Seqenenre. The verb “to send” used throughout The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre refers specifically to written correspondence,193 and although the Hyksos courier also delivers the message as an oral communication, the ancient reader probably assumed that a written message was part of the process. Rather than being a literary topos, the events in the tale may reflect standard diplomatic practice; the diplomatic correspondence known as the “Amarna Letters” indicate that envoys were routinely sent along with the tablets so that they could explain, elaborate upon, and/or supplement the written text.194 For the ancient scribe reading The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, the importance of the messenger might have immediately granted an equal importance to the scribe. The story The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre may stand at the beginning of a long line of Near Eastern tales that link warfare with advisers, messengers, and letters.195 The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre is the only Late Egyptian story that includes human scribes196 and the portion of the story in BM EA 10185 revolves around communication between rulers. The story might thus serve as a lively introduction to the manual of letter writing that uses a fictional tale to demonstrate the importance of scribes throughout Egyptian history. The scribe, or possibly scribal student, who read the papyrus would have been both entertained and edified. This theory may also explain why the scribe did not copy the entire story; perhaps the next section turns from royal communications to more military affairs, at which point the tale is no longer relevant to the student of letter writing (and might have contradicted the image of the scribe superior to the soldier in the instruction of letter writing). The use of a higher register of speech when Seqenenre

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addresses the Hyksos messenger may further the instructive purpose of the text. Proper understanding of “classical”—what we now call Middle Egyptian—grammar was a goal to which scribes should aspire, as indicated by scribal fastidiousness in other contexts, such as the Satirical Letter of Hori.197

RIDDLES AND INTERTEXTUALITIES

The Hyksos command to expel the hippopotami from the swamp is certainly a riddle to modern readers, but is the communication intended to challenge Seqenenre’s cleverness within the tale? The patently ridiculous claim that hippopotami in Thebes keep Apepi awake in Avaris has been associated with a contest of wits, in which Apepi challenges Seqenenre with a riddle.198 Aggressive uses of rhetoric are attested in Egyptian literature, such as the dueling claims of Falsehood and the son of Truth in the allegorical New Kingdom tale, The Blinding of Truth and Falsehood.199 In this story, Falsehood uses a dagger of fantastic proportions and components to trick Truth, who is blinded by the divine tribunal; in revenge, Truth’s son uses an equally incredible and awe-inspiring bull to trap Falsehood into a prosecutable crime.200 Hyperbole used to insult can similarly contrast preposterous measurements with a modest creature.201 The content of Apepi’s request in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre lacks the elements of the fantastic— either qualitative or quantitative—found in these other battles of wits, and the distance separating the two capitals may be read as humor rather than verbal trickery. Expelling hippopotami from a swamp does not appear to have any obvious link to a riddle, but with the limited evidence at hand, one can also not exclude this possibility entirely. More certain is the intertextual relationship between The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and royal military texts categorized, for better or worse, as the “royal novel.” Although a thorough examination of the origins202 and boundaries of the royal novel lies outside the scope of the present work,203 the following discussion emphasizes the points of intersection between The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and individual motifs within texts that can be classified as royal novels. While in keeping with standard Egyptological usage, the ancient Egyptian royal “novel” bears no relationship to the genre of the novel in the western canon. In the simplest possible terms, the royal novel is a public (and published) account of a historical event, military or pacific, in which the king is the main actor.204 Unlike royal encomia, the royal novel uses a narrative framework (often with embedded direct speech205), which incorporates one or more standard motifs: the king

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enthroned in his palace, the arrival of a messenger, a dialogue with a council, a royal decree for action, and the reaffirmation of maat (cosmic order) through the actualization of the king’s plan.206 The royal novel anchors the cosmic role of pharaoh as mediator between mankind and the gods within a single historical event.207 This overarching function of the royal novel as well as its specific form is co-opted within the fictional narrative of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre.208 In order to emphasize the king as an actor within history, who rectifies a negative status quo, the royal novel can begin with the “time of troubles” topos, a description of a previous military defeat, an incursion into Egyptian territory, or the neglect of a temple209—variations on the ruined state of the macrocosm (Egypt) or microcosm (temple). The introduction of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre similarly encapsulates the threat of isfet (disorder) through the metaphor of pestilence. Seqenenre must overcome a dual catastrophe: pestilence throughout Egypt and a divided kingship. Just as Hatshepsut would refer back to the Hyksos to heighten the significance of her restoration work at the Speos Artemidos, the presence of a Hyksos king collecting taxes in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre creates an imminent threat to Seqenere’s legitimacy as king. The setting of the two courts of Apepi and Seqenenre, in Avaris and Thebes respectively, coincides well with the royal novel, which often begins with the king enthroned in his palace. Such settings are not confined to royal novels, however, and the palace setting of stories like The Prophecies of Neferti and Khufu and the Magicians have led some scholars to note possible connections between the royal novel and those literary compositions.210 The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre shares with other royal novels (like the Second Stela of Kamose and the Megiddo Battle of Thutmose III) the consultation of councilors.211 At Avaris, Apepi discusses the planned communication with his “knowledgeable scribes,” and there is some suggestion that the scribes may even have “put words in the mouth” of the Hyksos king; if so, then Apepi would be acting contrary to the audience’s expectations for a proper pharaoh, who devises a plan on his own initiative that is bolder and braver than that of his councilors. Should we laugh at the foreign king’s inability to compose an effective letter? Perhaps so, and through this laughter the ancient audience reaffirmed the role of the scribe, the very purpose of most of Ameneminet’s correspondence included in the manual of letter writing that follows the story. The corresponding royal novel playing out in Seqenenre’s court similarly defies the template of royal action; while Seqenenre may gain the intellectual upper hand in his repartée with the Hyksos messenger with his rhetorical question, he is at first dumbfounded at Apepi’s request. After the

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Hyksos messenger departs, Seqenenre too consults with his council, who are equally at a loss to respond to the message concerning the hippopotami in the eastern waters. Again, one suspects that the silence of Seqenenre and his court reflects the humor of the roaring hippopotami keeping the Hyksos king awake, despite the five hundred kilometers separating him from the noisy animals. But does Seqenenre overcome his initial lack of response? The parallel from the Nubian War Stelae of Seti I suggests that Seqenenre’s shock is also a ploy to give Apepi (through his messenger) time to reveal his military plans. The highly militarized setting of the Hyksos period does imply that Apepi’s request and Seqenenre’s eventual response will lead to an armed conflict, which in historical fact led to Seqenenre’s death on the battlefield. Reading The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre as an adaptation of the royal novel suggests that the story’s setting was chosen to heighten the achievement of Seqenenre as the Theban pharaoh who began the process of reunification of Upper and Lower Egypt. The Hyksos period is an interesting choice for the Ramesside author: a difficult time for the political theology of Egypt, but the very disunity of the period emphasizes the significance of unity in kingship. Just as Horus and Seth must contend with one another to create the perfect form of Egyptian kingship, so too must Seqenenre and Apepi enter into combat so that the proper pharaoh might emerge triumphant. The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre incorporates the divine aspect of rulership through the chief gods of the capitals of the two dynasties: Seth and Amun-Re. The description of Apepi’s taxation as well as his worship of Seth appear in contemporaneous Fifteenth Dynasty texts, suggesting an active historiographical tradition. After Pentaweret copied the initial portion of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, one can imagine him smiling as he pictured the Hyksos king kept awake by roaring hippopotami or the Theban pharaoh staring in shock at the request to drive the creatures from the swamp. Copying this text, he knew that he was fulfilling the wishes of his superior, Ameneminet, whose edifying letters Pentaweret would begin next. Many of the riddles within The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre remain unsolved, but its rich intertextualities enable us to recover at least a portion of the enjoyment to be had by its original audience.

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C H A PT E R 3

The Capture of Joppa

S

urrounding the sanctuary of the god Amun-Re of Karnak—the same deity that the Theban pharaoh Seqenenre worships so prominently in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre—the pharaoh Thutmose III commissioned a lengthy series of texts to commemorate his military exploits in Syria-Palestine. Often told in a terse fashion, these texts, known as the Annals of Thutmose III, are hieroglyphic, stone-carved exceprts of the day-to-day journal of the palace, recording the king’s progress abroad, strategy, and success in combat.1 While one line might say that the precise amounts of plunder are omitted “so as not to multiply words,”2 abundant space on the walls was saved for the narrative of Thutmose III’s first campaign, which in terms of both royal ideology and military history was his most significant military accomplishment.3 Culminating in the siege and conquest of the town of Megiddo, the records of Thutmose III’s “first campaign of victory” in his twenty-third regnal year showcased the king’s strategic flair and bravery in combat.4 After a march from Egypt to the Jezreel Valley, and before the Egyptian army began its final approach to Megiddo, Thutmose III called together his army for a planning session.5 The goal of the Egyptian army was to defeat the large coalition of enemy forces, led by the prince of Kadesh, which had assembled at Megiddo and thereby threatened the stability and integrity of Egypt’s northeastern empire. According to the hieroglyphic text, the Egyptian commanders sensibly recommended the routes that led into the northern and southern ends of the valley; this plan would involve moving the army over relatively flat terrain, but, predictably, those were the routes most heavily guarded by enemy forces. Thutmose III instead proposed his own audacious strategy:  march the bulk of the Egyptian army over the

narrow Aruna Pass, surprising the enemy and enabling a direct assault on Megiddo. Not surpringly, the pharaoh’s plan was implemented, and the Annals describe how the army marched “horse behind horse” over the pass. The enemy coalition at Megiddo was indeed suprised, but other than small skirmishes that took place as the Egyptian army descended onto the plain, no full-scale battle occurred until another day had passed.6 After gaining the psychological upper-hand, Thutmose III’s decision to delay the pitched battle may have been to enable the enemy forces stationed north and south of Megiddo to assemble—if Thutmose III had the superior numbers, then he may have wished to fight one large battle against the entire enemy coalition rather than to battle one portion and risk being outflanked if reinforcements arrived.7 After a dark night with a new moon, the battle of Megiddo commenced the next day, and the Egyptian army put the enemy coalition to flight. Unfortunately for Thutmose III, his victorious army lost its momentum by plundering the enemy camp, forcing the Egyptians into a seven-month siege. During the siege, the Egyptians constructed their own walls—a use of circumvallations suggesting that Egyptian siege warfare could accomplish engineering feats more commonly associated with the classical world, such as Caesar’s siege of Alesia.8 The Egyptian circumvallations at Megiddo even had their own (appropriate) name: “Menkheperre (Thutmose III) is the one who encircles the Asiatics.”9 Egyptian persistence bore fruit, and the siege ended with the capture of Megiddo and the surrender of the chiefs of the enemy coalition. Thutmose III’s overlordship in Syria-Palestine was reaffirmed, and for the next seventeen years of his reign, the Egyptian army undertook an annual campaign to prevent another conflict like that at Megiddo. The siege of Megiddo is one of the few sieges attested in ancient Egyptian texts10 and provides the closest corollary to the premise of the The Capture of Joppa, a lively fictional tale that recounts the use of deception to capture a besieged city; a related story, Thutmose III in Asia, may be a fictional version of the Battle of Megiddo itself. Even this brief overview of the hieroglyphic records of the Battle of Megiddo demonstrates that the Egyptian author of the Ramesside Period did not need to look far to find “drama” in the earlier historical texts from the reign of Thutmose III.11 Unlike the royal monumental records, however, the main protagonist of The Capture of Joppa is an Egyptian general, Djehuty, not the pharaoh. Just as the pharaoh commemorated his battle prowess and victories over foreign foes in monumental texts and tableaux, so too did his commanders immortalize their own role in the campaigns and battles of New Kingdom Egypt. Recording success in war is

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not an invention of the Eighteenth Dynasty (see above, p. 14), and the heroic autobiography had enjoyed a thousand-year-long continous history by the time Ahmose son of Ibana and Ahmose Pennekhbet of the early Eighteenth Dynasty commissioned their own autobiographical inscriptions in their tombs at Elkab.12 The career of the general Djehuty, however, is extraordinary for the fact that his military achievements were memorialized in a fictional tale of the New Kingdom.13 The present chapter examines the life of this extraordinary soldier and the tale he inspired.

BRITISH MUSEUM EA 10060 (PAPYRUS HARRIS 500): AN INTRODUCTION

Although included within collected translations of ancient Egyptian literature, the story known by its modern title The Capture of Joppa remains one of the less frequently discussed texts in the corpus of Late Egyptian Stories.14 Like the other three tales discussed in the present volume, The Capture of Joppa is known through a single textual witness; papyrus BM EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500) dates to the early Nineteenth Dynasty (reign of Seti I to the first half of the reign of Ramesses II).15 The Capture of Joppa appears on three columns of the verso, followed by the story The Doomed Prince,16 while the recto of the papyrus contains love poems and the “Song of the Harper.”17 While generally recognized as “historical tales,”18 the interpretations of The Capture of Joppa have ranged from “pure folklore”19 to historicist readings that attempt to fit the events into the known campaigns of Thutmose III.20 The translation and commentary here expands upon earlier scholarship, offering new readings in the hieratic transcription, grammatical and syntactic understandings, and the scope and meaning of key loan words. Lexicographic analysis examines the role of paronomasia, like that found in the Hymn to the King in His Chariot (p. 86) and builds on these interpretations to draw comparisons between the incorporation of foreign loan words in The Capture of Joppa and similar phenomena in other works of imperialist literature. Through the widest possible source material, including other literary texts, excavations at Joppa, tombs in Egypt, and additional monuments, papyri, and artifacts, the following chapter seeks to restore some of the original context of this playful tale. The goal is for a modern reader to take a step closer to achieving the reading possible for an ancient audience, who may have interacted with foreign rulers in their administrative career, cared for or driven chariot horses, or even served the king as Djehuty serves Thutmose III.

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The beginning of The Capture of Joppa is lost, but the three extant columns record what must have been a significant portion of the plot as well as the conclusion of the story. The first column of the papyrus (Figure 3.1) begins with a group of intoxicated individuals, as well as descriptions of maryannu, chariots, and Apiru, all of which reinforces the story’s setting in the middle of the Eighteenth Dynasty, when Mitanni and Egypt vied for control of Syria-Palestine.21 The specific place of the tale, the city of Joppa, soon becomes clear when the ruler of Joppa addresses the Egyptian general Djehuty. The unnamed ruler wishes to see the “awenet-staff of the pharaoh Thutmose III,” and in a moment of physical humor, Djehuty obliges by striking the ruler in the forehead with that very staff. Then Djehuty launches a clever ruse to capture the city, a combination of serious military stratagem and folk-tale motif that finds interesting parallels in the Greek Trojan Horse, the Persian Shah Namah, a Byzantine chronicle, and the Arabic story “Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves.”22 With the ruler of Joppa incapacitated and fettered, Djehuty sends a messenger to the ruler’s wife,

Figure 3.1 BM EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500), column 1 (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum)

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who like her husband remains nameless; she is told that Djehuty has surrendered himself and his family into her custody and that several hundred baskets will be delivered as the initial portion of Egyptian tribute to Joppa. Significantly for both The Capture of Joppa and The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, foreigners credit the god Seth for their apparent victory, which unbeknownst to them will be their downfall. Two hundred Egyptian soldiers—equipped with ropes and manacles—hide within the baskets of supposed tribute and capture the city from within. Following his military success, Djehuty writes a letter to the pharaoh Thutmose III, praising his victory and commending the captives to the temple of Amun-Re.

THE PROTAGANIST: GENERAL DJEHUTY

The Egyptian protaganist in The Capture of Joppa is a man named Djehuty— his name does not occur with any titles, but the narrative itself provides clues to his identity. Within the story, Djehuty possesses authority as the representative of Thutmose III, acts as steward for the “awenet-staff of Pharaoh,” and issues commands to the Egyptian forces. In addition to leading the campaign against Joppa, Djehuty’s more permanent assignment in the area is suggested by the presence of his wife and children. The fragmentary beginning of the story suggests that when not engaged in conflict, Djehuty resided in a nearby city—if not Joppa itself—that housed an Egyptian garrison (mentioned in col. 1, ln. 2) and a residence worthy of an Egyptian official and his family.23 In a coincidence of preservation that can only be described as remarkable, the burial of a man that is most likely the Djehuty immortalized in The Capture of Joppa was discovered in the first quarter of the nineteenth century. The circumstances of the tomb’s excavation are uncertain, but the burial was uncovered around or before 1824 in the necropolis of Saqqara.24 Scattered across museum collections in Paris, Leiden, and Turin, the hieroglyphic texts on the objects from Djehuty’s tomb are the only evidence linking the historical Djehuty with the fictional hero of The Capture of Joppa, and hope remains that modern excavations in the Saqqara necropolis will uncover this now lost tomb.25 In another fortuitous turn of events, the British Museum acquired a statuette of Djehuty in 1975 (now British Museum EA 69863);26 the hieroglyphic inscription on the statuette suggests that the original provenance was Byblos, and Djehuty’s titles on the statuette all find parallels on objects from the lost Saqqara tomb. While a small uncertainty exists in the identification of the real and fictional Djehutys—Djehuty was admittedly a common name in the

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mid-Eighteenth Dynasty27—the abundant and precise parallels between the titles of the real Djehuty and the actions of the fictional Djehuty facilitate a confident equation of the two men.28 Until Djehuty’s tomb is rediscovered or new information emerges in the textual and archaeological record, the titles on Djehuty’s grave goods and the statuette from Byblos remain the only information about his life; if he is indeed the same as the fictional Djehuty, the story may offer some additional clues to his career. However, in the following analysis, the titles and offices of the real Djehuty will be used to illuminate aspects of the fictional story, but not the reverse, thus omitting any conclusions a historicist reading of the tale might reach about the life of the real Djehuty or military events during the reign of Thutmose III. The objects within Djehuty’s Saqqara tomb indicate that he was a contemporary of Thutmose III, and he holds a variety of functional and honorific titles; most of these titles only appear once among the corpus of hieroglyphic texts on his grave goods, but two titles appear on multiple objects and may be his most significant offices:  “overseer of the northern foreign countries”29 and “royal scribe.”30 The first title is a position at the apex of the administration of Egypt’s northeastern empire; like the “King’s Son of Kush,” who functioned at the head of the Nubian administration, Djehuty’s title “overseer of the northern foreign countries” gave him a high, if not the highest, degree of authority over the territories where he functioned.31 The role of the historical and fictional Djehutys finds a particularly close parallel in the career of the official Yankhamu, known from the Akkadian texts of the Amarna Letters. Yankhamu functioned as a royal representative throughout Syria-Palestine, and local rulers could address letters directly to him; the greeting formulae and requests within these letters indicate that Yankhamu’s authority included economic, administrative, and military affairs.32 The titles from Djehuty’s burial goods and the text on his statuette (possibly from Byblos) indicate that his purview, like that of Yankhamu, included these different spheres of activity.33 The title “general” only appears on a single object from Djehuty’s tomb, a golden bowl (Figure 3.2);34 since many of Djehuty’s titles are attested only on this golden bowl, a translation of this text is useful to see the scope of the career of this official during the reign of Thutmose III:35 Given through the royal favor of the king Menkheperre (Thutmose III) to the hereditary prince, count, father of the god, god’s beloved, confidant of the king in every foreign land and the isles in the Mediterranean Sea36

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Figure 3.2 Golden Bowl of Djehuty (Musée du Louvre N713, Gianni Dagli Orti / The Art Archive at Art Resource, NY)

who fills the storehouses with lapis lazuli, silver, and gold, overseer of northern foreign lands, general, praised of the good god, whose rank37 the lord of the Two Lands created, royal scribe Djehuty, justified.

The initial titles are honorific (i.e. do not indicate a family relationship to the king), while the following epithets and offices express the king’s trust in Djehuty and describe Djehuty’s functions within the pharaonic state. As an “overseer of northern foreign lands” and an official who administered storehouses, Djehuty could have traveled throughout the eastern Mediterranean littoral on official business and interacted with people from the Mediterranean islands who sailed along the Levantine coast during regular trade missions (hence the title “confidant of the king in every foreign land and the isles in the Mediterranean Sea”).38 The precise connotation of all of these titles for the administration of Eighteenth Dynasty Syria-Palestine is a topic more suited to history than historical fiction, and for The Capture of Joppa, the significant aspect of Djehuty’s titles is the overlap between administrative, diplomatic, and military functions—the very activities the fictional Djehuty performs in the story. The most frequently occurring of Djehuty’s titles thus strongly link the man buried at Saqqara with Djehuty in The Capture of Joppa. Additional

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titles from the objects in Djehuty’s tomb provide further specific instances of the fictional and the real converging. On one vessel, Djehuty is given the title “overseer of the garrison,”39 and such “garrison” or “outpost” forces are well attested in Egypt’s northeastern empire (see below, pp. 76–77). The second line of the first column of The Capture of Joppa mentions “the garrison of Pharaoh”; the context is broken, but a possible numeral may indicate that the text is listing the strength of the forces under Djehuty’s command. The title “overseer of the garrison” within the Saqqara burial provides a specific connection with the fictional narrative in The Capture of Joppa. Finally, Djehuty’s possession of the “staff of pharaoh” in the story accords well with the real Djehuty’s title “two eyes of the king,” a position that signifies a high official who acts with royal authority.40 Evidence within The Capture of Joppa does not indicate the source material for the tale or how knowledge of Djehuty and his exploits was transmitted after the reign of Thutmose III. The author(s) of the tale may have had direct access to Djehtuy’s tomb, or copies of its hieroglyphic inscriptions may have been part of the holdings of the local “house of life.” Now-lost archival sources, such as those mentioned in the Karnak Annals of Thutmose III, might also have recorded the names of commanders and their campaigns when the king was not present (see p. 160 below).

THE PLACE: JOPPA

Egyptian literature of all periods—from the earliest Middle Kingdom tales to lengthy demotic narratives—can incorporate foreign, indeed exotic, locations, yet fail to describe the landscape of these distant or mythical places.41 Within the tale, Joppa is the setting for the action, but no details about its geographical location or architectural layout are offered. Ramesside battle scenes commonly depict fortified cities,42 and such scenes would have been familiar to at least some of the audience of the tale, just as some would presumably have visited sites such as Joppa during their military or administrative careers. Knowledge of foreign locales, their relationships to one another, and their proximity to other landmarks forms a part of the Satirical Letter of Hori (P. Anastasi I),43 further increasing the likelihood that a portion of the ancient audience was aware of the location and significance of Joppa. Joppa is a coastal city located about three hundred kilometers by land route from the eastern edge of the Egyptian Delta. In antiquity, Joppa was significant for travel and trade by sea and land, since it possessed a harbor and was located along an inland road.44 For the modern reader, the recent

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archaeological investigations at Joppa (modern Jaffa) not only provide a physical context for The Capture of Joppa but are significant for the history of the region and Egyptian–Levantine interactions. A  monumental gateway from Joppa with the titulary of Ramesses II has long been known,45 but additional evidence of Egyptian activity at the site was sparse.46 Recent publications of ongoing and past excavations at Joppa have now revealed extensive Egyptian activity corresponding to the Late Bronze Age IB, and the locally produced Egyptian ceramics from that stratum appear to corroborate the theory that Joppa was one of the harbor bases established by Thutmose III in the Levant;47 as the excavators have also tentatively suggested,48 a destruction level from the Late Bronze Age IB may be the result of a possible Canaanite rebellion after the initial Egyptian conquest of the city, which could have been the historical basis of the fictional tale The Capture of Joppa. One can only hope that additional excavations reveal further evidence of the timing, extent, and cause of the destruction level. Although Joppa and the other harbor bases are not specifically named in Egyptian texts, Joppa does appear in the topographical lists49 of conquered regions from the reign of Thutmose III.50 Outside of the topographical lists, however, the extensive military records of Thutmose III do not mention Joppa. The silence of the monumental texts does not necessarily rule out a historical basis for The Capture of Joppa, because internal features of the narrative provide a solution to this apparent contradiction. The pharaoh was not physically present at the battle, thus no palace day-book, the source for the “published” royal annals, recorded the capture of the city.51 Between the reigns of Thutmose III and Ramesses II, or between the time in which the story was set and the time of its composition, Joppa appears only rarely in Egyptian sources. In the Akkadian texts of the Amarna Letters, Joppa appears as an Egyptian-held city with royal granaries.52 Why was Joppa chosen as the setting of the story? The most straightforward explanation is that the siege of Joppa was a historical event, and the fictionalized account of Djehuty’s exploits is based on an actual siege. The archaeological and textual evidence from the reign of Thutmose III does not provide independent confirmation of the events, but on the other hand no ancient source is at odds with Djehuty leading an Egyptian army against a rebellious ruler of Joppa. In addition to the possible historical template, the passages from The Satirical Letter of Hori suggest that Joppa enjoyed the reputation of a colorful foreign locale, and from an intertextual perspective Joppa resonated with a Ramesside audience (see pp. 86–87 below). Considering the very small percentage of New Kingdom texts that have survived to the modern day, one can only guess at other intertextual possibilities.

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The combination of textual and archaeological evidence indicates that Joppa was an important harbor during the Late Bronze Age. During the reign of Thutmose III, the Egyptians appear to have established an Egyptian outpost at the city, and Joppa became a cog within the machine of Egyptian administration in Syria-Palestine. The Egyptian garrison and its associated granary were still functioning during the late Eighteenth Dynasty, as indicated by the Amarna Letters. When the tale was written, Joppa was still maintained as an Egyptian outpost,53 and a Ramesside official in Joppa could find himself in jeopardy if he sampled the pleasures of local entertainment, but a dedicated officer could get his chariot repaired and be resupplied at the nearby Egyptian armory. With this historical and archaeological data in mind, one may begin with the fragmentary first column of The Capture of Joppa.

STRONG DRINK AND HORSES 1,1

[x+]120 mary[annu . . . th]eir [ . . . ] in the manner of baskets [ . . . ] for Djehuty, [together with his wife, his children,] and the garrison of Pharaoh, l.p.h. 1,2

1,3

[ . . . ] upon them. And now after one hour, they were drunk, and Djehuty said to 1,4[the ruler of Joppa(?): “ . . . ] I am(?)together with my wife and children. Your city is your own. Have the gr[1,5ooms bring in the chariot horses, and have them] given fodder. or else one of the Apiru should pass by 1,6[and steal(?) . . . th]em.”(?) The chariot horses were secured and given fodder; and 1,7 [ . . . ] king Menkheperre; and one came to report to Djeuty.

The fragmentary beginning of the story paints a vivid picture of chariot warriors, an Egyptian commander, a rebellious local ruler, and a menacing foreign group. After a damaged passage mentioning “maryannu” and “baskets,” the narrative moves to the Egyptian commander Djehuty, a group of drunk individuals, and a speech by Djehuty, presumably to the “enemy of Joppa” who addresses Djehuty in the next section of the text.54 Despite the lacunae in the first column of the papyrus, this section is rich in intertextual elements, both with the story Thutmose III in Asia (e.g. Apiru, fodder for

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chariot horses) and the genre of military day-book accounts (e.g. the formula “one came to report”). The following commentary will explore these significant parallels and highlight the possible use of the groups maryannu and Apiru as authentic historical elements. In order to understand the role of Djehuty within the narrative, as well as the presence of chariot horses, grooms, and presumably marauding Apiru, one must first establish the physical setting. Based on the archaeological and textual evidence for the city of Joppa presented above, can one determine where the characters are in relation to the city? The mention of chariot horses and a possible threat to them suggests an open area outside of the city walls; Djehuty and the enemy of Joppa appear to have a private conversation hidden from general view—Joppa’s ruler is later placed in shackles while his charioteer appears unaware that his leader has been incapacitated. The clues within the text all point towards an Egyptian encampment outside of the city walls, probably much less elaborate than the circumvallations that Thutmose III constructed at Megiddo.55 The motives of the “enemy of Joppa” are not elucidated in the preserved portion of The Capture of Joppa and might have been omitted as irrelevant to the plot. It is also uncertain whether the story began with Djehuty installed with an Egyptian garrison in Joppa, although the presence of Djehuty’s wife and children (in a damaged passage at the beginning of line 4) does suggest that Djehuty resided in Joppa or a neighboring city prior to the siege. The fictional narrative also portrays the ruler of Joppa as a man with knowledge of (or at least curiosity about) Egyptian culture: he swears an oath by the pharaoh Thutmose III and has an ardent desire to see the staff of pharaoh that is in Djehuty’s posession.56 Neither the “enemy of Joppa” nor his wife are named,57 but like other foreign rulers in Egyptian literature, the ruler of Joppa is an interlocutor in conversations with an Egyptian.58 In this initial portion of the story, Djehuty appears to assure the ruler of Joppa that the city is indeed his possession: “your city is your own.” The ancient reader might have enjoyed this statement in light of the later reversal of fortunes for the demanding ruler of Joppa. The “garrison of Pharaoh” mentioned in line 2 is one of the few specific terms relating to the Egyptian army that appears in The Capture of Joppa. Due to the fragmentary nature of the beginning of the papyrus and the emphasis on the clever ruse of the Egyptian general Djehuty, the only elements of the Egyptian military named within the story are the garrison troops, the chariot horses, and soldiers. From these scattered details we can reconstruct the Egyptian forces in the story as a combination of infantry and chariotry, as would be expected in a campaign in Syria-Palestine;59 Joppa was a significant port city, and while the maritime and naval aspect

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of the setting cannot be overlooked, The Capture of Joppa does not mention the Egyptian navy. The garrison troops could also refer to forces usually stationed in a nearby town, and transferred to a new theater of operations for the assault on Joppa.60 Immediately before Djehuty addresses the ruler of Joppa, line 3 ends with the intriguing statement: “Now after one hour, they were drunk.” The intoxicated group is lost in the damage to the first portion of line three, but the last extant referent is the garrison. A drunken Egyptian garrison is conceivable—two Egyptian military texts record the pharaoh upbraiding his army for unprofessional behavior: Thutmose III blames his infantry for plundering the enemy camp at Megiddo, thus necessitating a siege operation; and Ramesses II accuses his forces of outright cowardice in the face of the Hittite ambush at the Battle of Kadesh. The Satirical Letter of Hori describes the temptations of Joppa (see below, pp. 86–87), and the story may have had Djehuty contending with similar indiscretions among his garrison troops. Alternatively, the drunk individuals could be from the enemy force, perhaps the entourage that accompanied the ruler of Joppa to his meeting with Djehuty; this scenario would explain how Djehuty is able to shackle the ruler of Joppa without any interference from the latter’s bodyguard. A final option is that the pronoun “they” refers to the inhabitants of the city of Joppa; an intoxicated populace would help the internal logic of the story, in which less than a thousand Egyptian soldiers capture the population of the entire city without bloodshed. Unfortunately, nothing within the text confirms this suggestion, which would create an even stronger parallel between the story The Capture of Joppa and the classical tales of the Trojan Horse. Whether the intoxicated group is Egyptian or Asiatic, they were most likely partaking of a local vintage. The war records of Thutmose III at Karnak Temple record the plundering of vineyards in Palestine (Djahi) and the subsequent celebration of victory, a time of appropriate drunkenness for the army:61 Lying in their winepresses like flowing water, did one find their wine! . . . Now the army of his Majesty was drunk and anointed with oil every day, like one in festival in the Beloved Land.

In line 5, Djehuty issues a command for the grooms to bring in the chariot horses and feed them. Djehuty expresses caution about the Apiru—the verb that would describe the Apiru’s action is not preserved, but the construction of the phrase suggests that they would engage in an aggressive

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activity. The mention of grooms and horses in Djehuty’s speech and the occurrence of maryannu in the first line all indicate that an Egyptian chariot force is stationed at Joppa as part of the siege. Horse-drawn chariots would be useless against fortifications but would be an excellent means of rapidly moving firepower to combat any relief troops to the besiegers or foraging parties sent from the besieged city.62 The ruse that Djehuty employs to capture the city preempts the use of traditional military tactics, but the mention of maryannu, as opposed to other terms for charioteers,63 suggests an intentional deployment of military terminology in the fictional tale. The maryannu, whose name appears to derive from a Vedic term for “young man, hero,” entered the Near Eastern world through the Hurrian kingdom of Mitanni, where the maryannu served as chariot warriors.64 The loan-word maryannu was soon thereafter adopted by Egyptian and Levantine cultures to describe their own charioteers; in Egypt, maryannu was used as a term of respect for martial ability,65 and Egyptian charioteers adopted the mode of dress and perhaps even hairstyle of their foreign namesakes.66 Military texts from the reigns of Thutmose III67 and Amunhotep II68 record the capture of even small numbers of maryannu, suggesting their high status as well as their military prowess. In addition to their function as charioteers, maryannu could serve as high-level messengers. In a mid-Eighteenth Dynasty administrative papyrus (Papyrus Hermitage 1116A69), a column entitled “maryannu of Djahy (Palestine)”70 contains a list of “messengers (wpw.ty)” from cities in northern Palestine and their respective rations.71 A similar paramilitary function for the maryannu appears in the Memphite tomb of Horemhab, which depicts pigtail sporting maryannu acting as grooms to Asiatic chieftains in obesiance before the pharaoh Tutankhmaun.72 This in turn may explain the maryannu in the service of the wives and children of the Asiatic chiefs mentioned in the Annals of Thutmose III.73 The presence of maryannu at the siege of Joppa in the fictional tale accords well with the reality of a military campaign during the reign of Thutmose III and suggests that the Ramesside author of The Capture of Joppa chose a group of characters in order to lend historical authenticity to the narrative. However, the maryannu alone do not prove the historiographical sophistication of the Ramesside author, because the significance of the maryannu in foreign policy is similarly in evidence during the reign of Ramesses II. Included in the the Kadesh Battle reliefs are a series of princes and their captives; most of the extant labels for the prisoners state that the enemy captives are maryannu of different locales, while one set of prisoners consists of “children of the rulers of the Hittites.”74 These small labels within the vast battle scenes and texts of the Year 5 Kadesh Battle

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provide evidence that the prestige of the maryannu continued through the reign of Ramesses II. The maryannu are also mentioned in a more general way in a hymn of praise to Merneptah:  “They [the Egyptian army] have burnt up the maryannu.”75 Other Ramesside texts demonstrate the continuation of the role of maryannu within the Egyptian military. The Year 8 Sea People campaign of Ramesses III describes the pharaoh preparing for battle, securing the land border of Djahy with “chiefs, overseers of garrisons, and maryannu.”76 Similarly, Papyrus Harris I  lists personnel within a new foundation of Ramesses III near Heliopolis, including Egyptian chariot warriors, maryannu, and Apiru.77 Finally, the Ramesside audience of The Capture of Joppa might also have been reminded of a passage from the popular text in The Satirical Letter of Hori (P. Anastasi I):78 Answer swiftly and tell me the report, so that I might call you a mhr-soldier,79 so that I might boast to others of your reputation as a maryannu

In Djehuty’s speech in The Capture of Joppa, the grooms are commanded to bring in the horses and feed them. For the ancient as well as the modern reader, this passage serves as an oblique reminder that maintaining a chariot force required a substantial investment in men (charioteers, grooms, craftsmen), material (wood, leather, and metals), as well as land for grazing and fodder.80 Much of the infrastructure required for the chariotry needed to travel with the army into the field to repair damaged vehicles, care for injured horses, and requisition feed.81 Pasturage for chariot horses82 and procurement of fodder83 for the royal stable appear as topics of administrative ostraca and model letters, and it is notable to see such a mundane and practical concern in the literary tale The Capture of Joppa; this small detail is also one of the textual links between The Capture of Joppa and Thutmose III in Asia (see pp. 106–107). In both stories, the mention of fodder for chariot horses occurs in broken contexts near the beginning of the preserved portion of the tale, and the provisioning of the chariotry may have been part of a larger plot element. Additionally, the inclusion of pragmatic aspects of military life may serve a significant narrative goal: drawing the reader into the fictionalized reality of the siege of Joppa. A similar use of specific details to create an authentic world appears in The Story of Sinuhe. One of many examples can be found in the description of food that Sinuhe consumes during his stay with the Bedouin; when Sinuhe first meets Amunneshi, the foreign group boils milk for Sinuhe, and later when Sinuhe settles in Upper Retchenu, the story

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describes his daily meals, including “milk in everything cooked.”84 While such details have been long noted in the Middle Kingdom literary classics, the inclusion of details in The Capture of Joppa and Thutmose III in Asia, such as the fodder for chariot horses, has not been similarly recognized in the corpus of New Kingdom literature. The next detail within The Capture of Joppa that supplies historical context as well as intertextual links is the group called the “Apiru.” The Apiru—like the maryannu—can be traced in Egyptian sources from the reign of Thutmose III through the Ramesside Period.85 In the middle of the Eighteenth Dynasty, Egyptian sources record two entirely different spheres of activity for the Apiru:  a foreign group inhabiting northern Syria-Palestine and foreign vintners employed by Egyptians. The Egyptian army may have encountered the Apiru militarily as early as the reign of Thutmose III; a damaged passage in the Annals describing the plunder of the Year 31 campaign includes: “Commander [of the wretched army(?)] of the son of the enemy ruler of Tunip, and chiefs of the A[piru] who were there. Total men: 494.”86 The Apiru appear again in a list of prisoners taken by Amunhotep II during his second campaign to Syria-Palestine (Year 9):87 List of plunder that his Majesty brought back: chiefs of Retchenu: 127, brothers of the chiefs: 179, Apiru: 3,600, living Shasu: 15,200 . . .

Two high officials that served the pharaoh Thutmose III appear to have included the Apiru in the decoration of their Theban tombs;88 in scenes of winemaking, men who press grapes for wine are labeled in hieroglyphic inscriptions as “Apiru.”89 Why these tombs chose to highlight these foreign vintners and whether or not these Apriu were war captives remains uncertain. The potentially threatening aspect of the Apiru as found in The Capture of Joppa finds its closest parallels in the diplomatic correspondence of Amunhotep III and Akhenaten with their vassals in the Levant.90 In the Akkadian texts of the Amarna Letters, a logogram deriving from the Sumerian word for “robber, bandit” is used to refer to the Apiru;91 in addition to this important lexical information, letters from Egyptian vassals describe the actions of the Apiru as predatory. Groups designated “Apiru” or its linguistic variants appear throughout the Near East,92 but the one common element is “the fact that they were uprooted from their original political and social framework and forced to adapt to a new environment.”93

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Within the Egyptian empire, one region of Apiru activity was the Beqaa Valley, a fertile area in modern Lebanon with multiple smaller ecosystems, which would enable the Apiru—whose population derived ultimately from both sedentary and nomadic populations—to interact with larger urban communities.94 The Amarna Letters document how the leaders of the emerging power of Amurru, Abdiashirta, and later Aziru, employed the Apiru to destabilize particular areas, providing a justification for the forces of Amurru to then “rescue” the region.95 The reality of Apiru depredations led local city rulers to extend the meaning of the term “Apriu” to designate individuals or groups acting against Egyptian interests,96 thus a powerful slander in letters written to the Egyptian court (albeit its overuse by Ribaddi, ruler of Byblos, may have lessened the impact97).  In The Capture of Joppa, the Apiru appear in such a fragmentary context that one cannot determine if the Apiru are acting of their own accord or are working as mercenaries for the ruler of Joppa. Most likely, the Apiru in The Capture of Joppa are acting as brigands and horse-thieves, living up to the reputation that the Apiru definitely possessed in Egyptian sources of the late Eigtheenth Dynasty. For the Ramesside audience of The Capture of Joppa, the Apiru continued to hold a dual role as troublemakers in Egypt’s northeastern empire and foreign workers employed in the Nile Valley. One of the only military records to mention the Apiru is the Second Beth Shan stela of Seti I; the introductory war report describes attacks by two groups of Apiru on another Asiatic group, providing the impetus for a small Egyptian campaign in Djahy.98 More common in Ramesside texts are references to the Apiru employed as workmen in Egypt, particularly labor that involved quarrying99 and hauling stones.100 During the reign of Ramesses III, the Apiru were stationed alongside maryannu and the children of foreign chiefs in a settlement near Heliopolis.101 The inclusion of the maryannu and the Apiru in The Capture of Joppa can be read through multiple lenses. Extant sources from the reigns of Thutmose III and Amunhotep II indicate that both of these groups were part of the world that the fictional Djehuty inhabits in the tale. The real-life template for Djehuty, the general who commanded the Egyptian army during Thutmose III’s reign, could have issued a similar command to maryannu to thwart the actions of the Apiru. Did the Ramesside author of The Capture of Joppa incorporate these details after undertaking research in a “house of life” that contained the annals of Thutmose III and other mid-Eighteenth Dynasty sources? Were any scribes of the Ramesside period able to access earlier diplomatic records, copies of documents such as those stored within the “Office of the Letters of Pharaoh”102 at Akhet-aten? Because the

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maryannu and Apiru both appear in historical records from the reigns of Seti I and Ramesses II, these questions must remain unanswered for the simple fact that the author of The Capture of Joppa could have known about both groups from contemporary events and documentation. The applicability of both groups to a mid-Eighteenth Dynasty setting, however, hints at a historiographical tradition for which few other traces survive. The final statement in this portion of the story and before the ruler of Joppa speaks again to Djehuty is the declaration: “One came to report to Djehuty.” To a modern reader, this statement appears routine—a messenger arrives in order to communicate new developments to the Egyptian general. For the ancient Egyptian audience—at the very least those trained as military scribes—the expression “one came” is a strong generic signal. In most examples of military texts with the “one came” formula, the text begins with the king installed within his palace, and then a messenger arrives with news of hostile enemy forces.103 The literary formula “one came” enables a concise expression of a casus belli and is typically followed by a one or two sentence situation report on the enemy activity.104 Normally, the “one came” report is rendered directly to the pharaoh, but in The Capture of Joppa the report is made to his representative Djehuty,105 further demonstrating the general’s role as field commander within the story. Additionally, the report in The Capture of Joppa does not necessarily need to be an update on enemy activity—in the Annals of Thutmose III, the phrase “one came to say to his Majesty” is followed by a report on the condition of the Egyptian forces.106 The use of the literary formula “one came” in the tale may have suggested to the ancient audience that they were reading about an event based on an authentic military record. Just as the earlier The Story of Sinuhe uses the outward frame of an autobiographical inscription, or the later Report of Wenamun incorporates textual and metatextual features of an administrative report, The Capture of Joppa includes a key-phrase that signals a genre of historical and military inscriptions.

A REQUEST WITH UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES Then 1,8[the enemy of Jop]pa said to Djehuty: “I desire to see the great awenet-staff of King Menkheperre, 1,9 [ . . . ]Tiut-nofret is her name. As the ka of the King Menkheperre endures, she shall be yours this day 1,10[ . . . ] beautiful [ . . . ]; and you should bring it to me!” He (Djehuty) acted accordingly;

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he brought the awenet-staff of King Menkheperre 1,11

[and he placed it (?) in] his kilt. He (Djehuty) began to draw himself up (tall), saying: “Look at me, o enemy of 1,12[Joppa! [Behold,] the king Menkheperre, the raging lion, son of Sakhmet, Amun having given to him 1,13[his khepesh-sword(?) He (Djehuty) lift]ed up his hand, and he struck the forehead of the enemy of Joppa; and he (the enemy of Joppa) fell 2,1down [headlong(?)] before him. He put him in manacles [ . . . ] his [ . . . ] with a sore head. 2,2 He [ . . . ] piece of copper [which he had made for the(?)] destruction of this 2,3enemy of Joppa. A piece of copper (made) of four nemset-vessels was placed on his feet.

In this portion of the tale, the Egyptian general Djehuty and the rebel leader of Joppa have a conversation that ends in the defeat of the latter. The story records the statements of the two characters and Djehuty’s actions, but provides no details as to the setting. After Djehuty smites the ruler of Joppa, a message is given to a chariot warrior from the ruler’s retinue, so one can assume that the ruler of Joppa had at least a small group of bodyguards with him. Most likely, then, this scene plays out within a tent outside of the walls of the city (see above, p. 76). In addition to all of the serious intertextual allusions contained within this portion of the story, one should not lose sight of the comical elements of the passage. The physical humor of Djehuty’s actions was almost certainly intended to provoke laughter in the ancient audience, an effect it continues to have on readers.107 The ruler of Joppa’s chief request is to see the “awenet-staff of King Menkheperre (Thutmose III).” Pictorial and textual sources enable the modern reader to imagine the physical appearance of the awenet-staff, which embodies Djehuty’s authority, granting the Egyptian general a position tantamount to that of a pharaoh in the field. To understand the significance of the awenet staff, one must explore two different threads: first, the role of staffs and staves in royal iconography, and second, the types of physical objects borne by officials that grant them royal authority. From the dawn of pharaonic iconography, the pear-headed mace is an emblem of pharaonic office, which can appear in the hand of the smiting king, grasped by an animal manifestation of the pharaoh, or as an inanimate object representating royal dominion.108 By the time of the New Kingdom, a variety of staffs and staves were added to the pharaonic panoply—among the

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many examples is a straight staff that appears in the king’s hand grasping the hair of the enemies within smiting scenes. For example, in a depiction of Thutmose III smiting his foes on the seventh pylon of Karnak Temple, extending above and below the king’s left hand is a straight staff, with a small papyrus-umbel finial just above where the king grasps the staff. The staff does not appear to serve a definite function within the scene, but represents a royal object imbued with a divine aura.109 The duality of mace and staff in the smiting scene appears textually as well, such as in this example appropriately from the reign of Thutmose III:110 “It is my mace that fells the Asiatics, my ames-staff that strikes the Nine Bows.” The role of the ames-staff in the royal smiting scene provides a perfect corollary for Djehuty’s action in The Capture of Joppa. After a brief paen to Thutmose III, Djehuty lifts up the awenet-staff and smites the ruler of Joppa on the forehead. For any Egyptian reading or hearing the tale, one of the most widely known and easily recognizable icons of royal power would be the images of the king smiting the enemies of Egypt.111 These smiting scenes appear as monumental decoration of the pylons of New Kingdom temples, such as that of Thutmose III mentioned above, but were also incorporated into private monuments—ranging from stelae112 to rock inscriptions.113 Thus, for a literate reader or an illiterate listener, this scene vividly demonstrates that Djehuty is filling the role of the pharaoh as smiter of foreign foes. In The Capture of Joppa, the awenet-staff replaces the pear-shaped royal mace, but fits within the royal iconography through its similarity to the straight ames-staff that the pharaoh holds in the smiting scene. The possession of the “staff of pharaoh” grants Djehuty authority and command over the Egyptian forces, and the historical Djehuty possessed a similar authority as “general,” “overseer of northern foreign lands,” and the “two eyes of the king.”114 A  variety of staffs and staves could similarly embody the authority of office in the Egyptian bureaucracy115 and military.116 Djehuty’s awenet-staff, an object of wonder for the ruler of Joppa, even finds a possible description in a short autobiographical text; a priest named Ahmose Ruru records that the kings Hatshepsut117 and Thutmose III each awarded him with a silver awenet-staff, one with a pommel of gold.118 The description of the lavish awenet in Ahmose Ruru’s autobiography can be supplemented by other depictions of the staff in New Kingdom contexts, and an examination of the lexeme awenet in ancient Egyptian further deepens the rich metaphors within The Capture of Joppa. Based on representations within New Kingdom tomb paintings, the physical object labeled awenet is a type of stave, straight and often with a small angular “branch” near one end of the staff;119 attested since the Middle

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Kingdom,120 it is uncertain whether the term awenet refers to the type of wood of which the staff is made or to the shape of the staff.121 In the Theban tomb depictions, the awenet can appear as part of the tribute brought by Syro-Palestinan groups, including people as far afield as Naharin (Upper Euphrates) (Figure 3.3);122 lists of Syro-Palestinian imports and objects to prepare for the arrival of the pharaoh in the Late Egyptian Miscellanies also include awenet-staffs.123 A portion of an Egyptian love poem on the recto of BM EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500), the same papyrus as The Capture of Joppa, further assures the foreign associations of the awenet-staff; in one poem, a woman describes how she will not leave her lover, even if threatened with bodily harm, including being beaten “to the land of Syria with shuba-staves and awenet-staffs.”124 The survey of the available textual and pictorial evidence indicates that the awenet staff is an import to Egypt, and

Figure 3.3 Ruler of Naharin carrying an awenet-staff, tomb of Iamnedjeh (inking by Julia Hsieh)

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thus in The Capture of Joppa represents a foreign object being used against a foreigner. A passage within the Hymn to the King in His Chariot provides an additional perspective on the awenet- staff and a further clue to the significance of the “smiting” episode in The Capture of Joppa. The Hymn to the King in His Chariot identifies different parts of the chariot with divinities and/or uses word play to make statements about Egyptian dominion over foreign lands. 125 The following passage from the Hymn to the King in His Chariot is a sterling illustration of paronomasia with the root awenet : 126 As for the awenet of your chariot: it plunders (awen) the distant foreign lands; it strikes against one, and a thousand fall; it does not leave an heir behind.

The exact part of the chariot designated by the term awenet is unknown, but the punning statement in the Hymn to the King in His Chariot applies perfectly to the awenet-staff in The Capture of Joppa. With the staff, Djehuty “plunders (awen)” the city of Joppa—he strikes a single enemy (the leader of Joppa) and a thousand (the residents of Joppa) fall! The enemy of Joppa makes a request with unintended consequences when he demands to see the awenet-staff of Thutmose III.127 Interestingly, the enemy of Joppa does not use threats in his speech to the Egyptian general, but instead seems to bribe Djehuty. The enticement is named “Tiutneferet,” but her role or even identity as a woman is uncertain.128 The name Tiutneferet is related to other attested ancient Egyptian names, but based on the damage to the papyrus this may only be part of the name.129 One possible interpretation is that this name belongs to a beautiful female citizen of Joppa that the ruler is offering to Djehuty. In one of the Amarna Letters (EA 369), the pharaoh writes to Milkilu, ruler of Gezer:  “Send extremely beautiful female cupbearers in whom there is no defect, so the king, your lord, will say to you, ‘This is excellent, in accordance with the order he sent to you.’ ”130 A similar literary motif appears in the later story The Report of Wenamun—after tendentious interactions between Wenamun and Tjekerbaal, the ruler of the Byblos, the latter attempts to make amends to the former by sending wine, a sheep, and “Tanetniut, a songstress of Egypt.”131 The possible presence of an enticing woman at Joppa in the narrative of The Capture of Joppa is most strongly reminiscent of a passage within The Satirical Letter of Hori. After testing his pupil on military planning and

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Syro-Palestinian toponyms, Hori turns to more comical fare—the perils of meeting a beautiful young woman in Joppa:132 You enter into Joppa, and you find its flora blooming at their (proper) time, and you penetrate (the entrance) because of (the sounds of) mourning; with the result that you find the beautiful young woman who guards the vineyard, and she acts so that you fraternize with her as a companion; she gives to you the “color” of her embrace. Then one perceives that you must give a report, for one judges (you) to be a mhr-scout. and as for your tunic of fine linen—you must pay for it.

The Egyptian chariot warrior described in this passage is presumably in Joppa on campaign or garrison duty. In a setting strongly reminiscent of the gardens in Egyptian love poetry, the Egyptian soldier encounters a beautiful young woman who seduces him.133 Apparently the tryst is discovered and he is recalled back to his duties. In The Capture of Joppa, could Tiutnefert (if that is her name) be an Egyptian woman living in Joppa that the ruler of Joppa offers in exchange for a view of the staff of pharaoh? Based on the texts of The Satirical Letter of Hori and the Egyptian songstress in The Report of Wenamun, the answer is probably yes. Finally, how should the reader picture the coup de grâce? Although the relevant passage about Djehuty’s garment is broken, he probably hid the awenet-staff beneath his kilt. Any Ramesside reader would have envisaged Djehuty wearing a long, heart-shaped sporran, part of the standard military uniform of the day;134 the shape of the military kilt and sporran creates an ideal screen for a long staff, exactly as is described in the story. After the ruler of Joppa falls to the ground, he is bound and, before proceeding to the next stage in the Egyptian ruse, the story states: “A piece of copper (made) of four nemset-vessels was placed on his feet.” The size and weight of the manacles is not given in a standard ancient Egyptian measurement, but as a number of metal vessels.135 In a pre-currency economy such as ancient Egypt, metal vessels could function as medium of exchange, and administrative texts do record nemset-vessels of different metals being used in economic transactions.136 The only other example of an object (rather than type of metal) designated as consisting of a certain number of nemset appears in The Contendings of Horus and Seth.137 Outside of

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these two literary examples, the nemset-vase is used as a ritual object— four nemset vessels of Horus and four desheret vessels of Seth are used in the Opening of the Mouth;138 the relationship between nemset and Horus may even express the domination of the ruler of Joppa by the Horus-king Thutmose III.139 SOLDIERS IN BASKETS: THE ART OF DECEPTION Next, one had the 2,4300 baskets, which he had made, brought. He had 200 soldiers descend 2,5into their openings, and everyone filled their embrace with ropes and manacles. They were sealed 2,6with seals. They (the other soldiers) were given their sandals, their 2,7carrying poles, and itlel. And every excellent soldier was set to carry them, a total of 600 men. 2,8 One said to them: “When you enter the city, you should release your 2,9companions; and we will capture all the people who are in the city, and we will place them in fetters 2,10immediately.” One went out to say to the chariot driver of the enemy of Joppa: “So he says, namely your 2,11lord: ‘Go and say to your mistress: ‘Greetings! It is to us that Seth has given Djehuty, his wife and his children! 2,12 Look at the first part of their tribute!’ ” (So should say to her about the 200 baskets, which are filled with people 2,13with manacles and fetters.) Then he left them to report to his mistress, 2,14saying: “We have captured Djehuty!” And then they opened the sealed portals of the city before the soldiers; 3,1 and they entered into the city. [Then they] 3,2released their companions; they captured [the] 3,3city from the children to the elders; they placed them 3,4in fetters and manacles immediately. The valiant strong 3,5arm of pharaoh captured the city.

The central portion of the tale, including Djehuty’s preparation of the baskets, the deceptive message to the mistress of the enemy of Joppa, and the successful capture of the city, can be read on multiple levels (Figure  3.4). Starting with the smallest units within the narrative, one can examine the physical objects used in the story:  the baskets,

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Figure 3.4 BM EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500), Column  2 (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum)

ropes, and manacles in the hands of the Egyptian soldiers. For each of these objects, depictions in Egyptian art can be identified as well as examples of surviving artifacts; the term for basket, tekhbesti, a loan word, and the practicality of carrying a man inside the basket can all be illuminated using contextual evidence. Moving to the next level, the characters involved in this episode, particularly the “mistress,” who is probably the wife of the ruler of Joppa, can be analyzed through comparative Egyptian and Near Eastern evidence; a substantial body of evidence exists for the participation of actual royal women in foreign policy and diplomacy, and the fictional role of the wife of the ruler of Joppa may reflect these historical practices. Finally, two facets of the macro-view of the plot of the narrative are significant: the role of deception in ancient Egyptian warfare and military history in general (a semi-historicist approach) and the literary motif of hiding soldiers within transport containers, which appears first in The Capture of Joppa and continues through classical literature and later medieval works (a genre-based/“fairy-tale” motif approach).

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Props: Baskets, Ropes, and Manacles

Alongside ceramic vessels, baskets are one of the most common objects that would have been found in any ancient Egyptian household.140 Lightweight, durable, and typically inexpensive,141 basketry would have been equally significant for the Egyptian army on campaign. Baskets serve a crucial function within The Capture of Joppa, since they are the key to Djehuty’s plan to capture Joppa. Several hundred baskets142 are manufactured and presented as the “first tribute”143 to the city of Joppa, a token of the supposed Egyptian surrender. Rather than a standard Egyptian word for basket, the containers in The Capture of Joppa are called tekhbesti-baskets, a loan word; like the awenet-staff that Djehuty uses to smite the ruler of Joppa, the foreign city is itself conquered by a foreign object. The Egyptian word tekhbesti is related to a lexeme that appears in several ancient Near Eastern languages, but it is only in ancient Egyptian that the term refers to basketry.144 Outside of The Capture of Joppa, the term tekhbesti appears in only a handful of ancient Egyptian texts, which can employ the word interchangeably with terms that refer to other known types of baskets.145 The occurrence of tekhbesti in The Capture of Joppa provides interesting clues regarding the physical appearance of this type of basket. In The Capture of Joppa, the baskets are large enough to contain a full-grown man, and surviving examples of ancient Egyptian basketry as well as depictions within tomb scenes can help modern readers visualize this portion of the narrative. In the tomb of User at Thebes (TT 131), men from the Western Desert oases present the characteristic tribute of their region: wine and basketry;146 in one damaged scene, a particularly large basket is suspended by a pole carried by two men—the basket stretches from their shoulders to their calves, and if represented accurately would be spacious enough to contain an adult male. Similar baskets appear in agricultural scenes from other Eighteenth Dynasty tombs—these large containers are suspended from carrying poles and appear to be reinforced with leather straps (Figure  3.5).147 Unfortunately, in none of these scenes are the large baskets labeled, and the contents of the baskets are agricultural products. Typically, in New Kingdom tombs the only people carried in baskets are children,148 although in one exceptional First Intermediate Period scene a man is carried in a basket carried by two other men, apparently in lieu of a stretcher.149 Smuggling Egyptian soldiers into Joppa inside baskets makes for a lively fictional plot element, but the materials and technologies existed in the New Kingdom to make it a plausible occurrence for the story’s ancient audience. The equipment the baskets contain does not include offensive weapons, but is specified as “ropes and manacles.” Again, surviving ancient Egyptian

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Figure 3.5 Large baskets from the tomb of Paheri (inking by Julia Hsieh)

objects and depictions allow one to picture the ropes and manacles within the story. Like basketry, ropes were a common item of everyday life, and some large ropes used for nautical purposes have survived to this day.150 In commemorations of victorious battles, ropes are often shown binding the arms of the captured enemies; rather than simply tying a captive’s arms behind his back, the ropes bind the enemy’s limbs so that they resemble the wings of sacrificial birds.151 During the Eighteenth Dynasty, wooden manacles also begin to appear in the pictorial record.152 Plain oval manacles, such as those shown in the Memphite tomb of Horemhab153 and the Libyan scenes at Medinet Habu,154 occur alongside decorated manacles in the shape of lions (compare Figure 4.3).155 Such lion-shaped manacles relate to the same concept of pharaonic power as Djehuty’s use of “raging lion” to describe Thutmose III in his speech to the enemy of Joppa.

Foreign Women and the “Mistress” of Joppa

From the physical world of the “props” within the story, one can move next to the characterization of the actors, particularly the newly introduced “mistress” of Joppa. The link between Djehuty and the “mistress” of Joppa is a chariot driver (kedjen) who serves as messenger, and “the kedjen appears to have been originally the personal ‘driver’ of a very important official.”156 The chariot driver is told to relay to “your mistress” that the

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baskets are physical evidence of the Egyptian surrender. The repetition of the description of the deception—soldiers hiding within the baskets with manacles and ropes—is most likely a parenthetical statement, reminding the audience of the ruse.157 Less likely, the chariot-driver from Joppa is an agent of the Egyptians, who knowingly betrays his ruler and city.158 In addition to perpetrating the ruse that leads to the defeat of Joppa, the chariot driver is also told to credit the supposed defeat of Djehuty to an Egyptian divinity: “ ‘Greetings! It is to us that Seth has given Djehuty, his wife and his children!” This seemingly simple statement betrays the fundamental paradox of the god Seth: he is the god of foreigners, but remains a divine force that works to uphold maat and thus Egyptian dominance over those same foreigners.159 For the citizens of Joppa, the Egyptian god Seth was a manifestation of their own storm-god Baal; Seth is thus the perfect “double agent”—he is integrated into the foreign pantheon, but remains loyal to his Egyptian roots. Seth possessed a similar duality in his interaction with the divine: he is the murderer of Osiris, but at the prow of the solar bark Seth uses his chaotic powers to defeat Apep. The “mistress” is not named or otherwise specified, but she has the power to open the gates of Joppa to receive the false Egyptian tribute. The authority granted to the mistress after the ill-advised and comedic actions of the ruler of Joppa indicates that she is the wife of that ruler. The mistress plays a crucial role within the plot, for it is she who accepts Djehuty’s ruse and causes the downfall of her city. Her actions are certainly no more foolish than those of her husband, who is duped by a much simpler trick, and most notable is the assumption that a wife rather than a son would command Joppa’s forces during her husband’s absence, since in Canaanite society, one would expect the son or brother of the ruler to lead if the ruler were incapacitated or killed.160 If one assumes that the role of the mistress in The Capture of Joppa is based in part on historical fact, the absence of a male heir may be due to a well-attested Egyptian policy of hostage princes161 that appears already in the Annals of Thutmose III:162 Now the children of the rulers and their brothers were brought in order to be hostages in Egypt. Now if any one died among the rulers, then his Majesty would have his son appointed to his throne.

Was this particular woman an unusual political force in ancient Joppa, or was this a typical power-sharing arrangement in the ruling family of Joppa? No archaeological or textual sources exist to confirm the existence of either the “enemy of Joppa” or his wife, but intriguing tomb depictions

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such as the Syrian merchant and his wife in the tomb of Nebamun (TT 17)  provide a possible way of envisaging the “mistress” of Joppa in the tale.163 Notably, the records of the Megiddo campaign of Thutmose III highlight the capture of the wives of the foreign rulers, and these same women may be mentioned in the fictional version of that battle in Thutmose III in Asia.164 The identity of the wife of the ruler of Joppa or her possible historical template remains unknown, since the complete lack of evidence from Joppa itself or nearby city-states excludes any possibilities for historicist analysis; instead, one must explore the ancient Egyptian evidence for women (both foreign and Egyptian) in international relations, for which a surprisingly wide range of textual and pictorial sources survives.165 In one of the earliest Egyptian depictions of battle, the Sixth Dynasty tomb of Inti from Deshasheh,166 Asiatic women play a role in the defense of the walled town and appear to be acting more courageously than their male counterparts: while the male soldiers break their bows, the women pull arrows from the men’s bodies.167 A  textual example of the topos of brave foreign women may also appear within the Second Kamose Stela; as Kamose and the Egyptian fleet sails up to the battlements, the pharaoh describes the scene:168 I glimpsed his women at the top of the palace, looking out of their windows toward the river’s edge, petrified when they saw me, looking from the barricades thereof upon the wall, like the young of birds(?) within their nests . . .

Although the women of Apepi’s palace were probably not manning the fortifications of Avaris,169 Kamose remarks upon the Hyksos women, but not any male soldiers on guard duty. Even without granting the women a military role in the siege, the Second Stela of Kamose suggests that the foreign women are at least brave enough to look out upon Kamose’s rapidly approaching force, whatever fear they might feel in doing so. These earlier parallels suggest that the mistress of Joppa in The Capture of Joppa may be another example of a foreign woman acting bravely, or at least with more courage than her male counterpart.170 Outside of direct conflict and its results, foreign and Egyptian women also participated in diplomatic exchanges.171 Extant letters exchanged between Egypt and foreign courts indicate that women could write (or commission the writing of) letters and receive communications.172 The queen of Ugarit is the sender of two letters in the Amarna correspondence,173 and one can postulate that images of queens Tiye and Nefertiti trampling and

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smiting foreign women are representative of the increasing role of royal women in international politics.174 The active role of the “mistress” of Joppa may thus not be simply a humorous element, but one that relates to the realities of the political world of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Dynasties. One need not assume that the author of The Capture of Joppa was aware of correspondence written to and from queens in the Amarna Letters, since royal women continued to play a role in diplomatic communications during the Ramesside Period. Of particular note is the Hittite queen Puduhepa, who wielded considerable political authority alongside her husband Hattusili and later her son Tudhaliya, and was an active correspondent with Ramesses II.175 It is Puduhepa who arranged the details of the marriage between Ramesses II and her daughter, and the Egyptian pharaoh wrote letters directly to the Hittite queen with the same terms of respect used for the king Hattusili. The decision-making role of the “mistress” of Joppa thus finds a real-world parallel in the actions of Puduhepa, although whether the author of The Capture of Joppa had in mind any particular historical or living individual must remain speculation.

An Ancient Egyptian “Trojan Horse”: Military Strategem in The Capture of Joppa

Moving from specific objects and characterization within The Capture of Joppa to a consideration of the role of trickery within ancient Egyptian military thought, one may analyze parallel uses of the motif of “soldiers being hidden in transport vessels.” These two macro-perspectives on the The Capture of Joppa transcend any purely historicist or folk-tale readings of the narrative and demonstrate the significance of the Egyptian tale for other fields of study. The central plot element of The Capture of Joppa— the clever deception that delivers the city of Joppa into Egyptian hands— should take its place as one of the first attested ruses in military history, an achievment of ancient Egypt whether the event in The Capture of Joppa is entirely fictional or based in part on a real strategem. Classical authors wrote extensively about the use of deception, ruses, and trickery in war,176 but for Egypt, no similar handbooks exist. Indeed, the only clearly attested examples of military trickery from pharaonic Egypt are perpetrated by the enemy. The Egyptian exploitation of such strategems in The Capture of Joppa suggests that deceptive measures were a part of the ancient Egyptian military repertoire, even if not deemed appropriate for monumental royal inscriptions. While physically possible, Djehuty’s creative use of basketry is probably fictional, even if the siege of Joppa was an actual historical

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event. The significance of the ruse lies, however, outside of the realm of fact or fiction—the use of deception in warfare by the Egyptian general in The Capture of Joppa offers unique insight into the Egyptian perception of military trickery. The actions of Djehuty in The Capture of Joppa can be compared to Thutmose III’s exploitation of the Aruna Pass at the Battle of Megiddo.177 Although Thutmose III’s decision to attack Megiddo from the least likely point of entry is not a classic “ruse,” but rather a strategy of maneuver, sending the Egyptian army and infantry over the pass did exploit the element of surprise. Thutmose III did not announce the time and location of the battle against the coalition of forces at Megiddo, but tried to deceive the enemy forces defending the two easiest points of access to the city. The surviving Egyptian records do not mention the use of a ruse during the seven-month siege; overall, the military records of Thutmose III indicate the clever use of strategy, but not a specific deployment of strategem.178 One of the few examples of military trickery preserved within an ancient Egyptian text occurred at the Battle of Kadesh in Ramesses II’s fifth regnal year—the Bulletin records a successful enemy ruse and a rare admission of a pharaoh’s misjudgement on a campaign.179 En route to the city of Kadesh, Ramesses II’s army was met by two Shasu-bedouin, who intentionally misinformed the Egyptians about the location of Muwatallis’s force, claiming it was north of Tunip. These two men were in fact Hittite spies and, as the Egyptians soon learned, Muwatallis was using the city of Kadesh and its surrounding topography to conceal his infantry and chariotry. After Ramesses and the vanguard of the Egyptian army set up their camp, Egyptian scouts captured two Hittite soldiers who admitted under duress that Muwatallis was at Kadesh. Ramesses then called together his commanders, informing them of the new development and blaming an overall failure in the Egyptian intelligence-gathering network; simultaneously, the Hittite forces ambushed the Egyptian division of Pre marching along the road to Kadesh. The Egyptian texts suggest that the battle was a tactical victory for the Egyptians, but the Hittite ruse accomplished its goal of drawing the Egyptian army into an ambush. The treatment of strategem in the Kadesh Bulletin is notable for three reasons: (1) the very fact that the Egyptians describe the successful deception of Ramesses II, (2)  that the Egyptians had established an intelligence system that was supposed to detect such ruses, and (3) that Ramesses II blamed his intelligence network rather than the deceitfulness of the Hittites who perpetrated the strategem. Foreign vassals, Egyptian administrators, and military scouts/spies were all used in Egypt’s northeastern empire to gather intelligence and specifically to combat military debacles such as the Hittite ambush at Kadesh.

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If the Egyptians committed resources to defend against trickery, then one can assume that the Egyptians employed such strategems in their offensive maneuvers as well. Djehuty’s ruse at Joppa provides support for such an assumption and offers a new perspective on Egyptian military thought. While a prearranged battle may have been the ideal situation,180 enabling a single decisive clash rather than a campaign of attrition, this was not the only option available to an Egyptian general. Djehuty’s “gift” of baskets cannot help but remind the modern reader of Odysseus’s wooden horse.181 The similarities between The Capture of Joppa and the Greek Trojan Horse episode (known primarily through Virgil’s Aeneid182) lie in the practical military function of the ruse. In each case, “gifts” hide soldiers who are unwittingly admitted within the gates of a besieged city, enabling a rapid defeat of the unprepared citizens. Hiding within baskets also possesses strong fairy-tale overtones, as has long been recognized in summaries of The Capture of Joppa,183 but the frequency of the motif goes beyond the two most common comparisons with the Trojan Horse and “Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves.” In fact, the closest literary parallel to the Egyptian story appears in one section of the Persian epic Shah Namah. Hakim Abol Qasem Ferdowsi Tousi wrote this monumental collection of stories about Persia’s kings (and three queens) in the early eleventh century CE, but his sources are obscure.184 In one portion of the epic, the Zoroastrian hero Asfandiyár besieges the impregnable fortress of the pagan Arjasp; striking similarities exist in the plots of both The Capture of Joppa and this section of the Shah Namah. Since this parallel has not previously been emphasized in Egyptological literature, a quotation of the relevant passages provides a specific basis of comparison:185 Then Asfandiyár Got on his steed, girt up his warrior-loins In wrath, and mounted on a height to view The hold. He saw a mighty iron rampart Extending over forty leagues by three, . . . Whenas Asfandiyár beheld that wonder He heaved a sigh, and said: “I cannot capture A place like that! I suffer for my sins. Alas for all my fighting and my toil! . . . That warrior said: “We might assail This hold in vain for years unless indeed I take upon me to demean myself, And try a stratagem against the foe. . . .

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I shall approach the hold in merchants’ guise, And none will know me for a paladin. All craft will I employ and con all lore. . . . He called the head-man of the cameleers, Caused him to kneel to Bishútan, and said:— “Bring me a hundred beasts with ruddy hair, Beasts fit to carry burdens, sound and strong.” . . . He brought Forth eighty pairs of chests, whose fastenings Were all concealed from sight, and therewithal Made choice of eight score of his mighty men— Such men as would not make his purpose known— And, having hidden them within the chests, Bound on the baggage and set forth. . . . He donned a dress of beautiful brocade, Sought for an introduction to Arjásp, And at the interview strewed gold, and said:— “May wisdom mate with kings! A merchant I: . . . I have with me a caravan of camels, And deal in stuffs, in clothes, and furniture, In jewels, crowns, and other valuables. I left my goods outside the hold, assured That all are safe with thee. If thou wilt let The cameleers conduct the caravan Within the hold thy fortune will protect me From every ill, and I shall sleep beneath The shadow of thy love.”

Arjasp falls for the ruse, unknowingly invites the “merchant” Asfandiyár into the city with his concealed soldiers, and after a few more plot twists (including Asfandiyár’s sisters being held captive in Arjasp’s palace), Asfandiyár slays Arjasp. The Persian tale mirrors the plot of the ancient Egyptian story: a military leader captures a city through a ruse in which soldiers are hidden within containers; rather than offering to surrender like Djehuty, Asfandiyár disguises himself as a merchant, but the literary motif, as well as the victorious result, is the same. Two medieval stories also feature “hiding within transport containers,” although in both of these examples, the strategem is discovered and fails to achieve its goal. According to Byzantine chronicles, a ruse nearly identical to Asfandiyár’s occurred in the year 1038 CE.186 A group of Arab chiefs attempted to capture Edessa from the Byzantine commander Varasvatzes, and so they loaded five hundred

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camels with precious gifts and large baskets; hidden within the baskets were armed men. Already wary, Varasvatzes did not open the city gates, and the ruse was exposed when a “poor Armenian” from Edessa visited the Arab camp and discovered that the baskets indeed concealed warriors. Finally, one can turn to the most oft-cited parallel to The Capture of Joppa other than the Trojan Horse, the story “Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves” from the collection 1001 Arabian Nights. Unlike the Egyptian soldiers in baskets and the Greeks in the Trojan Horse, the thieves who hide within the ceramic vessels in “Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves” meet a much darker end, being killed with boiling oil; their fate thus parallels the Arab soldiers attempting to capture the city of Edessa in the Byzantine chronicles. The story that describes Ali Baba and his adventures with the cave of treasures, although one of the best-known from the 1001 Arabian Nights within the western world (particularly through the catchy phrase “Open, sesame!”), does not appear in any known Arabic source, and some scholars have suggested that the story was added to the compilation 1001 Arabian Nights by early European translators.187 The thieves who hide within the large oil jars in the courtyard of Ali Baba’s home provide an entirely ahistorical version of the “soldiers hiding in transport containers” motif.188 The story in 1001 Arabian Nights does not include armies or a besieged city, but rather a conflict between a merchant and a band of robbers over a treasure cave. “Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves” demonstrates the folk-tale application of earlier historical episodes of military trickery immortalized in literature.189 Examples of the motif of “armed men hiding in transport containers” include successes as well as failures. In the Persian Shah Namah, as in The Capture of Joppa, the tactic succeeds, as does the Trojan Horse. The thieves in “Ali Baba” are discovered and die a painful death, while the Arabs who attempted to infiltrate Edessa are killed before they can capture the city. The Capture of Joppa differs from all of these later tales, however, in that no blood is spilled when the city is captured—or at least no deaths are mentioned. Once inside the city, the Egyptian soldiers who carried the baskets open the seals, releasing their comrades, and together they capture the entire population of Joppa, “from the children to the elders.”

DJEHUTY CONGRATULATES PHARAOH 3,6

Djehuty spent the night, writing (a letter) to Egypt, to saying: “May your heart 3,8be pleased!

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3,7

the king Menkheperre, l.p.h., his lord,

Amun, your good father, has given to you the enemy of 3,9Joppa, together with all of its people, and his city 3,10likewise. Send people in order to take them 3,11as plunder. so that you might fill the domain of your father Amun-Re king of the gods, 3,12 with male and female servants. They have fallen beneath your feet 3,13forever and ever!” It has come well (to its conclusion) by the ka-spirit of 3,14the scribe excellent of his fingers, the military scribe [ . . . ]

After the successful capture of Joppa and the imprisonment of its inhabitants, Djehuty dutifully “spends the night” writing a letter to Thutmose III (Figure 3.6). The story suggests that Djehuty personally composed the missive rather than assigning the task to a lower-ranking scribe. Literacy is entirely in keeping with Djehuty’s leadership role in the story and fits perfectly with the man believed to be the historical template for Djehuty.

Figure 3.6 BM EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500), Column  3 (courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum)

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Seven objects from Djehuty’s tomb at Saqqara—including two writing palettes—contain the title “scribe” or “royal scribe.”190 As with the significance of scribes in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, writing in The Capture of Joppa is an important and prestigious activity, entirely in keeping with the New Kingdom genre of scribal propoganda (see above, pp. 38–39). Djehuty’s letter encapsulates the theology of warfare in New Kingdom Egypt:  Amun-Re is responsible for placing the enemy, his city, and its inhabitants under the suzerainty of the pharaoh. Although the story itself recognizes Djehuty’s agency, the Egyptian general does not mention his own role in the letter to Thutmose III. One can also note that the results of the conflict in The Capture of Joppa are identical to the conclusions of historically attested military campaigns. Divinely sanctioned warfare, which succeeds through divine assistance, concludes with the formal offering of foreign prisoners and plunder to the temples.191 In his letter, Djehuty requests that additional forces be sent from Egypt to Joppa to escort all of the captives back to Egypt, where they will become servants in the temple estates. Textual and pictorial evidence confirms that after actual military campaigns prisoners of war were sent to Egypt to serve in the vast workshops of the Egyptian temple economy.192 The emphasis on plunder, and the often extensive lists of captured people and goods included in Egyptian military texts, finds a corollary in the tituli of the Roman triumph, which did not label or identify the Roman army within the parade, but gave details about the enemy.193 Although The Capture of Joppa ends with the conclusion of Djehuty’s letter, the final event in the narrative assumes that a messenger will carry the missive from Joppa to Thutmose III in Egypt. The author of The Capture of Joppa indicates that such communication would be written rather than verbal—rather than summon a messenger to deliver an oral report to Thutmose III, Djehuty himself composes a letter. A  similar assumption is made in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre—Apepi writes a letter to Seqenenre, and a messenger is present to answer questions about the content of the message. These fictional situations find abundant parallels in actual Egyptian practice.194 Within the Amarna Letters, several documents mention the role of messengers who both carry the texts and spend time within foreign courts, discussing the content of the letters with rulers and local officials.195 Even more relevant to the audience of The Capture of Joppa is the Kadesh Battle Poem, which describes the conclusion of the second day of battle thus:196 Then the wretched ruler of Hatti sent (a message) and gave homage to my name, and likewise (to that of) Re:

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“You are Seth-Baal in the flesh! Terror of you is like a flame in the land of Hatti.” Then he (scil. the ruler of Hatti) had a messenger come, bearing a letter written in his own hand, with the great name of my Majesty.. .

The Kadesh Battle Poem then reproduces the content of the letter from the Hittite ruler, filled with praise of Ramesses II and the might of the Egyptian army, asking the Egyptian pharaoh to accept Muwatallis’ surrender. Although the contents of the letter are most likely not based on an actual communication from Muwatallis, the possibility should be considered that formal hostilities at Kadesh did end with a piece of written correspondence. The written communication between the Hittites and the Egyptians later continued into peace negotiations and Ramesses’ marriage to two Hittite princesses.197 The last line of The Capture of Joppa, the conclusion of Djehuty’s letter to Thutmose III, trumpets the Egyptian topos of victory:  foreign lands fall beneath the feet of pharaoh. If the story had continued, it could have described Thutmose III reading the letter. Any pharaoh within a palace or on a campaign would be surrounded by images of Egyptian victory—the king may thus have read the letter whileseated on a throne decorated with images of himself as a sphinx trampling enemies, as his feet rested on a stool decorated with bound foreigners, and even the soles of his sandals displayed similar motifs. The domination of foreign lands in Egyptian iconography, particularly in the adornment of any object or building with which the king interacted, was ubiquitous. At its core, The Capture of Joppa reinforces the Egyptian view of their own divinely sanctioned military superiority, but does so through an unusual means: a non-royal hero who enacts a clever and entertaining ruse. Although Djehuty reinforces pharaonic hegemony in the northeastern empire, one can also read his actions as a transgression of the boundaries of decorum. The means by which Djehuty accomplishes his victory are the opposite of normative pharaonic behavior:  the public smiting scene of the king is replaced with Djehuty’s concealed action, and the absence of Egyptian trickery in the royal military record is turned on its head with Djehuty’s basket strategem. In the annals of military history and the tradition of folk tales, The Capture of Joppa should take its rightful place as one of the first recorded military ruses and the first attestation of the motif of concealing men within transport containers to gain access to an otherwise sealed location.

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C H A PT E R 4

Thutmose III in Asia

F

rom the consolidation of Egypt’s northeastern border during the reigns of Ahmose and Amunhotep I  to the far-flung imperial vision of Thutmose I and Thutmose III to the permanent garrisons and foreign service administration of the Amarna Period, Eighteenth Dynasty foreign policy is far from monolithic.1 The northeastern-oriented foreign policies of the early Nineteenth Dynasty displayed an uptick in permanent installations, as Egypt consolidated control over Palestine as a base from which to combat the threats from the Hittites;2 by the Twentieth Dynasty, sweeping changes in the eastern Mediterranean forced Egypt into a more defensive strategy.3 An Egyptian who lived during the Twentieth Dynasty, like the modern historian, could look back upon the time from the expulsion of the Hyksos until his own day and see two periods during which Egyptian prestige and dominion in the northeastern empire was at their highest point: the reign of Thutmose III and the reign of Ramesses II. The tale Thutmose III in Asia uses the genre of historical fiction to subtly link these two golden ages of Egyptian imperial ambitions. The very existence of this fictional narrative suggests an interest in historiography, and the translation and commentary presented below marshals new evidence for the specific historical allusions within Thutmose III in Asia. Long relegated to a footnote in Ramesside literature, the tale can now take its rightful place as a key work of Egyptian historical fiction. A military campaign in Asia, the pharaoh Thutmose III, and an Egyptian official who makes loyalistic speeches are the predominant features of the story, but not enough survives in the single extant copy to reconstruct the actual narrative. The Capture of Joppa and Thutmose III in Asia both describe successful Egyptian military campaigns in Syria-Palestine during the reign

of Thutmose III. In The Capture of Joppa, the pharaoh remains in Egypt and the army is led by the general Djehuty; as discussed above, the siege of Joppa may have been based on an actual event, and the royal annals allude to records of non-royal campaigns. In Thutmose III in Asia, Thutmose III is physically present for the battle. The exact position of the other main character, Paser, son of Taatja, is unknown, since the story does not include his title and no other ancient Egyptian documents attest to his existence. Much of the best-preserved portion of the text contains a dialogue between Paser and Thutmose III; Paser exhorts the king to be firm, emphasizing the presence of Amun-Re to support the pharaoh in battle. Then the king responds by proclaiming his joy and success, likening his actions to Montu, the Egyptian chariot horses become Seth, and Amun sends forth a divine wind, destroying the enemy. With such powerful aid from the divine world, Thutmose III overcomes his foe—although the end of the story is lost, enough survives to indicate that the details of the battle itself did not figure in the plot. The only toponym in the text is Kharu, a general designation for Syria, in a reference to “the donkey of the ruler of Kharu.”4 The single well-preserved column of Thutmose III in Asia and the snippets of text from additional columns possess significant intertextualities with texts from the reign of Thutmose III, The Capture of Joppa, and the Kadesh Battle Poem. Although the extant text of Thutmose III in Asia does not preserve a description of a campaign strategy or battle, four passages within the tale suggest that the main event of the narrative is based on the Battle of Megiddo.5 One small, unplaced fragment contains the number seven followed by the word for days, and the restored passage may be “seven [months] and [x] days,” which coincides with the length of the siege of Megiddo given in the Gebel Barkal Stela (Figure 4.1). The second connection between Thutmose III in Asia and the Battle of Megiddo appears at the end of column x+1, which describes a “darkness” before the face of the king; the Karnak Annals indicate that the new moon feast occurred the night before the main clash between the Egyptian and Syro-Palestinian forces at Megiddo. At the end of the extant text of Thutmose III in Asia, the story includes a “female donkey of the ruler of Kharu” and mentions “women” in a damaged line; while the uncertainty of the context in both cases makes firm identification impossible, the aftermath of the Battle of Megiddo includes chiefs riding on donkeys (after Thutmose III seizes their chariots) and emphasizes the capture of the wives of the enemy chiefs.6 Taken individually, none of these passages prove that Thutmose III in Asia is set during the Battle of Megiddo; as a group, however, the specific and repeated inclusion of details otherwise found only in Thutmose III’s first campaign provides a strong argument for the story’s historical template.

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The parallelism between Thutmose III in Asia and two texts from the reign of Ramesses II is more overt. The fragmentary introduction of Thutmose III in Asia includes two passages that also appear in the introduction of The Capture of Joppa: column x+1, line 6 mentions “grass] for the mouth(s) of my chariot [horses]” and in line 9 of the same column the Apiru appear. In both Thutmose III in Asia and The Capture of Joppa, these details appear to be an intentional means of creating historical authenticity, putting the ancient audience into the military realities of the epic campaigns of Thutmose III.7 The longest quotations of another text found in any of the works of New Kingdom historical fiction are the passages from the Kadesh Battle Poem that appear in Thutmose III in Asia (see below, pp. 111–112). Part of the speech Ramesses II makes to Amun from the midst of the Hittite chariotry is placed in the mouth of Thutmose III, providing insight into the sources and possible intentions of the ancient author.

PAPYRUS TURIN 1940+1941: AN INTRODUCTION

The sole textual witness for Thutmose III in Asia is a series of papyrus fragments in the Museo Egizio, Turin (inventory number 1940+1941); their exact provenance is unknown, but Deir el-Medina or Medinet Habu is the most likely find-spot.8 Portions of only three columns are preserved, and, of these, column x+2 contains the best-preserved portion of the text (Figure 4.1).9 Three additional fragments have not been assigned to any column, but the few hieratic signs on these small pieces provide important information. The hieratic text is written primarily in black ink, with red ink used for one rubric and several individual words;10 red ink is also utilized for the “verse points,” supralinear dots

Figure 4.1 Papyrus Turin 1940–1941 (courtesy of the Fondazione Museo delle Antichità Egizie di Torino)

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used to mark small segments of texts, a feature commonly found in New Kingdom literary manuscripts.11 The text was described first in 1824 in Champollion’s Lettres à M.  le duc de Blacas d’Aulp,12 and the editio princeps of Papyrus Turin 1940-1941 appeared in a 1922 publication by Giuseppe Botti.13 Scholars rapidly accepted his basic description of the papyrus as “resembling the ‘Poem of Pentaur’ but in honour of Tuthmosis III.”14 Thutmose III in Asia was not included in Gardiner’s edition of Late Egyptian Stories and does not appear within standard compilations of New Kingdom Egyptian literature. Since the appearance of the first edition of the papyrus, Thutmose III in Asia has been most frequently mentioned for the parallel with the Kadesh Battle Poem.15 In addition, a handful of translations16 and an analysis of the poetic structure of Paser and Thutmose III’s speeches within the context of pharaonic encomia17 represent the main scholarly examination of the story Thutmose III in Asia.18 The copy of Thutmose III in Asia in Papyrus Turin 1940+1941 has been traditionally dated to the Twentieth Dynasty. The internal evidence, such as the quotation from the Kadesh Battle Poem, provides a terminus post quem, but the sum of paleographic and grammatical features do not allow one to assign the papyrus to a specific reign, although a Nineteenth Dynasty date should be considered likely.19 The literary hand fits well within the paleographic continuum that begins with the Kadesh Battle Poem of Pentaweret (Papyrus Sallier III) dated to the reign of Merneptah,20 continues through the group of literary texts and Late Egyptian Miscellanies dated to the reign of Seti II,21 and ends with the lengthy Papyrus Harris I, dated to the reign of Ramesses IV. The jotting on the verso, in a different hand, includes the cartouche of Ramesses II, but that cartouche is most likely part of a title of an individual in the service of his mortuary temple, and the paleography and ductus of the jotting fits a Twentieth Dynasty administrative hand.22

A FRAGMENTARY BEGINNING

The three unplaced fragments that belong to Papyrus Turin 1940+1941, as well as the preserved text at the ends of the lines in column x+1, preserve a significant parallel with the war records of Thutmose III and two fragmentary passages that relate to the content of The Capture of Joppa. Fragments 1 and 3 have hieratic text on the verso as well, which also appears to belong to the story Thutmose III in Asia; most likely, the verso text followed column x+3 (or additional columns), so the translation of that text appears at the end of the text (p. 190–191).

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Fragment 1, Recto 1

[ . . . ] Menkheper[re] [ . . . ] [ . . . ] Menkheperre° [ . . . ] 3 [ . . . ] we go [ . . . ] 2

4

[ . . . ] terror(?) of my [ . . . ] [ . . . gra]ss(?).°The speech [ . . . ] 6 [ . . . ] how is it? [ . . . ] 7 [ . . . ] he [ . . . ] the [ . . . ] 5

Fragment 2, Recto [ . . . ] petitions, char[iotry(?) . . . ]

1 2

[ . . . ] 7 [months] [and x] days [ . . . ]

Fragment 3, Recto [ . . . ] Menkheper[re] [ . . . ]

1 2

[ . . . ] with their [ . . . ]

Column x+1, lines 1-10 [ . . . ] your he[art], my [ . . . ]

1 2

[ . . . ] come(?) to me!” Then he heard the [ . . . ] [ . . . ] that which they said to me was good [ . . . ] 4 [ . . . ] response, and I [ . . . ] 5 [ . . . ] his face, °and I shall make [ . . . ] 6 [ . . . grass] for the mouth(s) of my chariot [horses] 3

7

[ . . . ] taking up weapons.° [ . . . Paser, son of Ta]atja. °And I 9 [ . . . ] Apiru. °Then [ . . . ] 10 [ . . . the enemies(?)] whom you smote by means of 1,900° 11[chariots(?)] 8

The narrative Thutmose III in Asia unfolds within a military framework, but much of the preserved tale consists of statements relating the king and his martial exploits to the realm of the divine. The most commonly occurring word within these fragments is the prenomen of Thutmose III, Menkheperre (literally “Enduring is the manifestation of Re”). No sequence of events can be reconstructed from these small fragments, but important observations can still be made. Fragment 1 mentions the king twice, and the verb “to go” in line 3 can be used to describe an army being commanded to march.23 The rest of fragment 1 may mention fodder for chariot horses (cf. column x+2, line 6) and contains some direct dialogue, as indicated by the interrogative sentence in line 6. Possibly, this fragment was part of an introductory section describing Thutmose III marshalling his troops for the campaign to Syria-Palestine.

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Fragment 2 contains only a few words. The “petitions” in the first line may refer to Thutmose III petitioning the gods for victory or granting the petitions of his army. The two preserved words on the second line are the number seven followed by the word “days.”24 A partially restored reading “seven months and x days” or “seventh months of days (i.e. seven full months)25 finds a significant potential parallel in a historical text from the reign of Thutmose III—according to the Gebel Barkal Stela, the Egyptian siege of Megiddo lasted for seven months.26 The number seven possesses a magical significance in ancient Egyptian religious texts and rituals,27 but no evidence contradicts the underlying historical reality of the length of the siege. The probable use of the siege in the story Thutmose III in Asia provides an astonishing use of recorded historical details within a fictional context. Nearly every line in column x+1 includes a first-person suffix pronoun, but the text does not preserve the name of the speaker. In the first line, a second-person plural pronoun in the phrase “your hearts” indicates that a group is being addressed; the occurrence of the phrase “taking up weapons” in line 7 and the overall milieu of Thutmose III in Asia suggest that the hearts belong to the Egyptian army. The definitive action mentioned in line 5 and the reference to Paser, son of Taatja, in line 8 (only the mother’s name is preserved) further suggest that Thutmose III is conversing with the official Paser in column x+1, as the king does in column x+2. The fragmentary column x+1 also provides two phrases that are intertextually significant within the corpus of historical fiction. Line 6 contains the end of a word determined with ) and the phrase “for the mouth of my chariot [horses],” which a plant ( parallels the concern with feeding chariot teams in The Capture of Joppa: Have the gr[1,5ooms bring in the chariots, and have them] given fodder. or else one of the Apiru should pass by 1,6[and steal(?)”] And the chariot horses were taken and given fodder.

As in The Capture of Joppa, the provisioning of the chariot teams in Thutmose III in Asia coincides with a mention of the Apiru (column x+1, line 9). Perhaps in this section of Thutmose III in Asia, Paser or Thutmose III himself28 issues a command like that of Djehuty in The Capture of Joppa. As noted above (pp. 80–81), the Apiru appear in a fragmentary passage from the Karnak Annals of Thutmose III, so these elusive people may lend an aura of authenticity to the historical setting of Thutmose III in Asia; the Apiru continued to appear in historical records of the late Eighteenth and early Nineteenth Dynasties, so their inclusion in the stories The Capture of Joppa and Thutmose III in Asia may have also alluded to events contemporaneous with the composition of the tales.

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Finally, one should note that Thutmose III in Asia refers to 1,900 of some part of the Egyptian military that smites the enemy; based on a parallel with the Kadesh Battle texts, the word “chariot” should most likely be restored at the end of col. x+1, ln. 10.29 At the Battle of Megiddo, the Egyptians captured 924 enemy chariots;30 the number of Egyptian chariots is not specified, but estimates that Thutmose III led approximately 2,000 chariots in battle31 accord well with the number 1,900 in Thutmose III in Asia.

DARKNESS, FOWLERS, AND PASER’S SPEECH x+1, 11

[ . . . ] Darkness fell x+2, 1before me.° [I] found [him li]ke a bird, pinioned °in the grasp of a fowler, he (the bird) being unable to hide himself.° Now after a 2long while, Paser, son of Taatja responded:° “Allow me to speak, °and thus you will make your heart firm, o King Menkheperre 1.p.h° 3 Look, Amun-Re, king of the gods, your good father,° has come to you, so that he might do for you all things that are in your heart.°”

The first fully preserved sentence in Thutmose III in Asia is the statement “Darkness fell before me,” followed by an allusive metaphor concerning a successful fowler. Seemingly obscure and without specific historical reference, these statements may actually describe the night before the Battle of Megiddo. After Thutmose III issued his command for the daring march over the Aruna Pass, the Egyptian army camped at the Qina Brook. The date of the first day of formal conflict is stated in the Karnak Annals as “Regnal year 23, first month of Shomu, day 21—the exact day of the new-moon feast.”32 The night before the Battle of Megiddo was a new moon, a notable occurrence for an ancient army. The “darkness” in Thutmose III in Asia may thus not be simply a routine description of night-time, but a reference to the complete blackness of a night with a new moon; on this night, Thutmose III finds the enemy leader “like a bird pinioned in the grasp of a fowler,” an apt description of the discomfited forces defending Megiddo after the surprise descent of the Egyptian army from the Aruna Pass. Exposed on the plain of Armageddon, the enemy would also be “unable to hide himself” from Thutmose III’s onslaught. As well as possibly describing the disposition of opposing forces at the Battle of Megiddo, the avian metaphor possesses rich allusions within Egyptian texts and iconography. Birds are not necessarily symbols of foreignness in ancient Egypt, since the lapwing can phonetically

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and iconographically represent the people of Egypt.33 In the context of Thutmose III in Asia, the bird symbolizes a foreign enemy.34 Throughout New Kingdom military inscriptions, foreigners are likened to small birds, into whose flock the royal falcon swoops.35 Texts of Ramesses II can determine the word “small birds” with a person,36 a clever use of an additional classifier to signal metaphorical meaning.37 A striking visual parallel appears in a war relief of Ramesses II in which small birds fly away from a conquered citadel.38 In the Turin papyrus, the large, elegantly rendered wing determinative visually draws the reader to the verb “to pinion,”39 an action that describes the often tortuously bound war captives whose immobilized arms mimic the broken wings of sacrificial birds (Figure  4.2).40 In one of the Late Egyptian Miscellanies, the king is praised thus:41 Your chariot is laden with hands, the chiefs pinioned before you.42

Military texts from the New Kingdom, particularly the reign of Ramesses III, provide numerous parallel passages in which enemies from throughout the known world are pinioned through pharaoh’s might.43 In contrast to

Figure 4.2 Bound and manacled Peleset from the mortuary temple of Ramesses III (Photograph by Marc LeBlanc)

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the pinioned wings of the enemy, the king as a falcon spreads out his wings over the two lands, protecting Egypt.44 After the tantalizing reference to a pinioned bird, the story begins a new section, set off with red ink and the introductory statement “Now after a long while . . . ” Then the text introduces a man named Paser, son of Taatja, who addresses the pharaoh Thutmose III. No titles accompany Paser’s name, and he is not otherwise known in the historical record, but the lack of archaeological evidence for Paser is not surprising. A historical personage named Paser, like the template for Djehuty in The Capture of Joppa, may have been buried at the Memphite necropolis, where many mid-Eighteenth Dynasty officials constructed their tombs;45 the Memphite necropolis is archaeologically much less well known than the comparable Theban necropolis,46 and Paser’s tomb may yet await discovery beneath the sands of Saqqara. Paser is identified as the son of a woman named Taatja, a rare use of matrilineal filiation. One of the best known parallels is the early Eighteenth Dynasty admiral Ahmose, who refers to himself as “son of Ibana,” using his mother’s name; Ahmose’s autobiographical text describes how he followed his father Baba into a military career—and, again, Baba is specified as the son of his mother, Rainet.47 Paser’s mother has an unusual name that literally means “the woman belonging to (TA) the great one (aA.t) of Ja (iA).” Based on similar name formations,48 the element Ja should designate a divinity, and the Canaanite god El can be written as “Ja” in other ancient Egyptian texts.49 Whatever the precise origin of the name of Paser’s mother, she was most likely a foreigner. Archaeological and textual evidence indicates that Eighteenth Dynasty pharaohs did not shy away from appointing non-Egyptians to even the highest positions within the bureaucracy— adherence to maat (encompassing all aspects of Egyptian morality) was more important than place of birth. For example, three viziers who served during Thutmose III’s reign, Aamethu, Useramun, and Rekhmire, were all members of a single family,50 and the name of its patriarch, Aamethu, is of non-Egyptian origin.51 In the story Thutmose III in Asia, Paser speaks in a straightforward way to his sovereign, exhorting him to remain firm. Although the interaction between Paser and Thutmose III is suggestive of the conversation of Ramesses II with his shield-bearer Menna in the heat of battle, the content of the non-royal messages are opposite to one another: Paser: “Allow me to speak, and thus you will make your heart firm, o King Menkheperre, Look, Amun-Re, king of the gods, your good father, has come to you, so that he might do for you all things that are in your heart.”

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Menna:52 Then he said to his Majesty, “O my good lord, the victorious ruler, great protector of Egypt on the day of fighting. We are standing alone in the midst of the enemy. Look, the army and chariotry have abandoned us. What cause would you have to act to save them? Let us be free (of this problem)—please save us, o Usermaatre.”

Following Menna’s statement, Ramesses II exclaims, “Make yourself firm! Make your heart firm, o my shieldbearer,”53 words echoed in Paser’s own speech to Thutmose III. The complex intertextual relationship between the Kadesh Battle Poem and the speech of Paser in Thutmose III in Asia suggests a possible inversion of the role of king and official and thus a crossing of the boundaries of decorum. The heartening speech of an official, implying a less than omnipotent pharaoh, here signals a note of alterity.54 The slight discordance does not extend into a fully formed parody of a king, such as that of Khufu in Khufu and the Magicians,55 and since Paser’s speech in Thutmose III in Asia lacks most of its original context, the precise function of these possibly subversive lines must remain uncertain. Viewed from another perspective, however, the underlying theme of both the Kadesh Battle Poem and Thutmose III in Asia lie in the role of a king as mediator between the human world and the world of the gods. All New Kingdom royal military inscriptions have aspects of divine intervention in various stages of combat56—from the granting of the khepesh sword57 to the presenting of prisoners and plunder in the temple.58 The Kadesh Battle Poem and Thutmose III in Asia are distinctive for the personal appeal to divinity in the midst of battle. Ramesses II’s emotive speeches to Amun in the Kadesh Battle Poem59 and the dialogue between Thutmose III and Paser in Thutmose III in Asia highlight the role of the divine during the course of battle. The textual evidence, both historical and fictional, also offers new perspectives on the role of private individuals in conflict, focusing on men like Menna and Paser. These alternative perspectives on combat should reinforce just how much surviving source material—the monumental battle reliefs of the New Kingdom—is dictated by the decorum of their architectural context and does not represent the full spectrum of Egyptian military records.

DIVINE INTERVENTIONS: A HOSTILE WIND WITH THREE MONTUS (Thutmose III speaks:) “I found my heart courageous, my heart 4in joy. ° all that (I) had done having succeeded.

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like Montu,° while their (chariot) spans became like Seth, great of strength,° Baal 5 in [his] moment. I was shooting on the right °and capturing on the left. I acted with my (own) hand to the south of 6Amun, king of the gods° [. . .], may you cause that there come to me a rebellious wind,° in which are three Montu-gods, ° they hiding 7[ . . . ] gold. ° Montu lord of Armant at my right [arm];° Montu, lord of Tod, at my 8 [left arm].” [Montu] lord of Thebes was making destruction [among] them,° before the king Menkheperre, l.p.h. ° I found that which x+2, 9Amun-[Ra king of the gods . . . ] did [ . . . ]

Thutmose III responds to Paser with an expression of royal courage and joy, because his actions have succeeded. Thutmose III’s speech to Paser in Thutmose III in Asia is a quotation of part of Ramesses II’s response to Amun at the Battle of Kadesh:60 I found my heart courageous and my heart in joy.61 All that I did succeeded. I was like Montu. I shot on my right and made captures on my left. I was like Seth in his moment in their sight.

The inclusion of these lines from the Kadesh Battle Poem, known from hieroglyphic inscriptions as well as P. Sallier III, led the text’s first editors to equate Thutmose III in Asia and the “Poem of Pentaur,” and several scholars have noted the parallel.62 In both passages, the king’s heart is filled with both strength and joy on the battlefield; while death and destruction of the enemy are an essential component of the king’s success, the delight of the pharaoh does not necessarily stem solely from blood-lust, but also from the restoration of cosmic order that results from Egyptian victory. Thutmose III, like Ramesses II, compares himself to Montu, and three avatars of this hieracocephalic, martial deity soon arrive on the battlefield in a “hostile wind.” In addition to the equation of the king with Montu, a common metaphor in New Kingdom military inscriptions,63 the story Thutmose III in Asia compares a group of chariots, presumably those of the Egyptian army, to the god Seth. Seth’s epithets demonstrate the god’s military credentials: “great of strength” and “Baal in his moment.” As the god

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“great of strength,” Seth can slay Apep, the enemy of the sun god himself and representative of the destructive forces of chaos.64 The potentially chaotic forces of Seth are channeled against those very foreigners whom he might otherwise represent. In Thutmose III in Asia, as in numerous other New Kingdom texts, Seth is identified with the foreign storm-god Baal.65 The chariot spans of the Egyptian army in Thutmose III in Asia are not only as powerful as Seth, they possess the striking force of a god “in his hour.” To be in one’s “hour” or “moment”66 implies a concentration of energy released in a sudden burst, and such a metaphor would be particularly appropriate to the lightweight Egyptian chariot yoked to two stallions. A properly trained chariot team released upon the battlefield would be a sight akin to a flash of divine power.67 Texts like Thutmose III in Asia often describe the chariot and its span in theological terms—the Hymn to the King in His Chariot takes this theme to its ultimate conclusion, each part of the chariot and tack becoming a divinity that defeats the enemy forces.68 The pictorial and archaeological records of chariots are similarly redolent with divine iconography; the proud stallions that trot and gallop across the temple walls pulling their solarized royal chariot are adorned with plumes, carved lion-heads, and gilded disks69—actual examples of such divinely decorated chariot trappings were discovered within the tomb of Tutankhamun.70 Most of the imagery is linked directly to the solar god (P)re-Horakhty, and during the Amarna Period the Egyptian chariot is transformed into a solar carrier akin to the later chariot of Helios.71 A visual parallel to the description of the chariot teams in Thutmose III in Asia appears at Medinet Habu:  a decorated disk attached between the withers of the chariot horses shows Baal—complete with Asiatic tasseled kilt—presenting a khepesh-sword to Ramesses III.72 The specification that the king fights “to the south of Amun, king of the gods” is probably not metaphorical, and the writing suggests that the god Amun is being referred to here, rather than an eponymous army battalion.73 Considering that Amun can project his power over the four corners of the cosmos, as is expressed so eloquently in Thutmose III’s poetical stela,74 the presence of a god north of the king strikes an odd note. One potential interpretation is that Amun, king of the gods, is represented on the battlefield by a discrete divine object, such as a standard. The monumental battle reliefs of Ramesses III at Medinet Habu provide evidence for just such a practice: in the Year 5 Libyan War, as Ramesses III sets out in his chariot, a large standard of Amun-Re rides in its own chariot with the annotation:75 Words spoken by Amun-Re, king of the gods, “Look, I am before you, my son,

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the lord of the Two Lands, Usermaatre Beloved-of-Amun. I cause that your power be throughout the Nine Bows, your awesome power in the hearts of their chiefs. I shall open for you the roads of the land of Tjemehu! I shall tread them in front of your horses!”

Without a pictorial record of Thutmose III’s campaigns, it is difficult to determine whether Amun’s standard rode to battle with the Egyptian forces already in the Eighteenth Dynasty, but a fragmentary passage in the Karnak Annals does appear to describe a series of standards that preceded Thutmose III on the march abroad.76 Thutmose III requests from Amun a “hostile wind” that is not merely a meteorological phenomenon, but a divine manifestation. The king can manifest as a “storm-wind that uproots trees,”77 and in Thutmose III in Asia, it is Amun himself who commands a divine wind.78 The hostile wind contains three manifestations of the warrior-deity Montu, the lords of Armant, Tod, and Thebes; a fourth cult center of Montu at Medamud does not appear in the story but was part of a divine quartet of Montus that existed as early as the First Intermediate Period and continued to form an important aspect of Theban theology through the Roman Period.79 The use of three rather than four forms of Montu may also be related to the iconography on the so-called New Kingdom “falcon ships,” which can show three falcon-headed anthropomorphic Montus, with a fourth as a falcon-headed sphinx.80 The presence of Montu at the king’s left and right arm in Thutmose III in Asia recalls the decoration of the chariot of Thutmose IV (Figure 4.3). Each side of Thutmose IV’s wooden chariot body is adorned with detailed scenes of the king in his chariot combating Syro-Palestinian foes.81 One side contains an exceptional image of the god Montu riding with the king in his chariot. The figure of the king shooting his bow overlaps that of the god, and the intermingling of the divine and royal spheres is further suggested by the almost tender way in which Montu places his hands beneath the king’s two arms as he pulls the bow. In Thutmose III in Asia, Amun dispatches Montu in three forms in a wind, from which we should imagine them emerging— two taking their place beside the king in his chariot, while the third helps fell the enemy forces. Images such as those on Thutmose IV’s chariot provide an ancient illustration to such rich literary images.

THUTMOSE III DEFEATS THE ENEMY [ . . . ] of great lions who rage [against them?] he being overthrown together with their chariots.

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Figure 4.3 Thutmose IV attacking Asiatic foes, while Montu rides in the king’s chariot, from the decorated cab of a chariot of Thutmose IV (after Carter and Newberry, The Tomb of Thoutmosis IV)

x+2, 10

[ . . . King Me]nkheper[re] struck down the [com]mander of the female donkey of the ruler of Kharu, x+3, 1 as he was smiting [ . . . ]x+3, 2chariot teams [ . . . ] [ . . . ]x+3, 3great [ . . . ] of Kharu [ . . . ]x+3,4 army [ . . . ]

x+3, 5

and they [ . . . ] [ . . . ] x+3, 6King [Menkheperre . . . ] my army [ . . . ] x+3, 7 wives [ . . . ] total of the various [ . . . ] of the foreign lands [ . . . ] [Lo] x+3, 8ok [ . . . ] that which [ . . . ] did for me [ . . . ] x+3,9 Amun [ . . . flig]ht which you caused [ . . . ] x+3,10do [ . . . ] Amun-Re, king of the gods, the vizier who judges [ . . . ]82

The donkey mentioned at the end of the second column finds an interesting parallel in the account of the Battle of Megiddo on the Gebel Barkal Stela;83 after the Egyptian victory, the foreign rulers request terms of surrender and are allowed to depart, yet their mode of transportation is different from that on which they arrived for battle:84 Then my Majesty gave them passage on the road back to their cities, (but) they all went off on donkeys— for I had captured their horses!

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While in this Egyptian text, donkey riding does not appear to represent a dignified means of transportation, from an Asiatic perspective, the donkey could be a royal steed.85 Egyptian artistic traditions shy away from depictions of men riding donkeys or horses,86 but monuments of a high-ranking Asiatic from the Sinai turquoise mines at Serabit el-Khadim show him riding a donkey as part of his own positive self-presentation.87 While the ruler of Kharu may have seen the female donkey as part of his royal trappings, in the context of Thutmose III in Asia, the ancient Egyptian reader may have seen humor in the image of a grown man atop a small beast.88 The fact that the ruler of Kharu rides on a female donkey may contribute to the shame of his situation.89 In addition to the passage from the Gebel Barkal Stela cited above, the famous depiction of the donkey in the Punt reliefs of Hatshepsut also captures the potential humor of a ruler atop a donkey; the ruler of Punt and his large, steatopygous queen is followed in a lower register by a pitiful donkey labeled “the donkey that carries his wife.”90 The reference to the “female donkey of the ruler of Kharu” thus serves a dual purpose—a serious piece of historiography, through a direct textual link to the Battle of Megiddo, and a possible element of comic relief, as the reader imagines a chief riding atop a diminutive female donkey. The fragmentary text in column x+3 includes a references to an “army,” “chariot teams,” “smiting,” “women,” “foreign lands,” and “Kharu.” The final two lines mention Amun-Re, resuming the theme of divine intervention within the tale. Among the words in this column, the reference to “women” may represent a key term for determining the historical template for the tale. Among the wars of Thutmose III, only following the first campaign and the successful siege of Megiddo do the Egyptians emphasize the capture of the wives of the chiefs of the enemy coalition.91 The lack of an ending to the tale is frustrating, but enough detail survives to indicate that the author of this text—separated by two centuries from the events it describes—sought out specific aspects of the campaigns of Thutmose III, in particular the battle of Megiddo, to create a fictional tale. Thutmose III in Asia, like The Capture of Joppa, took its reader on a journey back in time to the reign of Thutmose III, using a single historical event and facts that could be confirmed in historical records—thus bringing the past back to life in a way that one expects of modern historical fiction, but that is all the more fascinating when accomplished over three millennia ago.

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C H A PT E R 5

The Libyan Battle Story

T

he ancient Egyptians termed their land kemet, literally the “black land,” since the dark, fertile soils deposited annually formed the agricultural basis of their civilization.1 Outside the bounds of the cultivated land stretched desheret, the “red land,” the deserts east and west of the Nile Valley. Although often characterized as fear-inspiring no-man’s-land in modern scholarship, ancient Egyptian texts do not describe the deserts thus; the deserts seem to have been viewed primarily as sources of mineral wealth and as conduits for trade.2 Lack of water was certainly a challenge that needed to be conquered, but the civilization that built Karnak Temple was unsurprisingly capable of coordinating and maintaining large water depots along far-flung desert routes.3 By the time of the Ramesside Period, however, another problem emerged in Egypt’s western frontier—not only did the sands of the Sahara require taming, but new and hostile populations were on the move towards the paradisiacal Nile Delta. Just as the trauma of Hyksos rule inspired The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and the glory of Thutmose III’s campaigns formed the basis of The Capture of Joppa and Thutmose III in Asia, the new threat from the Western Desert provided the impetus for a fourth work of historical fiction—The Libyan Battle Story. Like the other three tales, only certain elements of the narrative can be reconstructed, but what emerges is a tale in which the Egyptian military, fighting alongside foreign auxiliaries, defends their land against the Libyan foe. The extant columns of The Libyan Battle Story incorporate toponyms and ethnonyms from at least two known Libyan campaigns. The site of Perire, an Egyptian town probably located along the western edge of the Delta, is the location of the conflict in the narrative of The Libyan Battle Story, and is identical to the battlefield where

an actual Egyptian army fought for six hours against a Libyan force in the fifth regnal year of the pharaoh Merneptah. Additional military aspects of the story, including the presence of enemy Meshwesh and Hasa Libyans and Peleset auxiliaries, are drawn from the historical records of the reign of Ramesses III. The narrative within The Libyan Battle Story also mentions fortresses and fortified regions that can be traced in the textual and archaeological record. A remarkable number of sources have survived that enable the modern reader to reconstruct the historical basis of The Libyan Battle Story. The fictionalized conflict with the Libyans in the story occurs at a crossroads in Egypto–Libyan relations, which can be traced back two thousand years before the tale was written. Conflicts between the Egyptians and Libyan tribes may have begun as early as the formation of the pharaonic state itself. The logical location for such Egypto–Libyan interactions would be the large oases of the Egyptian Western Desert and, indeed, archaeologicalevidence from the oases of Dakhla and Kharga from the late Neolithic Period (fifth and fourth millennia BCE) suggest that Egypt’s western frontier was inhabited by at least small population groups who had trade contacts with the Nile Valley;4 some of the early cultural units identified in Dakhla Oasis and throughout the Western Desert almost certainly represent archaeological traces of the early Libyans.5 A  late Predynastic palette from the Nile Valley may contain the first hieroglyphic writing of ancient Libya6—Tjehenu, a term that encompasses the northern half of western Egypt and eastern Libya and its inhabitants.7 A few small Libyan campaigns took place during the reigns of Snofru8 and Sahure9 and again in the reigns of Montuhotep II10 and Amenemhat I,11 but until the Nineteenth Dynasty,12 the Libyans appear to have been a minor threat to Egyptian interests in the Western Desert.13 Monumental reliefs from the reigns of Seti I and Ramesses II commemorate battles against the Libyans.14 While the captions that accompany these scenes lack geographic specificity, the reality of the Libyan threat is confirmed archaeologically:  Ramesses II commissioned a series of fortresses along the western edge of the Delta and the Mediterranean littoral to monitor Egypt’s western marches.15 Extending as far as Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham, the chain of fortifications guarded the coastal route between Egypt and Libya, and, like the earlier Middle Kingdom Nubian fortresses, they were probably lynchpins in a larger system of patrol tracks and smaller outposts; fortress architecture and military titles from stelae at Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham suggest that the garrison may have contained at least four to five hundred men.16 The fortresses served a dual military and economic function—keeping a substantial Libyan threat at bay and protecting trade depots and rest points along the counter-clockwise Mediterranean trade

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routes.17 In addition to the western Delta and the Mediterranean coast, Ramesside activity also included the western desert oases, particularly Dakhla Oasis. From these deep desert outposts, the Egyptians could monitor the Libyans’ movements and their potential use of inter-oasis roads.18 Ramesses II’s precautions appear to have been well warranted—in Year 5 of the reign of his successor Merneptah, a large Libyan army, strengthened by foreign mercenaries, invaded the Nile Delta, exploiting desert routes from Farafra Oasis (Figure 5.1). The Year 5 invasion during the reign of Merneptah signaled a new and dangerous turn in Egypto–Libyan relations, which occurred again twice during the reign of Ramesses III and in many ways culminated in the creation of a Libyan monarchy in the Twenty-First Dynasty.19 The ultimate success of the Libyans in not only settling the Nile Delta, but becoming pharaohs of Upper and Lower Egypt—the first foreigners since the Hyksos to achieve this exalted status—indicates that the military events of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties were part of larger social transformations within Libyan society. During their rule of Egypt, the Libyan pharaohs maintained much of traditional Egyptian kingship and appear ultimately to have been viewed as less “foreign” than the Nubian Twenty-Fifth Dynasty; one of the few native Libyan traits in their rule was the pattern of succession, which did not proceed strictly father to son, as in standard Egyptian practice, but often included brothers, uncles, and nephews, probably relics of earlier, tribal practices.20

Figure 5.1 Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, Karnak Temple

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While it is interesting for a modern scholar to read this story with knowledge of the Libyan successes of the Third Intermediate Period, the commentary here will focus exclusively on the historical events that shaped the worldview of the tale’s author and its intended audience. For this, one must examine the campaigns of Merneptah and Ramesses III in much greater detail, since The Libyan Battle Story contains more specific and historically verifiable information than the three other tales presented in the previous chapters; a wealth of historical records from the reigns of Merneptah and Ramesses III have survived and are demonstrably some of the same source material used in the composition of The Libyan Battle Story. The tattered allusions in Thutmose III in Asia and the playful storylines of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and The Capture of Joppa give way in The Libyan Battle Story to a more serious and meticulous use of historical detail—historical fiction becomes intertwined with fictional history. The mark of fiction is still evident in The Libyan Battle Story: part of the narration is written in the first person plural, the toponyms of one campaign are combined with the combatants of other campaigns three decades later, and the text’s grammatical structure is more akin to literary texts than monumental hieroglyphic records.21

PAPYRUS LOUVRE N 3136: AN INTRODUCTION

The Libyan Battle Story is thus far only preserved in a single copy, Papyrus Louvre N 3136, and the extant sheet contains most of two columns and several unjoined fragments.22 The first edition of the text noted that the paleography of the definite article (pA) suggests a northern origin for P. Louvre 3136, possibly Memphite, and that internal evidence combined with the overall paleography indicates a date in the reign of Ramesses III or Ramesses IV.23 P. Louvre 3136 contains supralinear points (marked in the translation with °), and the placement of some of these points without regard to grammatical divisions between sentences24 argues against their use as verse markers, at least for this papyrus.25 Since Anthony Spalinger’s initial publication of it in 2003,26 which contained a transcription of the papyrus as well as a translation and grammatical analysis, the only additional analysis has consisted of a re-examination of P.  Louvre N 3136 in the context of the Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah27 and an on-line edition of the text for the Thesaurus Linguae Aegyptiae.28 Although a pharaoh figures prominently in P.  Louvre N 3136, he is not named, but geographic details such as the “fortified plantation” in Perire, as well as the mention of the Libu, assure some relationship with the Libyan campaign of Merneptah. Other details, such as the inclusion of the Hasa Libyan

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tribe and the juxtaposition of the Peleset with the Sherden suggest a connection with military events of the reign of Ramesses III. The author of the story in P. Louvre N 3136 appears to have combined historical details from the Libyan campaigns of Merneptah with those of Ramesses III to create what might have originally been a more narrative tale of battle. The tantalizing end of the papyrus even contains a statement with a first person plural pronoun that may represent a speech by an Egyptian officer describing his unit’s operations. The fragmentary royal epithets, straightforward presentation of toponyms and combatants, and a host of unnamed characters make the two preserved columns of The Libyan Battle Story difficult to enjoy as narrative fiction. Added to these factors, the papyrus is only partially preserved, lacking both its beginning and its end. For the modern reader, this is offset by the fact that in many cases The Libyan Battle Story can be read side-by-side with passages from historical texts dating to the reigns of Merneptah and Ramesses III, filling in the lacunae and partially restoring the impact of the text as a work of historical fiction. The commentary that follows will tackle the fragmentary text line by line, providing textual, architectural, and at times archaeological parallels to the themes, places, and events within the story.29

PHARAOH, THE DIVINE SON, IN THE PALACE 1

[ . . . ] their mistress. °Their [ . . . ] strong [ . . . ], ° and one brought [ . . . ] upon 2 [ . . . ] his heart desired to fetch their warriors(?)/chiefs(?), (who say) [It is Amun(?)] who decrees it: °“Victory [be to the ruler! . . . ] 3 Heliopolitan, of the gods, l.p.h., against every land [ . . . ] joyful before [ . . . ] 4 [ . . . ] pleasing their hearts exceedingly therein because [what he has done] has succeeded. The two noble palaces 5 [ . . . ] [Pre]-Horakhty, his good father—very truly—being the sh[ade(?) . . . ] 6 The land of Egypt °was [acting for(?) . . . ] pharaoh, their son. Maat [ . . . ] 7 [pre]cisely(?),°his accounts(?) [ . . . ] entirely. Those of Pre-Hor8[akhty . . . ] that(?) pharaoh saw. Listen to the utterances °in order to carry them out for . . . 9 [ . . . ] [ . . . ] the gods who acted for pharaoh, [the] great ruler of every land, without [ . . . ] having been done 10 [ . . . ] their beautiful  son [ . . . ] effective utterances. [How] good is [ . . . ]

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Combined with parallels from other texts, the fragmentary and obscure passages in the first four lines of The Libyan Battle Story yield a setting for the story as well as its main protagonists (Figure 5.2). The pharaoh is unnamed, but he is most likely the chief actor in the beginning of the tale— the initial lines of the damaged papyrus probably described the pharaoh in his role as commander-in-chief of the military.30 The overall theme of the first column appears to be the initiation of a military conflict, possibly by divine command (line 5), sending forth the pharaoh and his army from the palace. A nice parallel is offered by the beginning of the Year 5 Libyan War inscription of Ramesses III; after the epithets of Ramesses III, Thoth speaks:31 “Your father Amun dispatches you to destroy the Nine Bows.” Then Amun commissions the battle by handing the king a khepesh-sword. The following lines describe the king’s departure from the palace in terms reminiscent of The Libyan Battle Story:32 His Majesty proceeds, his heart mighty in valor and victory against this wretched land of Libya, which is under the thrall of his Majesty. It is his father who sent him (in peace) from the palace of Thebes.

The end of line 2 in The Libyan Battle Story is particularly intriguing, since two different interpretations of the text are possible: “the one who decreed it:  ‘Victory be . . . ’ ” or “the one who dispatched it, the victorious one . . . ”33 The existence of strong parallels in other texts favor the first

Figure 5.2 Papyrus Louvre N 3136, columns x+1 and x+2 (drawing by Alberto Urcia)

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interpretation. The first translation would be part of a direct quote, which may be reconstructed as:  “It is Amun who decreed it:  ‘Victory be to the ruler!’ ”34 Such loyalistic speeches were routinely sung during festivals,35 ritual combat before the king,36 or during a celebration of military victory.37 In the second reading, either the king or a god is designated as the one who sent forth a military force, specified as a “victorious” group.38 In either case, the beginning of the preserved portion of the tale evokes a military setting in which either a victorious army is dispatched or a military group appears before the king shouting forth a song of victory. The third and fourth lines, again frustratingly damaged, provide a setting for this initial portion of the tale: Heliopolis, home to the chief temple of the sun god, Pre-Horakhty.39 Located on the east bank of the Nile at the apex of the Delta, the solar cult at Heliopolis appears to have been one of the main reasons for the construction and alignment of the pyramid fields on the west bank.40 The inscriptions of Merneptah link the area of Heliopolis with Memphis, since both were threatened by the Libyan invasions.41 The author(s) of those royal documents transformed the historical fact of the Libyan incursion into metaphors and literary allusions; several references to “pyramids,” both as funerary monuments and descriptions of the pile of enemy corpses within Merneptah’s text may represent a further allusion to the topography of the Memphite area.42 In the Victory Stela, the text repeatedly stresses Merneptah’s actions to protect the region of Memphis:  “who avenges Hut-ka-Ptah (the main temple of Memphis) among their enemies; who causes Tatenen (a Memphite deity) to rejoice over his enemies; who opens the gates of Inebu (Memphis), which were blocked; who allows that its temples receive their offerings.”43 After the battle at Perire, the Libyan chief Merey returns to Libya and the Victory Stela notes, “He is in the thrall of the gods, the lords of Memphis! The lord of Egypt has cursed his name: Merey is the abomination of the White Walls (Memphis).”44 Merneptah also chose Memphis as the location of an unusual punishment of some captured Libyans. A series of stelae from Nubia that summarize Merneptah’s Libyan campaign state:45 “the remainder (of Libyan captives) were impaled south of Memphis.” Impalement is attested only one other time in a military context—the pharaoh Akhenaten orders Nubian rebels of the Akuyati tribe impaled following a small-scale campaign in the Eastern Desert.46 In each case, a key Egyptian asset was threatened, which might have precipitated the unusual choice of impalement: the Libyans threatened the capital region of Memphis and Heliopolis, while the Nubians under Akhenaten menaced the rich gold-mines of the Wadi Allaqi. Considering the general absence of overt cruelty in records of their civil and

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military practices,47 the Egyptians probably impaled corpses as a symbolic statement, rather than using sharpened stakes as torture. For the reader of The Libyan Battle Story, the historical event of impalement at Memphis emphasizes the importance of the Memphite-Heliopolitan region during Merneptah’s Libyan campaign and suggests a possible connection with the mention of Heliopolis in col. X, line 3. In the fifth line of The Libyan Battle Story, the story proclaims that joy is in “their hearts”—the third person plural pronoun almost certainly refers to the military, and the cause of their rejoicing is presumably the success of the pharaoh’s martial exploits. The pleasing of the army’s heart need not be purely metaphorical, but may also relate to a ceremony in which the king distributed gold insignia and other rewards.48 Since the campaign against the Libyan forces does not begin until later in the story, the things “that have happened” could refer to previous victories or be an apotropaic reference to the king’s certain future success. If The Libyan Battle Story is set during the reign of Merneptah, as appears likely, a logical candidate for the earlier campaign is Merneptah’s activity in Syria-Palestine. In the Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, the army is described embarking on the Libyan campaign “having returned bearing plunder”;49 an array of sources suggests that prior to Year 5, Merneptah fought a campaign in Syria-Palestine,50 and the army may have just returned from that campaign when the pharaoh learned of the latest Libyan incursions into the Delta. The mention of “two noble palaces” at the end of line 5 is not tied to a particular toponym, but Memphis is a likely candidate, and the otherwise enigmatic reference to two unnamed palaces can be read in a surprisingly rich archaeological and textual context. The Libyan Battle Story draws extensively on the Libyan campaign of Merneptah with additional ethnonyms from the campaigns of Ramesses III, and in an interesting coincidence the best preserved palaces of Ramesside Egypt were constructed during the reigns of these two pharaohs. In fact, the two palaces mentioned in the story may be the palace complex of Merneptah in Memphis, excavated in the early part of the twentieth century.51 The original structure and its associated buildings covered a large area, and the excavated portion of the main palace, complete with throne room, measured 30 meters wide and 110 meters long;52 the entire palace complex covered an area of fifteen acres. The archaeological evidence suggests that there might have been two distinct palace structures,53 which would match the “two palaces” in The Libyan Battle Story. Within his palace, seated atop a dais adorned with images of bound prisoners, Merneptah could address messengers, supplicants, and foreign diplomats, all the while surrounded

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by imposing stone columns decorated with scenes of himself smiting his enemies and offering to his divine namesake, Ptah.54 For larger gatherings, Merneptah could walk through several columned courts to the “Window of Appearances.”55 The intended audience of The Libyan Battle Story—scribes and military officials—would have probably stood before exactly such a window,56 so it is useful to pause and examine the significance of this special location where the pharaoh interacted directly with his subjects. The “window” was a literal opening in the palace wall, a space that framed the pharaoh with iconography expressing his divine nature and domination over foreign foes.57 The ceremonial palace of Ramesses III at Medinet Habu, abutting the southern wall of the temple United-with-Eternity, preserves a nearly intact Window of Appearances, providing a vivid illustration of a “public” portion of an ancient Egyptian palace.58 In a particularly dramatic fashion, the Window of Appearances at Medinet Habu contains carved heads of enemies jutting out beneath the base of the window—when the pharaoh stood within the opening, the decoration gave the illusion that he was literally standing atop the backs of prostrate foreigners59—and to either side of the opening, reliefs portray the king subduing his enemies. During the use of the Window of Appearances, the pharaoh would be the centerpiece of a living tableau displaying his unchallenged authority.60 Yet the gravitas of the pharaoh’s appearance did not preclude the incorporation of texts and scenes with humorous elements. Beneath the Window of Appearances at Medinet Habu, the soldiers and officials stationed below and immediately adjacent to the pharaoh could amuse themselves by reading the captions to scenes of wrestling and fencing; while the ritual combat was certainly an important aspect of the festivities beneath the Window of Appearances,61 few could doubt the humor in the exclamations of the combatants recorded for eternity in the hieroglyphic annotations:62 “Now look—I will seize you by your legs and I will throw you on your buttocks before Pharaoh!” and “Prepare yourself, o Nubian! O Enemy, I will make you fall down helpless63 before Pharaoh!” The same men who discreetly laughed at the “trash-talking” wrestlers are at least a small subset of the potential audience of The Libyan Battle Story— and such a suggestion finds affirmation in the Late Egyptian Miscellanies. The texts within the Late Egyptian Miscellanies frequently mention the Window of Appearances, a place so familiar to the reader that it could be abbreviated to simply “the Window.”64 In one letter from the Late Egyptian Miscellanies, a fanbearer, captain of bow-troops, and overseer of the Nubian foreign lands commands that Nubian tribute be prepared to be presented to the pharaoh; after listing line after line of rare and precious goods, the

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letter writer decides to cheer up the beleaguered addressee, reminding him that the end result of all these preparations is a magnificent ceremony:65 Think about the day of presenting the tribute, when you pass by the presence (of the pharaoh) beneath the Window. The officials stationed on the two sides in the presence of his Majesty; the chiefs and the envoys of every foreign land standing, astounded at seeing the tribute.

The pageantry of the Window of Appearances was only one aspect of the royal palace, which despite its propagandistic and elaborate decoration, served a serious and practical purpose as the nucleus of royal rule.66 A model letter written to Merneptah in his palace, also from the corpus of Late Egyptian Miscellanies, eloquently summarizes the dual nature of the Egyptian palace; the letter begins with the equation of the pharaoh and the sun god—“O solar disk for mankind, who dispels the darkness from Egypt. You are the image of your father, Re!” The luminosity of the pharaoh does not dispel his workload, however:67 To you is told the condition of every land, while you are in residence in your palace. You hear the affairs of all lands—for you possess millions of ears! Your eyes shine brighter than the stars of heaven, and you are able to see better than the solar disk. If one speaks—though the words be from a cavern—they fall upon your ears! If one does something—though it be hidden—your eye perceives it!

The same letter mentions an otherwise unattested name for Merneptah’s palace—“Beloved of Maat.”68 Although the unnamed palaces in The Libyan Battle Story remain enigmatic, the survey of architecture and texts above, particularly the pageantry of the Window of Appearances, may potentially recreate at least a portion of the original context of the tale. The next two lines of The Libyan Battle Story describe the king as protector of Egypt, who himself enjoys divinely favored status. Pre-Horakhty, the solar god syncretized with Horus of the horizon, is the father of the pharaoh. The solarized king is particularly appropriate to the Heliopolitan and palace setting in the previous lines and establishes the proper cosmic backdrop69 for the military narrative that is to follow. The king as representative of the solar divinity on earth establishes order in the face of the chaotic foreign threats.70 The Egyptian fondness for balanced pairs in theological and political imagery appears prominently at the broken end of

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line 5. The radiant solar king, like the sun disk himself, is simultaneously “great of shadow”—for what better way to express the beneficent solar rays than through the cool shadow that is also ultimately their creation.71 In Egyptian iconography, where to represent sunlight directly would be difficult (excepting Akhenaten’s novel solution), the proliferation of sunshades in standard royal scenes implies the brilliant light of the sun’s rays. The sunshade in royal iconography signals not only light, but by extension the solar divinity of the king;72 textual evidence indicates that the pharaoh in turn bestows his protective shade upon his army and the people of Egypt.73 The following line again preserves nothing more than a series of disjointed words—yet parallels do elucidate the context and through intertextual analysis, some of the original meaning can be restored. Line 6 includes the phrases the “land of Egypt” and “Pharaoh, their son” and concludes with the mention of the goddess Maat. Continuing the epithets in line 5, the pharaoh is almost certainly being extolled as the protector of Egypt, his rightful role as the offspring of the gods. The goddess Maat embodies cosmic order and as such is an icon of royal legitimacy;74 the defeat of foreign enemies is one of the ways in which the king “creates Maat” during his rule on earth.75 A different topic is probably introduced by the reference to “those of Pre-Horakhty” at the end of line 7. This is most likely not referring to a priesthood or temple personnel, but rather to a military division named after the solar deity; Seti I had three divisions named for Pre, Ptah, and Seth, and the army of Ramesses II at the Battle of Kadesh added a fourth division, Amun.76 After three additional lines of text that extol the pharaoh as the “great ruler of every land” and a divine son with “effective utterances,” the final two lines of the first extant column provide specific topographical and military details. While the extended section of royal epithets may seem superfluous or propagandistic to a modern reader, such royal praise was an expected and integral element in fictional as well as historical texts in New Kingdom Egypt.77 The rediscovered introduction to Astarte and the Insatiable Sea is a lengthy encomium to Amunhotep II, with unique epithets composed in reference to the following fictional tale.78 New Kingdom military texts—from the Gebel Barkal Stela of Thutmose III to the Kadesh Battle inscription of Ramesses II to the historical records of Ramesses III—all incorporate abundant passages of royal praise that introduce the historical narrative and often provide clues to specific events.79 These eulogistic passages elevate individual historical events to the level of cosmic significance, simultaneously representing the king as guarantor of Maat and giving his historical actions meaning and purpose within the Egyptian worldview.

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FORTRESSES IN THE WESTERN DELTA x+1,11

[ . . . ] the fortified plantation of pharaoh in °[Per]ire, while the people of the commander of the archers 12[ . . . ] without [ . . . ] . . . as the head of one.. . x+2,1 Calling up the best of the land of Egypt [ . . . from . . . ] 2 from those (towns) of Ramesses (II)-beloved-of-Amun [l.p.h. to] the fortress °that [is upon]3 the western [ba]nk. One caused that these be filled with guards; °and One made [ . . . ] happen/succeed [. ..]

The penultimate line of the first column introduces a new set of characters and, most importantly, the setting of the military conflict. The “fortified plantation of Pharaoh [in the vicinity of(?)] Perire” is one of the most significant elements within the story—toponymy here provides an undeniable link to a historical event. The town of Perire appears only rarely in ancient Egyptian texts,80 and its most prominent occurrence is within the historical records of Merneptah’s Year 5 campaign against a combined Libyan–Sea People force. Within the Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, Perire appears three times—the “fields of Perire” is the place at which the Libyan leader Merey son of Dedy reaches the western border of Egypt (line 15); “upon the bank in the vicinity of the district of Perire” is the location of the battlefield where the two armies engage in six hours of combat (line 30); and within Perire is a fortified plantation (ln. 49).81 The Kom el-Ahmar stela of Merneptah describes pyramids of corpses “from the fortified plantation of [Merneptah, Contented-with-Maat, He-Who-Surrounds-the-Tjehenu that is in] Perire to the mountain of the Horn of the Earth.”82 The identification of the fortified plantation of Pharaoh and the town Perire in The Libyan Battle Story with the historical inscriptions of Merneptah is significant, since the tale is the only work of historical fiction to have survived from New Kingdom Egypt that also possesses definitive corresponding—and extant!—historical texts from the earlier period in which the story is set. The occurrence of Perire is of utmost importance to The Libyan Battle Story, but unfortunately, despite its textual prominence, modern scholars cannot yet place it on a map. The sum of textual evidence indicates that Perire was located along the western edge of the Delta, probably closer to the Delta apex than the Mediterranean coast, but the town cannot be identified with a known archaeological site.83 The Ramesside town of Kom Firin, which contained a temple complex as well as a large fortified enclosure, is an attractive possibility.84 The nearby site of Kom Abu Billo

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is another candidate, possessing some New Kingdom remains as well as being strategically situated at the Nilotic terminus of the Wadi Natrun.85 No ancient name has been identified for Kom Firin, and Kom Abu Billo is probably ancient Mafket,86 so uncertainty continues to surround any correlation between Perire and known Ramesside sites. A similar difficulty surrounds the precise identity of the feature in Perire designated as per-ma in Egyptian87 and translated here as “fortified plantation.” The plunder list of the Year 5 Libyan campaign as recorded in the Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah includes a description of a stretch of land that lies “between the fortified plantation of ‘Merneptah, Contented-with-Maat, He-Who-Surrounds-the-Tjehenu’ which is in Perire, and the upper fortresses of the desert beginning with ‘Merneptah, Contented-with-Maat [ . . . ]’.”88 The similarity between the Louvre papyrus and the Karnak Inscription suggests that the same place is being described in both texts. A  lengthy text describing the endowments of Ramesses III mentions two examples of a per-ma located within temple enclosures.89 Despite the bellicose name of Merneptah’s fortified plantation “He-Who-Surrounds-the-Tjehenu,” one cannot rule out its association with a temple in Perire; in New Kingdom Egypt, temples possessed many architectural features that mimicked fortifications, including crenellated walls, thick towered gateways (complete with glacis), and enormous mud-brick enclosure walls.90 More likely, however, the fortified plantation in Perire is an agricultural area that supplies a fortress, just as other per-ma foundations provided foodstuffs to nearby temples. As a fortified plantation, the per-ma institution could have served as the main supply depot for the surrounding forts.91 At the beginning of the second column of The Libyan Battle Story, soldiers are marshaled and the text describes a stretch of land from “those (towns) of Ramesses (II)-beloved-of-Amun [l.p.h. to] the fortress that [is upon] western [ba]nk.” (Figure 5.3) Archaeological evidence indicates that Ramesses II was responsible for the creation of a “Western Frontier Zone,” a series of fortresses that guarded the route along the Mediterranean coast and the western edge of the Egyptian Delta (see above, pp. 118–119). During Ramesses II’s long reign, these fortresses appear to have served their defensive purpose quite well. No major Libyan incursion is attested during his reign. The situation changed dramatically during the reigns of Merneptah and Ramesses III, and the Western Frontier Zone fortresses appear prominently in the Libyan campaigns of those two rulers.92 The Year 11 Libyan campaign reliefs at Medinet Habu place particular prominence on fortresses that are probably identical to those in The Libyan Battle Story. One scene depicts two fortresses as an actively functioning defense—Egyptian archers manning

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Figure 5.3 Egyptians manning fortresses during the Year 11 Libyan campaign, temple of Ramesses III “United with Eternity,” Western Thebes (Medinet Habu) (courtesy of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago)

the fortifications shoot down onto the Libyan hordes that are being slaughtered by the king in his chariot and Egyptian infantry (Figure 5.3). A short annotation to the fortresses labels them as “the fortress (dmi) of Ramesses (III)93 which is at the mountain of the ‘Horn of the Earth’ to the fortress (dmi) of Hutsha” and asserts that there were “eight iteru (miles) of slaughter.”94 In The Libyan Battle Story, the crack troops from this same series of fortifications fight against the Libyan foes in a fictional narrative.

THE LIBYAN BATTLE AT THE FIELDS OF PERIRE 4

The enemies—consisting of Meshwesh,° Libu, and Hasa°– came with [him(?) . . . ] 5 All the enemies, they found the land (of Egypt) prepared and supplied [ . . . ] 6 they were repulsed from the fortresses, °and they descended to the fields of Perire [ . . . ]7 in the fortified plantation of pharaoh; °and they saw a flame [ before(?)] 8 the domain of the Mistress-of-the-Field toward the high-ground;

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and we sent forth 100 Peleset [ . . . ] 9the days, and 200 Sherden of the great strongholds. [. . . infantry (?)] 10 which we placed opposite ourselves, toward the high-ground, °in front of the flame in order to see(?). [. . . we] 11 arrived(?); and we found [600(?)] Meshwesh, °ravaging [ . . . ]

The final four lines of the second column of The Libyan Battle Story introduce four main actors: the Libyan enemy (Meshwesh, Libu, Hasa), foreign auxiliaries (Peleset and Sherden), a group of people speaking in the first person plural, and a “flame” that is mentioned twice. The characters and toponyms within this portion of the tale find their closest parallels in the Libyan campaign fought during the fifth regnal year of Merneptah; the inclusion of the Meshwesh, Hasa, and Peleset suggest that the military events during the reign of Ramesses III provided additional source material for the fictional presentation of combat in The Libyan Battle Story. The fragmentary description of the battle itself within The Libyan Battle Story does not find any template within historically known campaigns, and the use of the first person plural pronoun serves as one of the signals of the tale’s fictionality. One of the most significant historical events during the reign of Merneptah was the combined Libyan and Sea People invasion in Year 5 of the pharaoh’s reign. The main battle of the campaign took place near the city of Perire, the same toponym mentioned at the end of the first preserved column of The Libyan Battle Story. The Egyptian victory at the as-ofyet unlocated battlefield was commemorated in no less than six extant texts distributed over ten different monuments.95 The historical records of Merneptah, like all ancient Egyptian military texts, transform particular events into representations of the cosmic battle between order and chaos,96 yet careful reading of the corpus of inscriptions enables one to tease out a significant number of historical details, which can in turn be compared to the fictional account in The Libyan Battle Story. The lengthiest of Merneptah’s historical texts is a seventy-nine line inscription at Karnak Temple, on the east wall of the so-called “Cour de la Cachette,” the northernmost courtyard of the north-south axis of the temple.97 The upper third of most of the lines is no longer extant, but the inscription still preserves a wealth of historical information, interspersed with royal epithets and speeches. The inscription begins with a list of enemies: “[Merey son of De]dy, Akawasha, Terusha, Lukka, Sherden, Shekelesh, the northerners who came from all lands.” Merey, son of Dedy is the ruler

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of the Libu-Libyan group,98 but the ethnonyms that follow his name in the first line of the Karnak Inscription are foreign mercenaries, eastern Mediterranean pirates whom the Egyptians collectively termed “the people from the sea.”99 These “Sea Peoples,” like the Libyans themselves, consisted of several distinct groups; the role of the Sherden and Peleset in The Libyan Battle Story and the historical records of Merneptah and Ramesses III are discussed below. According to the Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, the Libyan–Sea People army (possibly as large as ten thousand men) under the command of the Libu chief Merey entered Egyptian territory via desert routes connecting the Nile Valley with the oases of the Western Desert.100 From an unnamed oasis, which may be the small Siwa Oasis, the Libyan–Sea People army moved to Farafra Oasis. Occupying Farafra Oasis, the outermost oasis within the “ring” of Western Desert oases, enabled the Libyan leader Merey to maintain an element of surprise. Desert roads connect Farafra Oasis with points to the far south in Nubia (via Dakhla-Kharga and the Darb el-Arbain), with points in Upper Egypt (via Dakhla-Kharga and the Girga Road or northern extension of the Darb el-Arbain), and with points in Middle and Lower Egypt (via the Bahariya Oasis-Oxyrhynchus route or via the Fayum into the Delta).101 While the Egyptian presence in the Western Desert oases of Dakhla and Kharga102 may have enabled intelligence gathering about the Libyan descent into Farafra Oasis, the multiple potential routes into the Nile Valley would have made additional defensive preparations in Egypt difficult. The Libyan strategy of desert maneuver would have had the additional benefit of avoiding the Egyptian fortresses along the Mediterranean coast. Merey may have dispatched a small contingent to harry Egyptian troops moving between the fortresses, as a fragmentary reference to the “plundering of fortresses (mnnw)” in the Karnak Inscription suggests.103 Similarly, the narrative of The Libyan Battle Story appears to describe the manning of the fortifications along the western Delta and Mediterranean littoral in preparation for the Libyan invasion (as described above) and, before the battle at Perire, states that the Libyans “were repulsed from the fortresses (dmi.w).” One can compare the description of the arrival of the enemies in The Libyan Battle Story with the report to Merneptah about the Libyan incursion in the Karnak Inscription: The Libyan Battle Story 4 The enemies—consisting of Meshwesh,° Libu, and Hasa°– came with [him(?)] 5 All the enemies, they found the land (of Egypt) prepared and supplied [ . . . ]

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6

they were repulsed from the fortresses, °and they descended to the fields of Perire [ . . . ]7

Karnak Inscription104 13 [ . . . One came in order to say to his Majesty in year 5, second month of] Shomu to the effect that: “The wretched chief of the enemies of Libu, Merey, son of Dedy. . . 14 [ . . . Sh]erden, Shekelesh, Akawasha, Lukka, and Tursha consisting of the seizure of the best of every fighter and every runner of his foreign land; he bringing his wife, his children.. . 15 [ . . . ] the great [chiefs?] of the tent. It is at the fields of Perire that he reached the western borders.”

In both accounts, Libyan troops arrive at the fields of Perire, and, while the single copy of The Libyan Battle Story does not have a preserved ending, one can assume that the battle at Perire ends as the historical event itself did—with an overwhelming Egyptian victory. Again, the Karnak Inscription provides the most detailed account of the battle, which even includes a rare indication of the length of time of the combat: 30

[ . . . ] infantry and cavalry in rank and prepared before them upon the bank in the vicinity of the district of Perire. . . . The wretched chief of Libu came at the third month of Shomu, day 3, he having brought [ . . . ]

32

[ . . . ] in order to guard them. The army of his majesty together with his chariotry went forth, Amun-Re being with them, the Ombite giving them the hand. [Every] man.. .

33

[ . . . prostrate in] their (own) blood, without a remnant amongst them. Meanwhile, the bowmen of his majesty spent six hours destroying them, they being given over to the sword during [combat . . . ].

34

[ . . . ] of the desert land. Meanwhile, when they were engaged in fighting,

the wretched chief of Libu was terrified, his heart weak. . . . [ . . . He left] sandals, his bow, his quiver in haste behind him.

35

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finds a parallel in col. x+1, ln. 11 of The Libyan Battle Story, which mentions “people of the commander of the archers.” The disposition of the Egyptian forces in The Libyan Battle Story is also surprisingly specific: “[Infantry(?)] which we placed opposite ourselves, toward the high-ground, in front of the flame in order to see(?).” Occupying the high ground would fit with the possible tactics of the Battle of Perire, which probably included archers stationed on the flanks of the main Egyptian infantry, devastating any enemy forces that attempted to engage in hand-to-hand combat.105 The intertextual relationship between The Libyan Battle Story and the military records of the Libyan campaign of Merneptah provides one of the strongest links between New Kingdom historical fiction and the monumental hieroglyphic record. As the parallel passages also demonstrate, however, the fictional account of the Battle of Perire in The Libyan Battle Story differs from the contemporary records of the combat in two significant ways: first, the Libyan enemies in The Libyan Battle Story include Meshwesh and Hasa alongside the expected Libu, and second, the Peleset and Sherden “Sea People” groups in The Libyan Battle Story are contingents within the Egyptian, not Libyan, army. For these aspects of The Libyan Battle Story, one must turn next to the two attested Libyan invasions during the reign of Ramesses III. Although Merneptah’s armies defeated the Libyan–Sea People coalition, resurgent Libyan antagonists became the objects of further Egyptian military campaigns during the fifth and eleventh years of the reign of Ramesses III.106 Now an independent force, the Sea Peoples also staged an invasion of the Nile Delta in the eighth regnal year of the same king. In addition to a lengthy series of historical inscriptions and pictorial records from the mortuary temple of Ramesses III at Medinet Habu, a unique historical retrospective recorded on Papyrus Harris I has also survived. For the Year 5 Libyan campaign, the inscriptions at Medinet Habu contain little historical detail other than the political situation that began the conflict—Ramesses III appointed a Libyan prince to become chief of the confederation of Libyan groups (i.e. Libu, Seped, and Meshwesh). Apparently displeased with their new Egyptian-backed leader, the Libyans rebelled and mounted an invasion of the Nile Valley. Much of the Year 5 Libyan campaign text focuses on the warrior pharaoh: the king enters the enemy horde like a lion, like a bull, and like a flame in dry brush, resulting in Libyan corpses so numerous that the piles of bodies form “pyramids” of carnage.107 The historian looks in vain for toponyms,108 indications of strategy, or any information about the disposition of the opposing armies. Viewed from an emic perspective, the lengthy inscription accomplishes the desired outcome—carved in stone,

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the pharaoh is immortalized as the defender of maat, who vanquishes the enemies of the solar god and protects the cosmos through the microcosm of the temple whose walls bear the inscription. The historian’s etic wishes may be unfulfilled, but the millennia have not diminished the theological potency of the hieroglyphic text. Despite the lack of specificity within the Year 5 account of Ramesses III, the description of the casus belli indicates that historical inscriptions of that campaign are not based on events during the reign of Merneptah, and thus the later pharaoh did not “borrow” the victory of his predecessor.109 One of the strongest pieces of evidence for the reality of Ramesses III’s campaign derives from a speech made by the captured Libyan forces in the Medinet Habu text:110 “Our seed is not, namely Ded, Meshken, Merey, together with Wermer and Thetmer.” Merey, son of Ded(y), is the Libyan leader during the Year 5 campaign of Merneptah and demonstrates that the authors of Ramesses III’s historical texts were well aware of earlier Libyan campaigns, which were still part of living memory (only three decades separate the two Year 5 campaigns). The Year 5 text at Medinet Habu places the genealogy in the mouths of the Libyan captives, and the names of the chiefs may very well have been part of the oral history of the invading Libyans, which was then transmitted to their Egyptian captors; alternatively, the authors of the Year 5 text may have consulted Egyptian historical archives in order to compile this unique list of past enemy leaders. The Year 11 campaign receives greater emphasis in the historical records of Ramesses III; in the historical retrospective of Papyrus Harris I, the Year 11 campaign is described in much greater detail than that of Year 5, and it appears that by the end of the reign of Ramesses III, both campaigns were viewed as facets of a single, large-scale war commemorated in one festival celebration.111 The Libyan component Meshwesh, led by their chief Meshesher, were the main aggressors in the Year 11 invasion, and the Libu may have encouraged their compatriots.112 Despite the number of different accounts of the Year 11 war, no text provides a clear narrative of the military events that led to the Egyptian victory. In addition to images of two fortifications along the Western Frontier Zone (Figure 5.3), the pictorial record also distinguishes the Meshwesh Libyans in this campaign from the Libyans that the Egyptians fought in earlier battles:  the Meshwesh, although dressed in the same long cloaks and penis sheaths as other Libyans, wield long swords and have small numbers of chariots.113 Like the Year 5 inscription, the Year 11 texts are redolent with royal imagery; the Year 11 “poem” also includes such interesting details as the Libyan chief Keper pleading for the life of his son Meshesher.114

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A comparison of the narrative within The Libyan Battle Story with the lengthy records of Ramesses III’s two Libyan campaigns reveals fewer direct parallels than those between The Libyan Battle Story and the Libyan war of Merneptah. The most visible trace of the events during the reign of Ramesses III is the prominence of the Meshwesh Libyans, who initiate the Year 11 campaign with their leader Meshesher, son of Keper. In The Libyan Battle Story, the Meshwesh are mentioned first in the list of Libyans and appear again in col. X + 1, line 11. Merneptah’s records, in contrast, refer consistently to the Libyan invaders as Libu, and the Meshwesh do not appear within the battle narratives, but in general statements of Egyptian domination115 and in the entry “copper swords of the Meshwesh”116 in the plunder list of the Karnak Inscription. The third Libyan component in The Libyan Battle Story, the Hasa, appear only once within the historical records of New Kingdom Egypt. The Hasa are one of seven Libyan groups listed in the summary of the Year 11 campaign of Ramesses III in the historical retrospective of Papyrus Harris I.117 Ramesses III begins the Libyan section of his historical retrospective with the statement:  “Behold, I  shall inform you of other events which have taken place in the Beloved Land since (the reigns of previous) kings”;118 based on the toponyms that Ramesses then mentions, the previous kings include Merneptah, and overall this statement shows a desire for historical research and authenticity. Following the description of prior Libyan activity within Egypt, Ramesses III claims in a single concise statement that he destroyed the Libyan foes. Ramesses III then goes on to describe in detail a new coalition of Libyan tribes and their subsequent defeat; this more complete rending of events corresponds to Ramesses III’s Year 11 Libyan War.119 The summary of the Year 11 campaign in Papyrus Harris I mentions additional Libyan tribes, the large amount of plunder captured, and the fate of the human captives—warriors are assigned to fortresses, while the women and children are put to work in the temple domains.120 The available historical records suggest that the list of Libyan tribes in The Libyan Battle Story represents a summary of campaigns from the reigns of Merneptah and Ramesses III, exactly like the historical retrospective in Papyrus Harris I.  In The Libyan Battle Story, the phrase that follows the list of the three Libyan groups, “came with,” may have been followed by a masculine singular pronoun, referring to a Libyan leader, such as the ruler of the Libu, Merey, son of Dedy (Year 5, Merneptah) or the ruler of the Meshwesh, Meshesher, son of Keper (Year 11, Ramesses III).121 The final aspect of the intersection of The Libyan Battle Story and the historical accounts that must be considered before moving to the “flame” and the group that speaks in the first person plural is the

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significance of the Sherden and the Peleset. Both of these groups are among the ethnonyms that the Egyptian texts classify as “peoples of the sea,” hence the modern designation Sea Peoples. The Sea Peoples and their influence on the late Bronze Age Mediterranean is a vast subject of research, ranging from studies of the textual records of Egypt and the Near East to archaeological investigations of their presence on the Levantine coast.122 In order to understand the role of the Sherden and Peleset in The Libyan Battle Story, one can focus on a much smaller subset of the ancient evidence: the Sea Peoples as auxiliary troops in the Egyptian army. 123 The second column of The Libyan Battle Story clearly indicates that the foreign groups are members of the Egyptian military: “and we sent forth 100 Peleset [ . . . ] 9 the days, and 200 Sherden of the great strongholds.” This passage clearly differentiates the role of the Sea Peoples in The Libyan Battle Story from the Year 5 Libyan campaign of Merneptah and the Year 8 Sea People campaign of Ramesses III, but intersects with abundant evidence for Sea People auxiliary troops during the Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties. The Amarna Letters are the first texts from Egypt to mention the Sherden,124 who gain more prominence during the reign of Ramesses II. Historical records from the early years of Ramesses II’s reign describe a Sherden naval assault on the Egyptian Delta.125 After the Egyptian forces successfully repelled the invasion, Ramesses II sensed a greater military opportunity beyond his victory126 and employed the Sherden captives as auxiliary forces. They are mentioned prominently in the Kadesh Battle Poem as “the Sherden of the plunder of his Majesty, which he brought through the victories of his strong arm.”127 Both the Egyptians and other major powers, particularly the Hittites, employed the Sea Peoples as “runners,” infantry that would accompany chariots into battle, providing support for the expensive war machines.128 Military reliefs from the reigns of Ramesses II and Ramesses III show Sherden troops—clearly marked by their horned helmets—fighting alongside Egyptian troops in battle or functioning as part of the royal bodyguard.129 The “Sherden of the great strongholds” in The Libyan Battle Story are a specific reference to the employment of Sherden auxiliary troops as garrisons of fortresses.130 Ramesses III claims to have settled Sherden in fortresses after his Year 8 Sea People War,131 transforming the “Sherden of the sea”132 (i.e. enemy Sherden) into “Sherden of the great strongholds” (i.e. Sherden auxiliaries). By the reign of Ramesses V, land-holding records indicate that Sherden and their families were settled in Middle Egypt,133 so to the audience of The Libyan Battle Story, the presence of Sherden might have been familiar.

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The Peleset first appear in Egyptian sources during the reign of Ramesses III134 but are difficult to identify with certainty among the foreign auxiliary troops depicted in the Medinet Habu reliefs. Labeled Peleset captives are shown wearing tasseled kilts and feathered headdresses with headbands decorated with a circular pattern.135 Unlabeled foreign auxiliary troops with the same features may be identified as Peleset, but could also represent other Sea People groups such as the Shekelesh and Tjeker.136 The Libyan Battle Story does not shed light on larger issues of scholarship on the Sea Peoples, such as the now accepted relationship between the Peleset and later Philistines,137 but with so few textual examples of Peleset in Egyptian records, The Libyan Battle Story should be noted for its clear use of Peleset as an Egyptian auxiliary force. The appearance of Sherden and Peleset auxiliary troops in The Libyan Battle Story strongly suggests that the story was not composed before the reign of Ramesses III. By the middle of the Twentieth Dynasty, the Sherden had long been a part of the Egyptian military and, in some regions of Egypt, part of the population as a whole. The detailed description of the topographical setting of the Battle of Perire in The Libyan Battle Story suggests that the audience would not be surprised by either the Peleset or the Sherden fighting alongside the Egyptian army against the Libyan foe. The Libyan Battle Story further indicates that the cosmopolitanism of New Kingdom Egypt had come full circle: Egyptians fighting in foreign territories (Capture of Joppa, Thutmose III in Asia) have now been superseded by foreign troops helping the Egyptians defend their own borders. Was the audience of The Libyan Battle Story aware of the role that the Sea Peoples had played in the actual battle that took place at Perire during Merneptah’s reign? The use of specific references to the “fortified plantation” and the “archers” in The Libyan Battle Story suggests that the author and at least a subset of the audience had access to these earlier records (see further, pp. 131–134). The change in the role of the Sea Peoples between the historical records of Merneptah and the fictional narrative of The Libyan Battle Story is probably due to the part the Sea People auxiliaries played in the defeat of the new waves of Libyan invasions during the reign of Ramesses III. Next one may move to the identity of the elusive (and allusive) “flame” and the group of individuals who speak in the first person plural in The Libyan Battle Story. Egyptian archers are not attested using flaming arrows138 and pharaonic Egyptian military technology does not appear to have included the incendiary devices139 that are documented in later ancient civilizations.140 Even basic smokescreens, such as those attested in Graeco-Roman warfare,141 do not appear in Egyptian texts, which is

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unsurprising considering the lack of timber along the Nile Valley. The flame on the battlefield in The Libyan Battle Story is thus not a weapon, but rather a symbolic representation of the power of the pharaoh. For an ancient Egyptian, any crown that the pharaoh wore contained a “flaming” element—the uraeus that sits atop the king’s brow and spews forth fiery venom.142 The uraeus appears frequently as a force acting on behalf of the Egyptian army, but the uraeus as a feminine term (iarr.t) probably does not lie behind the masculine flame in The Libyan Battle Story (wa stA). Instead, one may turn to another common motif within New Kingdom military inscriptions—the pharaoh himself as a flame that burns up the enemy army.143 In line 8, the flame is mentioned shortly before the toponym “the domain of the Mistress of the Field (pr nb.t sx.t).” The sekhet-field is not cultivated, agricultural land, but the bordering wild marshes144 where the Egyptians partook of their favorite pastimes, fishing and fowling.145 This is the earliest attestation of the epithet “Mistress of the Field,” which appears in Graeco-Roman temple inscriptions as epithets of Isis and Hathor, among other goddesses.146 The flame in The Libyan Battle Story appears as a royal avatar that protects a sacred area in the Delta that is being threatened by the Libyan invaders.147 In The Libyan Battle Story, a group that speaks in the first person plural issues commands, while the flame appears as an impersonal, but perhaps omnipresent force. The hermeneutical crux of the last extant lines is the relationship between “us” and the flame. A likely answer is to be found in an intertextual exploration of royal military texts and another work of New Kingdom historical fiction. The authority of the pharaoh as the sole decision-maker appears as an essential feature of texts that belong to the genre of the “royal novel”; in the introductory portion of these texts, the pharaoh requests advice about a building or military decision from his advisors, and then promptly dismisses their advice and proceeds with his ambitious plan. The situation in The Libyan Battle Story is quite different from the standard royal presentation, because another group is making decisions on the battlefield—a group that speaks in the first person plural. The context, particularly the line “we sent forth 100 Peleset,” suggests that a group of Egyptian military commanders are the speakers/actors in the final lines of the text. New Kingdom royal military texts do not describe groups of officers issuing commands to the Egyptian forces. Although the pharaoh obviously could not have single-handedly led every assault, in the decorum of official inscriptions the practicalities of the chain of command are simply not present. In the rare cases where first person plural

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pronouns occur in royal military texts, they are typically used within speeches by the defeated enemy or by Egyptian military and civil officials praising the pharaoh after a victory. An unusual instance of the first person plural pronoun occurs in the private autobiography of an early Eighteenth Dynasty soldier, Ahmose, son of Ibana:148 “Meanwhile, I was at the head of our army.” It is notable that Ahmose refers to the army as “ours” rather than “his” (i.e. the king’s), suggesting a corporate identity among the soldiers. Another parallel can be found in the Karnak Annals of Thutmose III:  when the king speaks to his soldiers about the difficulties of the Aruna Pass, they reply in the first person plural.149 In The Libyan Battle Story, the group speaking in the first person plural and issuing commands on the battlefield should be seen as a mark of fictionality, differentiating The Libyan Battle Story from papyrus copies of royal inscriptions (e.g. P. Sallier III, Kadesh Battle Poem). The active role of nonroyal commanders on the battlefield in The Libyan Battle Story does find a parallel, however, in another work of historical fiction: Djehuty’s actions as commanding general in The Capture of Joppa. Djehuty leads the Egyptian army against Joppa, while the king is represented only by the staff Djehuty carries; after the capture of Joppa, Djehuty writes to Thutmose III in Egypt, further indicating that Djehuty acted as field commander (in fiction and probably in reality as well). Djehuty concludes his letter to Thutmose III with the statement:  “They have fallen beneath your feet forever and ever!” Despite Thutmose III’s physical distance from the battlefield, the king’s aura extends over Djehuty and the Egyptian army. The Capture of Joppa provides a clue to understanding the “flame” in the final lines of The Libyan Battle Story—the flame is the representative of the pharaoh’s power on the battlefield. This further explains the emphasis given to the commanding officers who send forth the Peleset—they are given the initiative to make tactical decisions in the story because the pharaoh was elsewhere. The pharaoh could not have been physically present at every battle, although the surviving ancient Egyptian sources—the vast majority of which are stone temple inscriptions and stelae—emphasize campaigns in which the pharaoh was personally involved. The Annals of Thutmose III dutifully record the king’s actions (even those as mundane as waking in his tent each morning), and, despite the Hittite ambush, Ramesses II chose to commemorate his leadership of Egyptian forces at the Battle of Kadesh. Some texts do suggest, however, that the pharaoh was absent from the battlefield,150 and scrolls with the lists of campaigns led by generals were stored in temple libraries;151 one of the most explicit and

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interesting examples of a military text describing a campaign not led by the pharaoh is the Buhen Stela of Akhenaten.152 The parallels between the Buhen Stela as the record of an actual military campaign and the fictional accounts of The Libyan Battle Story and The Capture of Joppa warrant a more detailed examination of the fragmentary historical text from Akhenaten’s reign. The Buhen Stela begins with a date, Akhenaten appearing in glory in the palace (at Akhetaten), and the king hearing the report of a rebellion in the eastern desert of Nubia by the tribe of the Akuyati, who probably roamed near the gold-producing region of the Wadi Allaqi. While the standard follow-up to the report of enemy activity would be the king “raging like a panther” and leading an army into Nubia, instead the next preserved sentence states: “Then his Majesty commanded the Viceroy of Kush [Djehutymose . . . ].”153 The fragmentary lines of the Buhen Stela do not contain the narrative of the campaign nor any orders issued by Djehutymose as commander-in-chief, and these were probably not present in the original document. The extant text appears to move from a description of skirmishes around “wells” to the flight of the broken enemy forces. The text concludes with the list of enemy slain, captured, and impaled and a paean to Akhenaten; the name of the person or group addressing the king is lost in the damage, but the speech could be that of the Viceroy Djehutymose:154 “No rebellion exists in your vicinity, for the one who attacks you will be like one who does not exist! . . . Your war-cry is like a blast of flame pursuing every foreign land . . . All foreign lands are united in their desire to strip bare their own lands daily . . . ” The “blast of flame” is particularly interesting in light of the “flame” in The Libyan Battle Story, the fiery power of the king being invoked in both cases perhaps to emphasize the far-reaching aura of the king despite his absence from the battlefield. The final line of The Libyan Battle Story suggests that the narrative went on to present the defeat of the invading Libyan forces, and the unusual use of the first person plural pronoun indicates that the tale might have done so from the perspective of the Egyptian army. One can imagine that in the lost ending of The Libyan Battle Story, the ancient author used the vivid description of Merey’s discomfiture in the Victory Stela—barefoot and unarmed—as literary fodder for the fictional tale. Without another copy of the text, any reconstructions must remain purely conjecture. The discovery of another copy of this text, however, is not out of the question, since the themes of The Libyan Battle Story would have remained relevant to that most prolific of literate communities, Deir el-Medina, through the end of the Twentieth Dynasty. Between the reigns of Ramesses IX and Ramesses

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XI, work was often halted in the Valley of the Kings due to “desert dwellers,” who may or may not have been Libyan marauders; additional documents record specific threats from Meshwesh,155 and an ostracon from Deir el-Medina may record a possible royal eulogy (or part of a narrative) that includes references to Libyans.156

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C H A PT E R 6

A Thematic Survey of New Kingdom Historical Fiction Like an opera, in which music and poetry and drama melt into one another to produce what amounts to a new kind of art, with a purpose and an idiom of its own; like a song, in which music and poetry are interlocked, and become one harmony, the historical novel is a fusion. It is one of the arts that are born of the marriage of different arts. A  historical event is “put to fiction” as a poem is put to music; it is turned into story as words are turned into song; it is put into a context of narrative which is like the result that is obtained when words are printed between the staves of a vocal score. And just as a composer in choosing a poem to set to music, accepts certain limitations, volunteers a certain allegiance, and must in some way be loyal to the poetry he has selected, so the historical novelist owes a certain loyalty to the history of which he treats.1 Herbert Butterfield (1924)

T

he vagaries of preservation exert an overwhelming influence on modern understandings and perceptions of ancient Egyptian literature— a single event at any point over the last three thousand years could have removed one of the four stories presented here from the universe of extant New Kingdom texts.2 In each case, a single papyrus preserves a unique record of Ramesside literary creativity. The coincidences of early finds, differing conditions in tombs and urban settings, and the lack of papyri from major urban centers, such as the Ramesside capital at Piramesses are factors making any assessment of New Kingdom literature a survey of fortunate survivals rather than a certain overview of the full scope of New Kingdom literature. These caveats all inform and limit the investigation of New Kingdom historical fiction—not only has most of the original source material (once present in the “House of Life” and other institutions) disappeared, but additional works belonging to this genre almost certainly

existed. The following thematic survey seeks to summarize the main aspects of the four works presented here, particularly in terms of audience and function, theology, and historiography.

AUDIENCE AND FUNCTION OF EGYPTIAN HISTORICAL FICTION: ENTERTAINMENT AND EMPIRE “Moreover, I would like to stress the element of play, and of good-natured fun, in these historical novels: fun in the plotting for its own sake rather than as a subsidiary aspect of dialogue or character development.”3

Harold Orel’s words about the nineteenth century historical novel provide one possible reading for historical fiction composed over three millennia earlier.4 Apepi’s ridiculous request about the hippopotami and Djehuty’s smiting of the enemy of Joppa with the very staff the foreign ruler desires to see are the most obvious elements of playfulness and humor within the tales.5 The existence of a separate genre of historical fiction may suggest, however, that history itself was found to be entertaining, particularly the history of Egyptian victories against foreign groups.6 Literary genres often develop in response to changes and shifts in society, and the new genres of Ramesside Egypt are reflective of cultural trends of the period, in particular the increasing “cosmopolitanism.” One side of this change was domestic:  during the New Kingdom, the Egyptian military and foreign administration became more prominent in the cultural life of the Nile Valley.7 The other main influence came from the world outside Egypt’s borders: the increasing pressures that foreign entities exerted on the Nile Valley, as Egypt maintained her territories in Syria-Palestine, while combating threats from first Mitanni and later the Hittites. The first, domestic change is well reflected in the works of historical fiction. One of the two named historical individuals within the tales, Djehuty, was the chief administrator in the “northern foreign lands,” among his other military and civil titles. Paser, the other named non-royal character, does not have any titles listed in Thutmose III in Asia, but his mother’s name indicates that he was of foreign extraction, and his interactions with Thutmose III suggest that he, like Djehuty, was at the apex of the Egyptian military or foreign administrative hierarchy. More subtle, but equally present, is the role of “scribes” in the court of Apepi in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and the emphasis on military commanders in The Libyan Battle Story.8 How should one read these characterizations in light of social changes in New Kingdom Egypt and the resulting influence on

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the production of literature? The most straightforward answer is that the “new” aspects of New Kingdom military activity, from chariots to invading Libyans, spurred the desire to compose literature as a means of addressing past trauma (The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre), past glories (The Capture of Joppa, Thutmose III in Asia), and threats that had only recently been overcome (The Libyan Battle Story). New Kingdom works of historical fiction served the same role as Middle Kingdom literature in addressing comparable societal change and anxiety, while at the same time not losing sight of humor and playfulness, as Richard Parkinson has observed:9 “By offering in this way a context in which to face the problematic and the incomprehensibility of life, literature both examined the values of Middle Kingdom culture and offered a space for personal entertainment.” The military milieu of historical fiction offers an interesting contrast to the New Kingdom genre commonly called The Satire of the Trades. As Anthony Spalinger has noted:  “In sum, these New Kingdom satirical attacks can be best understood as reflections of the social distance desired by the scribal class. The Miscellanies’ anti-soldier attacks provided a corporate identity in order to support scribal officialdom.”10 The works of historical fiction suggest a mitigation of this distance between “scribe” and “soldier,” also evident in The Satirical Letter of Hori.11 Within the four tales, scribes and soldiers both appear as characters, and in The Capture of Joppa, the leader of Egyptian troops personally composes a letter to the Egyptian pharaoh. No matter how strongly the scribal profession sought to define itself in distinction to other professions, in particular the military, the existence of historical fiction suggests a shared enjoyment in historical events. The Capture of Joppa and Thutmose III in Asia also demonstrate an interest in foreign territories and travel. While aimless travel and “mingling” with foreigners was discouraged,12 in its proper setting, knowledge of foreign locales was a point of pride among military scribes,13 and members of the military and the foreign administration would have engaged in more long-distance travel than other literate ancient Egyptians. While other works of New Kingdom fiction can include travel for adventure (e.g. The Doomed Prince) or necessity (e.g. The Report of Wenamun, The Tale of Woe),14 the works of historical fiction describe travel for official purposes (i.e. military campaigns). The domestic changes in the social structure of the New Kingdom mirror the shifting relationship between Egypt and the outside world. The two stories set abroad—The Capture of Joppa and Thutmose III in Asia—share with the nonfiction Satire of the Trades a setting in Western Asia,15 and the extensive descriptions of the hardships of a soldier’s life in the latter are never situated in Nubia. The surviving works of New Kingdom historical

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fiction interestingly cover three of the key events in Egypt’s imperial ambitions in Syria-Palestine. One of the two main characters in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre is a member of the Theban dynasty that drove the Hyksos rulers out of the Delta, reunified Egypt, and set the stage for the creation of Egypt’s empire, both in Nubia and Syria-Palestine.16 The Egyptian empire reached its zenith in the reign of Thutmose III, who is the subject of Thutmose III in Asia and in whose reign The Capture of Joppa is set. The quotation from the Kadesh Battle Poem in Thutmose III in Asia demonstrates the relevance of Thutmose III to the Ramesside understanding of events in Syria-Palestine, and it would not be surprising if a fictional version of the Battle of Kadesh or some other military adventure during the reign of Ramesses II was also once part of the original corpus of New Kingdom historical fiction. The Twentieth Dynasty signaled increasing difficulties for the Egyptian imperial project; The Libyan Battle Story presents a fictional account of the success against renewed waves of foreign invasions during the reigns of Merneptah and Ramesses III. By the time of the composition of The Libyan Battle Story, New Kingdom historical fiction had led audiences to confront the full range of Egypt’s interactions on a global stage, and each of the tales “curates” historical events by prompting the reader to draw parallels and appreciate the relevance of the past for the present.17

Scribal Victory: The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre

British Museum EA 10185 (P. Sallier I) belongs to a larger corpus of papyri with heterogeneous contents, traditionally called the Late Egyptian Miscellanies, which represent a microcosm of Ramesside textual production.18 As their original editor, Alan Gardiner, already recognized, these texts consist primarily of letters, divine and royal hymns, praises of cities, “extracts from books of moral teaching,” and texts extolling the scribal profession above all others (Satire of the Trades).19 The function of the Miscellanies remains a topic of debate—while the collection of texts was originally identified as a type of “final exam” for advanced scribal students,20 some have argued for the identification of the Miscellanies as a multi-purpose reference manual stored in private libraries.21 Either functional interpretation of the corpus places the Miscellanies firmly within the intertextual universe of the authors and audiences of New Kingdom historical fiction, and BM EA 10185 (Papyrus Sallier I) provides the strongest connection between a fictional story and the corpus of “practical” compositions within the miscellanies.

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Epistolographic documents constitute one of the most prominent genres with the Late Egyptian Miscellanies—communications between individuals (some of whom are women22) about topics as diverse as royal jubilee celebrations, taxation, military personnel, and more obscure personal concerns.23 The letters within the Miscellanies may be copies of actual documents, and lack the distinguishing features of New Kingdom “literary letters”;24 the Miscellanies letters would have taught students how to compose a type of document that they needed to produce on a regular basis during their scribal careers, or could have served as a set of reference documents for practicing scribes. BM EA 10185 I juxtaposes the beginning of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre with an “instruction of letter writing,” a standard part of the Late Egyptian Miscellanies. The role of scribes in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre thus forms a strong intertext with the following manual of letter writing within BM EA 10185, as well as the larger corpus of praise of the scribal profession throughout the papyri of the Miscellanies. Within this overarching literary purpose, one may also deduce a more specific function for The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, since it is the only Late Egyptian story that includes mortal (as opposed to divine) scribes as characters, and communication between rulers is the crux of the portion of the story reproduced in BM EA 10185. The story might thus serve as a lively and humorous introduction to the manual of letter writing, using a fictional tale to demonstrate the importance of scribes throughout Egyptian history. This theory may also explain why Pentaweret did not copy the entire story, but ended in the middle of a sentence: perhaps the next part of the plot turned from royal communications to more military affairs, at which point the tale was no longer considered relevant to the student of letter writing. Ultimately, The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre combines the utilitarian and non-utilitarian purposes of New Kingdom literature, demonstrating that both may co-exist within a single manuscript. In the sole copy of the text, the story was contextualized within a letter-writing manual, and internal criteria suggest that the tale possessed normative features concerning kingship and religious belief, like the other three works of historical fiction described here. However, despite the political or religious significance of the hippopotami within The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, the playful and humorous use of this animal in the obvious absurdity of Apepi’s request argues for the independent literary qualities of the text. The same dichotomy between functional and literary value appears to exist in all works of Egyptian historical fiction25—they are accounts of historical episodes that retain meaning as cultural artifacts, but were altered for the ancient reader’s enjoyment.

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Charioteers, Loan Words, and Menace: The Capture of Joppa

Unlike the juxtaposition of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre with a manual of letter writing, the compilation of texts in BM EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500)  appears to be less “functional” and to possess entertainment value without a specific additional purpose. In addition to their potential Sitz im Leben, all of the texts in BM EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500) mention chariot warriors: chariots were present at the siege of Joppa in The Capture of Joppa, the prince pretends to be the son of a chariot warrior in The Doomed Prince,26 and a charioteer Mehy27 and his followers are prominent characters in the love poetry collection of BM EA 10060 (Papyrus Harris 500).28 The two fictional narratives within the papyrus differ greatly, however, in their characterization, and especially their chronotope. In The Doomed Prince, the setting is entirely ahistorical and no characters are named, not even the protaganist; several of the plot elements utilize folk-tale motifs within the overarching literary narrative.29 The introduction to The Doomed Prince establishes the main theme of the story: the concept of fate. Unfortunately, without an ending, one cannot know the moral of the tale, whether individual action can overcome fate or whether divine intervention averts the prince’s impending doom. After the prince, disguised as a chariot warrior with an evil stepmother, arrives in the land of Mitanni, a series of miraculous events occurs, not the least of which is the prince joining other local princes who jump up to the window of the Mitannian princess’s tower—a height of 70 cubits (approximately 36.75m) above the ground.30 After the Egyptian prince weds the princess, he is confronted by three of his fates, two of whom—the dog and the crocodile—speak in the tale. The chronotope of The Doomed Prince is thus akin to the “adventure time” of Greek romance novels, and both are similarly set within “exotic” locales.31 On the other hand, The Capture of Joppa begins with a named character, Djehuty, who is not simply a fictional creation, but based on a historical individual. The ruling pharaoh Thutmose III is named twice within The Capture of Joppa, and it was during Thutmose III’s reign that the historical Djehuty served in the Egyptian northern administration. The setting, Joppa, is a real location, not a mythical or exotic place. While comical (yet malicious) events do occur—such as Djehuty smiting the enemy on the head with the awenet-staff—most of the narrative is at least plausibly realistic (even the transportation of men in baskets). The other characters and plot elements, from the presence of the maryannu and Apiru to the letter that Djehuty writes at the end of the siege, are based on historical events or

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practices that create a plausible literary representation of the northeastern portion of the Egyptian world during the reign of Thutmose III. Among the works of historical fiction, The Capture of Joppa is notable for its use of foreign objects as key elements within the plot. The awenet-staff that the ruler of Joppa desires to see and with which Djehuty smites the enemy was typically a Syro-Palestinian import. The Egyptian general uses a foreign object to defeat a foreign land—to expand upon the ancient Egyptian pun, the awenet-staff plunders (awen) the land whence it came. Ultimately the products of the northern Egyptian empire are turned to Egypt’s advantage, just as Seth, god of the foreigners, assists in the deception of the enemy. The baskets in which the soldiers are smuggled into Joppa are also foreign objects, designated by the loan word tekhbesti. The choice of a loan word for “basket” may also have literary significance akin to that of the awenet-staff—a foreign object is used against the enemy. Loan words may be part of a distinct “military jargon” of the New Kingdom,32 and non-Egyptian terms are mobilized specifically to express domination over foreign lands in The Hymn to the King in His Chariot.33 While the loan words within The Capture of Joppa are limited to the tekhbesti-basket and the term itlel, the Egyptian words for “manacle” and “plunder” are spelled in syllabic orthography, akin to foreign terms.34 Unsurprisingly, the use of loan words is most prominent in literary texts that promote Egypt’s imperial project in Syria-Palestine. One possible way of understanding the use of loan words in The Capture of Joppa and their more wide-spread employment in texts such as The Hymn to the King in His Chariot and The Satirical Letter of Hori can be found in a comparison with a literary corpus far removed in both time and space, but sharing the same imperial focus: the writings of Rudyard Kipling.35 The study of foreign words in Rudyard Kipling’s works divides into two opposed perspectives: one that lauds his creative and effective use of Hindustani, and the other critical of his linguistic abilities and failure to give credit to the native Indian contributions to his literary production.36 Fortunately, it is the common ground in this ongoing debate37 that is of relevance to ancient Egyptian literature:  Kipling, an author from an imperial society, uses foreign loan words to create an immediate and intimate experiential effect, transporting the reader to the complex, multicultural and multilingual world of a colonized territory, Anglo-India, just as the author(s) of The Capture of Joppa in imperial New Kingdom Egypt brought the ancient audience to the world of Syria-Palestine. The use of language in The Capture of Joppa and The Satirical Letter of Hori captures the political and administrative realities of the Egyptian empire, just as Kipling’s writing would later do for the British Empire.

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Re-creating a Battle: Thutmose III in Asia

The Capture of Joppa and Thutmose III in Asia share a temporal setting— the sole reign of Thutmose III—and theme—military campaigns in Egypt’s northeastern empire. The historical existence of Djehuty, the hero of The Capture of Joppa, is well attested archaeologically, and the official Paser in Thutmose III in Asia was most likely based on a historical person who lived during the reign of Thutmose III. The two tales may be part of what was once a literary “cycle.”38 New readings have demonstrated that Thutmose III in Asia, like The Capture of Joppa, most likely describes a single historical event. Ironically, the evidence for the historical templates of the stories has survived in reverse proportion to the evidence for their main characters. The famous Battle of Megiddo—the centerpiece of Thutmose III’s historical texts—appears to be the basis for the events in Thutmose III in Asia, while the capture of Joppa was not recorded in the royal war record, which is not surprising if the story accurately indicates the king’s absence during the siege. Two specific parallels in The Capture of Joppa and Thutmose III in Asia enhance the connection between the tales:  fodder for chariot horses and the presence of the Apiru (see above, pp. 106–107). Speculation about the general circumstances of the composition of Thutmose III in Asia can be tempered with the specific case of a single individual who definitely read, and may even have helped compose, the military records of Thutmose III. The long career of the official and military scribe Tjanuni—recorded textually and pictorially in his tomb on the western bank of Thebes (TT 74)—spanned the reigns of Thutmose III, Amunhotep II, and Thutmose IV.39 In an autobiographical text, Tjanuni describes his military experience, and more unusually, his role in its written commemoration:40 I followed the good god, ruler of Maat, king of Upper and Lower Egypt Menkheperre (Thutmose III) [ . . . ]. I witnessed the royal victories that he accomplished in every foreign land: having brought (back) the chiefs of Djahi as captives to Egypt, having plundered all of their cities, having cut down their trees. No foreign land could stand [before him]. I was the one who memorialized the victories that he accomplished in every foreign land, being put in writing, (exactly) as they had been done.

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Although the author of Thutmose III in Asia is unknown, he was probably from the same military milieu as his predecessor Tjanuni, who helped to record the royal annals. The rich intertextualities in Thutmose III in Asia— with the historical records of the reign of Thutmose III, with the Kadesh Poem of Ramesses II, and with the story The Capture of Joppa—further suggest an author steeped in the military literature, broadly construed, of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Dynasties. Perhaps Thutmose III in Asia was a royal counterpart to The Capture of Joppa—an entertaining, fictional version of Thutmose III’s exploits instead of a general’s ruse; if so, the nonroyal characters in Thutmose III in Asia may have been used primarily as a supporting cast for Thutmose III, exactly as Paser functions in the preserved portion of the text. Judging from the amount of evidence of Thutmose III’s military prowess that has survived for three millennia, it is not surprising that more than one work of Egyptian historical fiction was set during his reign. Indeed, the two extant stories—The Capture of Joppa and Thutmose III in Asia—are likely only a small portion of a larger corpus of fictional works that described the exploits of Thutmose III and his generals.

Knowing the Enemy: The Libyan Battle Story

Among the works of historical fiction, The Libyan Battle Story is set closest in time to the date of the story’s composition. As noted above, only a generation separates the author and audience of The Libyan Battle Story from the Battle of Perire that was the basis of the literary narrative. If the story was composed during the reign of Ramesses III, then the threat of Libyan invasion would have been an even more vivid living memory. After the Libyan Wars during the reign of Ramesses III and the intervening defeat of the Sea People invaders, literary accounts based on these momentous events were probably composed, and The Libyan Battle Story might be only one member of a larger corpus of fictional narratives. The historical texts of Ramesses III do not describe a single large battle, so the campaigns of his Year 5 and 11 may have consisted of small skirmishes and counterattacks from the western fortresses (see pp. 134–136 above). Thus, the authors of The Libyan Battle Story may have borrowed the dramatic and detailed account of the Battle at Perire from the records of Merneptah, but “updated” it by including Libyan and Sea People groups from the reign of Ramesses III. The tale may also have originated as a fictional presentation of the Battle of Perire, with additional groups of invaders integrated into the narrative. The use of the first person plural suffix pronoun towards the end of the preserved narrative suggests that the story may even have been told from

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the perspective of the Egyptian army, and a member of the military would logically be the most likely author of the tale. Literate members of the Egyptian military would also have had a natural interest in the narrative of The Libyan Battle Story since, these were the people who had first-hand knowledge of the Libyan groups and Egyptian auxiliaries within the tale. While an imagined reader at Deir el-Medina might not be able to differentiate a Meshwesh Libyan from a Libu Libyan, certain members of the Egyptian military certainly could, and an official like Amunmose, a contemporary of Ramesses III, might have had his very livelihood (as overseer of works at the Delta town of Na-amunre), threatened by the Libyan incursions into northern Egypt (see above, pp. 9–10). The smaller subset of foreign auxiliary troops, such as the Sherden and Peleset, could have been among the intended audience of the story.41 Lacking a secure provenance for the single extant copy of The Libyan Battle Story, such speculations about the audience of the story remain an educated guess about the work’s original milieu. The overall impression of the narrative, however, is one of esprit de corps, a celebration of Egyptian victory over a dangerous foe. The specificity with which The Libyan Battle Story describes the Libyans further suggests that knowledge of the enemy was an end in itself—the reader of The Libyan Battle Story was both entertained and educated about a threat that continued to loom on the western horizon.

THEOLOGY IN THE TALES

Among the works of New Kingdom historical fiction, theology forms a strong thematic undercurrent so it is unsurprising that in the realm of military activity the king’s actions are aided by the divine. In the stories, divinities are most prominent in royal epithets (The Capture of Joppa, The Libyan Battle Story) and descriptions of the royal panoply and chariot team (Thutmose III in Asia), but in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, the worship of Amun-Re and Seth by Seqenenre and Apepi respectively forms an integral part of the plot. In The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, the conflict between the two kings and the two capital cities transcends the earthly realm to become a battle between two gods—or so at least one character within the story, Apepi, believes. The role of Seth in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and The Capture of Joppa is more nuanced than an appeal to the god of “confusion” who allies himself with foreigners. A summary of the four works of historical fiction reveals the complexities of Seth’s role within the Egyptian pantheon.

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The chaotic, even malignant, side of Seth’s character can now be traced back to Predynastic iconography, if one assumes that at this early date the donkey was already a hypostasis of the god.42 In the formative period of pharaonic kingship, Seth could also play an important role in royal iconography, such as the presence of the Seth animal atop Peribsen’s serekh, replacing the traditional Horus falcon;43 shortly thereafter, Khasekhemwy’s pairing of both Horus and Seth on his serekh provides an early statement of Seth’s proper position within the larger dualistic cosmos. Seth remained both a dangerous being and a powerful protective divinity in the third and second millennia BCE,44 and by the time of the Nineteenth Dynasty, his cult flourished, in large part due to royal patronage. Ramesses II commemorated the four-hundredth anniversary of Seth’s divine rulership over the Delta and his own ancestry in a stela at Avaris, essentially acknowledging that the god’s reign overlapped with the Hyksos Period and that the geographic origins of the current ruling dynasty were the center of that traumatic foreign rule.45 Such texts indicate that historical theology—particularly as it would have been accessible to the Ramesside audience—must play a significant role in any interpretation of the works of historical fiction. The description of Apepi’s construction of a temple for Seth at Avaris in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre is most likely based on the Ramesside experience of the cult-topography of Piramesses, whose southern quarter was called “the domain of Seth.”46 The author of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre may very well have been a resident of Piramesses or Thebes, two cities that enjoyed a relevance beyond their immediate territories in the literature of the New Kingdom; the “praise of cities” texts within The Late Egyptian Miscellanies indicate an appreciation for the religious, military, and political status of those capital cities, and The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre demonstrates a corresponding interest in historical geography.47 The emphasis upon Apepi’s unique worship of Seth and Seqenenre’s sole reliance on Amun-Re has led to discussion of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre as a reflection of monotheism, either that of Akhenaten or even of Apepi himself.48 The use of dueling divinities as a literary motif, however, should not necessarily be read either as historical evidence of Apepi’s religious practices or as a memno-historical reflection of events at the end of the Eighteenth Dynasty. The worship of Seth and Amun-Re in Avaris and Thebes, respectively, possesses clear historical templates in the Second Intermediate Period that would have been available to the Ramesside author of the tale. In the reading presented above (pp. 57–58), the use of Seth and the roaring hippopotami within The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre is not monotheistic, but rather emphasizes the illegitimacy of Apepi’s rule by indicating that the foreign king is being rejected by Seth himself.

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The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and The Capture of Joppa link foreign groups with the worship of Seth, and behind Seth in both of these tales may lie the foreign god Baal.49 In Thutmose III in Asia, as in a wealth of other New Kingdom sources, Seth and Baal are twin aspects of a single divinity:50 “Their (chariot) spans became like Seth, great of strength, Baal in [his] moment.” Seth-Baal’s function in earthly combat51 possesses a cosmic template in Seth’s role as the slayer of Apep and Seth-Baal as serpent-slayer in Egyptian and Near Eastern sources.52 In Egyptian texts and iconography, Seth spears the chaos serpent Apep who threatens the daily course of the sun.53 Apep embodies the greatest possible threat to order—he is evil not of this world, lacking all sensory organs, yet piercing the deepest portion of the Underworld with his unearthly roars.54 The monstrous serpent Apep imperils Re’s progress by swallowing the water on which the solar bark sails, and a host of deities, Seth prominent among them, can appear as combatants against this evil force. Seth’s position as a liminal deity, part of the ordered cosmos, yet partaking in chaotic activities (from murder to thunder and rain), makes him particularly suited to do battle with Apep, the ultimate chaos. Seth’s ability to transcend boundaries on the cosmic level applies equally as well to his fluid identity in relationship to foreigners,55 as seen abundantly in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and The Capture of Joppa. In The Capture of Joppa, the Egyptian general Djehuty pretends to surrender to the mistress of the “enemy of Joppa,” and as a physical token of his capitulation, Djehuty sends several hundred baskets of “tribute.” As the audience is well aware, two hundred of the baskets of tribute hide Egyptian soldiers, armed with ropes and manacles. The theological significance of the ruse appears within the speech of the chariot warrior to the mistress of Joppa:  “It is to us that Seth has delivered Djehuty together with his wife and his children.” Just as Apepi in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre believes that he has a privileged relationship with the god Seth, so too is the mistress of Joppa in The Capture of Joppa willing to credit Seth with delivering the Egyptian general into her hands. Hiding soldiers within baskets and sending a false message to ensure their proper reception transforms Djehuty into a “trickster” figure, who indirectly credits the divine trickster, Seth.56 Djehuty is one of the only nondivine tricksters in the corpus of Middle and New Kingdom literature, but neither Seth nor his human agent Djehtuy exemplify the more developed trickster traditions found in other cultures, from the Greek Odysseus to the Native American Coyote.57 Finally, the outcome in The Capture of Joppa may hold the clue to the ending of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre: the enemy city falls to Djehuty’s stratagem, and one can suggest that Seth similarly helps bring about the

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defeat of the Hyksos king so slavishly devoted to him. The Capture of Joppa does not explicitly refer to Seth’s role, but neither does the narrative of the city’s capture mention any divine intervention; it is not until the heightened decorum of Djehuty’s letter to Thutmose III that a god appears again in the text. The sum of ancient evidence suggests that despite Seth’s role as a patron deity of foreign groups, in a conflict of interest with Egypt, Seth does not act against his homeland. While The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre lacks an ending, one can reasonably suggest that at a crucial moment for Apepi, Seth abandoned the Hyksos ruler and, together with Amun, helps Seqenenre to defeat the foreign king. A parallel for this reconstruction is offered by a text contemporaneous with the copy of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre in British Museum EA 10185 (P. Sallier I), the “Victory Stela” of Merneptah:58 Just as Seth turned his back against their chief, so were their settlements destroyed at his command.

Just as Seth “turned his back” on the citizens of Joppa, it is likely that in the ending of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, Seth similarly betrays Apepi. Egyptian texts further indicate that even if foreigners worship the divine, build temples, and make offerings, there is no guarantee that the gods will accept the homage of those who do not follow the principles of cosmic order; such a situation is explicitly described in Papyrus Anastasi II, part of the corpus of The Late Egyptian Miscellanies:59 Hatti is in his (scil. the king’s) power alone; god does not accept his (scil. the Hittite king’s) offerings; he (scil. The Hittie king) does not see water of the sky; because he is in the thrall of Usermaatre, l.p.h.

Seth, along with the other gods of Egypt, will issue judgment against the one who would promote isfet-chaos and drive out maat-order.60 Lacking an ending of the story, one may be led astray by over-interpretations of the preserved passages of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, but an intertextual analysis suggests that the tale acted at least partially as a theological apology for the close association of Seth and the Hyksos on the one hand and Seth and the ruling Ramesside dynasty on the other. The story would then possess the same normative value as the 400 Year Stela: “Seth of Ramesses II,” and his foreign attributes as Baal, would not render the deity Seth any less potent as a protector of Egypt. The statement of the chariot warrior in The Capture of Joppa is more definite in showing that while foreigners may worship Seth,

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the god acts solely on behalf of the Egyptians, bringing about the downfall of enemy groups (be they Hyksos or rebellious Syro-Palestinian vassals). The other deity that plays a prominent role in the works of New Kingdom historical fiction requires less explanation, since he is at the pinnacle of the pantheon of the New Kingdom: Amun-Re, king of the gods. With his chief cult center at Thebes, temples throughout the Nile Valley and the surrounding deserts, and a cosmic presence, Amun-Re is the patron deity of Seqenenre in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, the god credited with delivering the rebel over to the Egyptians in The Capture of Joppa, and the god who assists Thutmose III and the Egyptian army in Thutmose III in Asia. Amun-Re’s presence on the battlefield in these stories finds rich parallels in contemporaneous historical inscriptions. The quotation of the Kadesh Battle Poem in Thutmose III in Asia further recalls Ramesses II’s impassioned appeal to Amun as he is surrounded by Hittite chariots. In Thutmose III in Asia, Amun dispatches a divine wind in which are three manifestations of Montu, corresponding to three of the four nodes of the cult of Montu in the Thebaid (see p. 114). Beyond Seth, Amun-Re, and Montu, the stories mention few divinities. In The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, the roaring hippopotami are not divine in their own right, but are most likely hypostases of Seth, although a relationship to Taweret is also possible (see above, pp. 55–56). In The Libyan Battle Story, Pre-Horakhty and Maat are both mentioned in relation to the king, as is to be expected considering the Heliopolitan setting of the beginning of the tale. No gods appear to intervene in the Libyan battle itself,61 and the mention of a goddess “mistress of the field” is related to the geographic setting of the battle rather than a divine presence on the battlefield. Overall, the theology of the tales coincides with the prevailing Ramesside theology—the gods assist the king and his representatives to quell chaotic foreign forces and restore maat.

HISTORIOGRAPHY IN THE TALES

In defining historiography, Daniel Woolf observes, Since very early times, human beings have had some sense of the past, both their own and that of their community or people. This is something that has distinguished us from other species. Having said that, historiography in the narrower sense of ‘intentional attempts to recover knowledge of and represent in writing true descriptions or narratives of past events’ has had a rather briefer career throughout the world, though one more complex and variegated than most accounts allow.62

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The “narrower sense” of historiography has proven a difficult thread to trace within the intricate tapestry of Egyptian historical texts, leading to statements such as that of Donald Redford: “The search for a form of Egyptian composition (during pharaonic times) to which we could apply the term ‘historiography’ has thus come to an abrupt end:  we cannot find one.”63 The rich evidence for Egyptian awareness of the past does not directly translate into the recovery of ancient Egyptian hermeneutics or methodology concerning their own history and historical writing.64 While the author of The Satirical Letter of Hori might claim that he is a scribe “who can interpret a difficult passage in the annals like the one who composed them,”65 the New Kingdom textual corpus lacks any commentary that might have resulted from such insightful interpretations and, indeed, such texts might not have been written.66 The transformation of historical events into fictional narratives as seen here in the four works of historical fiction may represent one of the few forms of historiographical “commentary” to emerge from New Kingdom Egypt.67 Letters and legal documents from the New Kingdom can include references to the consultation of other documents,68 and in an oft-quoted example from the tomb of Mose, legal records stretching back three hundred years are referenced in a complex litigation regarding land rights.69 Copies of earlier historical inscriptions are rare in the Egyptian record,70 but the paucity of examples may be due to the low percentage of preservation among the corpora of papyri, leather rolls, and writing boards, the media in which we would expect to find such copies.71 On the other hand, pictorial copies and “citations” of earlier works of art and architecture are much more commonly preserved, and often show dynamic re-creations of earlier artistic and architectural styles.72 The four works of historical fiction from the New Kingdom play a small, but important, role in tracing the trajectory of ancient Egyptian historiography, and the following survey proposes possible strategies for understanding the relationship between the authors and audience of the tales and ancient “history writing.” First and foremost, the genre of historical fiction as evident in the extant tales from the Ramesside Period is predicated upon the use of a historical event to create the basis of a fictional tale. The diversity of themes, characters, and events within the four works of historical fiction are unified through their possession of a single chronotope—a time and a place that existed in the historical past and a plot limited to plausible events within that setting. The analysis of the four tales presented above has argued that in each case, the author attempted to create an authentic “historical” narrative centered on a known individual, king, or battle. Fantastical elements, such as Apepi’s complaint about hippopotami hundreds of kilometers

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distant, are not part of the narrative, but embedded within an otherwise believable historical framework. The intertextual relationship between the works of historical fiction and extant historical texts (both inscriptions and in rare cases papyri) suggests that the authors of the tales conducted a form of research before composing the stories, but the paucity of references to archival research in ancient Egyptian sources prevents any sort of methodological comparisons between different categories of ancient scholarship.73 Evidence for the existence of historical research, even without further details as to the nature of that research, represents a contribution to the understanding of Egyptian historiography, and the works of historical fiction show a mobilization of past records for the purposes of the present, both for serious, socially normative functions as well as for enjoyment and entertainment. Fictionalizing military events suggests not only a desire to seek out relevant or interesting facts within the historical record, but also the desire to choose past events that were particularly relevant to the “current events” of Ramesside Egypt.74 The applicability of the historical events within the stories to the time in which they were composed has been discussed extensively in each of the chapters, but will be briefly summarized here. As the pharaohs of a newly unified Egypt strove to create a northern empire, the expulsion of the Hyksos was only rarely mentioned within historical inscriptions. The two notable exceptions appear during the reigns of the female pharaoh Hatshepsut and her successor Thutmose III. The historical retrospective in the Speos Artemidos inscription of Hatshepsut is justly famous for its bold statement:75 I (re)-erected that which was ruined formerly, since the Asiatics dwelt in the midst of the Delta (in) Hutwaret, the nomads in their midst overturning what had been done, because they ruled without Re.

While Hatshepsut’s Egypt was quite different from that of her royal predecessor Seqenenre, only about seventy-five years separates them.76 An officer like Ahmose-Pennekhbet, who began his career under Ahmose (and must have served alongside soldiers who had fought in the Hyksos wars), lived long enough to become a tutor to Hatshepsut’s daughter.77 Another possible mention of the Hyksos appears in the introduction to Thutmose III’s long list of military exploits that surround the sanctuary of Karnak Temple. The damaged historical retrospective that introduces the inscriptions may allude to the expulsion of the Hyksos from Egypt,78 and, again,

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this key event may have lived on in the shared memory of the military units that Thutmose III led into battle. The fictionalized account of the reigns of Apepi and Seqenenre in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre complement these rare allusions to the Hyksos Period in hieroglyphic documents. Historical theology as well as historical geography might have influenced the unusual choice to situate a story within this tumultuous period in Egyptian history. Although no evidence exists to suggest a rivalry between Piramesses and Thebes during the Ramesside Period, the prominence of two separate urban centers with their own historical and theological traditions may have played a role in the composition of the tale.79 The central preserved episode of the story, the request concerning the hippopotami, emphasizes the fictional and humorous aspects of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, but embedded within the narrative are several references to specific historical details that appear in contemporaneous Second Intermediate Period documents. Apepi was a worshipper of Seth in Avaris, just as Seqenenere dedicated monuments to Amun in Thebes (pp. 49–50); the baku-taxes that Apepi levies in the story are mentioned in Seventeenth Dynasty Theban documents as well as the self-presentation of Apepi as king (p. 46); the noisiness of the hippopotami may be related to the coincidence between the “birthday of Seth” and Ahmose’s push against Avaris (pp. 56–57). Finally, through its imitation of aspects of the royal novel, the author of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre may signal that his historical sources included royal texts of that genre from the time in which the story is set. The choice of characters within The Capture of Joppa, Thutmose III in Asia, and The Libyan Battle Story also demonstrates Egyptian interest in the achievements of past individuals80 including past kings. General Djehuty, the protagonist of The Capture of Joppa, is almost certainly a known historical figure, and he does not appear within the tale merely as an imaginary template of a “folk-hero” for the military or Egyptian administrators. Based on the available evidence—a single papyrus copy of a single story featuring Djehuty—one cannot form any model for possible oral transmission of heroic tales involving the Egyptian general, but the proposed written tradition and historiographical implications do not preclude the simultaneous existence of an oral version or versions of related stories. The analysis of specific aspects of the story, including the maryannu, Apiru, and the setting at Joppa, indicate that the author(s) of The Capture of Joppa placed Djehuty within a narrative that was faithful in its details to the reign of Thutmose III, yet possessed relevance to the Ramesside Empire in Syria-Palestine. The combination of all available evidence suggests that the Ramesside author(s) of The Capture of Joppa was both interested in imagining a past

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event, and capable of achieving that goal, complete with historical topography, characters, and other features appropriate to that past time period. What are the potential mechanisms by which knowledge of Djehuty and his career was available to the Ramesside author(s) of The Capture of Joppa? Outside of the fictional tale, no other post-Thutmose III documents record the general’s exploits, so the following suggestions rely on indirect evidence. Surviving material indicates that Djehuty’s tomb, most likely at Saqqara, was lavish;81 such a tomb probably included decorated chambers, with pictorial and textual records of the owner’s career,82 all of which may have been accessible to later visitors.83 The accessibility of the original tomb was not essential, however, to the preservation of its texts; hieroglyphic inscriptions from private tombs could be copied onto papyrus and then transmitted apart from the original monument.84 The royal records of Thutmose III include a passage that may shed further light on the possible source material for The Capture of Joppa. As part of Thutmose III’s defeat of the combined enemy forces at Megiddo, the Karnak Annals describe leather rolls that record the names of commanders who participated in the campaign:85 As for everything which his Majesty did to this city, and to that defeated enemy and to his defeated army: (it is) recorded for each date with its name, with the name of the campaign, [with the names] of the comm[anders . . . ] [They] are recorded on leather rolls in the temple of Amun until this day.

In this particular instance, the named commanders86 participated in a larger campaign led by the pharaoh himself, but one can postulate that similar textual material recorded nonroyal expeditions.87 If The Capture of Joppa is based on a real military event in which Djehuty commanded the Egyptian army while Thutmose III was in Egypt, then the Egyptian general’s exploits may have been transmitted within a leather roll (or papyrus scroll) like that mentioned in the Karnak Annals. Although these records have been lost, the fact that titles from objects in Djehuty’s tomb correspond with his role in The Capture of Joppa suggest that Djehuty’s actual military exploits inspired later authors to compose fictional tales vaunting his soldiery. The mechanism by which the author of The Capture of Joppa accomplished the task of fictionalizing a past event can only be reconstructed indirectly, since no extant historical texts describe Djehuty’s career. For Thutmose III in Asia and The Libyan Battle Story, on the other hand, historical sources do

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survive and indicate that the Egyptian authors employed both allusions and quotations to create a work of historical fiction. The historical details from the first campaign of Thutmose III suggest that the author of Thutmose III in Asia utilized historical records in his research, and the Ramesside audience that enjoyed The Capture of Joppa and Thutmose III in Asia most likely came to the story with knowledge of the pharaoh Thutmose III and some familiarity with the military victories during his reign.88 While modern Egyptologists are most acquainted with the hieroglyphic texts published at Karnak Temple and on several stelae, Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasty scribes may have accessed such records through different media. Thus far, the only military text attested in papyrus copies is the so-called “Kadesh Battle Poem,”89 but papyri might have been a medium for concise narrative accounts of military feats already during the Eighteenth Dynasty. “Summaries” of victories, such as that preserved in the hieroglyphic text of the Gebel Barkal Stela, provides one possible template, and the “publication” of events from the reign of Amunhotep III on large scarabs hints at another potential means of transmission.90 The Annals of Thutmose III in Karnak Temple are based on the “day-books” of the palace, the official diary that recorded the progress of the king at peace and at war (see above, pp. 15–16). A copy of this day-book was housed within the temple library at Karnak, and similar copies were probably stored at temples throughout the country.91 Details within the fragmentary narrative of Thutmose III in Asia suggest that the author intentionally created a fictionalized account of the Battle of Megiddo92 that juxtaposed the actions of Thutmose III with a dialogue between the king and an official named Paser. Paser’s career is otherwise unknown in the extant Egyptian sources, and thus no record of his participation in the campaigns of Thutmose III exists. Paser might be a fictional character invented by the author of Thutmose III in Asia as a foil to the king, or, like Djehuty, be a fictionalized version of a real individual. Even more significant for the historiography of the tales is the quotation from the Kadesh Battle Poem that is incorporated into the speech of Thutmose III in Thutmose III in Asia (see above, p. 112). This quote creates a deliberate link between the battles of Megiddo and Kadesh, and suggests a use of previous historical events to create not simply royal propaganda, but also an entertaining work of literature. The use of the Battle of Perire as the basis for the fictional narrative of The Libyan Battle Story further supports this interpretation of Thutmose III in Asia and argues more definitively for the significance of written source material in the composition of historical fiction. The preserved text of The Libyan Battle Story does not provide names for any

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individuals, including that of the pharaoh himself, yet the story provides more details and corresponds more closely with known historical events than the other three tales. According to the Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, the victory at the Battle of Perire was commemorated throughout Egypt, a record being placed in “the temple of every god and every goddess [ . . . ] stone wall, copied in every office [as] a writing for eternity.”93 The geographical breadth of the extant sources lends a seriousness to Merneptah’s claim: the Athribis Stela and the Heliopolis Victory column from Lower Egypt complement the lengthy inscription at Karnak Temple and the two copies of the “Victory Stela” in Thebes. At least four stelae were erected in Nubia and contain the sole evidence for a Nubian revolt that occurred in the same time frame as the Libyan–Sea People invasion in Year 5.94 The Libyan Battle Story includes not only an authentic setting for the tale, but incorporates toponyms directly taken from historical records of Merneptah, including Perire, the “fortified plantation” within that town, the fortresses of Ramesses II, and the “western bank” of the Delta. Most strikingly, The Libyan Battle Story appears to combine names and events from the Libyan campaign of Merneptah with additional peoples—the Hasa and Peleset—known only from the records of Ramesses III. The author of the tale definitely had access to historical texts—either the monumental hieroglyphic versions or hieratic papyrus copies thereof—and may have intentionally “updated” the campaign of Merneptah to enhance its relevance for an audience living a generation later. The fictional narrative in The Libyan Battle Story corresponds in its mixture of people and places from different Libyan campaigns to the nonfictional narrative in Papyrus Harris I; the historical retrospective in P. Harris I similarly blends together the events of Merneptah’s Year 5 and the two invasions during the reign of Ramesses III in Year 5 and Year 11.95 The Libyan Battle Story and Papyrus Harris I both mobilize past events—specified with topographical details and authentic actors (in this case designated by ethnonym rather than name)—to create a narrative relevant to the present. The twin Libyan campaigns of Ramesses III were celebrated with a single festival,96 and The Libyan Battle Story might have been commissioned as part of these ongoing commemorations; at the very least, The Libyan Battle Story and the historical retrospective in Papyrus Harris I demonstrate that the ancient Egyptian “historians” were not merely interested in showing the triumph of order over chaos, but sought to correlate different events within a particular category (e.g. Libyan campaigns), with one another to create a larger historical narrative that was not confined to a single ruler’s reign.

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The four works of New Kingdom Egyptian historical fiction are specific iterations of research on the part of Ramesside scribes and the consultation of historical records for the purpose of creating fictionalized narratives set in the past. The integration of historical details within the tales and lack of overt didactic introductions further suggest that the audience was expected to have a certain level of knowledge about past events.97 While historical texts do not appear in the attested curriculum of New Kingdom scribes,98 evidence from corpora such as visitors’ graffiti99 and the very existence of historical fiction suggest that historical knowledge was transmitted in a more formal way than was suspected previously based on the surviving evidence. These tales thus illuminate a small part of ancient Egyptian historiography and provide evidence for the impact of historiographical processes outside of the royal, monumental sphere. Just beyond the horizon of the New Kingdom are texts with abundant possibilities for intersecting with historical fiction, including The Report of Wenamun100 and The Princess of Bakhtan. The Princess of Bakhtan is not preserved in any papyrus copies, but is attested in two hieroglyphic Late Period sources: a stela from Khonsu Temple at Karnak and a series of decorated blocks from Luxor Temple. The story incorporates a known, historical character, Djehutyemhab,101 and alludes to diplomatic marriages and exchanges of physicians that were part of court policies during the Eighteenth Dynasty. Even more extensive opportunities for an exploration of the genre of historical fiction exist within demotic (and now abnormal hieratic102) literature, in which a large proportion of the literary corpus incorporates characters and plots from the Old, Middle, and New Kingdoms.103 The ever-growing corpus of known demotic narratives that incorporate historical events and characters are themselves part of the larger milieu of Hellenistic literature104 and the historiographical traditions of the classical world.105 Among these corpora, one may end with the character with whom we began:  Khaemwaset. A  cycle of demotic tales not only utilizes Khaemwaset as protagonist, but the plot of one of the stories is predicated upon Khaemwaset’s archaeological activities.106 The antiquarian interests of the Ramesside prince contributed to the continuation of the memory of this fascinating individual in history—Khaemwaset’s own desire to explore the past led to later Egyptians imagining his interactions with ancient monuments, thereby preserving the memories of the antiquarian as well as the objects of his study. Part of Khaemwaset’s study might very well have included works of historical fiction, and through these stories we come just that much closer to imagining the past through the eyes of the ancient Egyptians themselves.

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APPENDIX 1

BM EA 10185 (P. Sallier I) The first two columns of BM EA 10185 were poorly preserved already when Alan Gardiner published his critical edition of the papyrus in 1932. The present edition of the papyrus owes a great deal to Gardiner’s painstaking work on the papyrus, as well as to an early facsimile edition done by J.  Netherclift in 1841 and a photographic edition published by Budge in 1923. The hieroglyphic type-set copy of the papyrus published here along with sections of facsimile are based on those three earlier sources, as well as extensive collations of the papyrus in the British Museum. As a result of the confused orthographies and the damage to the papyrus there are obscure passages or sections of texts with multiple possible readings, which are addressed in the notes below. Column 1 (35 × 13  cm1) is the least well preserved, with only fragments of lines 5 through 10 remaining. Some of the key signs in these latter lines can only be read using Netherclift’s edition and Budge’s photographs; the damage appears to have occurred between 1923 and 1932.2 Column 2 (27 × 16 cm) has lost the beginning of lines 8 through 11, and areas of damage occur throughout the entire column. The first three lines of Column 3 (22 × 14.5 cm) contain the final portion of the story copied in BM EA 10185, and line 4 of that column begins the letter-writing manual. For the scribe’s possible reasons for ending The Quarrels of Apepi and Seqenenere in the middle of a sentence, see pp. 61–63. At a later point, the scribe recopied the last three lines of the story in column 3 of the recto onto two lines of the verso. Stretching across the verso of columns 2 and 3, the top line is 27.5 cm long and the second line is 24.2 cm long, but the text ends at precisely the same point as on the recto. Gardiner’s explanation3 that the verso text was written before the third column of the recto is unlikely, because the third sheet of the papyrus was already attached before the verso text was written.

TRANSLITERATION

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Appendix 1

TRANSLATION 1,1

Then it happened that the land of Egypt was in a state of pestilence, no (legitimate) lord, l.p.h., (as) king at that time. At the same time, it happened that as for king Seqenenre, l.p.h., he was the sovereign of the southern city (Thebes). Pestilence was in the city of Re (Heliopolis) because of them (the Hyksos), while the ruler 1,2Apepi, l.p.h., was in Hutwaret; and the entire land was controlled for him, bearing their taxes, the north as well bearing all the good produce of the Delta. Th[en] King Apepi, l.p.h., 1,3made Seth as lord; and he did not [wo]rk for any other god who was in this entire land, except Seth; and he built a temple of fine workmanship for eternity, beside the domain of [King Ape]pi, l.p.h.; 1,4 and he appeared [each(?)] day in order to make sacrifices, [doing it(?)] daily for Seth. while the officials [of the palace, l.p.h.] carried wreaths,

Appendix 1 [ 1 6 7 ]

like what is done (in) the temple of Pre-Horakhty, exactly as is correct. Meanwhile, [the 1,5King] Apepi l.p.h. desired to se[nd] an offensive [message] to the king Seqenere, l.p.h., the sovereign of the southern city. Now after many days following this, then 1,6 [King Apepi, l.p.h.] summoned [ . . . ] his commanders(?) [ . . . ] sent [ . . . .] communications [ . . . ] 1,7 [ . . . ] iter (?)[ . . . ] knowledgeable scribes [ . . . ] officials [ . . . ] the sovereign, l.p.h., 1,8 [our lord . . . ] [ . . . ] canal, hippopotami [ . . . ] they do not allow [ . . . ] 1,9 [ . . . ] then the ruler of the [southern] city [ . . . ] 1,10 [ . . . ] command(?) [ . . . ] 2,1 with him as protector. He does not rely on any god in this entire land, except for Amun-Re, king of the gods. [Now] after many days passed following this, 2,2 then King Apepi, l.p.h. sent (a message) to the sovereign of the southern city (concerning) the communications that his knowledgeable scribes told to him. 2,3 Then the messenger of King [A]pepi, l.p.h., rea[ched] the sovereign of the southern city. [Then he was taken] into the presence of the sovereign of the southern city. 2,4 Then One said to the messenger of King Apepi, l.p.h.: “Why have you been sent to the southern city? Why have you reached me with these journeys?” Then the messenger 2,5said to him: “It is King Apepi, l.p.h., who sends to you saying: ‘Expel the hippopotami from the swamp that is in the eastern waters of the city, because they do not allow 2,6that sleep come to me, day or night, because their noise is in his [my?] ear!” Then the sovereign of the southern city was surprised for a long moment, being unable to 2,7respond to the messenger of King Apepi, l.p.h.. [Then] the sovereign of the southern city said to him: “Did your lord actually hear the words concerning 2,8 [ . . . ] [in the east] of the southern city? T[hen the messenger . . . the] words about which he sent me. 2,9 [Then the sovereign of the southern city had] one issue provisions for the [messenger of King Apepi, l.p.h., consisting of] good [things], namely meat and biscuits [ . . . ] 2,10 [ . . . ] As for anything that you say to him, I will do it,” thus you [should say to him(?)] 2,11 [ . . . ]

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[Then the messenger of King] Apepi, l.p.h., betook himself quickly to the place where 3,1his lord, l.p.h., was. Then the sovereign of the southern city had his great officials summoned, as well as every commander of his; and he 3,2repeated to them every communication about which King Apepi sent to him. Then they were all together quiet for a 3,3long time, not knowing how to respond to him, good or bad. Then King Apepi, l.p.h., sent. . .

TEXT NOTES

Column 1, line 1: Two interpretations of the initial xpr are possible: 1) the verb xpr is a preterite sDm=f with omitted impersonal subject and sentence complement5 or 2)  xpr + main clause represents a grammaticalization of the earlier Egyptian auxiliary verb xpr.6 In the first two statements of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere the sentence complements are wn.in and istw, each introducing an adverbial sentence. Other literary examples of xpr with an impersonal subject in an introductory formula include The Destruction of Mankind7 and the Tale of Neferkare and Sisenet.8 Within the corpus of historical texts, the Dedicatory Inscription of Ramesses II at Abydos also opens with xpr swt,9 introducing an atemporal description of the avenging son10 before transitioning to the historical realm with the cartouches of Ramesses II. The introductory passage of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere thus combines the atemporal “Time of Troubles” topos with the reign of Seqenenre, whose rule over only one part of Egypt must be expanded in order to bring the cosmos back to its proper ordered state (see further pp. 45–46). Within the rubric, xpr swt is followed by the initial construction wn. in,11 which unusually appears with an adverbial predicate. The m of predication is written as nw in this and the following sentence. As Gardiner noted, this writing also occurs in New Kingdom copies of Middle Kingdom texts, and the n-m interchange is attested in contemporary Ramesside historical texts as well.12 At the end of the sentence iw nn wn nb a.w.s. nswt hrw, Gunn and Gardiner emended to either (m) nswt hrw “of the time” or “his time.”13 Considering the unusual orthographies of the opening lines of the story, either is possible, although a writing of hrw for hAw (compare iAd.t for A.t in col. 2, ln. 6)  fits well with the phonetic structure of the words14 and descriptions of the temporal setting of a

Appendix 1 [ 1 6 9 ]

reign.15 Alternatively, although less likely, hrw is the subject of a following stative xpr.16 Although Goedicke suggests that the term iAd.t at the end of line 1 refers to “foreigners,”17 the two examples he cites for iAd.t referring to a group of foreign people are clearly allusions to iAd.t “pestilence”:  in the Rhetorical Stela of Ramesses II (KRI II 318, 3–6), Sakhmet rages during the pestilence, while in The Admonitions of Ipuwer, pestilence is throughout the land.18 The use of iAd for “enemy” cited in Wb. I  35.14 is probably an extension of the use of iAd.t to describe Sakhmet’s plague-bearing messengers.19 to dmi aAm.w “city Gardiner suggests emending the group of the Asiatics.”20 Without a parallel for the use of the phrase dmi aAmw in the corpus of Second Intermediate Period texts, it is best to leave the text without emendation as “city of Re,”21 a parallel to the commonly attested pr Ra “domain of Re” as a reference to Heliopolis.22 The proposed reading (i)m=w at the end of the sentence suggests that the Hyksos are the agents of the pestilence.23 Column 1, line 2: The cartouche of Apepi includes an extra tick between the final reed leaf and the seated noble; a similar tick occurs between the reed leaf and plant sign in tA-mHw later in the line. The use of a superfluous r at the end of several lines (see p. 172 below) appears to be another peculiarity of the scribe Pentaweret. The crux of the sentence iw xrp(w) n=f pA tA r Dr=f Xr bAkw=sn is the interpretation of the verb xrp, which as an active verb can be interpreted in two ways: a sDm.n=f (“he controlled the entire land . . . ”) or sDm=f (“the entire land worked for him . . . ”).24 The first would represent an aberrant use of the Middle Egyptian sDm.n=f as a circumstantial form in the corpus of Late Egyptian Stories25 and does not coordinate well with the prepositional phrase “bearing their taxes.” An active sDm=f would require pA tA r-Dr=f as the subject of xrp, but this represents an unattested meaning of xrp, which is more typically used with a direct object.26 Normally, a land is the object of xrp, not the subject, and a particularly close parallel to the passage in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere appears in a text of Amunhotep III from Karnak:27

His arms being valorous and victorious under his utterance, in order to direct for him (scil. Amun) the entire land bearing the taxes thereof.

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This parallel suggests an elegant solution to the grammar of the passage in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere: xrp is a passive sDmw=f, circumstantialized with the particle iw.28 In order for the two expressions to be parallel, it is also necessary to emend to mHt.t “north,” as already suggested by Gardiner. Without this emendation, other translations force mH into an otherwise unattested expression “in full.”29 The term bAkw “produce” finds important parallels in historical records and monuments of the Second Intermediate Period, suggesting an intentional choice of lexeme in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere, which not only links the rule of Apepi with his devotion to Seth (see p. 46), but also alludes to earlier source material on which the story is based. While Bleiberg has defined bAkw more specifically as goods whose “destination is a temple while the giver is either a geographical area or a group,”30 Janssen sees no obvious distinction between inw and bAkw in most Egyptian texts;31 a happy medium appears in Hoffmann’s recent summary of inw and bAkw in the Annals of Thutmose III:  inw represents freely given tribute from a foreign land, while bAkw represents an obligatory tax.32 In the story, bAkw appears as compulsory payments to the Hyksos overlord; the narrative then describes how Apepi served (bAk) Seth, suggesting that in this (fictional) case, bAkw was indeed distributed to the temple economy. Column 1, lines 2–3: The narrative structure of the stanza beginning with aHa.n is common in New Kingdom texts:  an introductory sentence with aHa.n followed by a long series of circumstantial first present constructions (iw=f Hr sDm).33 Column 1, line 3: Gardiner questionably transcribed the word after nHH as a perturbated writing of r-gs, “beside,” and after close examination of the papyrus, one can confirm that reading as well as Gardiner’s sugbefore the name of Apepi. A missing fiber of the papyrus gestion of makes it appear as if the two vertical strokes of the pr-sign are not connected, but no other reading is forthcoming. For the significance of the location of the palace of Apepi close to the temple of Seth at Avaris, see pp. 40–41 above. Column 1, line 4: The broken passage at the beginning of line 4 is difficult to restore, although a shortened writing of tnw before hrw rather than Gardiner’s tp finds better parallels in Egyptian texts.34 The officials of Apepi’s court bear mAH-wreaths (Wb. II 31.1–5),35 floral objects that appear prominently in offering and funerary rituals.36 While the preposition Xry probably indicates that the officials are carrying the wreaths, it is also possible that they are wearing the wreaths around their necks.37 A i-prefix marks this passive participle i.ir.t in this passage, which occurs in only about 20 percent of instances in Late Egyptian; its use with a final

Appendix 1 [ 1 7 1 ]

weak verb first appears in the late Nineteenth Dynasty.38 The final prepositional phrase Hr aoA sp snw has been interpreted various ways,39 although most translations opt for an expression of precision.40 Following a preposition, aoA is not itself an adverb (Wb. I  233.14–15),41 but a noun, as in P.  Lansing 14, 10: 42 i.Dd=k nb Hr aoA=f “all that you say is correct (literally: upon its straightness).” Column 1, line 5: Apepi’s letter is characterized as md.t thy.w “an offensive message,” and the lexeme thi has several possible additional nuances. Notably, thi is attested almost exclusively as a verb (Wb. 319–320), with a rarer nominal use (Wb. 320.24–25); in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, thi is used as a perfective active participle without direct object.43 As a verb, thi most commonly means “to transgress, to violate” and can refer to “overstepping of limits/rights, contravention, infringement, abuse, suggesting that the offender possesses some rights but is using them for an unlawful purpose or to an unlawful extent, or that he does not have any rights in the first place.”44 The verb thi can also describe a sin against a divinity or the divine world in general,45 and in the context of the story, and a transgression against Seth is another plausible reading for the passage in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre. Finally, in Middle Kingdom literary texts, thi can also express the concept “to lead astray,”46 suggesting a potential reading of Apepi’s message as a means of deceiving Seqenenre. Unfortunately, the fragmentary nature of P. Sallier I and the lack of an ending to the tale rule out the possibility of reaching any definite conclusion regarding why Apepi’s message is called thi. In the second half of line 5, Gardiner confidently restores the same rubric as in col. 2, ln. 1: xr ir m-xt hrw.w on.w swA Hr sA nn “Now after many days passed following this . . . ” Such expressions of the passage of time are common within the corpus of Late Egyptian Stories,47 and within the corpus of historical fiction appear both in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere and Thutmose III in Asia (col. 2, lns. 1–2, see p. 182). While these formulae may mark the literary nature of a text, they do not differentiate historical and fictional narratives, since texts such as the Kadesh Battle Poem utilize the same phrases.48 There is a superfluous r at the end of col. 1, ln. 5, which also occurs in col. 2, lns. 2 and 3; the unusual use of this sign seems to be a peculiarity of the scribe Pentaweret, who also used r as a space-filler in his copy of the Kadesh Battle Poem (P. Sallier III).49

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Column 1, line 7: The scribes in Apepi’s court are described as “knowledgeable.” For the possible bearing of this passage on Apepi’s literacy, see pp. 51–52 above.50 Column 2, line 1: Instead of the dependent pronoun sw (restored in Gardiner’s edition), Goldwasser suggests nn hn=f [A.t=f] n nTr nb “he did not bend [his back(?)] to any god.”51 While Goldwasser’s restoration has New Kingdom parallels,52 the verticality of the stroke immediately before the n-water suggests the bottom of a w-coil, as opposed to an f-viper (compare the more horizontal angle of the suffix pronoun after hn immediately before the damaged area).53 Column 2, line 2: The phrase at the end of line 2 can be read either as: md.t i.Dd n=f nAy=f sS.w rx.yw{t} ix.t “words that his knowledgeable scribes told to him” or md.t i.Dd.n=f (n) nAy=f sS.w rx.yw{t} ix.t “words that he told to his knowledgeable scribes.” In the first, more likely, scenario, the relative sDm=f marked with a prothetic jod54 would indicate that the scribes are the source of Apepi’s message rather than the king himself (for the implications of this interpretation, see above, pp. 51–52). The ink of the hieratic group n=f is also darker than i.Dd and nAy=f to either side, indicating that it was inserted later (as Gardiner already noted); this would further suggest that “his knowledgeable scribes” is the subject of the verb Dd. The second scenario would require a prothetic jod marking a relative sDm.n=f, a rarely attested form in literary Late Egyptian.55 Column 2, line 4: Classical Middle Egyptian forms distinguish the speech of Seqenenre from the rest of the tale, placing the Theban ruler’s discourse in a higher register.56 The bare initial hAb=k demands a passive meaning, and the presence of an interrogative adverb (Hr) ix argues strongly for the identification of the first verb form in Seqenenre’s speech as a nominal passive sDmw=f.57 In the standard Late Egyptian corpus, the sDmw=f is usually a perfective passive form,58 but a nominal emphatic sDmw=f does exist in Medio-Late Egyptian and in rare cases even Late Egyptian documents.59 In Middle Egyptian, the stative and circumstantial passive sDmw=f with pronominal subject overlap in use, the latter being uncommon;60 similarly, the nominal passive sDmw=f in Middle Egyptian expresses the same sense as the nominal sDm.n.tw=f, the latter being preferred with pronominal subjects.61 In Late Egyptian the situation changes, since the sDm.n.tw=f ceases to exist as a living form, and more examples of both the circumstantial and nominal sDmw=f appear with pronominal subjects.62 The second question in Seqenenre’s speech begins with a nominal perfective sDm=f.63 Column 2, lines 5–6: The section of Apepi’s message involving the canal and the hippopotami remains one of the most obscure passages within the story; small lacunae, unusual lexicography, and convoluted syntax all

Appendix 1 [ 1 7 3 ]

contribute to the difficulties of interpreting both the text and subtext of the Hyksos king’s letter to Seqenenre. The verb rwi, as it is read in Gardiner’s transcription and studious notes to the hieratic, is only partially preserved in this line, with no other examples appearing in the extant portions of the papyrus; collations of the papyrus indicate that rwi is almost certainly the proper transcription of the verb. In a range of texts, rwi is often used to describe the removal of an object, with Hr sometimes serving to introduce the place from which the object is removed; in transitive uses of the verb, the act of removal can be either positive64 or negative.65 While examples of rwi in combination with a marsh thus far appear to be unattested, a parallel expression with a verb of similar meaning, tkn, appears in the Nauri Decree of Seti I:66

in order to prevent any fisherman . . . from being driven from his fishing pools, which are in the entire land of Kush.

The region in which the hippopotami dwell is designated as a Hn.t , which refers to a swampy territory bordering a lake or river ), channel. 67 This swampy area is located in the wbn ( the “orient.” For the term wbn rather than iAbt.t describing the eastern portion of a city, one can compare the description of Piramesses in the Late Eg yptian Miscellanies : 68 xpr astr.t m pAy=f wbn “Astarte has come into existence in its eastern (quarter).” The term almost certainly possesses theological significance, and the possible relationship of wbn to hippopotami includes depictions of two Taweret goddesses lifting the sun in the eastern horizon known from Medinet Habu and Saqqara. 69 The determinatives indicating a type of waterway or water feature is probably the result of the context (hippopotami in a marsh). Possible inf luence on the orthography may derive from the wbn “f lowing well,” although the latter is primarily attested in Third Intermediate Period documents from the western desert oases. 70 The odd writing of “ear” with the group is here read as a scribal error, since a direct genitive “ear of his city” would be unexpected. The third person singular pronoun has two possible readings: 1) a pronoun confusion for the expected =i “my ear,” which is attested in the epistolographic corpus,

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particularly reported speech;71 2) the pronoun “his” refers to Seth. For the significance of xrw, see above, pp. 56–57. Column 2, line 7: In the corpus of Late Egyptian Stories, the particle isT/istw followed by an i.ir=f sDm form can introduce rhetorical questions;72 compare the use of the particle in questions from the following passages:73 Blinding of Truth by Falsehood:

Does there exist a bull as large as you say?74 Contendings of Horus and Seth:

Will the office of Osiris actually be given to Seth?75 Wenamun:

But is injustice performed every day even here?76

Due to the fragmentary nature of the following section of the papyrus, every nuance that can be found within the text aids the interpretation of the overall story, and the examples of isT cited above all indicate that Seqenenre’s statement may be intended as sarcasm. If Seqenenre is not simply acquiescing to Apepi’s demands, but asking a rhetorical question, then the use of isT would further support the interpretation of Seqenenre as hero of the tale (see pp. 59–60). Column 2, lines 9–10: Before the Hyksos messenger departs the Theban court, he is given provisions—“meat and biscuits”77—which emphasizes the hospitality of Seqenenre. In the final readable statement in col. 2, ln. 10, the Theban king appears to acquiesce to Apepi’s demands: “As for anything that you say to him, I will do it,” using a third future form to express a certain outcome. However, Seqenenre’s apparent agreement with Apepi’s request may be part of a larger plot element in which the Theban king outwits or outmaneuvers the Hyksos (see the commentary to pp. 63–65 above). Column 3, line 1: The phrase waw nb HAw.tyw “every commander”78 finds parallels in Ramesside texts where the king addresses HAw.tyw nb n mSa “every army commander.”79 The Late Egyptian possessive independent pronoun sA(w)i here contrasts with the possessive article nAy=f used for sr.w.80

Appendix 1 [ 1 7 5 ]

The final three lines of col. 3 are set in the court of Seqenenre, after the departure of the Hyksos messenger, and the Theban king begins to confer with his council. The preserved portion of the story thus ends with a second “royal novel” beginning—creating “dueling” royal novels within the fictional tale (see further, pp. 63–65 above).

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Appendix 1

APPENDIX 2

BM EA 10060 (P. Harris 500) The first three columns of the verso of BM EA 10060 contain the sole preserved copy of The Capture of Joppa. The papyrus retains a bright finish with clear, black ink used for all except the introduction of the colophon at the end of column three. The maximum preserved height of the papyrus is 18.4 cm, and the total width of the three extant columns of The Capture of Joppa is 43 cm; the width of column 1 as preserved is 14 cm, although the original width (based on the likely restorations) was 17 cm; the text of column 2 is 16 cm wide and column 3 is only 8.5 cm wide. The margins of each column are “justified,” with the exception of the royal name in col. 1, ln. 8 and the tail of the number in col. 2, ln. 7; in column 3, signs such as the d of dmi{t} at the end of line 9 are written especially large to preserve the justification of the margin.

TRANSLITERATION

[178]

Appendix 2

TRANSLATION 1,1

[ . . . x+]120 mary[annu . . . th]eir [ . . . ] in the manner of baskets [ . . . ] for Djehuty, [together with his wife, his children,] and the garrison of Pharaoh, l.p.h. 1,3 [ . . . ] upon them. And now after one hour, they were drunk, and Djehuty said to 1,4[the ruler of Joppa(?): “ . . . ] I am(?) together with (my) wife and (my) children. Your city is your own. Have the gr[1,5ooms bring in the chariot horses, and have them] given fodder. or else one of the Apiru should pass by 1,6[and steal(?) . . . th]em.”(?) 1,2

The chariot horses were secured and given fodder; and 1,7 [ . . . ] king Menkheperre, l.p.h.; and one came to report to Djehuty. Then 1,8[the enemy of Jop]pa said to Djehuty: “I desire to see the great awenet-staff of King Menkheperre, l.p.h., 1,9 [ . . . ]Tiut-nofret is her name.

Appendix 2 [ 1 7 9 ]

As the ka of the King Menkheperre, l.p.h., endures, she shall be yours this day 1,10[ . . . ] beautiful [ . . . ]; and you should bring it [to] me!” He (Djehuty) acted accordingly; he brought the awenet-staff of King Menkheperre 1,11[l.p.h., and he placed it (?) in] his kilt. He (Djehuty) began to draw himself up (tall), saying: “Look at me, o enemy of 1,12[Joppa! Behold,] the king Menkheperre, l.p.h., the raging lion, son of Sakhmet, Amun having given to him 1,13[his khepesh-sword(?) He (Djehuty) lift]ed up his hand, and he struck the forehead of the enemy of Joppa. And he (the enemy of Joppa) fell 2,1down [headlong(?)] before him. He put him in manacles [ . . . ] his [ . . . ] with a sore head. 2,2

He [ . . . ] piece of copper [which he had made for the(?)] destruction of this 2,3enemy of Joppa A piece of copper (made) of four nemset-vessels was placed on his feet. Next, one had the 2,4300 baskets, which he had made, brought. He had 200 soldiers descend 2,5into their openings, and everyone filled their embrace with ropes and manacles. They were sealed 2,6with seals. They (the other soldiers) were given their sandals, their 2,7carrying poles, and itlel. And every excellent soldier was set to carry them, a total of 600 men. 2,8 One said to them: “When you enter the city, you should release your 2,9companions; and we will capture all the people who are in the city; and we will place them in fetters 2,10immediately.” One went out to say to the chariot driver of the enemy of Joppa: “So he says, namely your 2,11lord: ‘Go and say to your mistress: ‘Greetings! It is to us that Seth has given Djehuty, his wife and his children! 2,12 Look at the first part of their tribute!’ ” (So should say to her about the 200 baskets, which are filled with people 2,13with manacles and fetters.) Then he left them to report to his mistress, 2,14saying: “We have captured Djehuty!” And then they opened the sealed portals of the city before the soldiers; 3,1 and they entered into the city.

[180]

Appendix 2

[Then they] 3,2released their companions; they captured [the] 3,3city from the children to the elders; they placed them 3,4in fetters and manacles immediately. The valiant strong 3,5arm of pharaoh, l.p.h., captured the city. 3,6

Djehuty spent the night, writing (a letter) to Egypt, to 3,7the king Menkheperre, l.p.h., his lord, saying: “May your heart 3,8be pleased! Amun, your good father, has given to you the enemy of 3,9Joppa, together with all of his people, and his city 3,10likewise. Send people in order to take them 3,11as plunder. so that you might fill the domain of your father Amun-Re king of the gods, 3,12 with male and female servants. They have fallen beneath your feet 3,13forever and ever!” It has come well (to its conclusion) by the ka-spirit of 3,14the scribe excellent of his fingers, the military scribe [ . . . ]

TEXT NOTES

Column 1, line 1: The preserved signs and context of the first column of The Capture of Joppa argues strongly for Gardiner’s restoration:   mrynA.3 A  restoration here of mri “groom” is unlikely, since the standard New Kingdom orthography of mri uses the rw-lion4 (see note below). On the role of the maryannu in the story, see pp. 78–79 above. The object compared to Htp-baskets5 in the first line of the tale is not preserved, although in other contexts Htp-baskets can be used to designate amounts of plants, fruit, and meat deliveries.6 The baskets used to smuggle the Egyptian soldiers into Joppa later in the tale are termed txbs(ti), not Htp (for the implications of this loan word, see p. 90). Column 1, line 2: Gardiner’s restoration7 between the personal name Djehuty and tA iway.t, imm di=tw n=f ao 100 “Have him given 100 loaves” does not fit the surviving traces, and recent conservation work (by Brigitte Leach) has put back into its proper location a small fragment containing a Hm-sign, and with the following strokes clearly fitting the same phrase as in the beginning of column 1, line 4, and column 2, line 11. During the Eighteenth Dynasty, the term iway.t referred to troops garrisoning key urban centers8 as well as forward “outposts” during campaigns,9 and the title imy-rA iway.t continued to be used in the Ramesside Period.10

Appendix 2 [ 1 8 1 ]

Column 1, line 3: The particle xr ir “now after” is commonly used to continue a narrative in Late Egyptian texts, including the corpus of Late Egyptian Stories.11 An alternate interpretation of this sentence is offered by Satzinger12 and Neveu:13 xr ir Hr-sA wnwt.st (n?) txw “now after their hour of drunkeness.” Column 1, line 4: The expression “your city is your own” uses a Late Egyptian predecessor, Ha “flesh,”14 to the later Coptic inflected modifier .15 The use of the term dmi{t} rather than niw.t for an Asiatic city is common in military inscriptions of the Eighteenth Dynasty and may imply a subtle derogatory meaning.16 Column 1, line 5: A command is given to a group of people whose designation begins with the group and in a passage that involves feeding horses. Gardiner restored m[rynA], the same term found in a damaged context in the first line of the story (see note to Column 1, line 1 above). However, a passage in P. Sallier I17 suggests a restoration of mri “groom”18 in line 5 of The Capture of Joppa:

The chariot teams of my lord are well. I have their grain mixed before them every day. And their grooms bring the [best] fodder to them from the papyrus marshes.

Other examples of mri “groom” appear in the Golenischeff onomasticon,19 P.  Anastasi I,20 several texts within the corpus of Late Egytpian Miscellanies,21 and a Ramesside ostracon describing the care of chariot horses.22 Taken together, the attestations of mri “groom” indicate that this title denotes equestrian duties, but at a rank below that of “stable overseer” and of lower status than the maryannu. When combining two clauses rather than just two words, m rA pw can mean “or else”23; the following Third Future with nominal subject (apyr) is here introduced with ir.24 The infinitive of the verb sni (Wb. III 454.14– 455.13) appears with the same geminated stem in The Doomed Prince (col. 5, l. 7) and is not a noun for “charioteer.”25 Column 1, line 8: The ruler of Joppa, like Apepi in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, has a forceful personality expressed through direct speech.26 Although an unnamed foreigner, the ruler of Joppa swears an oath by the Egyptian pharaoh.27 For the characterization of the “enemy of Joppa,” see p. 76 above.

[182]

Appendix 2

Column 1, line 11: The restoration at the beginning of line 11 is not certain, although the possible tail of an f-viper below the m-owl and measurements of the proposed restoration iw=f Hr di.t=f(?) fit the available space. The word for sDw “garment,” here translated “kilt,” is probably to be transcribed as ,28 rather than Gardiner’s suggested .29 Often translated “loincloth,” the word sDw probably does not refer to undergarments; in price lists, the sDw-garment is surprisingly expensive in comparison to other types of clothing.30 Although no independent textual evidence confirms the association of sDw with a military sporran, the context of the word in The Capture of Joppa suggests that such an equation is a possibility. The sentence iw=f Hr aHa m dwn=f has been interpreted typically as “Then he stood up to his full height”31 or “Then he stood straight up.”32 The standard translation suggests that during the conversation with the ruler of Joppa, Djehuty was seated, and then after the request for the awenet-staff, he stands up and confronts the ruler. Alternatively, and in the translation presented here, the verb aHa is an auxiliary verb,33 describing how Djehuty begins to “stretch himself,” meaning to stand straight and to prepare to wield the staff as a weapon.34 The overall sense of the passage is the same in both interpretations of aHa, but the reading of aHa as auxiliary verb suggests that Djehuty may already have been standing when he concealed the awenet-staff beneath his kilt. Column 1, line 12: When Djehuty addresses the enemy of Joppa, he intones a brief hymn of praise to the king Thutmose III. The king is a leonine warrior, the “raging lion,35 son of Sakhmet,” epithets abundantly attested in other military inscriptions.36 What Amun gives to the king is lost in damage, but a khepesh-sword37 or the more general “victory,” are possible restorations (for Amun granting the khepesh-sword before battle, see pp. 9, 111). Column 2, line 1: The word oH for “manacle” is uncommon in Egyptian texts; in addition to the prominent attestations in The Capture of Joppa, the word also occurs in The Contendings of Horus and Seth38 and in descriptions of Horus’ domination of Seth at Edfu Temple.39 The noun oH “manacle” is related to the term oH “to subdue”40 and oH “to train.”41 The end of col. 2, ln. 1 was only questionably transcribed by Gardiner, and the traces of the hieratic sign after the break following oH suggests a wp-sign ( ); a reference to wp.t “head, skull” (Wb. I 297.14–15) fits with Djehuty smiting the enemy of Joppa on the forehead.42 The term dHri has been universally interpreted as “leather,” although in the context, the verb dHr “to be bitter, disturbed, sick, sore” (Wb. V 483.1–4),43 which appears in medical texts, would fit well the description of the enemy of Joppa’s head after it connects with the “staff of Menkheperre.”

Appendix 2 [ 1 8 3 ]

Column 2, lines 2–3: The transliteration of remains a topic of debate in secondary literature—Hmty has the advantage of a Coptic parallel,44 while strong arguments can also be made for the reading of biA when the sign refers to a musical instrument.45 In the New Kingdom, words writcan be translated as either “copper” or “bronze,” although the ten with lexeme Hsmn may have been preferred for the latter. The metal fetters in The Capture of Joppa call to mind an interesting turn of phrase in the Late Egyptian Miscellanies: Driw mi Hmty “strength like copper,” refering to how an official should execute his task.46 Column 2, line 4: An early, influential discussion of Hittite dress identified the Akkadian term ta-xap-Si in Hittite documents as “a ‘leather strap’ and, as part of a dress, a ‘belt’.”47 This definition entered Egyptological discourse with Ward’s discussion of txbs(ti) as a Hurrian loan word,48 and subsequent articles have associated the price and distinctiveness of the txbs(ti) with the “leather strap” that was assumed to be the meaning of the lexeme.49 However, the Hurrian term taxapSi50 and Akkadian taxapSu51 can refer to a woolen covering, particularly for horses; Ugaritic tg´pt, related to the Akkadian term, has also been defined as a “packsaddle” or “nosebag.”52 Although the exact transmission of the word is untraceable in the scattered extant sources, the word txbs(ti) may have originally entered the Egyptian language as a term related to “packsaddle.” If the Egyptians then substituted baskets for woolen bags attached to the horse (or other equid) covering called takhbesti, then a term for a woolen object may have transformed into a term for basketry. Subsequently, the Egyptian lexicon employed txbs(ti) to refer to any large basket, including transport containers slung over carrying poles rather than those loaded onto equids. Outside of The Capture of Joppa, the term txbs(ti) appears in only a handful of ancient Egyptian texts,53 including a hieratic label from the tomb of Tutankhamun and lists of objects in ostraca from Deir el-Medina.54 The term nbd “to coil,” often used to describe basketry, can also be used in reference to txbs(ti),55 so, although the base meaning “woolen object” is found in other Near Eastern languages, its specific use for basketry in Egyptian is certain. Texts indicate that the price of a txbs(ti) was about double that of a regular basket, so its overall size as well as the addition of leather reinforcing elements might have been a factor.56 An exceptional use of the txbs(ti) appears in the tomb of Tutankhamun:  a small wooden chest contains a hieratic label of its contents (no longer within the chest at the time of the tomb’s discovery), including a “golden txbs.”57 This small and precious object is most likely an expensive model of an object that would otherwise not be present in a royal tomb.58

[184]

Appendix 2

The number following the initial mention of txbs(ti)-baskets is damaged—a long tail indicates a number in the hundreds, while the strokes slightly above and to the left of the tail indicate a number of 300 or above.59 While Gardiner transcribed 500, he suggested emending the text to 200, thus agreeing with the number of baskets mentioned in the parenthetical statement in col. 2, ln. 12.60 The writing of the number following txbs(ti) in col. 2, ln. 4 most closely resembles a writing of 300; since 600 soldiers are employed to carry the baskets, this would imply that two soldiers are assigned to each basket, whether they contain men or other presumably false tribute. Column 2, lines 6–7: While the soldiers61 within the baskets are armed with ropes and manacles, the other soldiers are given sandals, carrying poles (mAwD), and an item of uncertain meaning, itll. The term mAwD for “carrying pole” is well attested in Egyptian documents62 and may also encompass a sling suspended between two poles, since at least one donkey-hire ostracon refers to mAwD and “what was in them,” which is specified as over a hundred loaves of bread.63 Although the itll have been identified as the carrying poles from which the baskets are suspended, no convincing etymology has been proposed,64 and the term may refer to the netting of the sling, forming a unit with the mAwD, or otherwise refer to the type of wood of which the mAwD is made.65 The term Tb.wt most commonly refers to sandals, as it is translated here, and a rarer nautical term for “gangplank” or “deck” does not appear to fit the context of the story.66 Column 2, line 8: The use of the wnn=f Hr sDm form enables the story to express the rapidity of the soldiers’ actions; as soon as they enter the city, they open the baskets and release their hidden companions. As a nominal transposition of the First Present,67 the wnn=f Hr sDm emphasizes the following circumstantial First Present.68 Column 2, line 10:  The charioteer of the ruler of Joppa is given reported speech of the ruler himself to convey to “his mistress” (for the dynamics of the situation, see pp. 91–92 above). The writing nA is a writing of the particle in introducing the nominal subject of the quote marked with xr=f.69 Column 2, line 11: The nominal i.sDm=f within the chariot warrior’s speech emphasizes that Seth has delivered Djehuty to the inhabitants of Joppa; the prothetic jod with the verb rdi is well attested in Late Egyptian, although the orthography i.di.t is rare.70 Column 2, line 12: For the “first part” of the tribute, Barns71 noted the opposite of this phrase in The Report of Wenamun: ptr pH pA pH(w) n tAy=k Tt iw=f wAH(w) “Look, the last (lot) of your timber has arrived and is lying

Appendix 2 [ 1 8 5 ]

there.”72 The term bAk is here translated as “tribute” in relation to Djehuty’s supposed surrender, although the basic meaning of the term is “produce” (see p. 171). The restoration of the second person pronoun (kA=) as the introduction to a quote represents a standard Middle Egyptian usage.73 Column 3, lines 1–3: For the success of the ruse and the pattern of “hiding men in transport containers” in far-flung literary and historical traditions, see pp. 96–98 above. Column 3, lines 4–5: The “valiant strong arm of pharaoh” is credited with victory in other campaigns in which the pharaoh was not present.74 The appearance of this expression in The Capture of Joppa, following a military action clearly led by the general Djehuty and not Thutmose III, suggests that the literary usage here coincides with its employment in hieroglyphic texts. If the term xpS were restored in col. 1, ln. 13, the siege would be elegantly framed by Amun’s granting the king the xpS, and then that same xpS (as metaphor for the army) succeeding in capturing the city. Column 3, lines 6–10: From the Old Kingdom through the New Kingdom, autobiographical texts and stelae could memorialize letters written by the king to a high official. A response to the king is not preserved in such contacts, although Sinuhe’s response to the letter of Senwosret I forms part of The Story of Sinuhe. Another interesting parallel for a missive sent to the pharaoh is the Hittite king’s letter following the Battle of Kadesh (see above, pp. 100–101). The grammar of Djehuty’s letter includes a causative imperative that serves as a form of polite request,75 when he asks for people to transport the captured citizens of Joppa back to Egypt. Column 3, lines 11–12: For the Hm.w and Hm.wt-servants filling the temple of Amun, see p. 100 above. Column 3, line 13: The formula iw=s pw nfr “it has come (to the end) well” is a commonly attested variation of the prevalent colophon formula in Ramesside texts:  iw=s pw nfr m Htp;76 the colophon statement, like that of Middle Egyptian texts, consists of a nominal sDm=f as predicate of the nominal sentence copula pw.77 The epithet “excellent of his fingers” is ubiquitous in colophon formulae.78 The papyrus breaks off before the copyist is named, and the title “military scribe” may have been further modified.79

[186]

Appendix 2

APPENDIX 3

P. Turin 1940+1941 The main portion of the preserved text consists of three columns1: column x+1 contains the ends of eleven lines; column x+2 includes ten lines of mostly preserved text; column x+3 contains the beginning of ten lines, with an additional fragment belonging to this column.2 The majority of the text is written in black ink, with red ink used for section divisions, a few individual words, and supralinear dots (see pp. 104–105 above). In addition to the main text, there are two hieroglyphs representing a standing official ( , Gardiner A21) above column x+2; for this extra-textual use of hieroglyphic signs, one may compare the “frisky horses” that appear above the text in P. Sallier III.3 A two-line “jotting” that goes across the verso of col. x+2 and x+3 is written in a looser hand and a different ductus than the literary text on the recto and appears to be the fragmentary beginning of a letter.4

1

[ . . . ] Menkheper[re], l.p.h. [ . . . ] [ . . . ] Menkheperre, l.p.h.° [ . . . ] 3 [ . . . ] we go [ . . . ] 4 [ . . . ] terror(?) of my [ . . . ] 2

5

[ . . . gra]ss(?).°The speech [ . . . ] [ . . . ] how is it? [ . . . ] 7 [ . . . ] he [ . . . ] the [ . . . ] 6

TRANSLITERATION AND TRANSLATION (FRAGMENT 2, RECTO)

1 2

[ . . . ] petitions, char[iotry(?) . . . ] [ . . . ] 7 [months] [and x] days [ . . . ]

TRANSLITERATION AND TRANSLATION (FRAGMENT 3, RECTO)

1 2

[ . . . ] Menkheper[re] [ . . . ] [ . . . ] with their [ . . . ]

TRANSLITERATION (COLUMN X+1–X+3)

[188]

Appendix 3

TRANSLATION (COLUMN X+1–X+3) 1

[ . . . ] your he[art], my [ . . . ] [ . . . ] come(?)to me!” Then he heard the [ . . . ] 3 [ . . . ] that which they said to me was good [ . . . ] 4 [ . . . ] answer, and I [ . . . ] 5 [ . . . ] his face, °and I shall make [ . . . ] 6 [ . . . grass] for the mouth(s) of my chariot [horses] 2

7

[ . . . ] taking up weapons.° [ . . . Paser, son of Ta]atja. °And I 9 [ . . . ] Apiru. °Then [ . . . ] 10 [ . . . the enemies(?)] whom you smote by means of 1,900° x+1, 11 [chariots(?)] [ . . . ] Darkness fell x+2, 1before me.° 8

[I] found [him li]ke a bird, pinioned °in the grasp of a fowler, he (the bird) being unable to hide himself.° Now after a 2long while, Paser, son of Taatja responded:° “Allow me to speak, °and thus you will make your heart firm, o King Menkheperre, l.p.h.°

Appendix 3 [ 1 8 9 ]

3

Look, Amun-Re, king of the gods, your good father,° has come to you, so that he might do for you all things that are in your heart.°” (Thutmose III speaks:) “I found my heart courageous, my heart 4in joy. ° all that (I) had done having succeeded. like Montu,° while their (chariot) spans became like Seth, great of strength,° Baal 5 in [his] moment. I was shooting on the right °and capturing on the left. I acted with my (own) hand °to the south of 6Amun, king of the gods° [. . .], may you cause that there come to me a rebellious wind,° in which are three Montu-gods, ° they hiding 7[ . . . ] gold. ° Montu lord of Armant at my right [arm];° Montu, lord of Tod, at my 8 [left arm].” [Montu] lord of Thebes was making destruction [among] them,° before the king Menkheperre, l.p.h. ° I found that which x+2, 9Amun-[Ra king of the gods . . . ] did [ . . . ] [ . . . ] of great lions who rage [against them?] he being overthrown together with their charix+2,10ots. [. . . King Me]nkheper[re], l.p.h., struck down the [com]mander of the female donkey of the ruler of Kharu, x+3, 1 as he was smiting [ . . . ]x+3, 2chariot teams [ . . . ] [ . . . ]3great [ . . . ] of Kharu [ . . . ]4 army [ . . . ] 5 and they [ . . . ] [ . . . ]6King [Menkheperre, l.p.h. . . . ] my army [ . . . ] 7

wives [ . . . ] total of the various [ . . . ] of the foreign lands [ . . . ] [Lo] 8ok [ . . . ] that which [ . . . ] did for me [ . . . ] 9 Amun [ . . . flig]ht which you caused [ . . . ]10do [ . . . ] Amun-Re, king of the gods, the vizier who judges [ . . . ]

TRANSLITERATION AND TRANSLATION (FRAGMENT 1, VERSO)

[190]

Appendix 3

1

[ . . . Amun] king of the gods, give [ . . . ]

2

[ . . . ] Re(?), king Menkheperre [l.p.h. . . . ] [ . . . ] day(?) of your oath-making [ . . . ] 4 [ . . . ] my lifetime [ . . . ] 3

5

[ . . . ] going forth [ . . . ] [ . . . ] I was saying [ . . . ] 7 [ . . . ] lifetime(?) [ . . . ] 6

TRANSLITERATION AND TRANSLATION (FRAGMENT 2, VERSO) 1

[ . . . nswt] Mn-xpr-ra [a.w.s. . . . ]

2

[ . . . ] m-mit.t pA [ . . . ] [ . . . king] Menkheperre [l.p.h. . . . ] 2 [ . . . ] likewise the [ . . . ] 1

TEXT NOTES

Fragment 1, recto, line 5: The lack of context here precludes any definite readings; the plant determinative ( ) in close proximity to the word rA recalls the passage in col. x+1, ln. 6, which itself is paralleled by the feeding of chariot horses in The Capture of Joppa (see p. 79 above). However, the word rA here may refer to speech rather than a body part. Fragment 2, recto, line 1: The term spr.w commonly describes an appeal to a god or the king (Wb. IV, 104, 5–10). Keeping with the military genre of Thutmose III in Asia, one may compare Ramesses II’s speech to his cowardly army at the Battle of Kadesh: “(For) everyone of you who requested a petition (spr.w), I said (lit. did), ‘Behold I will act on his behalf every single day!’ ”5 One of the countless examples of petitioning the divine may be found in another member of the LES corpus: in The Tale of the Two Brothers, Bata cries out to Re as his elder brother seeks revenge for a false offense, and Re “hears all of his petitions (spr.w).”6 Fragment 2, recto, line 2: The hieratic traces before the number fit an orthography of Abd “month”; the missing portion of the h in hrw indicates that some ink may have flaked off the sign below the lunar crescent, which can be read as a w-coil or, less likely, a sun-disk (for the “open” form of the sun-disk, compare the writing of ra in Mn-xpr-ra in col. x+2, ln. 8). The significance of the possible restoration of “seven months” is discussed above, p. 107. Column x+1, line 2: The alternation between first and third person pronouns suggests that the walking legs followed by the dative n=i is the end of an imperative, and the likely candidate, mi “come,” is restored here to give the overall sense of the passage, although any number of verbs of Appendix 3 [ 1 9 1 ]

motion could have originally been written. The next statement, xr sDm=f, appears to be a contingent expression (xr + prospective sDm=f7) following the imperative as direct speech;8 without additional context, further consideration of the (often difficult) differentiation between the particle xr/ixr (from “to fall”) and the bound contingent construction xr sDm=f is unnecessary.9 Column x+1, line 5: The construction di=i iry=i appears to be a Late Egyptian use of the finalis,10 a form more commonly found in Demotic11 and Coptic.12 The use of the first person in the construction provides another rare example of such in earlier phases of Egyptian.13 The fragmentary text in column x+1 suggests that the king hears favorable reports (about troop movements?), and will take some action as a result, as expressed in the finalis. Column x+1, line 10: The phrase a n Htri appears again in col. x+3, ln. 2; for a number followed by a n Hrti, compare several examples in the Kadesh Battle Poem.14 gm.n=f inH sw 2500 n a n Htri m tA=f wA.t bnr “He found 2500 chariots surrounding him on his escape route.” Column x+2, line 1: A bird with pinioned wings is a common metaphor in ancient Egyptian texts;15 as noted above, the description of both foreigners and native Egyptians as types of birds lends flexibility and depth to the image in Thutmose III in Asia (see pp. 109–110). One of the closest parallels to the phraseology in Thutmose III in Asia appears in the Late Egyptian Miscellanies; P. Anastasi V describes the Smw “the hot person”16 in the following terms:17 sw m Apd dnH m Dr.t rmT bw gm=f a pwy.t “He is as a bird pinioned in a person’s hand, he is unable to find any manner of flight.” From the realm of military texts, the use of the verb DnH, “to pinion,” is ubiquitous in the records of Ramesses III. In P. Harris I, col. 76, lns. 10–11, the Shasu are pinioned (DnH), brought as plunder, and presented to the Ennead as Hm-servants,18 and in col. 77, ln. 11, describing the conclusion of the Year 11 Libyan war, Ramesses III describes his captives as “pinioned (DnH) like birds before my horses.”19 Similar examples abound in the hieroglyphic records of Ramesses III’s military activities, describing the pinioning of enemies from throughout the Egyptian world.20 The phrase [b]w rx=f [sS]tA.tw=f utilizes a negative aorist, the construction with rx specifically negating ability;21 Botti, followed by Spalinger,22 translates this as “whose secret he does not know.” Yet the “secret” in question is a mystery and no parallels are forthcoming. Although the verb is written [sS]tA, Fischer-Elfert23 reads the word as a misspelling of sS “to spread,” translating the passage as “Er konnte sich nicht ausbreiten”; this

[192]

Appendix 3

emendation is well supported by examples of confused writings of sS as sStA and vice versa and fits the avian context of the passage.24 The translation offered here—“he being unable to hide himself”—does not require any emendation of the text and also works well within the context of the story, but sS “to spread” should be considered a likely alternative. Column x+2, lines 1–2: The phrase xr ir sA {i}A{d}t aAy.t “now after a long while” is one of many expressions within the corpus of LES that express the passage of time within the narrative;25 although less common than other phrases utilizing xr ir m xt . . ., the passage in Thutmose III in Asia finds a parallel in The Contendings of Horus and Seth col. 4, ln. 1.26 Column x+2, line 2: Paser’s filiation uses the Late Egyptian possessive pronoun pA “he of” rather than the more usual sA “son.”27 Previous translators have emended the first part of Paser’s speech to imm Dd=(i) n= “Let me say to you.”28 Without emendation the imperative imm can be followed by a subjunctive sDm=f29 and ethical dative, which also gives a logical sense to the passage. The following ix sDm=f form is an “initial conjunctional main clause,”30 here following an imperative.31 Column x+2, line 3: The phrase n=k in iry=f n=k is added above the line as a correction. Column x+2, lines 3–4: The expression wmt-ib “courageous of heart” is well attested in Egyptian documents, including Sinuhe’s praise of Senwosret I: wmt ib pw mAA=f aSA.t “He is courageous of heart when he sees multitudes.”32 The autobiography of Amenemhab, who fought alongside Thutmose III, provides another interesting parallel for Paser’s speech:33

He (Thutmose III) desiring that I be at his side (lit. feet34); and that while he was on the battlefield, his victory and strength making the heart courageous.

Column x+2, line 5: Popko has suggested that the phrase iri m Dr.t refers to Thutmose III giving hand-signals to Amun, noting a parallel in the Late Egyptian Miscellanies:35

You are a deaf person, unable to hear, to whom one “acts with the hand” (i.e. makes hand-signals).

Appendix 3 [ 1 9 3 ]

However, the Late Egyptian Miscellanies passage describes an idle scribe, and the claim of deafness and the need for sign language is clearly derogatory. No examples of hand-signals in combat are forthcoming, and one would expect instead a mention of standards or other more effective signaling devices. Column x+2, line 6: The “hostile wind” (Wb. IV 89.1) finds numerous parallels in the “storminess” of the king in battle, as noted above, p. 114. Contrary winds also appear in contemporaneous funerary literature,36 such as in an annotation to four goddesses riding on serpents in the Eleventh Hour of the Book of Amduat:  prr sb.yt shA n TAw m Hr n nn n nTr.yt “It is from the faces of these goddesses that the hostile wind and uproarious wind come forth.”37 Column x+2, line 9: After the word mAi “lion” and the adjective aA “great,” the hieratic text is broken, but the traces of a first-h may fit with a reading khA “to rage” (Wb. V 136.10–15) or khb “to harm, be violent” (Wb. V 137.2–15), verbs whose meanings can interchange in Late Egyptian.38 The king often manifests as a roaring and brave lion, a metaphor that becomes concrete in the depiction of an actual lion in Ramesses II’s camp at the Battle of Kadesh.39 However, the ink traces above the possible k-basket still do not find a satisfactory explanation. The word at the end of line 9, beginning with the group mr, could be restored as chariot (mrkb) or chariot warrior (mrynA), but with the new placement of a fragment (see Figure 4.1), the former is now certain. Column x+2, line 10: Between the verb sxr and the genitive “of the female donkey of the ruler of Kharu” is a single masculine noun that is determined with a striking man,40 and the noun sHn “commander” (Wb. IV 218.1–3)41 should be restored, since the damaged hieratic sign before the striking man in Frag. 1, ln. 3. is parallel to the orthography of Column x+3, line 2: For a parallel to a n Htri, see the note to col. x+1, ln. 10 (p. 192). Column x+3, line 3: The term Sbn does not modify xAs.wt “foreign lands,” but appears to refer to objects that precede the word “total (dmD).” Column x+3, line 10: Amun-Re is here called by his typical epithet “king of the gods” as well as “vizier who judges [ . . . ].” As Popko has noted, two possible restorations of Amun’s epithet are possible: wpi nmH nb or wpi mAa.t.42 Considering the role of the gods in the judgment of enemies, such as in the Victory Stela of Merneptah (see p. 123), the latter is perhaps more likely.

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APPENDIX 4

P. Louvre N 3136 The dimensions of the papyrus are height: 17.5 cm, length: 41 cm. The first column of the papyrus,1 which is not the beginning of the tale itself, has twelve lines of text, while the second column2 has eleven lines; several additional fragments preserve vertical slivers of additional columns with only portions of individual words remaining. Based on the restoration at the end of col. x+1, ln. 2, the second column is missing approximately two groups.

TRANSLITERATION (COLUMN X)

TRANSLITERATION (COLUMN X+1)

TRANSLATION 1

[ . . . ] their mistress. °Their [ . . . ] strong [ . . . ], ° and one brought [ . . . ], l.p.h., upon. 2 [ . . . ] his heart desired to fetch their warriors(?)/chiefs(?), (who say) [It is Amun(?)] who decrees it: ° “Victory [be to the ruler! . . . ] 3 Heliopolitan, of the gods, l.p.h., against every land [ . . . ] joyful before [ . . . ] 4 [ . . . ] pleasing their hearts exceedingly therein because [what he has done] has succeeded. The two noble palaces, l.p.h. 5 [ . . . ] [Pre]-Horakhty, his good father—very truly—being the sh[ade(?) . . . ] 6 The land of Egypt °was [acting for(?) . . . ] pharaoh, l.p.h., their son. Maat [ . . . ] 7 [pre]cisely(?),°his accounts(?) [ . . . ] entirely. Those of Pre-Hor8[akhty . . . ] that(?) pharaoh, l.p.h., saw. Listen to the utterances °in order to carry them out for . . . 9 [ . . . ] [ . . . ] the gods who acted for pharaoh, l.p.h., [the] great ruler of every land, without [ . . . ] having been done 10 [ . . . ] their beautiful son [ . . . ] effective utterances. [How] good is [ . . . ]

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Appendix 4

x+1,11

[ . . . ] the fortified plantation of pharaoh, l.p.h., in °[Per]ire, while the people of the commander of the archers 12[ . . . ]

without [ . . . ] . . . as the head of one . . . [ . . . ] Calling up the best of the land of Egypt [ . . . ] 2 from those (towns) of Ramesses (II)-beloved-of-Amun [l.p.h. to] the fortress °that [is upon]3 western [ba]nk. One caused that these be filled with guards; °and One made [ . . . ] happen/succeed [ . . . ] 4 The enemies—consisting of Meshwesh,° Libu, and Hasa°—came with [him(?). . .] 5 All the enemies,° they found the land (of Egypt) prepared and supplied [ . . . ] 6 they were repulsed from the fortresses, °and they descended to the fields of Perire [ . . . ] 7 in the fortified plantation of pharaoh l.p.h.°; and they saw a flame [before(?)] 8 the domain of the Mistress-of-the-Field toward the high-ground; and we sent forth 100 Peleset [ . . . ] 9 the days, and 200 Sherden of the great strongholds. [ . . . infantry(?)] 10 which we placed opposite ourselves, toward the high-ground, °in front of the flame in order to see(?). [ . . . we] 11 arrived(?); and we found 600 Meshwesh, °ravaging [ . . . ] x+2,1

TEXT NOTES

Column x, line 1: Hieratic papyri of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties often display two versions of the nb-basket within a single text,3 so it is not surprising that the scribe of P. Louvre 3136 utilizes both an open and closed form of the nb-basket (the pA-group displays a similar dichotomy in paleography in this text4). The writing of the third person plural suffix pronoun in col. x, ln. 1 of P. Louvre 3136 as =sny is rare, but paralleled in the line . The unusual 62 of the Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah:  writing of =sn in these two documents may represent a transitional form as the suffix pronoun lost its final—n (a process that had begun already in the late Middle Kingdom5), and is otherwise found in writings of the name Nb-sn as Nb-sny.6 The noun that the adjective Dri “strong” modifies is not preserved, but the referent may be the pharaoh;7 the alternative reading r-Dr=w8does not fit the orthography as well as Driw. Column x, line 2: The obscure group between the particle iw and the verb ini appears to be a writing of ib ( ).9 While the third person suffix pronoun could refer to the king, it is perhaps more likely that “he” is the commander of the foreign troops.10 Appendix 4 [ 1 9 7 ]

The parallels cited above (pp. 122–123) suggest the restoration of a loyalistic speech; in this case, wDi with walking legs would be a miswriting of the biliteral verb wD “to command.” Alternatively, one could read the verb wDi “to dispatch” (Wb. I 397.11–23), which often appears in military contexts, and either the king11 or the god12 can be the agent who dispatches the army; a similar ambiguity exists with the subject of the verb in P. Louvre 3136. In either case, the r is best interpreted as a writing of the prothetic jod before the participle;13 alternatively, if r wDi sw is read as “in order to dispatch them,” sw could be a writing of st, which commonly appears as a dependent pronominal object of the infinitive. Column x, line 3: The toponymn Iwnw is spelled with the divine determinative , an orthography paralleled in writings of Iwnw Smaw and Iwnw in The Late Egyptian Miscellanies.14 Following Iwnw are three vertical strokes, here transcribed as nTr.w ( ), gods, rather than Spalinger’s (hesitant) , “lord”;15 alternatively, Heliopolis, like the aH-palace in col. x, reading ln. 4 may have been followed by two strokes and a divine determinative. The verb inn is crossed out with a distinct “x” shape, but the reasons for this ancient edit are uncertain. Column x, line 4: The restoration of the small missing portion of the center of this line is based on line 63 of the Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, which possibly also describes the army rejoicing at the king’s victories: [ . . . ] Hm=f a.w.s. (m) Hay Xr mAA=f ir.n=f xpr.(w) “[the army(?)] of his Majesty, l.p.h., were rejoicing at seeing him, (because) what he has done has succeeded.”16 The two strokes after aH are clearly written in the hieratic; a reading of the strokes as a seated divine determinative (Gardiner A40) is at odds with standard New Kingdom hieratic orthography.17 Column x, line 5: The phrase aoA sp snw “very truly” emphasizes the divine lineage of the pharaoh in The Libyan Battle Story. Two parallel statements appear in the Year 8 Sea People campaign text of Ramesses III:18

They relate his forms; they tell to the people: his likeness and his body are exactly that of Baal! All lands are cast down and miserable before him, so that he appears in glory exactly like the sun.

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The word at the end of the line may be the term xAyb.t “shade” (Wb. III 225.1–7); despite the lack of the expected aleph phonetic complement following xA, the reading “shade” fits well in the context of the passage. If the preposition m (before tA) is read as the m of predication, then, most likely, the king—with an epithet describing him in relation to Pre-Horakhty, his father—is being equated to a beneficial shade (see commentary on pp. 126–127). Texts from the Ramesside Period provide a plethora of parallels to the king as shade:19 Ramesses II, Kuban Stela (KRI II 354, ln. 4)

who makes a shade for the people, as a rampart of victory and valor Ramesses II, Aswan Stela (KRI II 345, 2)

they sat in the shade of his strong arm. Ramesses III, Year 8 text (KRI V 39, ln. 4)

they rested beneath the shade of his two strong arms

Column x, line 8: The translation of this line follows Popko’s interpretation in the Thesaurus Linguae Aegyptiae.20 Column x, line 11: The group before DADA appears to be a striking man, although the word to be restored is uncertain. The mention of a “head” calls to mind an interesting expression in the military records of Ramesses III (ultimately a bit more logical than the English equivalent “head over heels”):21

He does not allow those who attack him to escape, they being felled tail over head!

Column x+2, line 1: The term HA.t, literally “the one in front,” can refer to the top ranks, as the context suggests here, or to high officials in general.22 An alternative, though less likely, reading, is aS HA.t as a compound noun for

Appendix 4 [ 1 9 9 ]

“pilot” (Wb. I 227.10). The phrase “up to those of Ramesses-mery-amun” in particular suggests that aS refers to levying troops, although the usual verb is Ts (Wb. V 404.5–6). “Those of Ramesses-mery-amun” is probably a reference to a garrison of a fort; after the epithet “l.p.h.” the fortress is called pA dmi—another use of the word dmi to refer to a fortified structure or town.23 This dmi is probably one of the chain of fortresses near the Mediterranean littoral west of the Delta.24 Column x+2, line 2: This restoration can be suggested from ln. 79 of the Karnak Inscription:  Hr pA rwD imn.ty.25 In addition to its presence within the Year 5 Libyan campaign of Merneptah, the “western bank” appears prominently in the historical retrospective of the Libyan campaigns in P. Harris I, probably referring to the Libyan incursions during Merneptah’s reign:26

The Libu and the Meshwesh had occupied Egypt, seizing the fortresses of the western bank, from Memphis to Qerben.

Column x+2, line 3:  Rather than the verb mH “to seize,” the book-roll determinative suggests the meaning “to fill”; numerous parallels exist for the expression “to fill (mH) X (a place) with Y (a type of people).”27 The , remains problemwriting of sAw.tyw, transcribed here as atic; examples of this title for “guard” appear at Deir el-Medina,28 and a Seventeenth Dynasty literary text uses the word sAw.ty for “watchman” in a martial context.29 Column x+2, line 4: The battle narrative from The Libyan Battle Story has a clear grammatical structure, consisting of an introductory statement of Noun + stative, followed by a series of circumstantial First Present forms. As Spalinger notes,30 forms such as the non-initial main sentence (iw=f Hr sDm) and circumstantial negative past (iw bw pw=f sDm) indicate that P. Louvre 3136 is not (directly) derivative of a monumental hieroglyphic source. Column x+2, lines 4–5: The restoration following the preposition m is not certain, and while a toponym would also fit the context, the restoration in col. x+2, line 2 suggests that only two hieratic groups are missing. The beginning of line 5, “all the enemies,” is a fronted noun resumed by the pronoun =w in the following circumstantial first present.31

[200]

Appendix 4

Column x+2, line 6: In the present context, the verb tfi means “to remove/ forcibly repel from.”32 For the role of fortresses in the Libyan wars of Merneptah and Ramesses III, see above, pp. 118–119, 129–130. Column x+2, line 8: The prepositional phrase r-Hry “upwards” appears here and in line 10—for the significance of the phrase in these two passages, see the note to ln. 10 below. For the meaning of the “domain of the Mistress-of-the-Field,” see p. 139 above.33 Column x+2, line 9: The term nxtw “stronghold” refers to fortresses within Egyptian territory or along the Ways of Horus.34 In several instances, the nxtw are manned by foreign troops, such as the Sherden here.35 Column x+2, line 10: The lacuna at the end of line 9 most likely contained the designation for a military group, and line 10 begins with a relative phrase:  di.t=n m-aoA=n r-Hry “which we placed opposite ourselves upwards.”36 It is tempting to restore pD.t “bow-troops” at the end of line 9, since a “commander of bow-troops” appears in col. x+1, ln. 11, and during the Battle of Perire, the Great Karnak Inscription describes:37 istw ir(wy).n tA pD.t n Hm=f 6 wnw.t sksk im=s(n) “Now the bowtroops of his Majesty spent six hours of destruction among them.” Infantry (mnfy.t) and chariotry (tA-n.t-Htri) are also present at the Battle of Perire,38 and the former is another possible restoration for the troops that “we” placed in position in The Libyan Battle Story. The reading of r-Hry as “upwards” appears already in line 8 as the location of the “flame,” a metaphor for the pharaoh, or perhaps a representation of him on the battlefield, as being upwards of the domain of the Mistress-of-the-Field. Parallel uses of the common prepositional phrase r-Hry “upwards”39 enhances the interpretation of the term in The Libyan Battle Story as an expression of the standard military strategy of dominating the high ground. Adjectival uses of Hry “upper, high” to describe topographical features40 provides further evidence for the Egyptian army in The Libyan Battle Story being commanded to take up position on an elevated area overlooking the battlefield. Column x+2, line 11: The number to be restored before Meshwesh is uncertain; Spalinger proposed 200,41 but the small strokes over the long tail fit better with an orthography of 500 or 600.42

Appendix 4 [ 2 0 1 ]

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NOTES

CHAPTER 1 1. On the career of Khaemwaset, including the inscriptions he commissioned in the pyramid fields, see Fisher, The Sons of Ramesses II, vol. 1, 89–105 (career), and vol. 2, 107–108, 123 (restoration inscriptions); Gomaà, Chaemwese, Sohn Ramses’ II. und Hoherpriester von Memphis; Kitchen, Pharaoh Triumphant, 103–109; Oppenheim and Allen, in Di. Arnold, ed., The Pyramid Complex of Senwosret III, 29–30 and pls. 6–7. For Khaemwaset as a character in demotic tales, see p. 163. 2. Grallert, Bauen—Stiften—Weihen; many of the same inscriptions are discussed in McClain, Restoration Inscriptions and the Tradition of Monumental Restoration (latter reference courtesy of David Klotz). 3. On this text and its context, see Snape, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies, 465–473 (quoted passage is p.  471, fig.  1, lns. 7–9). Compare also the basin Khaemwaset commissioned in honor of Imhotep (Allen, in Teeter and Larson, eds., Gold of Praise, 1–10). 4. See note 52 below. 5. Anthologies of New Kingdom historical inscriptions include Beylage, Aufbau der königlichen Stelentexte vom Beginn der 18. Dynastie bis zur Amarnazeit; Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions, Translated and Annotated, 6  vols.; Klug, Königliche Stelen in der Zeit von Ahmose bis Amenophis III; Murnane, Texts from the Amarna Period in Egypt. 6. Frood, Biographical Texts from Ramessid Egypt; no comparable edition exists for the entirety of the Eighteenth Dynasty, but the translation volumes of Sethe, Urkunden der 18. Dynastie (continued by Wolfgang Helck) remain useful. Important predecessors from the Seventeenth Dynasty appear in Kubisch, Lebensbilder der 2. Zwischenzeit, and some of the key Eighteenth Dynasty texts are translated in Popko, Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung der Ahmosiden- und Thutmosidenzeit. 7. As Loprieno notes, it is only an “illusion that there can be an unfiltered hermeneutic continuity between Egyptian literary text and Egyptological interpretation” (in Cooper and Schwartz, eds., Study of the Ancient Near East in the 21st Century, 213). 8. Some Egyptian literary texts may have used the incipit as a title—see below, note 157. 9. The terms “tale” and “story” will be used interchangeably, both referring to a work of literature that is a “non-commemorative, non-functional, fictional narrative” (Parkinson, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 303). 10. The absolute chronology presented here and in the following chapters follows that of Shaw, ed., Oxford History of Ancient Egypt; the dates presented in Hornung,

Krauss, and Warburton, eds., Ancient Egyptian Chronology, 492–493, place the accession of Ahmose about ten years later (ca. 1539 BCE). 11. Only two of the tales—Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and Capture of Joppa—were included in Gardiner’s edition of The Late Egyptian Stories; the editio princeps of Thutmose III in Asia was 1922, and the Libyan Battle Story was unknown until its first publication in 2002. 12. Among the tales, only The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre marks stanzas with rubrics, and the sections of the translation correspond to those original divisions (on rubrics see further, note 161). 13. For the political and cultural roots of military expansion in the Second Intermediate Period see the overview in Polz, Der Beginn des Neuen Reiches; the Eighteenth Dynasty military “machine” is treated extensively in Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine of Thutmose III and Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt. The key work for the military in New Kingdom society remains Gnirs, Militär und Gesellschaft. For the connection between the stories and these societal changes, see also Gnirs, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 91–98; Gnirs and Loprieno, in ibid., 262–267, and the important summary of Egyptian texts in the context of late Bronze Age Syria, 267–279. 14. Recent works include Cornelius, Iconography of the Canaanite Gods Reshef and Ba’al; idem, The Many Faces of the Goddess (his catalog includes extensive evidence from Egypt); Pusch and Eggebrecht, in Czerny et al., eds., Timelines, vol. 1, 249– 261; Wettengel, in Petschel and van Falck, Pharao siegt immer, 176–181; idem, Die Erzählung von den beiden Brüdern, 224–228. The classic work of Stadelmann, Syrisch-palästinensische Gottheiten in Ägypten should be consulted alongside the recent catalog, Tazawa, Syro-Palestinian Deities in New Kingdom Egypt. Magical texts provide another rich source for foreign influence in Egyptian religious practice; for one of many examples, compare Fischer-Elfert, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies, 189–198. For Seth-Baal, see pp. 47 and 112–113. 15. For the story Astarte and the Sea, see pp. 17–18. 16. For one of the many possible examples, see p.  110; the reconstruction of the “international” aspects of the Egyptian court in Kemp, Ancient Egypt: Anatomy of a Civilization, 2d ed., 292–296, discusses influence on all aspects of culture, from dress to literature. The changes in the New Kingdom must also be viewed against earlier interactions with foreign groups, for which see Schneider, Ausländer in Ägypten während des Mittleren Reiches und der Hyksoszeit, Teil 2 and references therein. 17. For the application of this perspective to Egyptological interpretation, see Hornung, Eranos Jahrbuch 51 (1982):  479–516; Spalinger, in Kousoulis and Magliveras, eds., Moving Across Borders, 71–86. 18. Trans. de Sélincourt, Herodotus: The Histories, 113. 19. For an examination of these temples as “temples of millions of years” rather than “mortuary” temples, see Haeny, in Shafer, ed., Temples of Ancient Egypt, 86–126; Ullmann, König für die Ewigkeit, 447–523 (on the temple of Ramesses III). 20. Spalinger, Icons of Power, 183-186 and references therein. 21. The temple of Ramesses III is published in the 8-volume series Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu; an overview of the temple appears in Murnane, United with Eternity; see also O’Connor, in Cline and O’Connor, eds., Ramesses III, 209–270 (with particular focus on continuity and change within the architectural and decorative programs of New Kingdom “mortuary” temples on the west bank of Thebes). 22. Compare the approach to imagined settings of Middle Kingdom literature in Parkinson, Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry.

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Notes

23. KRI V, 415–417; Frood, Biographical Texts from Ramessid Egypt, 183–188 (note that the name of Amunmose’s father is not Paamun, but Pawia [cf. Ranke, Personennamen, vol. 1, 103, no. 20], as translated correctly already in Gardiner, JEA 34 [1948]: 20). 24. For this interpretation, see Gardiner, JEA 34 (1948): 19–22. 25. For the architectural feature as it appears at Medinet Habu specifically, see Cavillier, Migdol: ricerche su modelli di architettura militare di età ramesside (Medinet Habu); the decoration of the migdol is discussed in O’Connor, in Janosi, ed., Structure and Significance, 439–454; idem, in Cline and O’Connor, eds., Ramesses III, 252–257. The migdol as a form of military architecture is surveyed in Morris, The Architecture of Imperialism, 817–820, with references to important earlier archaeological literature. 26. Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu IX: The Eighteenth Dynasty Temple. 27. Compare the awareness of earlier reigns and generations in the legal inscription from the tomb of Mose (Gaballa, The Memphite Tomb Chapel of Mose, 28–29; on this text see p. 157); for a similar awareness in royal inscriptions, compare Baines, in Feldherr and Hardy, eds., The Oxford History of Historical Writing, 67. 28. Badawy, Egyptian Architecture, vol. 3, 354–360. 29. On this temple, see van Siclen, Serapis 6 (1980): 183–207. 30. See in general Hollender, Amenophis I. und Ahmes Nefertari. 31. Navrátilová, The Visitors’ Graffiti of Dynasties XVIII and XIX; idem., in Hagen et al., eds., Narratives of Egypt and the Ancient Near East, 261–265; Popko, Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung der Ahmosiden- und Thutmosidenzeit, 137–138. 32. On smiting scenes, see notes 70–71 below; for the presentation of the khepeshsword, see p. 111. 33. See inter alia Edel, SAK 3 (1975): 49–73; Kitchen, in Brand and Cooper, eds., Causing His Name to Live, 129–135; Müller, Die Palästinaliste Thutmosis III; Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 43–51; Stockfisch, in Adrom, Schülter and Schülter, eds., Altägyptische Weltsichten, 168–173. The personification of foreign lands within the Egyptian topographical lists find an interesting parallel in Roman triumphs; see Östenberg, Staging the World, 203–208. 34. See pp. 134–136. 35. Baines, JARCE 27 (1990): 1–23; idem, Visual and Written Culture, 3–30. 36. The classic work of Hornung, Geschichte als Fest, remains the most elegant presentation of the topic; for the dual presentation of the ritual concept and historical reality, compare Baud, in Grimal and Baud, eds., Événement, récit, histoire officielle, L’écriture de l’histoire dans les monarchies antiques, 284; Spalinger, Icons of Power, 94-105. For the dual religious and secular aspects of pylon decoration, see Derchain, BSFE 46 (1966): 17–24. 37. Additional battle tableaux include the largely formulaic Nubian battle scenes (exterior west wall, Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 1, pls. 9–11) and an unusual depiction of Ramesses III attacking two Hittite towns (rear of north pylon tower; Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 2, pl. 87). Although the Hittites were not enemies of Egypt during the reign of Ramesses III, the king is still shown attacking and defeating two Hittite towns, one of which is labeled “Arzawa,” a region in the southwestern portion of Asia Minor (Breyer, Ägypten und Anatolien, 316–317, with references to earlier literature). 38. Heinz, in Bietak and Schwarz, eds., Krieg und Sieg, 64–66; idem, Die Feldzugdarstellungen des Neuen Reiches, 53–57; Spalinger, Icons of Power, 190-201.

Notes [ 2 0 5 ]

One must also remember that the exterior north wall of the temple would not have been as visible when the temple United-with-Eternity was still functioning— a large series of magazines were built about five meters from the north wall of the temple proper, limiting an overall view of the decoration (for the location of the magazines, see Hölscher, The Excavation of Medinet Habu, vol. 1, pl. 12). Accessing the roofs of the magazines would have enabled a better view, but whether this was possible or even desirable is not known; the study of viewsheds within Egyptian temple complexes is only in its infancy. 39. On the coherence of the exterior decoration of Medinet Habu, note the important analysis of van Essche-Merchez, RdE 45 (1994): 87–116. 40. O’Connor, in Tait, ed., Never Had the Like Occurred:  Egypt’s View of its Past, 155–186. 41. Cf. Müller, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 232. 42. Compare the use of Avaris and Thebes in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and the city of Joppa in The Capture of Joppa. 43. Darnell, in Bryan and Lorton, eds., Essays in Egyptology, 35–55. 44. For overviews, see Graindorge-Hereil, Le Dieu Sokar à Thèbes au Nouvel Empire; Gauthier, Les fêtes du dieu Min. 45. Gauthier, Les fêtes du dieu Min, 204–206; Roth, in Bröckelmann and Klug, eds., In Pharaohs Staat, 220–226. 46. Redford, Pharaonic King-lists, Annals, and Day-books, 36–37. 47. Redford, Pharaonic King-lists, Annals, and Day-books, 34–36. 48. Baines, Visual and Written Culture, 196, 198–199. 49. For the organization of the Turin Canon, see Ryholt, in Hornung, Krauss, and Warburton, eds., Ancient Egyptian Chronology, 26–32; Schneider, in Adam, ed., Historiographie in der Antike, 183–197. 50. Edgerton, Medinet Habu Graffiti Facsimiles, pl. 10, no. 30; for another “beginning of the instruction” graffito, see Darnell, Theban Desert Road Survey I, 147. 51. For an overview of this institution with references to previous discussions, see Jasnow and Zauzich, The Ancient Egyptian Book of Thoth, 33–36; Nordh, Aspects of Ancient Egyptian Curses and Blessings, 106–126. For an attempt to locate the pranx or pr-mDA.t within a temple complex, see Zinn, in Gundlach and Spence, eds., Palace and Temple, 181–202. 52. Among the possible examples, compare a stela of Neferhotep I  from Abydos (Helck, Historische-biographische Texte der 2.  Zwischenzeit und neue Texte der 18. Dynastie, 22) and the dedicatory inscription of Ramesses II at Luxor Temple (KRI II, 345, lns. 5–6); additional examples are listed in Redford, in Studien zu Sprache und Religion Ägyptens, Band 1: Sprache, 334 n. 59; idem, King-lists, Annals and Daybooks, 65–96. For the historical research undertaken for the jubilee festival of Amunhotep III, see Darnell and Manassa, Tutankhamun’s Armies, 20–24 and references therein; the navigation included in Amunhotep III’s first jubilee suggests that he may indeed have reproduced late Predynastic celebrations (as suggested by the re-carving of a Naqada III palette during his reign)—see further Leblanc, “In Accordance with the Documents of Ancient Times.” 53. For nonliterary archival texts, see the separate contributions of Allam in Piacentini and Orsenigo, eds., Egyptian Archives, 61–70; and Trapani, in ibid., 103–114; contrasting with the more skeptical statements of Eyre, in ibid., 21. See also Vernus, Essai sur la conscience de l’Histoire, 54–59. On the annalistic archives, see Baines, in Engel, Műller, and Hartung, eds., Zeichen aus dem Sand, 19–40; Beylage, Aufbau

[206]

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der königlichen Stelentexte vom Beginn der 18. Dynastie bis zur Amarnazeit, vol. 2, 534–538, 619–635. 54. P. Anastasi I 11, 1–2, for which see Fischer-Elfert, Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I., Übersetzung und Kommentar, 93–100; idem, in Wilcke, ed., Das geistige Erfassen der Welt im Alten Orient, 31–32. 55. Urk. IV 415, ln. 15; for parallels to Senenmut’s statement in other Thutmoside texts, see Redford, Pharaonic King-lists, Annals, and Day-books, 166–167. 56. On the transmission of royal novels and comparative texts, see Spalinger, The Great Dedicatory Inscription of Ramesses II, 8–15. 57. Quirke, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 379–401. Note also the “office of the letters of pharaoh” at Amarna that held foreign diplomatic correspondence—on this building, see Lacovara, The New Kingdom Royal City, 43–44. 58. Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 66–73; Pestman, in Demarée and Janssen, eds., Gleanings from Deir el-Medina, 155–172. 59. On the important concept of “cultural texts,” see Assmann, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 59–82; idem, in Moers, ed., Definitely: Egyptian Literature, 1–15. 60. Bracht Branham, in Bracht Branham, ed., Bakhtin and the Classics, 163. 61. Allen, Intertextuality; Worton and Still, eds., Intertextuality: Theories and Practices; note also the comments by Hinds, Allusion and Intertext, 47–51, about the “limits of intertextuality” and the continued relevance of the term “allusion” to maintain authorial intent. 62. In Worton and Still, eds., Intertextuality, 76. 63. Riffaterre, in Worton and Still, eds., Intertextuality, 56. 64. Mathieu, La Poésie Amoureuse de l’Égypte Ancienne, 218–226; Moers, Fingierte Welten, 106–154; Loprieno, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 51–55; Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 60–63. For New Kingdom historical fiction, one may also compare specific intertextual relationships of New Kingdom (and later) historical texts and Middle Kingdom literature—Parkinson, Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry, 176–180, 205–206; for post-New Kingdom texts, see Jasnow, in Teeter and Larson, eds., Gold of Praise, 193–210. 65. Compare Manassa, Late Egyptian Sarcophagi, 9–10, noting that the study of later redactions of the Underworld Books further indicate the ancient Egyptian use of such intertextual approaches. 66. See pp. 63–65, 75–76, 80, 85–86, 103, 110–111, 134–136. 67. Compare Gnirs, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 91–98; Murnane, JARCE 26 (1989): 186–189 (noting a parallel between the introduction of the Annals of Thutmose III and the Dispute of a Man with his Ba); Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 347–365; see also Eyre, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 415–434. 68. Cf. Jauss, in Duff, ed., Modern Genre Theory, 127–147. 69. For this term and its application to the Story of Sinuhe, see Moers, in Moers, ed., Definitely: Egyptian Literature, 53. 70. See Köhler, in van den Brink, ed., Egypt and the Levant:  Interrelations from the 4th through the 3rd millennium BCE, 499–513; Campagno, in Hendrickx et  al., eds., Egypt at its Origins: Studies in Memory of Barbara Adams, 689–700; Gilbert, Weapons, Warriors and Warfare in Early Egypt. 71. Hall, Pharaoh Smites his Enemies; on the topos of smiting enemies, see Ritner, Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice, 113–119; Muhlestein, Violence in the Service of Order, 331–355, overstates the case for the ritual enactment of the smiting of enemies in temples.

Notes [ 2 0 7 ]

72. See most recently Strudwick, Texts from the Pyramid Age, 353–355. 73. Vandier, Mo’alla, La tombe d’Ankhtifi et la tombe de Sébekhotep; for a summary of the military events described in Ankhtyfy’s text, see Franke, in Shaw, ed., Oxford History of Ancient Egypt, 128–133. 74. For the reign of Montuhotep II marking the first use of “royal novel” tradition, see Darnell, RdE 59 (2008): 81–110; Spalinger, in Kloth et al., eds., Es werde niedergelegt als Schriftstück, 426–427. A summary of the development of royal annals appears in Baines, in Engel, Müller, and Hartung, eds., Zeichen aus dem Sand, 19–40. 75. Russmann, Eternal Egypt, 87 (BM EA 732); for contemporaneous private pictorial records of combat, see Jaroš-Deckert, Das Grab des Jnj-jtj.f:  Die Wandmalereien der XI. Dynastie. The stela of Irtysen describes the carving of hunting and military scenes, which does indicate a possible ancient Egyptian system of classification for such images, as well as being further evidence for the existence of Middle Kingdom battle scenes (on the passage, see Barta, Das Selbstzeugnis eines altägyptischen Künstlers [Stele Louvre C 14], 104–120). See also the references to pictorial records in the following note. 76. In general see Grimal, in Grimal and Baud, eds., Événement, récit, histoire officielle, 13–48; Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten; Valbelle, in Guerre et conquête dans le Proche-orient ancien, 23–32;. On the pictorial records, see inter alia Heinz, Die Feldzugsdarstellungen des Neuen Reiches (and her summary of the material in Bietak and Schwarz, eds., Krieg und Sieg, 43–68); Petschel and von Falck, eds., Pharao siegt immer, 54–71; Schulz, in Bietak and Schwarz, eds., Krieg und Sieg, 19–42; Spalinger, Icons of Power; idem, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honour of K.A. Kitchen, 475–491; idem, Ä&L 13 (2003): 163–199. 77. Lundh, Actor and Event; Spalinger, Aspects of the Military Documents; idem, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative. 78. See pp. 50–51, 63–65. 79. See pp. 66–67, 102–104. 80. The standard reference for these texts remains Redford, Day-books and Annals; additional references are cited in the following notes. 81. Redford, in LÄ VI, cols. 151–152; idem, The Wars in Syria and Palestine, 4–5. Documents from Deir el-Medina provide an additional nuance to the term daybook: “a dated record that could be filed for future reference” (Donker van Heel and Haring, Writing in a Workmen’s Village, 101–104 [quote from p. 104]). For lawdocuments and day-books, see also Kruchten, Le décret de Horemheb, 154–155. In addition to the institutions listed by Redford, mining/quarrying expeditions, primarily under the purview of the treasury, appear to have kept their own daybooks—Darnell and Manassa, in Parkinson and Fischer-Elfert, eds., Studies in Honor of Detlef Franke, 55-92; for other expeditionary uses of day-book style in rock inscriptions, see Darnell, ZÄS 130 (2003): 35–36 (n. h), 38 (n. a), 41 (n. d), and 48; Hsieh, ZÄS 139 (2012): 108–127. A daily journal is even attested in foreign administrations—in the Story of Wenamun, the Prince of Byblos requests that his arw hrw nAy=f it.w “daily records of his forefathers” be brought for consultation (Wenamun 2, 8 = Gardiner, LES, 68, lns. 1-2). 82. Slightly earlier day-book fragments include the late Twelfth Dynasty papyri from the valley temple of Senwosret II at Lahun (on the day-book identification, see Redford, Pharaoh King-lists, Annals, and Day-books, 97–98; on the context of the

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documents, see Quirke, Lahun: A town in Egypt 1800 BC, and the history of its landscape, 30–37). 83. Quirke, The Administration of Egypt in the Late Middle Kingdom, 17ff.; Spalinger, SAK 12 (1985): 179–241. 84. Borrowing the term of Kemp, Ancient Egypt: Anatomy of a Civilization, 163–192; for an accountant’s perspective on P. Boulaq 18, see Ezzamel, Accounting Historians Journal 29.1 (2002): 82–89. 85. Lundh, Actor and Event, 16; Scharff, ZÄS 57 (1922): 15**; Spalinger, Aspects, 123. 86. Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 33–34; as Redford notes, a papyrus at the IFAO recording a mining expedition during the Twentieth Dynasty may be an actual example of the types of private campaign memoranda described in the Thutmose III annals, since both mention three components:  date, expedition number, and commander (for the IFAO papyrus see Koenig, in Vercoutter, ed., Hommages à Serge Sauneron, vol. 1, 185–220). 87. Spalinger, Aspects of the Military Documents, 120ff. 88. P. Anastasi III may also contain a day-book account of a border official (Jäger, Altägyptische Berufstypologien, 195; Spalinger, Aspects of the Military Documents, 123–124). 89. Gnirs, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 91–94; Gnirs and Loprieno, in ibid., 252–289. 90. Wiseman, in Moxon, Smart, and Woodman, eds., Past Perspectives: Studies in Greek and Roman Historical Writing, 87–88. See also the useful overview of the “memory of war” in Chaniotis, War in the Hellenistic World, 214–244. 91. Translations and collected bibliography appear in Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II; Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature II; Simpson, ed., The Literature of Ancient Egypt. The following notes focus on aspects of the stories that relate to the genre of historical fiction, and do not attempt to cover the full scope of New Kingdom fictional literature. Overviews of New Kingdom literature are now available in Goelet, in Cline and O’Connor, eds., Ramesses III, 304–403; Moers, in Lloyd, ed., Companion to Ancient Egypt, 685–708. 92. For a possible historical context for The Contendings of Horus and Seth, see Verhoeven, in Schade-Busch, ed., Wege öffnen, Festschrift für Rolf Gundlach zum 65. Geburtstag, 347–363. 93. Galan, Four Journeys in Ancient Egyptian Literature; see also Simon, in Kessler et al., eds., Texte—Theben—Tonfragmente, 385–398. 94. Hollis, The Tale of the Two Brothers; Schneider, Ä&L 18 (2008): 315–326; Wettengel, Die Erzählung von den beiden Brüdern. The present work will not address “folk-tale” aspects of New Kingdom literature, for which one can consult the important analysis of Spalinger, RdE 58 (2007): 137–156. 95. Baines, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 157–174; Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II., 1–6; Dorn, in Kessler et  al., eds., Texte—Theben—Tonfragmente, 70–82. For the language of the Late Egyptian Stories, see pp. 26–27. 96. The Pleasures of Fishing and Fowling and The Sporting King may also be creations of Eighteenth Dynasty scribes, but persuasive arguments have been made for a Middle Kingdom date—compare Baines, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 160–161; Caminos, Literary Fragments in the Hieratic Script; Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 311–312; Quirke, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 270–271. The provocative suggestion of Gnirs, in

Notes [ 2 0 9 ]

Moers et  al., eds., jn.t dr.w:  Festschrift für Friedrich Junge, 207–265, to redate Merikare and Neferti will not be addressed here. 97. RdE 58 (2007): 153-154. 98. In addition to the studies cited below, see Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II, 57–61; Wente, in Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 108–111. 99. Cornelius and Niehr, Götter und Kulte in Ugarit; Collombert and Coulon, BIFAO 100 (2000): 219–221. 100. Kitchen, in Liverani, ed., La Siria nel tardo bronzo, 87–88; Spalinger, RdE 58 (2007): 151–152. 101. Collombert and Coulon, BIFAO 100 (2000): 193–242. 102. Collombert and Coulon, BIFAO 100 (2000): 196 (ln. 1), 200. 103. Collombert and Coulon, BIFAO 100 (2000):  206–209; on the royal eulogy in Astarte and the Insatiable Sea, see also Spalinger, RdE 58 (2007): 152. 104. Collombert and Coulon, BIFAO 100 (2000): 224–225; Spalinger, in Kloth et al., eds., Es werde niedergelegt als Schriftstück, 426–427; see further, p. 20. 105. Smith, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle, 23–25 (on the Egyptian version), 87–96 (on political interpretations of the cycle); see also Collombert and Coulon, BIFAO 100 (2000): 221–222. 106. Compare the adaptation of Ugaritic motifs in Egyptian magical texts; see most recently Fischer-Elfert, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honor of K. A. Kitchen, 189–198. 107. von Beckerath, ZÄS 119 (1992): 90–107; Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II, 72–75 (with additional references); Gardiner, Late Egyptian Stories, 89–94; Luiselli, GM 206 (2005): 42–43; Ritner, in Koenig, ed., La magie en Égypte, 293–294; Wente, in Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 112–115. A  new edition of this text is currently in preparation by the author, with particular emphasis on the “imagining” of a spirit nearly a thousand years old, his speech in Late Egyptian, and the New Kingdom exploration of the early Theban necropolis. 108. KRI III 23, ll. 1–4; Peden, Graffiti of Pharaonic Egypt, 104–105. Compare also Fischer-Elfert, in Tait, ed., Never Had the Like Occurred, 131–133. 109. Fischer-Elfert, Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I., Übersetzung und Kommentar; Kitchen, in Liverani, ed., La Siria nel tardo bronzo, 77–95; Kitchen, in Liverani, ed., La Siria nel tardo bronzo, 77–95; Posener, Orientalia 13 (1944): 193– 204; the scene is also discussed in Houlihan, Wit and Humour, 59–60; Spalinger, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honour of K. A. Kitchen, 487–489. For additional tales that might once have existed, note also Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 349–350. 110. Heinz, Die Feldzugdarstellungen des Neuen Reiches, 114–115. 111. Butterfield, The Historical Novel: An Essay, 28–29. 112. Bracht Branham, in Bracht Branham, ed., Bakhtin and the Classics, 163. 113. This lack is particularly prominent when compared to the lively commentary tradition in cuneiform documents, such as the literary commentaries treated extensively in Frahm, Babylonian and Assyrian Text Commentaries, 111–121; note also ibid., 102–107, for the use of literary texts in commentaries on other genres, and 345–368 for other forms of response and engagement with earlier literary texts. 114. Moers, in Moers, ed., Definitely: Egyptian Literature, 46–50 115. Fischer-Elfert, in Wilcke, ed., Das geistige Erfassen der Welt im Alten Orient, 27–38; Junge, in Studien zu Sprache und Religion Ägyptens zu Ehren von Wolfhart Westendorf,

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vol. 1, 257–272; Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 50–53. Beyond the literary corpus, magical texts provide an interesting parallel to the “Alexandrian footnote” in which an author quotes unnamed sources—see Kyffin, in Hagen et al., eds., Narratives of Egypt and the Ancient Near East, 232–233; a list of “commentaries” on religious texts is collected in von Lieven, Grundriss des Laufes der Sterne, 263–267; note also Nordh, Aspects of Ancient Egyptian Curses and Blessings, 138–144. 116. One example of this practice is the transformation of Sinuhe from an official within the queen’s palace (as in the Middle Kingdom manuscripts) to a royal son in some New Kingdom copies—a few altered hieroglyphs and Sinuhe’s otherwise unexplained flight becomes the result of a “harem conspiracy.” See Feder, GM 195 (2003):  45–52; Parkinson, Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry, 185–186; compare also the transformation of Qedem into Qadesh, a location with more relevance to the copyist of the Ashmolean ostracon—Parkinson, Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry, 200–201. 117. Cf. Baines, in Baines et al., eds., Pyramid Studies and other studies presented to I. E. S. Edwards, 124–133. 118. Luiselli, in Bickel and Loprieno, eds., Basel Egyptology Prize 1, 351–352; Nordh, Aspects of Ancient Egyptian Curses and Blessings, 115–118; Parkinson, in Davies, ed., Studies in Egyptian Antiquities: A Tribute to T. G. H. James, 51–53; Quirke, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 394–399; for library “catalogs” of the Ptolemaic period, see Thiers, BIFAO 104/1 (2004): 553–572. 119. For genre in Egyptian literature, see Bickel and Mathieu, BIFAO 93 (1993): 31–51; Enmarch, A World Upturned, 36–42; Moers, Fingierte Welten; Parkinson, in Quirke, ed., Middle Kingdom Studies, 91–122; idem, JEA 78 (1992):  166–169; idem, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 301–305; idem, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 33–36, 108–112, passim; Ragazzoli, Éloges de la ville en Égypte ancienne, 99–134; Vinson, JARCE 41 (2004): 33–54. The following discussion is a brief overview of ancient Egyptian genre, with particular focus on the classification of New Kingdom literary compositions as they relate to the genre of historical fiction proposed here. 120. In Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 311. 121. Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 110–111. 122. Instructional literature of the New Kingdom is also one of the few genres for which “subgenres” can be identified; compare the sbAy.t mtr.t “educational teaching” (Bickel and Mathieu, BIFAO 93 [1993]: 32) or the sbAy.t Sa.wt “instruction of letter-writing” (see pp. 33, 61–63). 123. HAty-a m pA nxt.w or sDd nxt.w—see inter alia Spalinger, Aspects of the Military Documents, 224–230; idem, Five Views on Egypt, 26 and n.  74; idem, in Kloth, Martin, and Pardey, eds., Es werde niedergelegt als Schriftstück,, 415–428; Lundh, Actor and Event, 7–8. 124. P. Anastasi II, col. 1, ln. 1 has the title: HAty-a sDd nxt.w n pA nb n km.t “beginning of the recitation of victories of the lord of Egypt.” (P. Anastasi II, col. 1, ln. 1); this title is mentioned in Ragazzoli, Éloges de la ville en Égypte, 116–117, but she does not tackle the full significance of the relationship with military inscriptions of the same title; see also Spalinger, Five Views on Egypt, chapter 1. 125. On the “royal novel,” see pp. 50–51, 63–65. 126. Moers, in Moers, ed., Definitely: Ancient Egyptian Literature, 51–58; idem, Fingierte Welten, 101–105, passim; Schipper, Die Erzählung des Wenamun, 284–291; note also the importance of travel motifs in the genre of “praise of cities”—Ragazzoli, Éloges de la ville, 129–134.

Notes [ 2 1 1 ]

127. Mathieu, in Bechtold, Gulyás, and Hasznos, eds., From Illahun to Djeme:  Papers Presented in Honour of Ulrich Luft, 161–166. 128. The main New Kingdom representatives of the literary letter genre are the Satirical Letter of Hori (P. Anastasi I) and the Tale of Wermai (P. Pushkin 127); for an analysis of this genre, see Goldwasser, LingAeg 1 (1991): 129–141; Gnirs, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 91–98; Moers, Fingierte Welten, 273–279; Schad, Die Entdeckung des “Briefes”. The literary letter genre was so pervasive that at least one Ramesside scribe chose it as a template for his highly literary, yet idiosyncratic and purposeful composition to his wayward son (Fischer-Elfert, in Dorn and Hoffmann, eds., Living and Writing in Deir el-Medine, 87–92; Moers, Fingierte Welten, 232–245). For the literary letter in demotic texts, see Depauw, The Demotic Letter, 333–336. 129. Moers, in Lloyd, ed., Companion to Ancient Egypt, 687: “Rather, these manuscript collections [e.g., P. Harris 500 and P. Chester Beatty I] should be regarded as proof of the existence of a dominant category of courtly literature to which belonged a mixed repertoire of equally utilized modes, genres, and stylistic levels which reflect the various needs of a relatively uniform audience.” 130. In Cooper and Schwartz, eds., Ancient Near East in the 21st Century, 214. 131. Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 170–183. 132. Compare, among the many examples, the popularity of Robert Graves’s novel I, Claudius and its successful BBC adaptation; see Seymour-Smith, in Bloom, ed., Modern Critical Views: Robert Graves, 157–161. 133. Note Parkinson’s apt warning (Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 33): “The apparent and often surprising immediacy of literary texts of times and cultures alien to the reader can blind one to their alterity.” 134. Loprieno, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature: Theory and Forms, 43; idem, in Cooper and Schwartz, eds., Ancient Near East in the 21st Century, 214–231; Moers, Fingierte Welten, 154–163, passim; Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 87–91. 135. Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 23. 136. Fowler, Kinds of Literature, 235 (noting the work of Russian formalist Jurij Tynjanov). 137. Bakhtin, Dialogic Imagination, 250. 138. Bracht Branham, in Bracht Branham, ed., Bakhtin and the Classics, 166; note also the important recognition of Immanuel Kant’s influence on Bakhtin’s chronotope suggested in ibid., 165. 139. The following discussion is a summary of a longer article by the author (in preparation) exploring its applicability of Bakhtin’s chronotope to Egyptian literature. The usefulness of Bakhtin’s work to different literary corpora has been admirably demonstrated in Bracht Branham, ed., Bakhtin and the Classics, and R. Boer, ed., Bakhtin and Genre Theory in Biblical Studies (particularly the contribution by Newsom), both of which have informed the present work. 140. Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination, 94: “all the days, hours, minutes that are ticked off within the separate adventures are not united into a real time series, they do not become the days and hours of a human life.” 141. Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination, 88–89. 142. For basic references to the extensive secondary literature, see note 94; the possible “functional” aspects of the text’s genre as royal propaganda are discussed in Wettengel, Die Erzählung von den beiden Brüdern, 265–272.

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143. For temporal expressions in The Tale of the Two Brothers and other Late Egyptian Stories, see Hintze, Untersuchungen zur Stil und Sprache, 7–30, and Jay, The Narrative Structure of Ancient Egyptian Tales, 145–150 (with a particularly interesting contrasting discussion of Wenamun on pp. 150–155). 144. P. Chester Beatty I, col. 13, lns. 5–8 = Gardiner, LES, 23, lns. 3-10. 145. Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination, 104. 146. Cf. Butterfield, The Historical Novel, 41: “History is rooted in geography, and the historical novel, which is a novel that seeks to be rooted in some ways in actuality, finds one of its roots in geography.” 147. Rigley, Imperfect Histories: The Elusive Past and the Legacy of Romantic Historicism, 19. 148. On the Doomed Prince, see further, Chapter 3, note 16. 149. For the historical “frame” of Middle Kingdom literature, compare Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 87–91. Of didactic texts set in the more remote Old Kingdom, Baines, in Visual and Written Culture, 188, observes: “The ascription of literary texts to particular past figures must carry implications for the discourse that is conducted in them, but these are difficult to catch.” Another interesting approach to texts such the Prophecy of Neferti is to categorize the presentation of past events in a “historosophical” manner—see Piccato, LingAeg 5 (1997): 144–149. 150. Fleishman, The English Historical Novel, 15. 151. Shaw, The Forms of Historical Fiction: Sir Walter Scott and His Successors, 22. 152. Bickel and Mathieu, BIFAO 93 (1993): pl. 3; on Amennakht and his library, see note 160. 153. KRI II, 254, 1. 154. For two ostraca that may mention Libyans and thus relate in an indirect fashion to The Libyan Battle Story, see p. 142. 155. Janssen, in Demarée and Egberts, eds., Village Voices, 86–87. 156. For paratext in Egyptian literature, see Moers, Fingierte Welten, 81–82; Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 73–75. 157. Narrative tales may have used the incipit as a title or used a character within the story to create a title—see the comments of Parkinson, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 302 n. 47; for the protagonist as a possible element in title, Parkinson cites two titles in Schott, Bücher und Bibliotheken, 108 nos. 214–215; no. 214, mDA.t nb r-Dr rn=s “The book of the Lord to the Limit is her name” refers to the Late Period ritual “Book of Apep,” while no. 215, mDA.t nht bow “book of the sycamore and moringa tree” (cf. no. 216 mDA.t nh.t n mA.w) may refer to a botanical work or composition related to love poetry—see further Parkinson, in Davies, ed., Studies in Egyptian Antiquities: A Tribute to T. G. H. James, 51–53. 158. For colophons in ancient Egyptian texts, see Luiselli, in Bickel and Loprieno, eds., Basel Egyptology Prize 1, 343–360; Marchese, BIFAO 104/1 (2004): 359–376. 159. Gardiner, LES, 85, lns. 2–3. 160. Compare Amunnakht, the author of an instructional text (Dorn, ZÄS 131 [2004]:  38–55), a satirical poem, a nostalgic poem about Thebes (Ragazzoli, Éloges de la ville, 31–33), a hymn to the god Ptah and two hymns to Ramesses IV (Bickel and Mathieu, BIFAO 93 [1993]: 31–51); for an overview of events at Deir el-Medina during Amennakht’s lifetime, see also Romer, Ancient Lives, 106–123. The topic of authorship in Ramesside literature also appears in Dorn, in Kessler et al., eds., Texte—Theben—Tonfragmente, 74–78. For authors in Middle Kingdom literature, see Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Literature, 75–78.

Notes [ 2 1 3 ]

161. On rubrics in Egyptian literature, see Assmann, in Görg, ed., Fontes atque Pontes, 18–41; Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Literature, 115–117. 162. Interestingly, the scribe of P. Harris 500 (BM EA 10060) began using verse points when he started copying the tale of the Doomed Prince. 163. See Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 115–117. 164. Compare Goelet, in D’Auria, ed., Servant of Mut:  Studies in Honor of Richard A.  Fazzini, 109–110; idem, in Cline and O’Connor, ed., Ramesses III, 361–364; Tacke, Verspunkte als Gliederungsmittel in ramessidischen Schülerhandschriften; note especially the analysis of Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 115–117. 165. For the earliest hieroglyphic writing, see now Regulski, A Palaeographic Study of Early Writing in Egypt, 47–52, passim; for an overview of the archaeological context of the labels from Tomb U-j at Abydos, see now Dreyer, in Teeter, ed., Before the Pyramids, 127–136, and the overview of early writing by Wengrow in the same volume; for the “prehistory” of writing in the “iconographic syntax” of predynastic rock art, see Darnell, Archéo-Nil 19 (2009): 83–107. 166. Among the many possible references, see the following classic treatments of the topic: Goldwasser, LingAeg 9 (2001): 123–138; Groll, OLP 6/7 (1975–1976): 237– 246; Hintze, Untersuchungen zu Stil und Sprache neuägyptischer Erzählungen; Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 18–23; Kroeber, Die Neuägyptizismen vor der Amarnazeit; Kruchten, LingAeg 6 (1999):  1–99; and now the survey in Goelet, in Cline and O’Connor, ed., Ramesses III, 316–323. More recent investigations of the grammar of individual texts include Jay, in Hagen et al., eds., Narratives of Egypt and the Ancient Near East, 287–303; Ragazzoli, Éloges de la ville, 117–128; Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, passim; idem, The Great Dedicatory Inscription of Ramesses II, 13–15, passim. 167. On the phenomenon of diglossia in New Kingdom Egypt, see inter alia JansenWinkeln, WZKM 85 (1995): 85–115; Loprieno, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 515–529; Vernus, in ibid., 555–564; Sweeney, Correspondence and Dialogue: Pragmatic Features in Late Ramesside Letter-Writing, 13–16. 168. On registers in Egyptian texts, see inter alia, David, Syntactic and Lexico-Semantic Aspects of the Legal Register, 12–14, passim; Goldwasser, in Israelit-Groll, ed., Studies in Egyptology Presented to Miriam Lichtheim, vol. 1, 200–240; idem, LingAeg 1 (1991):  129–141; Jansen-Winkeln, WZKM 85 (1995):  92–102; Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 18–23; Vernus, RdÉ 30 (1978): 137–142. The term “social dialect” can also be used for these different forms of the language—see Goldwasser, in Grunert and Hafemann, eds., Textcorpus und Wörterbuch, 313. 169. The examples of individual texts noted parenthetically are those with the greatest numbers of ostraca copies from Deir el-Medina—see Mathieu, in Andreu, ed., Deir el-Médineh et la Vallée des Rois, 121–124; Parkinson, Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry, 173–211; indirect evidence, such as quotations, can provide evidence that Middle Kingdom literary compositions continued to be read, even if New Kingdom copies thereof have not survived—cf. Morenz, GM 165 (1998): 73–81. 170. Compare the analysis of Kemyt for its suitability to teach grammar in Chappaz, BSEG 13 (1989): 33–43; see also McDowell, in Demarée and Egberts, ed., Deir elMedina in the Third Millennium AD, 217–219. 171. See note 166 above. 172. Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 22. 173. Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 23; see also the discussion in Goelet, in Cline and O’Connor, eds., Ramesses III, 318–320. The linguistic classification of the four

[214]

Notes

works of historical fiction are treated in Manassa, “Linguistic Aspects of New Kingdom Historical Fiction,” forthcoming. 174. For example, Janssen, in Demarée and Egberts, eds., Village Voices, 81–94, gathers convincing evidence that a much larger percentage of the inhabitants of Deir el-Medina could read and write basic documents than was proposed earlier in studies such as Baines and Eyre, GM (1983): 65–96; note also the references in Moers, Fingierte Welten, 158 n. 629. For literacy and foreign territories, see Popko, Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung, 75–81. 175. For earlier texts, see Morenz, Beiträge zur Schriftlichkeitskultur, 20–52; the performative context of Middle Kingdom literature has been extensively treated in Parkinson, Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry, 30–68. 176. Roeder, in Roeder, ed., Das Erzählen in frühen Hochkulturen I.  Der Fall Ägypten, 15–54. 177. Cf. Redford, in Ben Zvi and Floyd, eds., Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy, 184:  “Late Egyptian written ‘narrative’ simply does not exist. It is the sporadic reflection of a vibrant oral tradition that had generic roots in the Middle Kingdom and that survived into the classical world and beyond.” For limits to our knowledge and the pitfalls of assigning seemingly simple texts to “children’s literature” in modern presentations, see Eyre, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honour of K. A. Kitchen, 177–187. 178. Eyre and Baines, in Schousboe and Larsen, eds., Literacy and Society, 111–114. 179. For the application of this approach to Middle Kingdom literature (particularly the Story of Sinuhe), see Parkinson, in Meyer-Dietrich, ed., Laut und Leise, 26–27. 180. See pp. 122–123 below. For parallels in the Hellenistic world, note Chaniotis, War in the Hellenistic World, 227–233. 181. Weapons and chariots appear most prominently among the gifts for Amunhotep II in the tomb of Qenamun (Davies, Tomb of Ken-Amun, pls. 11–24). 182. Aldred, JEA 55 (1969): 73–81; Hartwig, Tomb Painting and Identity, 79–81. 183. Cf. Haring, JESHO 46 (2003): 249–272 (using nonliterary texts to test the proposed spread of literacy among the Deir el-Medina community). 184. Parkinson, Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry, 188–189. 185. Baines, Man 18:3 (1983): 578. CHAPTER 2 1. Habachi, Second Stela of Kamose; Smith and Smith, ZÄS 103 (1976):  48–76; Barbotin, Ahmosis et le début de la XVIIIe dynastie, 169–179 (and bibliography therein). 2. Carnarvon and Carter, Five Years’ Exploration at Thebes, 34–35; on Tomb 9, see also Miniaci, Rishi Coffins, 84. 3. Gardiner, JEA 3 (1916): 95–110; Barbotin, Ahmosis et le début de la XVIIIe dynastie, 169–179. 4. Jansen-Winkeln, ZÄS 122 (1995): 62–78. 5. Graefe and Belova, eds., The Royal Cache TT320. 6. Smith, Royal Mummies, 1–6 and pls. I–III; for Seqenenre’s coffin, see also Miniaci, Rishi Coffins, 224; Polz, Der Beginn des Neuen Reiches, 86, 349. 7. Bietak and Strouhal, Annalen des Naturhistorischen Museum, Wien 78 (1974): 29–52; Gnirs, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 110–112. 8. Bietak and Strouhal, Annalen des Naturhistorischen Museum, Wien 78 (1974): 48–51. 9. Forstner-Müller, Tell el-Dab’a XVI, 52.

Notes [ 2 1 5 ]

10. For an alternative theory that Seqenenre was executed in a ritual following his capture by the Hyksos, see Shaw, JARCE 45 (2009): 159–176. Chapman, JARCE 29 (1992): 40–41, suggests that not all of the injuries were from one attack, but that one wound above the right eye had partially healed. 11. Budge, Facsimilies of Egyptian Hieratic Papyri in the British Museum, 2d Series, pls. 53–55; Gardiner, Late Egyptian Stories, 85–88; Caminos, Late Egyptian Miscellanies, 303. Since its purchase in 1839, the long roll of P. Sallier I (2.57m long, 20.5cm high) has been part of the British Museum collection (BM EA 10185). 12. For the Middle Kingdom literary text Instruction of Amenemhat I, see Parkinson, Poetry and Culture, 241–248 and bibliography therein; for the version in BM EA 10185, note also Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 332–334. 13. Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 114–115. 14. Quirke, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 388–389, 391; Quirke, Egyptian Literature, 17–18; see also Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 129–132. 15. For further details, see Appendix 1. 16. HAt-a m sbAy.t Sa.wt; P. Sallier I (BM EA 10185), r. col. 3, l. 4 = Gardiner, LEM, 79, l. 1. 17. See Erman, Die Altägyptische Schülerhandschriften, 10–12; Schott, Bücher und Bibliotheken, 303–304; Hagen, in Mairs and Stevenson, eds., Current Research in Egyptology 2005,86–89. Compare the title sbAy.t mtr.(t) “teaching instructions”— Osing, in Brancoli, Ciampini, and Roccati et  al., eds., L’Impero ramesside, 134, 135–136. 18. “Archivist” is an appropriate alternate translation. 19. Compare the description of the administrative positions of the correspondences in other Late Egyptian Miscellanies in Spalinger, Five Views on Egypt, 36–39. 20. On the Late Egyptian Miscellanies as a didactic corpus, see Chapter 6, note 20. 21. Overviews and translations of the story include Gunn and Gardiner, JEA 5 (1918):  40–45; Erman, Die Literatur der Aegypter, 214–216; Brunner-Traut, Altägyptischen Märchen, 145–147, 285–286; Lefebvre, Romans et contes égyptiens de l’époque pharaonique, 131–136; Redford, Or. 39 (1970): 35–38, 50; idem, in Oren, ed., Hyksos, 17–18; Bresciani, Letteratura e poesia dell’antico Egitto, 399– 401; Wente, in Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 69–71; Schüssler, Pharao Cheops und der Magier, 128–131 (note the extensive hypothetical restorations on p. 129); Barbotin, Ahmosis et le début de la XVIIIe dynastie, 231–235; Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II, 66–72; an annotated edition prepared for the Thesaurus Linguae Aegyptiae by Lutz Popko appears online at http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/OTPassport?u=guest&f=0&l=0&oc=12 87&db=0 (accessed 10/1/2011). 22. Goedicke, Quarrel of Apophis and Seqenenre’; idem, ZÄS 88 (1963): 91–97. 23. Goldwasser, in Czerny et al., ed., Timelines, vol. 2, 129–133; for more on her arguments, see pp. 48–50. 24. Maciejewski, in Roeder, ed., Das Erzählen in frühen Hochkulturen I. Der Fall Ägypten, 159–172. 25. For the theoretical framework of cultural memory, see Assmann, Religion and Cultural Memory: Ten Studies and references therein. 26. Moses the Egyptian, 28–29; Assmann, Of God and Gods, 44–48. 27. Maciejewski, in Roeder, ed., Das Erzählen in frühen Hochkulturen I.  Der Fall Ägypten, 159–172 (note that his German translation of the text does not place brackets around phrases that are not in the original papyrus—thus the [216]

Notes

restoration at the end of col. 1 suggested by Wente, in Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 70: “assessing the strength of the god who protects him,” is treated by Maciejewski as a part of the Egyptian text on p. 161); cultural memory also appears in part of the analysis of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre in Spalinger, JEGH 3.1 (2010): 115–135. 28. Goedicke, Quarrel of Apophis and Seqenenre’, 32–33. 29. Fischer-Elfert, in Tait, ed., Never Had the Like Occurred, 135. 30. For example, the application of pragmatics and sociolinguistic theory in Di BiaseDyson, LingAeg 17 (2009): 51–64, is not necessarily effective with fragmentary compositions. Since the linguistic context of Seqenenre’s speech in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre is damaged, a theory such as pragmatics can create misleading results, while a more broad-based approach such as intertextuality can help recover damaged passages of the tale. With better-preserved compositions, such as the Contendings of Horus and Seth, the use of pragmatics is much more effective—compare Sweeney, JEA 88 (2002): 141–162. 31. Ryholt, Second Intermediate Period, 171–175. 32. Schneider, in Hornung, Krauss, and Warburton, eds., Ancient Egyptian Chronology, 194–195. 33. Habachi, Second Stela of Kamose, 33. 34. Even details about the Hyksos administration are lacking, particularly outside the environs of Avaris—compare Quirke, in Crawford, ed., Regime Change in the Ancient Near East, 123–139. 35. Compare the different presentations of the material and its dating in BenTor, in Marée, ed, The Second Intermediate Period, 91–108, and Ryholt, in ibid., 109–126. 36. See Bietak, Avaris: The Capital of the Hyksos; Bietak, in Oren, ed., Hyksos, 87–139; idem, in Marée, ed., The Second Intermediate Period, 139–181; Polz, in Czerny et al., eds., Timelines: Studies in Honour of Manfred Bietak, vol. 1, 239–248; Redford, in Oren, ed., Hyksos, 6–7. 37. See Riggs and Baines, in Wendrich, ed., UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology, http:// escholarship.org/uc/item/32r9x0jr. 38. For overviews of previous discussions, see Schneider, Ausländer in Ägypten, vol. 1, 58–75. Schneider, ibid., 36–39, suggests that the name Apepi is Egyptian, not foreign; for a refutation, see Ryholt, Second Intermediate Period, 129. 39. Ryholt, Second Intermediate Period, 171–183. 40. Polz, in Guksch and Polz, eds., Stationen, 219–231; idem, Der Beginn des Neuen Reiches. 41. The discovery of a doorway with the titulary of a king “Senakhtenre Ahmose” has indicated that there is no king Senakhtenre Taa/Djehuty-aa I; see Biston-Moulin, EniM 5 (2012): 61–71. 42. Gardiner, JEA 3 (1916): pls. XII–XIII, ln. 2 and p. 98: nswt nxt m Xnw WAs.t KA-ms di anx D.t m nswt mnx in Ra rdi sw m nswt Ds=f swD n=f nxt r wn mAa 43. Grimal, Les termes de la propagande, 175–228, 437–477. 44. The use of nswt mnx, as well as the setting of the council meeting, is reminiscent of The Prophecies of Neferti, as recognized already by Gardiner, JEA 3 (1916): 98; see also Spalinger, JEGH 3.1 (2010): 119–120. On The Prophecies of Neferti, see

Notes [ 2 1 7 ]

also Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte I, 142– 147; Parkinson, Poetry and Culture, 193–200. 45. “Veritable,” the apt translation chosen by Gardiner, is a rendering of the reflexive pronoun, literally: “It is Re who placed him as king himself.” On the appositive use of Ds=f, compare Borghouts, Egyptian I, 104. For Ds=f emphasizing the activity of the god on behalf of the king, compare the description of Thutmose III (Urk. IV 160, ln. 1): smn.n wi Ra Ds=f “Re himself established me” (reference courtesy of reviewer). 46. Gardiner, JEA 3 (1916): pls. XII–XIII, ln. 3 and p. 98: siA=i r ix pAy=i nxt / wr m Hw.t-war.t ky m KS. 47. Habachi, Second Stela of Kamose, 32: rA=k Hns m ir=k wi m wr iw=k m HoA . . . ; for other translations, see inter alia, Redford, in Oren, ed., Hyksos, 13–15; Ryholt, Second Intermediate Period, 325; Smith and Smith, ZÄS 103 (1976): 60. 48. Cf. Störk, GM 43 (1981): 63–65, noting the similarly odd statement in the contemporaneous stela of Emhab: “He is as a god, while I am as a ruler”—on this passage, see inter alia Baines, JEA 72 (1986): 47; Klotz, SAK 39 (2010): 234; Kubisch, Lebensbilder der 2. Zwischenzeit, 243. 49. The use of royal titles remains one of the most discussed aspects of the tale: see Paulet, Cahiers d’Orientalisme et de Langues Anciennes 1 (2003-2004): 34–40; idem, BSEG 27 (2005–2007): 75–79; idem, Acta Orientalia Belgica 20 (2007): 121–122; Spalinger, JEGH 3.1 (2010):  124–125. One can also note that Apepi’s name is enclosed in a cartouche throughout the text; this may not have a specific bearing on Apepi’s legitimacy—a later, Twenty-Sixth Dynasty parallel of the pharaoh Amasis vilifying his rival Apries still places Apries’ name in a cartouche (see Gozzoli, The Writing of History in Ancient Egypt, 101–103). 50. Paulet, BSEG 27 (2005–2007): 77–78. 51. Ryholt, Second Intermediate Period, 118–130, particularly 124–125, which notes that Khayan is the first Hyksos king to use the Egyptian prenomen and nomen (earlier in his reign he just used the HoA-xAs.wt), and the title HoA-xAs.wt is not attested on monuments of Hyksos rulers after Khayan, including Apepi. 52. Spalinger, JEGH 3.1 (2010): 124–125; note already the identification of Apepi as an “arrogant” character in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and comparisons with non-Egyptian literary traditions in Redford, Or. 39 (1970): 36–37. 53. Compare Buchberger, WdO 20/21 (1989/90): 29, who notes that while Apepi is named he is still “topical [-mAa.t]” and because of his actions is [-rmT]. 54. Bell, JNES 44 (1985): 251–294 (with earlier literature therein); an overview of the ka in its royal and funerary manifestations appears in Assmann, in Stoichita, ed., Das Double, 59–78. 55. One previously identified reference to the Theban pharaoh Ahmose as wr appears in the Rhind mathematical papyrus, which contains a series of hieratic jottings describing Ahmose’s northward campaign against the Hyksoscontrolled Delta; one passage is often read as wr pn rsy “this southern ruler” (Helck, Historisch-biographische Texte, 78; El-Sabbahy, GM 133 [1993]: 97–100), or pA-n-rsy “the one of the south” (Ryholt, Second Intermediate Period, 187–188) in reference to Ahmose. However, the hieratic orthography does not parallel known writings of wr, and may actually be a reference to mSa pn “this army” (this reading is also proposed in Gnirs, in Moers et al., eds., jn.t dr.w: Festschrift für Friedrich Junge, 230). 56. See Schneider, Ausländer in Ägypten, vol. 1, 71–73; the speculations in Dautzenberg, GM 159 (1997): 45, are unconvincing.

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57. Parlebas, GM 15 (1975):  39–43; Vandersleyen, Iahmès Sapair, fils de Séqénenré Djéhouty-Aa, 7–8. 58. On the punning of Sinuhe’s name in the Story of Sinuhe, see Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 163–165; on names in other Middle Kingdom tales, see ibid., 187 (Westcar), 194 (Neferti), 197–98 (Amenemhat), 200 (Khakheperresoneb), 256 (Merikare). On namelessness, such as that seen in The Shipwrecked Sailor, see Baines, JEA 76 (1990): 58–59; note also the namelessness of enemy characters, such as in The Capture of Joppa, for which see p. 76. 59. Morenz, Beiträge zur Schriftlichkeitskultur, 185–186. The Four Hundred Year Stela may acknowledge the founding of Seth’s cult in the northeast Delta during the Hyksos period, but this remains a form of theological propaganda for the Ramesside royal cult rather than political support for the memory of Hyksos rule (see further pp. 47–48). 60. Hollender, Amenophis I. und Ahmes Nefertari; von Lieven, RdE 51 (2000): 103–121. 61. See the relevant section in the classic article of Winlock, JEA 10 (1924): 248–259; for the late Seventeenth and early Eighteenth Dynasty necropolis at Dra Abu elNaga, see Polz, Der Beginn des Neuen Reiches, 115–250. 62. Marseilles no. 204; on this object, see McDowell, in Demarée and Egberts, eds., Village Voices, 96; Redford, King-lists, 43–44; on Kenherkhopeshef, one of the owners of a papyrus containing the Kadesh Poem, see p. 29. 63. The tombs of Khabekhenet (TT 2)  and Inherkhau (TT 359)—see McDowell, in Demarée and Egberts, eds., Village Voices, 108–109; Redford, King-lists, 48. 64. See pp. 145–146. 65. On this final note, compare the text in P. Chester Beatty IV, given the appropriate title “The Immortality of Writers” in Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 175–177. 66. Zivie, in LÄ IV, col. 26. 67. On iTy-tA.wy as the Middle Kingdom “Residence,” see Gestermann, Köntinuität und Wandel, 108–113; Simpson, JARCE 2 (1963): 53–59. A shortened version of the name of the Twelfth Dynasty capital, “Amenemhat I is the seizer of the Two Lands,” became a substitute for the writing of the lexeme Xnw “Residence,” even being used to write the homophonous Xnw “interior” (von Lieven, Grundriss des Laufes der Sterne, 32). The Residence par excellence could thus be used as a sportive writing of a preposition. 68. Ragazzoli, Éloges de la ville en Égypte ancienne. For the significance of cities within private autobiographies of the Second Intermediate Period, which provide an interesting precursor to New Kingdom sources, see Kubisch, Lebensbilder der 2. Zwischenzeit, 21–30. 69. Such a geographic label is preserved for the Twelfth Dynasty, designated “kings of the residence iTy-tA.wy”—for an overview, see Ryholt, in Hornung, Krauss, and Warburton, eds., Ancient Egyptian Chronology, 26–32. 70. See pp. 158–159. 71. For the archaeology of Avaris, see the summaries of Bietak, in Bietak, Czerny, and Forstner-Müller, Cities and Urbanism in Ancient Egypt, 11–68; idem, in Marée, ed., The Second Intermediate Period, 139–181 (and abundant references therein). Useful overviews of the site also appear at http://www.auaris.at/html/index_ en.html (accessed 10/11/2010), with listings of site publications. For the significance of the material culture at Avaris for interpreting social history of the Second Intermediate Period, see Forstner-Müller and Müller, in Czerny et  al., eds., Timelines, vol. 1, 93–102.

Notes [ 2 1 9 ]

72. Bietak, in Oren, ed., The Hyksos, 97–100; idem, in Marée, ed., The Second Intermediate Period, 147–151 (with abundant references to archaeological reports therein). 73. Bietak, in Marée, ed., The Second Intermediate Period, 145–150 (integrating Egyptian textual evidence with the archaeological material at Avaris, including warrior tombs); Do. Arnold, in ibid., 185–189. 74. Do. Arnold, in Marée, ed., The Second Intermediate Period, 191–200. 75. Bietak, in Marée, ed., The Second Intermediate Period, 150–152. 76. Bietak, in Marée, ed., The Second Intermediate Period, 163; idem, in Ored, ed., The Hyksos, 111–115. For a new analysis of small, decorative objects that reveal a similarly diverse Hyksos material culture, see Do. Arnold, in Marée, ed., The Second Intermediate Period, 209–213. 77. Bietak, in Aruz, Benzel, and Evans, eds., Beyond Babylon, 110–112; idem, “Der Palastbezirk am Pelusischen Nilarm (Areal H),” http://www.auaris.at/html/ez_ helmi.html (accessed 1/24/2012) (with extensive references to archaeological site reports). The following footnotes cite recent overviews of the excavations, all of which (along with the website) contain bibliographies with more detailed reports. 78. Bietak and Forstner-Müller, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honour of K. A. Kitchen, 23–50. 79. Fuscaldo, Tell el-Daba X; for the mid-Fifteenth Dynasty palace in Area F/II, see Bietak, in Marée, ed., Second Intermediate Period, 153–155. A  “mansion” in this area is decorated with multicolored geometric designs, but its identification as a palace is uncertain—see Bietak, in Bietak, Marinatos, and Palivou, Taureador Scenes, 16–17. 80. In Bietak, Marinatos, and Palivou, Taureador Scenes, 16. 81. Bietak, Ä&L 1 (1990): 9–16. 82. Bietak, in Marée, ed., Second Intermediate Period, 164 and n. 198. 83. Bietak, in Marée, ed., Second Intermediate Period, 164–165. 84. Bietak, in Marée, ed., Second Intermediate Period, 165–167; Bietak and Dorner, Ä&L 11 (2001): 59–74. 85. Bietak, Marinatos, and Palivou, Taureador Scenes; Bietak, in Janosi, ed., Structure and Significance, 141–168. 86. Such a statement remains true whether one accepts the debatable equation of Avaris and Perunefer; cf. Bietak, in Marée, ed., Second Intermediate Period, 165– 169; Jeffreys, EA 28 (2006): 36–37. 87. Bietak, Ä&L 1 (1990): 13. 88. As is well recognized already in Habachi, ZÄS 100 (1974): 95–102, and appears in standard overviews such as Vandersleyen, L’Égypte et la vallée du Nil 2, 507–508. 89. See inter alia Herold, Streitwagentechnologie in der Ramses-Stadt; Pusch, in Eggebrecht, ed., Pelizaeus-Museum Hildesheim, Die ägyptische Sammlung, 126–143; idem, in Petschel and Falck, eds., Pharao siegt immer, 240–263; see also Bietak and Forstner-Müller, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honor of K.  A. Kitchen, 23–50. 90. P. Anastasi III, col. 7, lns. 3–6 (= Gardiner, LEM, 28, lns. 10–15): nfr.wsy hrw n hAw=k nDm.wsy xrw=k Hr md.t m-Dr od=k Pr-ra-ms-sw anx wDA snb pA xnt n xAs.t nb pA pHwy n km.t pA an sSd.w wbx.t arty.w n xsbd mfkA.t

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tA s.t ir sxr.w n tAy=k ti-n.t-Htri tA s.t snhy pAy=k mSa tA s.t mni n tAy=k pD.t-mnS.w See also Fischer-Elfert, SAK 27 (1999): 79; Ragazzoli, Éloges de la ville en Égypte ancienne, 82–84. 91. On this architectural feature, see pp. 10–11, 125–126. 92. For the significance of Memphis in the New Kingdom, see pp. 123–124. 93. Darnell et al., Theban Desert Road Survey I; idem, in Wilkinson, ed., The Egyptian World, 36–37. 94. See, conveniently, the overview of Strudwick and Strudwick, Thebes in Egypt. 95. Kemp, Ancient Egypt, 2d ed., 264–276. 96. For the stelae, see Jacquet-Gordon, Karnak Nord VIII, 153–154; idem, in Teeter and Larson, eds., Gold of Praise, 179–184; Polz, Der Beginn des Neuen Reiches, 80, 348. 97. Compare Jacquet-Gordon, in Bietak and Czerny, eds., The Synchronisation of Civilisations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the Second Millennium B.C. III, 317– 324; Redford et al., JARCE 28 (1991): 91–93. 98. Lacovara, New Kingdom Royal City, 6–16; idem, in Czerny et  al., eds., Timelines, vol. 1, 187–196; see also the summary in Bourriau, in Shaw, ed., Oxford History of Ancient Egypt, 210–211. 99. Lacovara, New Kingdom Royal City, 14–15; Polz, Der Beginn des Neuen Reiches, 76–77, 347–348. 100. Bourriau, in Lacovara, ed., Deir el-Ballas, 15–22. 101. The area of Deir el-Ballas is one of the few desert bays within the Qena Bend that lacks routes accessing the network of ancient routes in the Thebaid, which would make the palace more easily defensible than if it were located near a desert access point (John Coleman Darnell, personal communication). 102. Following “lord” is the standard phrase “life, prosperity, and health,” which follows the names of kings, other royal titles, and designations for the palace. For ease of reading, these epithets are omitted from the translations in Chapters 2–5, but they are present in the running translations in the appendices. 103. Bietak, Tell el-Dab’a V, 35–38; idem, in Oren, ed., Hyksos, 105; Goedicke, SAK 11 (1984):  91–105; Panagiotakopulu, Journal of Biogeography 31 (2004):  269–275; and the overview of Westendorf, in Karenberg and Leitz, eds., Geburt, Seuche und Traumdeutung, 55–69; a short comparative study with Akkadian texts appears in Herrmann, GM 219 (2008): 37–39. Later classical sources associate the Hyksos with the “lepers,” which appears to conflate the events of the Second Intermediate Period with the reign of Akhenaten—see the references in note 128. 104. Goedicke, SAK 11 (1984): 91–105 (his suggestions about the flooding of Avaris are not relevant in light of the archaeological work at Tell el-Dab’a); for plague in general in ancient Egypt, see Engelmann and Hallof, SAK 23 (1996):  105–113; Panagiotakopulu, Journal of Biogeography 31 (2004):  269–275; Westendorf, in Karenberg and Leitz, eds., Geburt, Seuche und Traumdeutung, 55–69. 105. On the iAd.t rnp.t, see Darnell, SAK 24 (1997):  44–45; Engelmann and Hallof, SAK 23 (1996): 103–146; Germond, Sekhmet et la protection du monde; InconnuBocquillon, Le mythe de la Déesse Lointaine à Philae; Rosati, in Osing and Rosati, Papiri geroglifici e ieratici da Tebtynis, 192–197. Herrmann, GM 219 (2008): 37–39, notes the presence of a similar concept in Akkadian texts. For a classic passage in which pestilence can be turned against Egypt’s foreign enemies, compare Sinuhe’s

Notes [ 2 2 1 ]

praise of Senwosret I (Story of Sinuhe, B43-45): wnn r=f tA pf mi-m m-xmt=f nTr pf mnx wnnw snD=f xt xAs.wt mi sxm.t rnp.t iAd.t “How will that land be without him, that beneficent god, fear of whom is throughout the foreign lands like Sakhmet in a year of pestilence?”; for New Kingdom examples of similar royal epithets, see Grimal, Les termes de la propagande, 396–400. 106. Goyon, Le Rituel du sHtp 4xmt au changement de cycle annuel. 107. For the use of the title “lord” in the Old Kingdom, see Windus-Staginsky, Der ägyptische König im Alten Reich, 125–151 (her comparison of royal and private examples suggests that “lord” refers to the physical rule of the king over the land). The epithet “lord” is ubiquitous in New Kingdom texts and will not be treated in full here; for one of the hundreds of possible examples, compare the introduction of the Kadesh Battle Poem (KRI II 5, lns. 1–7, sect. 7): ist Hm=f m nb rnpi pr-a iwty snw=f “At that time, his Majesty was a youthful lord, valiant, without his equal . . . ” 108. xa nb anx wDA snb m tA.w nb.w mtr.t hAy.t r s.t=f (P. Sallier I [BM EA 10185], col. 8, ln. 8 = Gardiner, LEM 86, ln. 12). 109. The term “time of troubles” is from the work of Redford, King-lists, 259–275; on this concept, see also Grallert, Bauen—Stiften—Weihen, 111–112; Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 110–113; Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 9–10; von der Way, Göttergericht und “Heiliger” Krieg im Alten Ägypten, 15–21. The fictional literature equivalent is found in the discourses and dialogues of the Middle Kingdom— see in particular, Parkinson, Poetry and Culture, 194 for a comparison between the literary texts and their historical counterparts. 110. KRI V 39, l. 12: wn Km.t mH.t(y) n(n) n=s mni iw=sn Xr iAd.t m-di pD.wt psD.t For a similar statement in P.  Harris I  (but without iAd.t), see Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 217–218. 111. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, pl. 9, ln. 39. Note also the parallel in the Victory Hymn (KRI IV, 17, ln. 3): wSb=f pA nty iAd m-di xAs.t nb.t “May he champion the one who suffers at the hand of any foreign land.” 112. Updating the translation of Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 43 to reflect the “sentence anaphora” property of the particle isT, for which see Depuydt, in Thompson and Manuelian, eds., Egypt and Beyond, 97–99. 113. KRI IV, 6, lns. 14–15: bw ptr(w)=f Hr gn.t bity.w istw wn tA pn n km.t m-a=sn m aHa iAd.t m rk nsy.t nn rx=tw xsf a=sn [ . . . ] 114. Helck, Historisch-biographische Texte, 84: nn sny sw SAa r Hw.t-kA-ptH mw n km.t mk sw Xr xmnw ni xnn.n zi fkw m-a bAk.w sTty.w 115. Padró and Molina, in Hommages à François Daumas, 517–524: nTr nfr nb tA.wy in bA.w=f Dr.w nxt.w nn tA wab m bAk n=f nswt-bity aA-wsr-ra sA ra Ippy

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116. For paronomasia, see the discussion of the Hymn to the King in His Chariot, p. 86. 117. Do. Arnold, in Marée, ed., The Second Intermediate Period, 207–208; Bietak, A&L 1 (1990): 9–16; Bietak and Forstner-Müller, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honor of K. A. Kitchen, 28–40; Sourouzian, in Czerny et al., eds., Timelines, vol. 1, 331–354 (for monuments of the Fourteenth Dynasty king Nehesy with the title “beloved of Seth, Lord of Avaris,” see pp. 341–342 and references therein). 118. KRI II, 287–288; Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions, Translated and Annotated, Translations, vol. 2, 116–117; see also Bietak and Forstner-Müller, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honor of K. A. Kitchen, 35–36; the earlier studies of Stadlemann, LÄ VI, cols. 1039–1043 and idem, CdE 40 (1965): 46–60 remain useful. 119. Cornelius, The Iconography of the Canaanite Gods Reshef and Ba’al, 147–148; Izak and Niehr, Götter und Kulte in Ugarit, 45–47. 120. KRI II, 288, ln. 5. 121. On the dynastic implications of the Four Hundred Year stela, compare Murnane, in Silverman and O’Connor, eds., Ancient Egyptian Kingship, 192–196. 122. Bietak, Ä&L 1 (1990): 9–16. 123. P. Anastasi II, col. 1, ln. 4 (= Gardiner, LEM, 12, lns. 11–12); Bietak and ForstnerMüller, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honor of K.  A. Kitchen, 33–36. 124. te Velde, Seth, God of Confusion, 128–138. 125. See above, note 26. 126. Goldwasser, in Czerny et  al., ed., Timelines, vol. 2, 129–133; Redford, Egypt, Canaan and Israel in Ancient Times, 116–118 (refuted already in Ryholt, Second Intermediate Period, 148–150) 127. Goldwasser, in Czerny et al., eds., Timelines, vol. 2, 132: This Asiatic king who ruled by the end of the Hyksos era (circa 1565–1540) may have, at some point during his reign, out of unknown reasons— either political or religious—made the Seth-Ba’al a single god to be worshiped in his capital Avaris. By this act, he was the first to introduce into the history of ideas, the option of a ‘single god and no other,’ the first step on the long winding road of monotheism that passed through the fields of Amarna and ended in the accomplished monotheism of the post-exilic Biblical text. 128. For a collection of references to the “Osiraph Story,” see Assmann, Moses the Egyptian, 28–44; Redford, Or. 39 (1970): 44–51; Schneider, Ausländer in Ägypten, vol. 1, 76–98. 129. Paulet, Acta Orientalia Belgica 20 (2007):  122–124; Morenz, Beiträge zur Schriftlichkeitskultur, 163–166. 130. Hornung, Conceptions of God remains the classic study of henotheism. A promotion of Seth to sole god in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre does not appear to bear any relationship, formal or otherwise, to the exclusive solar worship of Akhenaten; for theories concerning the “monotheism” of Akhenaten and an alternate theory that the Aten is a god who exists before the creation of other deities, see the overview in Darnell and Manassa, Tutankhamun’s Armies, 27–44. 131. See further Appendix 1, pp. 171–172. 132. Cf. Morschauser, in Goedicke, ed., Perspectives on the Battle of Kadesh, 139–153. 133. The statement in Hatshepsut’s Speos Artemidos inscription (Urk. IV 390, l. 9) HoA. n=sn m xmt Ra “they ruled without Re,” suggests that Re did not consent to Hyksos rule, not that they ignored the solar god (cf. Redford, Or. 39 [1970]: 33).

Notes [ 2 2 3 ]

134. See p. 172. 135. Spalinger, Aspects of the Military Documents, 101–102, 107–109. 136. For the grammar of this passage, see p. 173. 137. Buchberger, WdO 20/21 (1989/90): 29. 138. In Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 70. 139. If the literacy of the Hyksos king was being questioned, the passage might resemble P.  Anastasi I  col. 5, ln. 3 to col. 7, ln. 4 (Fischer-Elfert, Die satirische Streitschrift, 54–66); similar topics appear on ostraca—see Fischer-Elfert, GM 207 (2005): 94–97 (reference courtesy of reviewer). 140. Baines and Eyre, GM 61 (1983):  77–81; Baines, Man, 18:3 (1983):  580. In The Prophecies of Neferti, Snofru is said to personally transcribe Neferti’s speech, and in a literary setting, a reader could assume that kings could and did physically perform the act of writing; this should be kept in mind when interpreting the fragmentary passages of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre. 141. Helck, JNES 14 (1955):  23, 28; see also der Manuelian, Studies in the Reign of Amenophis II. 142. See Chapter 1, note 52. 143. Morenz, Beiträge zur Schriftlichkeitskultur, 163–166; for the Rhind Mathematical papyrus, see also note 55 above. 144. Helck, Historisch-biographische Texte, 3d ed., 57; Morenz, Beiträge zur Schriftlichkeitskultur, 166–170. 145. On the decorum of writing, compare Baines, Man 18:3 (1983): 580. 146. For the scarce surviving remains of Seqenenre’s building activity at Karnak, see p. 42 above. 147. KRI II 56, ln. 6. 148. See, in general, Houlihan, Wit and Humor in Ancient Egypt, and p. 144 below. 149. Graff, Les peintures sur vases de Nagada I—Nagada II, 84, 247 (two white cross line jars from Abydos with juxtaposition of hippopotamus hunting and capture of human prisoners); Patch, Dawn of Egyptian Art, 32–39; for rock-art parallels, see Darnell, Archéo-Nil 19 (2009): 88–89. 150. Müller, in Engel, Müller, and Hartung, eds., Zeichen aus dem Sand, 477–493. 151. Evans, Animal Behaviour in Egyptian Art, 135–137; Säve-Söderbergh, On Egyptian Representations of Hippopotamus Hunting. For Ankhtyfy’s hunt during the festival of Hemen, see Willems, JEA 76 (1990): 43–46. 152. Störk, LÄ IV, cols. 501–506. 153. Behrmann, Das Nilpferd in der Vorstellungswelt der Alten Ägypter, vol. 2, 66–78; Störk, GM 43 (1981):  67. Note in particular a passage from a medical text for dispelling a headache that threatens to: Sad [tp n] db m pA wbA n swtx “cut off the head of a hippopotamus in the Forecourt of Seth” (P. Chester Beatty V, vs. 5, lns. 8–9; Gardiner, Hieratic Papyri, 3d Series, 50, pls. 28–29; color photo available at www.britishmuseum.org, photo number AN425659001). 154. P. Sallier I (BM EA 10185) 6, 2–3; see Jäger, Altägyptische Berufstypologien, 242, 248. 155. Compare a section of a medical text describing treatment for a hippopotamus bite in P. Hearst XVI 7–9 (for an overview of this text, see Westendorf, Handbuch der altägyptischen Medizin, vol. 1, 35–37). 156. Behrmann, Das Nilpferd in der Vorstellungswelt der Alten Ägypter, vol. 1, dok. 177a–d (177c shows Seth with Taweret; the interpretation in Behrmann, Das Nilpferd in der Vorstellungswelt der Alten Ägypter, vol. 2, 83–84 oddly downplays the relationships between the deities on the stela).

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157. Following the analysis of Altenmüller, in Berger, Clerc, and Grimal, eds., Hommages à Jean Leclant, vol. 1, 29–44. Behrmann, Das Nilpferd in der Vorstellungswelt der Alten Ägypter, 99–123 (note that her reading on pp.  118–119 of the word Hb as Wb. III 62.2–7, the “catch” from fishing and fowling activities is unlikely; on pp. 119–123 she also takes issue with the translation of HD.t as the “white one,” although she offers no convincing alternative). Compare also the hippopotamus in the Book of the Fayum—see Beinlich, Das Buch vom Fayum, 104–105. 158. Naville, Das aegyptische Todtenbuch der XVIII.  bis XX. Dynastie, 258 (the text appears already in CT 466—de Buck, Coffin Texts, vol. 5, 466–467). The vignette to Book of the Dead Chapter 110 shows the deceased plowing the earth in the “field of reeds (sx.t iArw),” while the annotation reads: S n HD.t itrw xA m Aw=f nn Dd wsx=f nn wnt rm.w nb im=f nn HfAw.wt nb.t im=f The pool (var: spell) of the white hippopotamus; it is one thousand iteru in length, without stating its width. No fish exist therein and no serpents exist therein. 159. The relationship between these female hippopotami and the female hippopotamus in the Chester Beatty Dream Book remains unexplored (cf. Szpakowska, Behind Closed Eyes, 91). 160. Hippopotami do not appear to play a prominent role in iconography from the Hyksos dynasty, although a ceramic lid with a hippopotamus head has been excavated at Tell el-Daba—see Müller, Tell el-Dab’a XVII, vol. 1, 143; a rhyton in the shape of a hippopotamus was excavated in an offering pit near the Hyksos palace area (F/I)—Forstner-Müller, in Gundlach and Spence, eds., Palace and Temple, 5, 21 (note also the Taweret on the Marl C fish dish in ibid., 19). 161. For examples of these objects, see Behrmann, Das Nilpferd in der Vorstellungswelt der Alten Ägypter; compare also the axe blade decorated with dual hippopotami in Bourriau, Pharaohs and Mortals, 163. An overview of the positive and negative symbolism of the hippopotamus appears in Pardey, in Vaelske, ed., Ägypten. Ein Tempel der Tiere, 69–73. 162. Altenmüller, Die Apotropaia, vol. 1, 148–152; on Taweret among the group of “apotropaic” divinities, see also Wegner, in Silverman, Simpson, and Wegner, eds., Archaism and Innovation, 463–471. For a temple of Taweret in Luxor, see Gundlach, in LÄ VI, col. 496. 163. Darnell et al., Theban Desert Road Survey I, 77–78; idem, in Friedman, ed., Egypt and Nubia, Gifts of the Desert, 145; idem, Theban Desert Road Survey II, forthcoming. 164. Davies, A Royal Statue Reattributed, 3–4 and pls. 4B, 6 (noting a parallel on a statue base of Hatshepsut—see most recently, Roehrig, ed., Hatshepsut, 170–171) (references courtesy of John Coleman Darnell). 165. Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. VI, pls. 420 and 433; Moussa, ASAE 70 (1985): 35–36. 166. Evans, Animal Behaviour in Egyptian Art, 137. 167. Wb. III 324.7–325.3; the definition of “sound” is given fewer uses than “voice” in Wb. III 325.8–11, but the examples in the following note provide an expanded lexicographic repertoire. 168. In the Book of Amduat, the term xrw “sound” can refer to noises as diverse as the roar (hmhm.t) of heaven, the buzzing of bees, the cry of a tom-cat, and people weeping—see Manassa, in Rothöhler and Manisali, eds., Mythos & Ritual,

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Festschrift für Jan Assmann zum 70. Geburtstag, 109–135. For sound in a range of Egyptian religious and literary texts (including evidence from archaeological material), see Meyer-Dietrich, ed., Laut und Leise. 169. Contendings of Horus and Seth, col. 16, ln. 4  =  Gardiner, LES, 60, ln. 2; see also Graves-Brown, in Szpakowska, ed., Through a Glass Darkly, 48. 170. Studies of these short texts abound; compare Barbotin, Ahmosis et le début de la XVIIIe dynastie, 180–182; El-Sabbahy, GM 133 (1993):  97–100; Goedicke, in Lesko, ed., Egyptological Studies in Honor of Richard A. Parker, 37–47 (his meteorological interpretation is unlikely); Morenz, Beiträge zur Schriftlichkeitskultur, 187–193; Redford, in Oren, ed., The Hyksos, 16; Ryholt, Second Intermediate Period, 187–188; Raue, Heliopolis und das Haus des Re, 401–402. 171. Helck, Historische-biographische Texte, 78. 172. Compare the statement in another jotting (Helck, Historische-biographische Texte, 78): “first month Akhet, day 23: this southern army attacked Tjaru; day 2[5]: one heard that Tjaru had been entered” (for the reading “this southern army” see Chapter 2, note 55). 173. Gwyn Griffiths, JEA 53 (1967): 96; Säve-Söderbergh, On Egyptian representations of hippopotamus hunting as a religious motive, 41–44; followed by Behrmann, Das Nilpferd in der Vorstellungswelt der Alten Ägypter, Dok. 186; Brunner, LÄ 1, cols. 353–354; Hofmann, GM 45 (1981):  19; Kozloff, in Cline and O’Connor, eds., Thutmose III, 303–304. 174. Behrmann, Das Nilpferd in der Vorstellungswelt der Alten Ägypter, 99–123; see also p. 55 above. 175. Redford, Or. 39 (1970): 37–38. 176. Maciejewski, in Roeder, ed., Das Erzählen in frühen Hochkulturen I. Der Fall Ägypten, 162–163. 177. Störk, GM 43 (1981): 67–68. 178. It should be emphasized that this suggestion does not rely on a phonetic equation of the names—compare Schneider, Ausländer in Ägypten, vol. 1, 39; Ryholt, Second Intermediate Period, 129, notes that the royal name Apepi is rarely discussed and that it appears in other Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period contexts (Ranke, PN I, 24, nos. 5–8). While the origin of the name of the chaos serpent aApp remains a topic of debate (Morenz, JNES 63 [2004]: 201–205), the consonantal structure mirrors a substantial set of animal names in Egyptian texts—see Mathieu, BIFAO 104/1 (2004): 379, no. 3. 179. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 122–124; compare also von der Way, Göttergericht und “Heiliger” Krieg, 22–34. 180. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 293–312; for similar descriptions in the Victory Stela, see Garthoff, in Kamstra, Milde, and Wagtendonk, eds., Funerary Symbols and Religion, 23–33; for tomb robbers equated to Apep, see Posener, RdE 5 (1946): 53. 181. On iw=tw report texts, see Chapter 3, note 103 below. 182. Spalinger, Aspects of the Military Documents of the Ancient Egyptians, 114–119. 183. Fischer-Elfert, in Tait, ed., Never Had the Like Occurred, 135; di Biase-Dyson, in Tenth International Congress of Egyptologists, Abstracts of Papers, 70–71 (she also fails to note that in the Egyptian Königsnovelle, the enemy is always the initiator of the conflict, so Apepi as the instigator of the events in the narrative actually argues against her characterization). 184. See, most recently, Darnell, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honour of K. A. Kitchen, 127–144.

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185. Translation of Darnell, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honour of K. A. Kitchen, 141. For the text, see KRI I, 102, ll. 14–15—103, ll. 1–2; on the Irem campaign of Seti I, see also Kitchen, RITANC, vol. 1, 81–90; Vercoutter, in Livre du Centenaire, 157–178. 186. See further the grammatical analysis in Appendix 1, p. 175. 187. For Seqenenre as the speaker of this statement, compare Gunn and Gardiner, JEA 5 (1918): 42; Wente, in Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 71. 188. Helck, Historisch-biographische Texte, 83. 189. Spalinger, Aspects of the Military Documents, 94–96; idem, in Lesko, ed., Egyptological Studies in Honor of Richard A  Parker, 161–162, notes that in these lists, as in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, the civil administration is listed before the military. 190. P. Sallier I, col. 3, lns. 4–5 = Gardiner, LEM, 79, lns. 5–6. 191. The translations in Caminos, LEM, 303–329 remain the standard edition. 192. P. Sallier I, col. 3, ln. 6 = Gardiner, LEM, 79, lns. 10–11. 193. Wb. II, 497.15; Bakir, Egyptian Epistolography, 85, passim; Sweeney, Correspondence and Dialogue¸ 2, 26–27 (reference courtesy of reviewer). 194. Bryce, Letters of the Great Kings of the Ancient Near East, 63–74; Liverani, International Relations in the Ancient Near East, 1600–1100 BC, 71–76; Meier, The Messenger in the Ancient Semitic World. 195. Spalinger, in Bechtold, Gulyás, and Hasznos, eds., From Illahun to Djeme, 269–278. 196. Cf the divine scribe Thoth in Contendings of Horus and Seth—see Stadler, Weiser und Wesir, 337–340. 197. See above, 157. 198. Maspero, Contes populaires de l’Égypte ancienne, xxii–xxiv; Morenz, SAK 27 (1999): 269; Redford, Or. 39 (1970): 37–38. 199. Burkard and Thissen, eds., Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II, 30–34 and references therein; for a new genre classification for this tale, see also Vinson, JARCE 41 (2004): 47–48. 200. See the important analysis of Coulon, BIFAO 99 (1999): 123–125. 201. Coulon, BIFAO 99 (1999): 123–125 202. On the relationship between the “royal novel” and private autobiographies of the First Intermediate Period, see Baud, in Grimal and Baud, eds., Événement, récit, histoire officielle, 271–301; Moreno-Garcia, Études sur l’administration, le pouvoir et l’idéologie en Égypte, de l’Ancien au Moyen Empire, 80–81. 203. The secondary literature on this type of New Kingdom historical literature is vast; in addition to the specific sources cited below, note the overviews in Beylage, Aufbau der königlichen Stelentexte vom Beginn der 18. Dynastie bis zur Amarnazeit, vol. 2, 533–618 (dividing the royal novel into four subgenres: royal novel, battle novel, prince novel, and oracle novel); Grallert, Bauen—Stiften—Weihen, 110– 113; Hofmann, Die Königsnovelle, ‘Strukturanalyse am Einzelwerk (with extensive review of earlier literature); Loprieno, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 277–295; Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 107–109; Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 18–21; Shirun-Grumach, Offenbarung, Orakel und Königsnovelle; Spalinger, Dedicatory Inscription, 8–15. 204. For the “published” aspects of the text, along with the theme of the “king as hero,” see Jansen-Winkeln, WZKM 83 (1993):  101–116; on the “publication” of military records, compare the careful layout of the annals of Thutmose III at Karnak and their integration with the theology of the temple—Grimal, in Grimal and Baud, eds., Événement, récit, histoire officielle, 13–48. For the personality of the

Notes [ 2 2 7 ]

king within the royal novel, compare also Loprieno’s definition (in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 284): “any Egyptian text in which a specific king becomes the actor, rather than the mediator of history, thus acquiring an individual identity unknown to his official role. The Königsnovelle becomes the literary form which relates an episode in the king’s life.” 205. The importance of the alternation of narrative and dialogue in the “royal novel” genre has been treated extensively in Hofmann, Die Königsnovelle: ‘Strukturanalyse am Einzelwerk, 324–329. 206. As Grandet, in Grimal and Baud, eds., Événement, récit, histoire officielle, 187–193, notes, the “royal novel” and other historical texts can be seen to undergo a “double transformation”: the historical events are chosen to coincide with the purpose of Egyptian history (creating maat, destroying isfet) and those events are then often cast in terms of an autobiography, showing how that specific king as main actor accomplished the task. 207. Summarizing the main conclusion of Loprieno’s treatment of the royal novel (in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 282–284); note particularly his statement on p.  284:  “In the case of the king, whose peculiarity vis-à-vis the other ontological categories is precisely his location at the intersection of the Finite and the Infinite, the process of literarization is going to involve the reduction of his infinite cosmic role to the reality of a finite historical event, the demotion from a non-historical to a historical function . . . ” 208. One can also compare the setting of Neferti as a fictional adaptation of the “royal novel”—see the references collected in Gnirs, in Moers et  al., eds., jn.t dr.w: Festschrift für Friedrich Junge, 243–248. 209. See the references in note 109 above. 210. According to Jansen-Winkeln, WZKM 83 (1993): 108–111, the use of the royal novel as “royal propaganda” separates these tales from actual royal novels, in which the king is the main actor and the text emphasizes his achievements. 211. Cf. Spalinger, JEGH 3.1 (2010): 115–135. CHAPTER 3 1. See Grimal, in Grimal and Baud, eds., Événement, récit, histoire officielle, 13–48; Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine; Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 97–98 n. 1 and references therein. At least part of the text may have been composed by the military scribe Tjanuni, whose biography describes how he participated in Thutmose III’s campaigns and recorded the events (see Brack and Brack, Das Grab des Tjanuni, 82). 2. Urk. IV 693, lns. 12–13. 3. As Redford notes, “To judge by the amount of space devoted to it, the First Campaign was in Thutmose III’s estimation the most significant military exercise in his life” (Wars in Syria and Palestine, 206). 4. For the Battle of Megiddo, see Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 13ff.; a discussion of the battle with extensive technical analysis appears in Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 83–100; the following summary of the events follows the presentation of these two key works (in which abundant earlier bibliography may be found). 5. Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 18–21; Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 103– 104; for the royal novel, see further pp. 50–51, 63–65. 6. On the date of this event and its implications for Thutmose III in Asia see p. 108 below. 7. Cf. Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 28–29.

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8. Anglim et  al., Fighting Techniques of the Ancient World, 179–221; Kern, Ancient Siege Warfare, 302–305. 9. Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 31–32. 10. Compare Piye’s siege of Memphis (Darnell, in Mendel and Claudi, eds., Ägypten im Afro-orientalischen Kontext, 73–84), and note also the limitations of Egyptian siege warfare discussed by Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 48–49, in the context of the destruction levels of Syro-Palestinian cities attributed to the reign of Thutmose III. 11. Spalinger, SAK 24 (1997): 269–300. 12. These two autobiographies demonstrate that private military narratives can owe as much to the formulae of royal military inscriptions as to other contemporaneous autobiographies; see Popko, Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung, 67–68; Spalinger, The Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 347 and n.  2, in particular the reference to Gnirs, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 213–215. 13. A parallel literary character is the general Merery, who appears in one lengthy Late Period narrative and a fragmentary Nineteenth Dynasty ostracon, suggesting that a cycle of tales existed about this figure during the New Kingdom (Burkard and Thissen, eds., Einführung in de altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II, 177; Posener, Le papyrus Vandier, 16–19;); Merery, however, unlike Djehuty, cannot be equated with a known individual, but, as George Posener has observed, the complex tale of magicians and descent into the Netherworld in Papyrus Vandier incorporates historical details that one would not expect in a narrative that is only an orally transmitted “folk” tale (Le papyrus Vandier, 35). From the post-New Kingdom period, abnormal hieratic and demotic literature preserves further examples of known private individuals fictionalized as literary characters (Khaemwaset among them); this rich later tradition is beyond the scope of the present work, but for overviews of the later literary sources, see p. 163. 14. Several translations have appeared since the first edition of the text in Maspero, Études égyptiennes I: Romans et poésies du Papyrus Harris no. 500, 49–72: Bresciani, Letteratura e poesia dell’antico Egitto, 402–404; Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II, 62–64; Grandet, Contes de l’Egytpe ancienne, 85–87; Erman, Die Literatur der Aegypter, 216–218; Goedicke, CdE 43 (1968):  219–233; Lefebvre, Romans et contes égyptiens de l’époque pharaonique, 125–130; Peet, JEA 11 (1925): 225–227 (with earlier translations listed on p. 225, n. 1); Petrie, Egyptian Tales, 2d ed., 2–12 (notable for his attempted reconstruction of the introduction of the story); Schüssler, Pharao Cheops und der Magier, 132–135; Wente, in Simpson, ed., The Literature of Ancient Egypt, 3d ed., 72–74. Translations with commentary are limited to the 1968 article by Hans Goedicke, CdE 43 (1968): 219–233, and an edition for the Thesaurus Linguae Aegyptiae by Lutz Popko, http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/GetCtxt?u=guest&f=0&l=0&tc=12 90&db=0&ws=0&mv=1 (accessed 10/1/2011). 15. Budge, Facsimilies of Egyptian Hieratic Papyri in the British Museum, 2d Series, pl. XLVII; the exact provenance is unknown, but a Theban tomb context is likely (Grandet, Le papyrus Harris I, vol. 1, 15, n. 46; Quirke, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 391). 16. On this tale, see inter alia Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in de altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II, 7–18; Galan, Four Journeys in Ancient Egyptian Literature, 95–132; Helck, in Osing and Dreyer, eds., Form und Mass, Beiträge zur Literatur,

Notes [ 2 2 9 ]

Sprache, und Kunst des alten Ägypten, 218–225; Loprieno, Topos und Mimesis, 60–64; Wente, in Simpson, ed., The Literature of Ancient Egypt, 75–79.; 17. The love poems and “Song of the Harper” are frequently discussed; see inter alia Darnell, in Melville and Slotsky, eds., Opening the Tablet Box, 99–140; Fox, The Song of Songs and the Ancient Egyptian Love Songs; Mathieu, La Poésie Amoureuse de l’Egypte Ancienne; Moers, in Lloyd, ed., Companion to Ancient Egypt, 695–699. 18. Assmann, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 78, 19. Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 257 and n. 15. 20. Cf. Morris, Architecture of Imperialisim, 138 n.  89:  “Given issues of timing, the Egyptian attack on the harbor town [Joppa] most likely took place during the extended siege of Megiddo. A battle on the march from Gaza to Megiddo would have been pressed for time and should have been mentioned in the annals, while subsequent to the first campaign, the southern coast of Canaan was firmly in the hands of the Egyptians.” Morris’s interperetation is at odds with the content of the story, since Thutmose III is in Egypt when the siege of Joppa takes place—so using that tale for historical data rules out Morris’s suggestion that the events on which The Capture of Joppa is based took place during the siege of Megiddo. 21. For the historical context of the story, see pp. 78–82. 22. These parallels are addressed in more detail on pp. 96–98. 23. For the archaeological evidence at Joppa, see pp. 73–75. 24. The most comprehensive overview remains Lilyquist, MMJ 23 (1988):  5–68; see also Eggebrecht, ed., Ägyptens Aufstieg zur Weltmacht, 338–345; Hirsch, in Gundlach and Klug, eds., Der ägyptische Hof des Neuen Reiches, 156–159. If Reeves, JEA 79 (1993): 259–261, is correct and the Ashburnham ring (BM EA 71492) is from the same tomb as the Saqqara tomb of Djehuty, then the sepulcher would be the one described in Bonomi, Transactions of the Royal Society of Literature 2d series, vol. 1 (1843): 109–110 (worth quoting for its own historical assumptions): enclosing a mummy entirely cased in solid gold . . . The discovery of so much gold in a single tomb, which, from the nature of the ornaments, must have belonged to the Pharaoh himself or to a distinguished officer of his household, accords well with Mr. Cory’s system of chronology, which places the death of the patriarch Joseph in the twenty-first year of the reign of Thothmes III, at which period the treasury of Pharaoh must have been well stored with the precious material of these ornaments, accumulated by the prudent administration of the patriarch. 25. Of the four other known holders of the title “overseer of the northern foreign lands” during the Eighteenth Dynasty attested in Egyptian sources (thus exempting the evidence from the Amarna Letters), three were buried at Thebes (Amenmose, Qenamun, Penhut [title uncertain]) and one (Khaemwaset) was buried at Bubastis (Hirsch, in Gundlach and Klug, eds., Der ägyptische Hof des Neuen Reiches, 127–136). Few burials from the mid-Eighteenth Dynasty have been located at Saqqara, but they certainly exist in the recorded evidence—see Raven, in Barta and Krejčí, eds., Abusir and Saqqara, 134–136; for the distribution of titles in the Saqqara necropolis, see also Gessler-Löhr, OMRO 77 (1997): 31–71; Martin, in Barta and Krejčí, eds., Abusir and Saqqara, 115–119. 26. Lilyquist, MMJ 23 (1988): 15–16; Yoyotte, BSFE 92 (1981): 33–51 27. Ranke, Personennamen, vol. 1, 407a. 28. For other studies that have accepted the equation between the fictional Djehuty and the owner of the Saqqara tomb and its grave goods, compare Bryan, in Cline

[230]

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and O’Connor, eds., Thutmose III:  A New Biography, 103–104; Gnirs, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 210; Hirsch, in Gundlach and Klug, eds., Der ägyptische Hof des Neuen Reiches, 123–126; Maruéjol, Thoutmosis III et la corégence avec Hatchepsout, 130–131; Murnane, in van Dijk, ed., Essays on Ancient Egypt, 253–254. 29. Three times, this title appears as only “overseer of foreign countries” without the geographic specification—see the convienent chart in Liliyquist, MMJ 23 (1988): 62; among Djehuty’s titles are also two related expressions of more limited overlordship: “overseer of a part of the northern foreign countries” and “overseer of the door of northern foreign countries” (ibid., 13–16). 30. For this title and its possible significance to The Capture of Joppa, see pp. 99–100. 31. A complete collection of primary evidence in Hirsch, in Gundlach and Klug, eds., Der ägyptische Hof des Neuen Reiches, 120–199, with earlier references therein; contra Murnane, in van Dijk, ed., Essays on Ancient Egypt, 256. For the Ramesside audience of The Capture of Joppa, it is also notable that both Paramessu and Seti I are given the title “overseer of northern foreign lands” in the 400 Year Stela, even though neither has that title on contemporary monuments (at least that are extant); see Hirsch, in Gundlach and Klug, eds., Der ägyptische Hof des Neuen Reiches, 140–141. 32. Hirsch, in Gundlach and Klug, eds., Der ägyptische Hof des Neuen Reiches, 136–139. 33. The text on Djehuty’s statuette describes the accounting of tribute and annual taxes from Syria-Palestine—seeHirsch, in Gundlach and Klug, eds., Der ägyptische Hof des Neuen Reiches, 124–125; Yoyotte, BSFE 92 (1981): 33–51. 34. Dreyfus, in Roehrig, ed., Hatshepsut, 246–247; Lilyquist, MMJ 23 (1988): 23–40, suggests that the gold bowl is an early Nineteenth Century forgery, either copied from a now-lost object from Djehuty’s tomb or entirely invented. While Lilyquist’s arguments are intriguing and well researched, and one cannot absolutely rule out the forgery theory, the text is definitely either ancient or based on another genuine artifact, because the titles do not show any mistakes from a philological perspective and the bowl entered the Louvre collection too soon after the decipherment of hieroglyphs to assume the hand of an early “master forger.” 35. For the text (somewhat out of order), see Lilyquist, MMJ 23 (1988): 26–27; text also reproduced in Urk. IV 999: diw m Hs.t n.t xr-nswt nswt bity Mn-xpr-ra n iry-pa.t HA.ty-a it-nTr mry-nTr mH ib n nswt Hr xAs.t nb iw.w Hry-ib n.w wAD-wr mH wDA.w m xsbd HD nbw imy-rA xAs.wt mHt.t imy-rA mSa Hsy n nTr nfr ir.n nb tA.wy kA=f sS nswt 9Hwty mAa-xrw 36. Compare the Saite title mH-ib n nswt m xAs.wt 1Aw-nbw.t “confidant of the king in the foreign lands of the Mediterranean littoral”—for which see Darnell, in Johnson, ed., Life in a Multi-Cultural Society, 83 n. 67. 37. For kA as “rank” or “fortune” as aspects of the more general meaning “personality,” see the apt remarks of Gardiner, JEA 36 (1950): 7 n. 2 (reference courtesy of reviewer). 38. A pictorial parallel for Djehuty’s epithets appears in the “tribute presentation” scenes in mid-Eighteenth Dynasty tombs; tombs of offiicals who served Thutmose III could include representatives from the Aegean (“the islands in the midst of

Notes [ 2 3 1 ]

the Great Green”)—see inter alia Panagiotopoulos, in Cline and O’Connor, ed., Thutmose III, 380–382; for later Eighteenth Dynasty depictions, see Hartwig, Tomb Painting and Identity in Ancient Thebes, 73–76. 39. Turin, Cat. 3228—see Lilyquist, MMJ 23 (1988): 11, 58. 40. Gnirs, Militär und Gesellschaft, 105–105; Hirsch, in Gundlach and Klug, eds., Der ägyptische Hof des Neuen Reiches, 126. 41. Jasnow, in Hawass and Richards, eds., The Art and Archaeology of Ancient Egypt: Essays in Honor of David B. O’Connor, vol. 1, 436–438. 42. Heinz, Feldzugdarstellungen, 119–126 (city and landscape depictions). 43. Fischer-Elfert, Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I:  Übersetzung und Kommentar, 158–195. 44. Peilstöcker and Burke, The History and Archaeology of Jaffa 1, 80–84. 45. KRI II 401: 6-7 = Kitchen, RITANC, vol. 2, 262. 46. Higginbotham, Egyptianization and Elite Emulation in Ramesside Palestine, 106– 107, 131 (contra Higginbotham’s main thesis that the Egyptian objects are representative of Canaanites adopting Egyptian culture—instead, the Egyptian objects in Syria-Palestine are normally indicative of Egyptian garrisons); Morris, Architecture of Imperialism, 470–471, 570–572. 47. Burke and Lords, Near Eastern Archaeology 73: 1 (2010): 11, 14; Peilstöcker and Burke, The History and Archaeology of Jaffa 1, 68, both citing Morris, Architecture of Imperialism, 138–139; see also the earlier comments of Na’aman, IEJ 31 (1981): 177–180. For provisioning of harbors, compare among the many examples, Urk. IV 707, lns. 10–14; see also Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 217– 219, passim. 48. Burke and Lords, Near Eastern Archaeology 73: 1 (2010): 26. 49. On this genre of texts, see p. 9. 50. Müller, Die Palästinaliste Thutmosis III, 21 and pl. 2, no.  62; Helck, LÄ III, cols. 269–270; for the accuracy of the list in comparison with archaeological data, see Weinstein, BASOR 241 (1981): 11–12. 51. As Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 4–5, notes, the day-book of the king’s house was complemented by additional documents that described military activities when the king was not present. The use of the phrase “one came to report” in a message delivered to Djehuty in The Capture of Joppa would also signal an affinity to royal military accounts for the ancient reader—see p. 82. 52. EA 294 (Moran, The Amarna Letters, 336–337); the city of Joppa is also mentioned in EA 296, but no additional details are furnished (ibid., 339); ibid., 363 suggests that EA 365 does not refer to Biblical Joppa. Finally, one of the letters from Ribaddi (EA 138) suggests that Joppa was so firmly in the Egyptian sphere of influence that the ruler of Byblos could flee there to escape the attacks of Aziru (ibid., 221). 53. Morris, Architecture of Imperialism, 470–471, 570–572; Peilstöcker and Burke, The History and Archaeology of Jaffa 1, 69–70. 54. As marked by the particle xr ir (see p. 172). 55. See p. 67. 56. These two aspects of the “enemy of Joppa” are used by Buchberger, WdO 20/21 (1989/90):  28–29, to argue for his mimetical, as opposed to topical, characteristics. For the topical nature of the ruler of Joppa, compare also Brunner-Traut, Altägyptische Märchen, 287, who notes that the “enemy of Joppa” receives the “death stick” determinative

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57. For namelessness in Egyptian literature, see the brief comments concerning female characters in Blumenthal, Thomas Mann Jahrbuch 6 (1993): 194; for namelessness possibly relating to the divine avatar of Anubis’ wife, see Hollis, Tale of Two Brothers, 152. On the importance of names in Egyptian literature, see Moers, Fingierte Welten, 89–96; one can also note that names play a different role in historical fiction, which can be constrained by the names of existing historical figures. 58. Compare Amunneshi in The Story of Sinuhe and the multiple foreign rulers in The Report of Wenamun. 59. Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 51–52, 89–95, 110–118. 60. Schulman, Military Rank, Title, and Organization, 18: “The mention of an Egyptian ‘garrison-troop’ in connection with the taking of Joppa, as well as the participation of the ‘garrison-officers’ in the war council of Ramesses II before the battle of Kadesh leads us to suppose that when the king was campaigning in enemy territory, the outlying garrisons were collected so that they might participate in the action.” 61. Urk. IV 687, lns. 11–13 and 688, lns. 15–16: gm.n=tw nAy=sn irp wAH.w m nAy=sn nmi.w mi xdd.. . isT wnn mSa n Hm=f tx.w gs.w m b(A)o ra nb mi nty m Hb.w m tA-mri 62. On the tactics of chariot warfare in ancient Egypt, see inter alia Darnell and Manassa, Tutankhamun’s Armies, 63–65; Drews, End of the Bronze Age, 104ff.; Gnirs and Hoffmeier, in Redford, ed., Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt, http:// www.oxford-ancientegypt.com/entry?entry=t176.e0456.s0002; Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 118–123. See also Hofmann, in Fansa and Burmeister, eds., Rad und Wagen, 143–156. 63. Such as snny or the more specific terms kTn and ora; on these terms, see Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 176–177; idem, Five Views on Egypt, 38–42; Yoyotte and Lopez, Bib. Or. 26 (1969): 11. 64. On the maryannu, see inter alia Beal, Organisation of the Hittite Military, 178– 184; Helck, Die Beziehungen Ägyptens zu Vorderasien, 522–526; Hoch, Semitic Loan Words, 135–137; Kuhrt, The Ancient Near East c. 3000–330 BC, vol. 1, 297– 298; Rainey, JNES 24 (1965):  19–24; idem, in Dever and Gitin, eds., Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past, 173; Raulwing, Horses, Chariots and IndoEuropeans, 35–36, 117–118; idem, in Fansa and Burmeister, eds., Rad und Wagen, 515–531. On the Hurrian ending—nni, see Wegner, Hurritische, 55 (with the Indo-European root of maryannu mentioned on p. 28); for an alternate derivation of maryannu, as a native Hurrian word, see Diakonoff, Bulletin of the Asia Institute 7 (1993): 47–49. 65. See the quote from The Satirical Letter of Hori (P. Anastasi I), below. 66. Darnell, SAK 18 (1991): 133–134. 67. The soldier Amunemheb records the capture of two maryannu in the region of Kadesh (Urk. IV 892, lns. 10–11, 895, lns. 4–5); for small numbers of maryannu recorded in the Karnak annals of Thutmose III, see note 73. 68. The Memphis stela of Amunhotep II records (Urk. IV 1303, lns. 1–3): rxt kfa n Hm=f n hrw pn wr 2 mrynA 6 r mn wrr.t=sn Htr.w=sn xa.w=sn nb n aHA “List of plunder of his Majesty on this day: two chiefs, six maryannu together with their chariots, horses, and all of their weapons.” Later in the text, the king personally captures

Notes [ 2 3 3 ]

16 maryannu (ln. 12; Urk. IV 1304, ln. 12) with no other captives mentioned, and a single maryannu prisoner is recorded in lines 14–15. In total, Amunhotep II’s Year 7 Asiatic campaign brought back 550 maryannu to Memphis (ln. 15; Urk. IV 1305, ln. 6), but the king’s own battle prowess is linked directly to smaller numbers of maryannu; the more fragmentary Karnak version of the Year 7 campaign gives a total of 550 maryannu for the entire campaign (lns. 33–34; Urk. IV 1315, ln. 14). For the Asiatic wars of Amunhotep II, see also Manuelian, Studies in the Reign of Amenophis II, 56–82 (note particularly his discussion of the plunder lists with their unusually large numbers on pp. 76–77); on the topos of the king fighting alone, see Liverani, in Bahrani and Van der Mieroop, eds., Myth and Politics in Ancient Near Eastern Historiography, 87. 69. For the date of P. Hermitage 1116A in the reign of Amunhotep II, see Redford, JEA 51 (1965): 107–112. 70. The toponym Djahi appears to be a general term for the territory under Egyptian suzerainty in the northeast—see Hirsch, in Gundlach and Rößler-Köhler, eds., Das Königtum der Ramessidenzeit, 202–206. 71. Epstein, JEA 49 (1963):  49–56; short discussions in Morris, Architecture of Imperialisim, 141–142; Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 136–137; Weinstein, BASOR 241 (1981): 13. 72. Martin, Memphite Tomb of Horemheb, pl. 115. 73. Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine of Thutmose III, 37 and n. 217. 74. KRI II, 144–145. 75. P. Anastasi II, col. 5, l. 2 = Gardiner, LEM, 15, ln. 1; Caminos, LEM, 45. 76. KRI V, 40, ln. 7; on this passage, see also Hirsch, in Gundlach and Rößler-Köhler, eds., Das Königtum der Ramessidenzeit, 215–219. 77. P. Harris I, col. 31, ln. 8; for a collection of earlier references, see Grandet, Le papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 136, n. 534. 78. Fischer-Elfert, Die satirische Streitschirft des Papyrus Anastasi I, 153–154 (= P. Anastasi I 27, ln. 9–28, ln. 1): wSbt Ast i.Dd n=i smi Dd=i mhr r=s iry=i swhA n kAwy m rn=k mrynA On the context of this passage, see also Fischer-Elfert, Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I, Übersetzung und Kommentar, 230–235. 79. For the mhr, see Rainey, JNES 26 (1967): 58–60. 80. See Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, passim for the application of the type of analysis in Engels, Alexander the Great and the Logistics of the Macedonian Army to ancient Egypt. 81. Such practical concerns, particularly chariotry repair, also appear as a topic within The Satirical Letter of Hori, for which see Fischer-Elfert, Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I, Übersetzung und Kommentar, 227–229. 82. Kitchen, in Czerny et al., eds., Timelines, 184–185; idem, in Oren, ed., The Origin of Early Israel, 73–74. See also the analysis of “stable masters” and pasturage in P. Wilbour, in Katary, CRIPEL 28 (2009–2010): 295, 304–305. 83. P. Bologna 1094 (Gardiner, LEM, 3; Caminos, LEM, 11–12). 84. Fischer, Varia: Egyptian Studies, vol. 1, 97–99. 85. Helck, Die Beziehungen Ägyptens zu Vorderasien, 526–531; Giveon, in LÄ II, cols. 952–955; Killebrew, Biblical Peoples and Ethnicity, 32–33, 182–183; Redford,

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Notes

Egypt, Canaan and Israel in Ancient Times, 171, 195. Specific iconographic and textual references appear in the following notes. 86. For the restorations of the passage, see Redford, Wars in Syria, 71–72; for the possible alliance between the Apiru and the ruler of Tunip, see ibid., 217–219. 87. Urk. IV 1308 (ln. 19)1309 (ln. 1); for collected bibliography on the stela, see Beylage, Aufbau der königlichen Stelentexte, vol. 1, 119–139; Klug, Königlichen Stelen, 242–253. 88. Säve-Söderbergh, Orientalia Suecana 1 (1952):  5–7, first identified the mention of Apiru in the tomb of the herald Antef (TT 155) and the Egyptianized spelling of the word in a similar context in the tomb of Puyemre (TT 39); for a recent reinterpretation of the scenes (expressing doubts about the identity of the men as Apiru), see Hohlbein, Wie die Ägypter ihre Nachbarn sahen, 15–16, 47–51. On these scenes, see also Morris, Architecture of Imperialism, 146–147; Panagiotopoulos, in Cline and O’Connor, ed., Thutmose III, 385; for the career of the “royal herald” Antef, see Bryan, in Cline and O’Connor, ed., Thutmose III, 90–91. 89. No. de Garis Davies, Tomb of Puyemre, pl. 12; Säve-Söderbergh, Four Tombs at Thebes, 16–17 and pl. 17. 90. The equation of Apiru and Hebrew has been convincingly disproven—compare Nadav, JNES 45 (1986):  271–288; Rainey, in Dever and Gitin, eds., Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past, 174–176; Redford, Egypt, Caanan and Israel, 195. 91. Rowton, JNES 35 (1976): 14. 92. The Apiru appear as far afield as Asia Minor—see Beal, Organisation of the Hittite Military, 108–112. 93. Nadav, JNES 45 (1986): 272. 94. Darnell and Manassa, Tutankhamun’s Armies, 153–154; Nadav, JNES 45 (1986): 273; Rowton, JNES 35 (1976): 13–20. 95. Darnell and Manassa, Tutankhamun’s Armies, 153–154; Liverani, Three Amarna Essays, 15–20; Murnane, Road to Kadesh, 5–6, 13. Rowton, JNES 35 (1976):  15–16, compares the dual social/ethnic designation Apiru with the term “kazak”—one can continue Rowton’s analysis by noting the similarity between the use of the Apriu as a mercenary-type force by the Amorites, and the employment of the Cossaks by the Russians. For an overview of the Apiru in the Amarna Letters, see Fleming, in Hasselbach and Pat-El, eds., Language and Nature, 39–49 (particularly the recognition of their integration into the local societies). 96. Nadav, JNES 45 (1986): 275–276. 97. Cf. Liverani, Three Amarna Essays, 10–12. 98. KRI I, 15, lns. 8–9; Brand, The Monuments of Seti I; Murnane, Road to Kadesh, 43; Redford, Egypt, Canaan and Israel in Ancient Times, 181. 99. Kitchen, in Czerny et  al., eds., Timelines, vol. 1, 183–184, citing Couyat and Montet, Les inscriptions hiéroglyphiques et hiératiques du Ouadi Hammamat, no. 12, ln. 17. 100. P. Leiden 348, verso, col. 6, ln. 6 = Gardiner, LEM, 134, ln. 2; Caminos, LEM, 491. An even later reflext of the Apiru appears in the Famine Stela, a pseudepigraphic document set in the reign of Djoser—see Ritner, in Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 391 (n. 23 about the connection between the Hapiru and Hebrew should be emended in accordance with the references cited above); for the date of the stela, see also Aufrère, BIFAO 104 (2004): 1–20.

Notes [ 2 3 5 ]

101. See p. 79. 102. For this building, see Lacovara, New Kingdom Royal City, 43–44; the tablets excavated at Piramesses hint at the maintenance of such diplomatic correspondence through the Ramesside Period. 103. Spalinger, Military Documents of the Ancient Egyptians, 1–3; note also the redefining of Spalinger’s category of “iw=tw reports” as “dominion records” in Lundh, Actor and Event, 29–70. 104. See the examples collected in Spalinger, Military Documents of the Ancient Egyptians, 4–33. 105. Interestingly, although the report is made to the king, iw=tw formulae typically appear in texts in which the king did not personally lead the army—see Spalinger, Military Documents of the Ancient Egyptians, 20–21. Compare also the use of the “one came” report within the autobiography of Ahmose, son of Ibana; see Popko, Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung, 203–206. 106. Spalinger, Military Documents of the Ancient Egyptians, 4–5 (citing Urk. IV 656, ln. 14). 107. Cf. the collection of literary and pictorial evidence of humor in ancient Egypt in Houlihan, Wit and Humour; for more on humor in New Kingdom historical fiction, see pp. 55, 63, 116. 108. Gilbert, Warfare in Early Egypt, 35–41; Köhler, in van den Brink and Levy, eds., Egypt and the Levant, 499–513; for a disembodied mace representing royal authority in Predynastic and Early Dynasty imagery, see Darnell, in Friedman and Fiske, eds., Egypt at its Origins 3, 1171–1173. 109. The Old Kingdom autobiography of Rawer provides a vivid image of the awesome power of the ames-staff (see, conveniently, Strudwick, Texts from the Pyramid Age, 305–306). For divinized staffs in ancient Egyptian records, see Spiegel, RdT 25 (1903): 184–190. 110. Urk. IV 1236, ln. 12. 111. On the smiting scene, see pp. 8–9, 14. 112. Schulman, Ceremonial Execution and Public Reward, 8–62; for the immediate post-New Kingdom period, compare also faience chalices decorated with smiting scenes and martial themes (Spurr, Reeves, and Quirke, Egyptian Art at Eton College, 38–39). 113. Darnell, Theban Desert Road Survey II, forthcoming. 114. See the references in n. 24 above. 115. Hassan, Stöcke und Stäbe, 188–195. 116. Among the many possible representations, compare Brack and Brack, Das Grab des Tjanuni, 42–43 and pls. 32–33, 38. 117. Hatshepsut’s prenomen has been hacked out and replaced with the name of Thutmose I. 118. Sauneron, Kemi 18 (1968): pl. 7. Ahmose Ruru’s awenet-staff probably resembled the decorated “sword-sticks” from the tomb of Tutankhamun (Carter nos. 582c– h; see Reeves, The Complete Tutankhamun, 178). 119. Fischer, MMJ 13 (1978):  27–29; Vandier d’Abbadie, ASAE 40 (1940):  473–474, and pl. 43. 120. The term awn.t appears in the story of the Eloquent Peasant as “awenet-staffs of Farafra Oasis” (Hassan, Stöcke und Stäbe, 38; Parkinson, The Tale of the Eloquent Peasant, 3; such oasis reed products may also be depicted in TT131 from the Eighteenth Dynasty—cf. Giddy, in Vercoutter, ed., Livre du Centenaire, 1880– 1980, 122 and fig. 1). For later examples of awn.t, compare the possible example

[236]

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in Edwards, Oracular Amuletic Decrees, 28, n. 15, where it occurs alongside other weapons—a sword and javelin. 121. Fischer, MMJ 13 (1978): 27–29; Jéquier, BIFAO 19 (1922): 154–155. 122. A man wearing a long fringed white cloak labeled “the ruler of Naharin” carries a silver vessel and a labeled awn.t-staff in the tomb of Iamnedjeh (TT84; Davies, JEA 27 [1941]: pl. XIII; Urk. IV 952, lns. 4–7); the same type of staff appears in the hand of a Syrian in Davies, The Tomb of Rekh-mi-re, pls. 22–23. 123. Turin B, verso, vol. 1, lns. 9–10 (= Gardiner, LEM, 126, lns. 1–2):  awn.t Sbd.t 100  “100 awenet-staffs and shuba-staves” (see also Caminos, LEM, 467–468); Anastasi IV col. 17, ln. 3 (=Gardiner, LEM, 54, ln. 1) awenet-staffs with “self bent rods” (Caminos, LEM, 201, 217). 124. For the text, see, conveniently, Fox, The Song of Songs and Ancient Egyptian Love Songs, 10–11; for the geographic origins of the sticks and staves in the love poem, see Darnell, SAK 22 (1995): 82–83. 125. See further, p. 149. 126. National Museum of Scotland A.1956.319 (previously O. Edinburgh 916), verso, lns. 9–12 (= Dawson and Peet, JEA 19 (1933):  pl. 28 (I would like to thank Dr. Margaret Maitland for providing me with study photographs of the ostracon to confirm Dawson and Peet’s transcription of the hieratic): ir tA awn.t n tAy=k mrkb.t awn=s xAs.t wAw Hwi=s r wa iw xA hAi.(w) bw wAH=s iwaa 127. Goedicke’s suggestion (CdE 43 (1968): 219–233) that the enemy of Joppa mishears a statement by Djehuty does not find any confirmation within the story. 128. A less likely possibility is that Tiutneferet refers to an inanimate object or even the city of Joppa itself; compare the description of Memphis as the “white girl” in P. Sallier IV, verso, col. 2, ln. 4 (= Gardiner, LEM, 90, ln. 4); for the interpretation of the text, see Caminos, LEM, 334, 343; Ragazzoli, Éloges de la ville, 172–173. 129. Ranke, Personennamen, vol. 1, 379, no. 10 (twiw-nfr.t) and 385, no. 3 (tti-nfr(.t)). For an alternative reading as Astarte-nofret, see Goedicke, CdE 43 (1968): 225. 130. Moran, The Amarna Letters, 366; see also Na’aman, IEJ 31 (1981): 176–177. 131. Wenamun, col. 2, lns. 68–69 = Gardiner, LES, 74, lns. 4–6. 132. Fischer-Elfert, Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I, 145–146: twk ao.ti r Ypw gm=k pA SA AxAx r tr=f iry=k wtnw n imw gm=k tA Sri nfr.t nty Hr sAw nA kAmw iry=s snsn=k n=s r iry di=s n=k inm nn oni=s siA=tw iw Dd=k mtr.t wDa=tw m-di mhr tAy=k mss n Sma nfr sin=k sw 133. Fischer-Elfert, Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I, Übersetzung und Kommentar, 212–222; Mathieu, La Poésie Amoureuse de l’Egypte Ancienne, 219. For the love poetry, see further note 17. 134. Bonnet, Die ägyptische Tracht, 45–48; sporrands in the Eighteenth Dynasty are shorter and broader, and the longer kilts of the officers can sometimes appear

Notes [ 2 3 7 ]

flounced with a scalloped lower edge, probably due to having been tucked in while training (cf. Brack and Brack, Das Grab des Tjanuni, 41 and pls. 32–33). 135. The volume of a nms.t vessel is one hin—see Pommerening, Die altägyptische Hohlmaße, 216–218; the author would like to thank Dr.  Edward Castle for discussing this passage and offering several intriguing suggestions. 136. Caminos, LEM, 218; cf. Papyrus Anastasi VIII 1, 3: nms.t HD di=i pry=sn n nA Hry.w mnS “the nemset of silver, which I conveyed to the chiefs of the menesh ships.” 137. Col. 5, ln. 2 (= Gardiner, LES, 42, ln. 15); Broze, Les Aventures d’Horus et Seth, 51, refers to nms.t as a unit of weight, without further comment. 138. Mesnil du Buisson, Les noms et signes égyptiens désignant des vases, 131–134. 139. I would like to thank Edward Castle for this suggestion. 140. Wendrich, in Nicholson and Shaw, eds., Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technologies, 254–267; for Eighteenth Dynasty baskets, compare the beautiful range of shapes and sizes from the tomb of Kha: Schiaparelli, La tomba intatta dell’architetto Kha, 1105–106, 161–165. 141. Janssen, Commodity Prices, 133–164. 142. Either 200 or 300 depending on the reading of the damaged sign—see p.  185 below 143. On the term bAk “tribute, tax,” see p. 170. 144. See Appendix 2, p. 184. 145. See Appendix 2, pp. 184–185. 146. Giddy, in Vercoutter, ed., Livre du Centenaire, 1880–1980, 119–125. 147. See inter alia Ni. Davies, Scenes from Some Theban Private Tombs, pl. 2 (Djeserkareseneb, TT 38); Taylor, The Tomb of Paheri, pl. 3 (top register); Wreszinski, Atlas zur altägyptischen Kulturgeschichte, vol. 1, pl. 58 (Ineni, TT81). 148. See, e.g., the Nubian women with children in baskets in the tombs of Rekhmire (TT 100; No. de Garis Davies, The Tomb of Rekh-mi-re, pl. 21) and Huy (TT 40; Ni. Davies, The Tomb of Huy, pl. 30). Nubian and Asiatic women in the tomb of Ineni (TT 81) both carry children in what appear to be baskets (Ni. Davies, Scenes from Some Theban Private Tombs, pl. 22); an Asiatic woman in the tomb of Useramun (TT 131) also carries a child in a basket (Dziobek, Die Gräber des Vezirs User-Amun, pl. 24) (for this motif, note already the children carried in baskets in the scene of Abshai and his Asiatic companions from Beni Hasan); see also Hohlbein, Wie die Ägypter ihre Nachbarn sahen, 202–210. 149. Jaroš-Deckert, Das Grab des Jnj-jtj.f, pl. 17. 150. Cf. the recently discovered rope bundles from Wadi Gawsis on the Red Sea coast— Bard and Fattovich, eds., Harbor of the Pharaohs, 190–195. 151. See the discussion on pp. 109–110. 152. From the late Eigtheenth Dynasty also comes one of the only examples of the Egyptians using a wooden cage to confine an enemy—see Grimm, JEA 73 (1987): 202–206; idem, SAK 16 (1989): 111–119. 153. Martin, Memphite Tomb of Horemheb, pls. 100–105. 154. Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 1, pl. 23. 155. Bell, in Phillips et  al., eds., Ancient Egypt, the Aegean, and the Near East, vol. 1, 81–86; similarly, numerous parts of the royal chariot and other paraphenalia were decorated with images of enemies that were crushed, bent, or otherwise denigrated during routine use of the objects—compare Ritner, Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice, 119–136. 156. Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 176; see also idem, Five Views on Egypt, 38, 42.

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157. For this statement representing an omniscent narrator, see also Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II, 65; compare Suhr, in Moers, ed., Definitely: Egyptian Literature, 107. For the uncertainties in the interpretation of the passage, see also Peust, Indirekte Rede im Neuägyptischen, 39, 94. 158. Petrie, Egyptian Tales, 2d ed., 5; Popko, http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/ S02?wc=295037&db=0. 159. For additional discussion and references, see pp. 152–155. 160. Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 71 and n. 86. 161. Darnell and Manassa, Tutankhamun’s Armies, 144–146 and references therein. 162. Urk. IV 690, 2–5. 163. Säve-Söderbergh, Four Eighteenth Dynasty Tombs, pl. 23; compare also the Syrian women in the upper right of the trading scene from the tomb of Qenamun (TT 162)—Ni. Davies, Scenes from Some Theban Private Tombs, pl. 15. On dress in ancient Syria-Palestine, see Redford, Egypt, Canaan and Israel in Ancient Times, 196–197. 164. See p. 116; note also the three queens of Thutmose III with Canaanite names— Lilyquist, The Tomb of Three Foreign Wives of Tuthmosis III, 333–336. 165. On “gender studies” and military history, compare Gnirs, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 99–109. 166. Kanawati, Deshasha, pl. 26; Petrie, Deshasheh, pl. 4; this scene is briefly mentioned in Müller, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 219–220. 167. Two interpretations of the scenes are possible—either the women are participating in the killing of Egyptian soldiers who have entered the citadel (Fischer, Egyptian Women, 43), or they are assisting wounded Asiatic men (Darnell, in Mendel and Claudi, eds., Ägypten im Afro-orientalischen Kontext, 86–91; Kanawati, Deshasha, 24–25). The latter is made perhaps more likely by the preserved beard of an Asiatic assisted by a woman in the third level of the depiction of the walled town and the long, clubbed hairstyle of the Asiatic in the uppermost register; the interpretation of the men inside the fortress as Asiatics rather than Egyptians would also heighten the insult to the foreign men. 168. Habachi, Second Stela of Kamose, 34–35; translation follows Darnell, in Mendel and Claudi, eds., Ägypten im Afro-orientalischen Kontext, 86. 169. Darnell, in Mendel and Claudi, eds., Ägypten im Afro-orientalischen Kontext, 86–88. 170. Compare the “feminization” of enemy males as discussed by O’Connor, in Janosi, ed., Structure and Significance, 449–452. 171. Gnirs, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 99–109. 172. Roth, Gebieterin, 68–84. 173. EA 48 and 50; Moran, The Amarna Letters, 120–121. 174. The active role of queen Tiye in some of the Amarna Letters, particularly those received from the Mittanian king Tushratta, finds an interesting parallel in Egyptian representations of Tiye as a female sphinx; in the tomb of Kheruef, Tiye’s throne is decorated with bound foreign women and Tiye herself is portrayed as a sphinx trampling a female foe (Epigraphic Survey, Tomb of Kheruef, pl. 49), while in the temple of Soleb, Tiye is given the epithet “great of fear, mistress of all lands” (Roth, Gebieterin, 19–20). For the image of Nefertiti smiting a female enemy, see Darnell and Manassa, Tutankhamun’s Armies, 34–36. 175. Bryce, Kingdom of the Hittites, 2d ed., 282–289; Xekalaki, in Mairs and Stevenson, eds., Current Research in Egyptology 2005, 163–173.

Notes [ 2 3 9 ]

176. Wheeler, Stratagem and the Vocabulary of Military Trickery; for later Byzantine material, compare the ruse in which a besieging army pretends to abandon their camp to lure the opposing forces from their city (Dennis, Three Byzantine Military Treatises, 314–317). 177. For basic bibliography, see pp. 66–67. 178. This distinction in terminology is addressed in Wheeler, Stratagem and the Vocabulary of Military Trickery. 179. For summaries of the Battle of Kadesh, see Goedicke, ed., Perspectives on the Battle of Kadesh; Healy, Qadesh 1300 BC; Obsomer, in Grimal and Baud, eds., Événement, récit, histoire officielle, 87–95; Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 209–226 (and references therein); von der Way, Die Textüberlieferung Ramses’ II. zur QadeS-Schlacht. 180. The fictional event at Joppa provides a counter-balance to oft-repeated statements about Egyptian military protocol that the day of battle should be announced prior to engaging with the enemy. Such statements rely on rare statements within the Egyptian textual record, such as The Instruction for Merikare, describing the wretched condition of foreigners’ states: ni smi.n=f hrw m aHA mi TAi Sna n smAy.t “He never announces the day of fighting, but is like a thief whom his confederates have driven away” (cf. Quack, Studien zur Lehre für Merikare, 54–57, 184). The motif of announcing the day of battle appears again in the Victory Stela of Piye—Grimal, La stèle triomphale de Pi(‘ankh)y, 9*. 181. Jones, The Classical Journal 65:6 (1970): 241–247 (unfortunately not recognizing Petrie’s distinction between his invented introduction and the tale as preserved in BM EA 10060). 182. Horsfall, Virgil, Aeneid 2, A Commentary, 56–57; see also Clarke, Homer’s Readers, 232–233. 183. Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II, 64 (citing Brunner-Traut, Altägyptische Märchen, 287); Redford, Wars in Syria-Palestine, 257. 184. Ferdowsi, trans. Davis, Shahnameh, The Persian Book of Kings; while the entire epic appears to be the work of Ferdowsi, one set of stories (including the tale of Asfandiyár and Arjasp quoted here) is taken from an earlier author, the poet Daqiqi (ibid., xix; a summary of the tale appears in ibid., 369–370). For the figure of Asfandiyár, see the summary in Ehsan Yarshater, Encyclopaedia Iranica, http:// www.iranicaonline.org/articles/esfandiar-1-son-gostasp. I  would like to thank Abbas Amanat and Mohsen Ashtiany for helpful discussions and references concerning the Shah Namah. 185. Warner and Warner, The Shahnama of Firdausi, vol. 5, 141–147; a paraphrased version of the poem is available in Zimmern, Shah Namah, 282–284. 186. A summary of the Byzantine account appears in Finlay, History of the Byzantine Empire, vol. 1, 486–487. 187. See the overview and references to earlier literature in Marzolph and van Leeuwen, The Arabian Nights Encyclopedia, vol. 1, 89–91 (reference courtesy of Prof. Beatrice Gruendler). 188. Aarne and Thompson, The Types of the Folktale, 337–338 (No. 954 The Forty Thieves). 189. For the “Habersackmethode” in the Capture of Joppa, see Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in de altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II, 4. 190. Lilyquist, MMJ 23 (1988): 62. 191. See p. 111.

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192. For the role of Hm and Hm.t in New Kingdom texts, see Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 253; Hofmann, Zur sozialen Bedeutung, 244–246. Pictorial evidence for the reign of Thutmose III (e.g. No. de Garis Davies, The Tomb of Rekh-mi-re, pl. 57; Panagiotopoulos, in Cline and O’Connor, ed., Thutmose III, 383) can be compared with later scenes from the reign of Ramesses III (Menu, in Menu, ed., La dépendance rurale dans l’Antiquité égyptienne et proche-orientale, 187–209). 193. Östenberg, Staging the World, 251–263. 194. Valloggia, Recherche sur les “messagers” (WPWTYW) dans les sources égyptiennes profanes, 239–251. 195. Bryce, Letters of the Great Kings of the Ancient Near East, 63–74; Liverani, International Relations in the Ancient Near East, 71–76; Meier, The Messenger in the Ancient Semitic World. On the varied roles of the “royal messenger” in the Ramesside Period, see Gundlach, Raelder, and Roth, in Bisang et al., eds., Prozesse des Wandels in historischen Spannungsfeldern Nordostafrikas, 39–67. 196. KRI II, 89–90 (P295-300). 197. On the involvement of the Hittite queen in this correspondence, see p. 94. CHAPTER 4 1. See inter alia Galan, Bryan, and Lorton, eds., Essays in Egyptology, 91–102; Morris, The Architecture of Imperialism, 27–38, 115–136, 217–269; Panagiotopoulos, A&L 10 (2000): 139–158; Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 255–259. 2. Weinstein, BASOR 241 (1981):  17–22; note that the manning of additional permanent garrisons did not translate into the use of defensive architecture— Morris, Architecture of Imperialism, 682–690. 3. Cline and O’Connor, eds., Ramesses III, Chapter 5; Drews, End of the Bronze Age; for more on the Sea Peoples, symptomatic of these changes in the late Bronze Age, see pp. 137–138. 4. Col. x+2, l. 10; for Kharu as a toponym, see Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 131. 5. Cf. Gnirs and Loprieno, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 265–266. 6. See pp. 115–116. 7. See p. 26. 8. Compare Roccati, in Eggebrecht and Eggebrecht, eds., Aufstieg zur Weltmacht, 192 9. See Appendix 4 for further details on the papyrus. 10. The rubric appears in column x+2, lns. 1–2; the individual words written in red are: the number seven (frag. 2, ln. 2); the number 1900 (col. x+1, ln. 10); the number 3 (col. x+2, ln. 6); a book roll (col. x+3, ln. 7). 11. See above, 26; in the translation below, the verse points are marked with “°”. 12. Seconde Lettre, 57–58 (http://www.archive.org/stream/lettresmleducde00egypgoog# page/n0/mode/2up, accessed September 30, 2011). 13. Rendiconti della R. Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, Classe di Scienze Morali, Storichee Filologiche Series 4, 31 (1922): 348–353; the last three lines of column x+3 appeared already in Pleyte and Rossi, Papyrus de Turin, vol. 2, pl. 83, fig. B. 14. Capart, CdE 3 (1927):  45–47; Griffith, JEA 9 (1923):  207; Posener, RdE 6 (1951): 40–41; for other notices of the influence of Botti’s first edition of the text, see Botti, JEA 41 (1955): 64. 15. See the literature cited in note 62 below. 16. McDowell, Village Life, 163–164; Spalinger, in Lesko, ed., Egyptological Studies in Honor of Richard A. Parker, 155–156.

Notes [ 2 4 1 ]

17. Spalinger, in Lesko, ed., Egyptological Studies in Honor of Richard A.  Parker, 154–157. 18. A brief description of Thutmose III in Asia in the context of Eighteenth Dynasty historiography appears in Popko, Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung der Ahmosiden- und Thutmosidenzeit, 127–128; Popko has also provided a transliteration and translation of the text as part of the Altägyptisches Wörterbuch Sächsische Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig (http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/GetTextDetails?u=guest&f=0&l=0&tc=1310 &db=0; accessed 12/2/2011); several of his readings are noted in Appendix, 3. To his edition should be added the additional fragment published by Roccati in 1987 (see note 8). 19. Compare Gnirs and Loprieno, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 264. 20. For convincing arguments, see Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 106–133. 21. The latter is designated “Ennene” in Möller’s edition (see Paläographie, vol. 2, 11). 22. Compare the elongated head of the wsr-sign and the horizontal writing of the top of the wAs-scepter, both of which match Twentieth Dynasty manuscripts (Möller, Paläographie, vol. 2, 12, no. 148 and 40, no. 455). 23. Wb. III, 103.17. 24. Translated as “seven days” in Botti, JEA 41 (1955): 65; followed by Popko, http:// aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/GetTextDetails?u=guest&f=0&l=0&tc=1310&db=0; while numbers three to nine in Late Egyptian typically precede a noun, this rule is not generally true with expressions of time (Černý and Groll, Late Egyptian Grammar, 86–87). 25. Wb. I, 65.5; Janssen, Donkeys at Deir el-Medina, 80 (with previous literature). In the Late Egyptian Stories, the expression Abd n hrw can specify the number of months either preceding or following the word Abd; compare Doomed Prince, col. 7, l. 13 (= Gardiner, LES, 7, l. 9): m aHa n Abd 3 n hrw “for a period of three whole months”; and Contending of Horus and Seth, col. 8, ln. 10 (= Gardiner, LES, 48, lns. 8–9): m aHa n 3 Abd n hrw “for a period of three whole months.” 26. The reading “seven months” is the standard translation—compare Beylage, Aufbau der königlichen Stelentexte, vol. 1, 191; Klug, Königliche Stelen, 199; Morschauser, JARCE 25 (1988): 97 n. 54 reads the spelling in the Gebel Barkal Stela ( ) as “one month, seven days,” but neglects the attested Middle Egyptian writings of Abd as in the Shipwrecked Sailor (see Faulkner, Concise Dictionary of Middle Egyptian, 2 = Sh S 117). Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 208–209, questions the veracity of the length of the siege, although he provides no comparative evidence for his doubts; if the siege did not last exactly seven months, rounding a number of months either up or down to create an even figure is attested—compare the references to the suppression of the high priest of Amun, Amunhotep, as either eight or nine months depending on the source (Wente, JNES 25 [1966]: 82). 27. Rochholz, Schopfung, Feindvernichtung, Regeneration. 28. Compare the speech that Thutmose III delivers from his camp at Qina prior to the Battle of Megiddo (Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 24). 29. See p. 192. 30. Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 35. 31. Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 88–90.

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32. For a summary of analysis of the new-moon date, see Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 25–29. 33. On the meaning of the rxy.t-lapwing to represent the population of Egypt, see, most recently, Gutschmidt, in Peust, Miscellanea in honorem Wolfhart Westendorf, 28–33. 34. Such an image appears as early as the prophecy of Neferti (Helck, Prophezeiung des Nfr.tj, 2d ed., 27): iw Apd{w} DrDri.t r ms(i).t m XA.t n.t tA-mHw ir.n=f SA Hr gs.wy rmT “A foreign (type of) bird will breed in the marshes of the Delta, having created its nest beside the people (of Egypt).” 35. Grimal, Les termes de la propagande, 76–78; for Middle Kingdom antecedents, see Blumenthal, Untersuchungen zum ägyptischen Königtum, 222. 36. KRI II, 319, lns. 5–6; also noted in Edgerton and Wilson, Historical Records, 16 n. 45a. 37. See Goldwasser, Prophets, Lovers, and Giraffes. 38. Heinz, Feldzugdarstellungen, 272, VIII.7; Spalinger, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies, 479, notes: “The event is unique among all the battle reliefs of the New Kingdom. This does not mean, however, that it records a ‘true’ event. The veracity with which we attempt to grapple is absent. Instead, the dramatic nature of the expression is what counts.” 39. On the verb DnH, see p. 192. 40. Heinz, Felzugdarstellungen, 165–169; Junker, in Firchow, ed., Ägyptologische Studien, 168–175. As early as the First Dynasty, hieroglyphic depictions of birds can be found including the binding of wings—see Kahl, SAK 28 (2000): 125–129. 41. P. Anastasi II, col. 5, lns. 3–4 (= Gardiner, LEM, 15, lns. 3–4): iw tAy=k wrry.t hnn. ti m Dr.t wr.w DnH.ti r HA.t=k. 42. This text also possesses an iconographic parallel in the Nubian war stela of Amunhotep III (Cairo CG 34026; for a convenient image, see Schulz and Seidel, eds., Egypt, The World of the Pharaohs, 191). 43. See the citations on p. 192. 44. Grimal, Les termes de la propagande, 74–75; compare also Urk. IV 1666, lns. 7-8: spr Hm=f r=sn mi Ht bik mi MnTw m xpr.w=f “His majesty reached them like the wing stroke of a falcon like Montu in his manifestations.” 45. Martin, in Barta and Krejčí, eds., Abusir and Saqqara in the Year 2000, 99–120; Raven, in ibid., 133–144. 46. Theban Tomb 376 belongs to a man with military titles named Paser (Urk. IV 1455: 8–1457:11), but since the tomb refers only to Amunhotep II, an identification with Paser in the Turin tale is uncertain (compare Gnirs and Loprieno, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 264, n. 86). 47. Urk. IV 1, ln. 16, and 2, ln. 11; these examples of emphasis on the matrilineal descent do not signal a larger trend in Egyptian society—see Whale, The Family in the Eighteenth Dynasty of Egypt, 261–264. 48. Compare the names tA-aA.t and tA-Aa(t)-imn in Ranke, Personennamen, vol. 1, 354, nos. 13-15. Schneider, Asiatische Personennamen does not include the name Taatja, but discusses iA as ilu on pp. 30–33; the closest parallel in Schneider’s list is the name tA-aA-mi-T-w, who is the wife of the vizier aA-mi-T-w during the reign of Thutmose III (for more on this vizier, see below). 49. For jAw as a writing of il(u), see Hoch, Semitic Words in Egyptian Texts, 27–28; Schneider, Ausländer in Ägypten, vol. 2, 123; see Richards, The Anra Scarab, 152– 160 for El in Egyptian contexts. Less likely is Ja as an abbreviation of Yahweh, which may appear as Yhw already in a toponym list of Amunhotep III at Soleb

Notes [ 2 4 3 ]

(Redford, Egypt, Canaan, and Israel, 272–273; idem, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 91 and n. 198). 50. On the vizierial family, see Bryan, in Cline and O’Connor, eds., Thutmose III, 72–76; Dorman, in Strudwick and Taylor, eds., The Theban Necropolis: Past, Present and Future, 37–39; Whale, Family in the Eighteenth Dynasty, 55–58, 131–135. 51. For the complexity of equating names with ethnic origin, see Riggs and Baines, “Ethnicity,” in Wendrich, ed., UEE (http://escholarship.org/uc/item/32r9x0jr). 52. KRI II, 67–68 (P205-213); for the different version in P. Sallier III, see Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 134ff. 53. KRI II, 69, lns. 1–5 (P215). 54. Compare Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 91–98. 55. Parkinson, Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt, 182–187. 56. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 119–124, and references therein. 57. Schulman, in Bryan and Lorton, eds., Essays in Egyptology, 265–295 (his assumption that the deity is a priest play-acting the role of the god remains unconvincing). 58. Morschauser, in Goedicke, ed., Perspectives on the Battle of Kadesh, 126–132; Spalinger, Aspects of the Military Documents, 108 59. For a juridical interpretation of the speeches, particularly revolving around the concept of do ut des, see Morschauser, in Goedicke, ed., Perspectives on the Battle of Kadesh, 123–206. 60. KRI II, 44, ln. 6 (P45), ln. 5 (= §§128-131): gm.n=i ib=i wmt HAty=i m rSw.t pA i.ir=i nb Hr xpr tw.i mi MnTw tw.i Hr sTt Hr wnmy=i Hr kfa m smHy=i tw.i mi 4wtx m A.t=f m Hr=sn No major differences in meaning occur between the monumental version and P.  Sallier III; the latter substitutes gm.n=(i) wi in place of gm.n=i and writes pA i.ir=i in place of pA irr=i (see further Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 31–32). 61. In the context of the Kadesh text, this sDm.n=f is circumstantial to a preceding nominal sentence. 62. Fischer-Elfert, SAK 27 (1999):  81–82; Spalinger, in Lesko, ed., Egyptological Studies in Honor of Richard A. Parker, 156–157; von der Way, Die Textüberlieferung Ramses’ II. zur QadeS-Schlacht, 186–188. 63. Grimal, Les termes de la propogande, 409–421. 64. For a more detailed discussion of the role of Seth in Egyptian theology and historical fiction, see pp. 152–155. 65. See Chapter 6, note 50. 66. Expressed in the Egyptian word A.t, which is determined with a hippopotamus head and can refer to a length of time or the power of a divinity (Wb. I, 1.12–2.4; Wilson, A Ptolemaic Lexikon, 25; see also Werner, Montu, 290–291. 67. Although the Egyptians have no Pegasus, chariot horses can be compared to shooting stars and falcons; cf. Urk. IV 1306, lns. 3–4 (Amunhotep II, Memphis Stela): ist pA HoA nSny mi bik nTry Htri=f Hr ax mi sbA n p.t “The ruler raged like a divine falcon, his horses flying like a star in the sky”; KRI V 22, ln. 9 (Ramesses III, Year 5 Libyan Text): ssm.wt=f mi bik.w mAA=sn xp.t “His horses like falcons when they see small birds.”

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68. See p. 149. 69. Rommelaere, Les chevaux du nouvel empire égyptien, 89–121. 70. Littauer and Crouwel, Chariots and Related Equipment from the Tomb of Tut’ankhamūn. 71. Darnell and Manassa, Tutankhamun’s Armies, 39–40, 78; Hofmann, in Fansa and Burmeister, eds., Rad und Wagen, 149–150; Kakosy, Studia Aegyptiaca 3 (1977): 57–65. 72. Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 1, pls. 24–25. 73. For divine presence on the battlefield, compare the passages and discussion in von der Way, Die Textüberlieferung Ramses’ II. zur QadeS-Schlacht, 174–197; note additionally the important depiction of Montu in the chariot with Thutmose IV (see below). 74. See, conveniently, Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, vol. 2, 35–39. 75. Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 1, pl. 17. 76. Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 22–26 (he notes that how he restores the standards would follow the sequence of the archaic “followers of Horus”); a very different restoration appears in Urk. IV 652 (ln. 15)–652 (ln. 2):  “Mar[ching] northwards by my Majesty bearing (the aegis) of my father [Amun-Ra, lord of the thrones of the two lands, as he opened the roads] before me. Horakhty was strengthening the heart of my victorious army, as my father [Amun made] victorious the sword [of my Majesty].” 77. Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 2, pl. 101, ln. 19; on this passage, see Darnell, ZÄS 124 (1997):  103–104. For the “storminess” of pharaoh, compare among the many possible examples in the Year 8 Sea People text of Ramesses (= KRI V 37, ln. 14): nSn.ty mAA.n=f sky mi sxm.t nSn.ty m A.t on.t=s “Who storms when he has witnessed combat, like Sakhmet who storms at the moment of her rage.” Such epithets also relate the king to Seth and Baal as storm gods, for which see p. 113. 78. For Amun as god of the wind, see Klotz, Adoration of the Ram, 28–29, 59–65; idem, Caesar in the City of Amun, 61–63 (both with references therein); Leitz et al., eds., Lexikon der ägyptischen Götter, vol. 8, 68–69; note in particular P. Leiden I 350, recto 3, ln. 19, which describes the sbi wind turning back (an) before Amun (Zandee, De Hymnen aan Amon van Papyrus Leiden I 350, 59 and pl. 3, ln. 19). 79. Klotz, Caesar in the City of Amun, 147–167; Werner, The God Montu, passim. 80. Werner, JARCE 23 (1986): 107–123. 81. Carter and Newberry, Tomb of Thoutmosis IV, pls. 10–11; Heinz, Feldzugdarstellungen, 236. For another textual parallel to this image, compare the Kadesh Battle Poem P287, in which Sakhmet appears with the king in his chariot. 82. For the fragments on the verso, which do not contain enough continuous text to reconstruct the narrative, see pp. 190–191. 83. Cf. Gnirs and Loprieno, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 266. 84. Urk. IV 1236, lns. 3–5: aHa.n rdi.n Hm=i di=tw n=sn wA.t r niw.wt=sn Sm.n=sn r Aw Hr aA.w iT=i Htr.w=sn 85. For an overview of the Egyptian, Mesopotamian, and Biblical evidence, see Stadelmann, in Czerny et al., eds., Timelines, vol. 2, 301–304. While the female

Notes [ 2 4 5 ]

aA.t can refer to male donkeys, the use of the feminine article in Thutmose III in Asia indicates that a female donkey is intended—cf. Vernus, in Moers et al., eds., jn.t Dr.w: Festschrift für Friedrich Junge, vol. 2, 693–698. 86. For the handful of examples of depictions of horse-back riding (typically “donkeyseat”), see Rommelaere, Les chevaux du nouvel empire égyptien, 123–134; the earlier study of Schulman, JNES 16 (1957): 263–271 remains useful. 87. Stadelmann, in Czerny et al., eds., Timelines, vol. 2, 302. 88. For daily life and donkeys, see Janssen, Donkeys at Deir el-Medina. 89. I would like to thank one of the reviewers for pointing to this fact and suggesting parallels to medieval through modern practices of shaming a person by placing them backwards on a donkey (whether the Egyptians placed the Syrian chiefs in a similarly humiliating position is not known)—for the motif, see Mellinkoff, Viator 4 (1973): 153–176. 90. Naville, The Temple of Deir el-Bahari, Pt. III, pl. 69. 91. Compare the description of Thutmose III’s first campaign (Urk. IV 185, lns. 6–9): ist in.n Hm=i Hm.wt n.t xrw pf Hna ms.w Hna Hm.wt n.t wr.w wn.w [Hna=f Hna] ms.w nb Now, my Majesty had carried off the wives of that ruler, and his children, and the wives of the rulers who were [with him, and] all of the children. Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 125, notes:  “On no other campaign is it recorded that so many high-ranking women were targeted for capture and deportation. One wonders whether the buried princesses discovered by Winlock, all of whom bear West-Semitic names, constituted part of this captivity.” For the publication of these foreign queens, see Lilyquist, The Tomb of Three Foreign Wives of Tuthmosis III. CHAPTER 5 1. While this topic hardly needs referencing, the boundaries of kemet are often misinterpreted: see inter alia Goelet, in Chazan et al., eds., Ki Baruch Hu: Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Judaic Studies in Honor of Baruch A. Levine, 23–42; Darnell, Enchoria 17 (1990): 69–81. 2. Darnell, in Wilkinson, ed., The Egyptian World, 29–48; unfortunately, erroneous descriptions of Egypt’s views of its desert hinterlands continue to be published— see most recently Morris, in Hawass and Ikram, eds., Thebes and Beyond: Studies in Honor of Kent Weeks, 129–144. 3. Riemer and Förster, eds., Desert Road Archaeology in the Eastern Sahara, forthcoming. 4. D. Darnell, in Friedman, ed., Egypt and Nubia: Gifts of the Desert, 165–169; Hope, in Friedman, ed., Egypt and Nubia:  Gifts of the Desert, 56–58 (including early Neolithic material as well); McDonald, http://cohesion.rice.edu/CentersAndInst/ SAFA/emplibrary/McDonald,M.SAfA2006.pdf (accessed July 15, 2011); see now the overview of the Sheikh Muftah culture in Riemer, El Kharafish, 260–288. 5. Hope, in Hawass and Richards, eds., The Archaeology and Art of Ancient Egypt, vol. 1, 403–410. 6. Cairo CG 14238; for a summary of Early Dynastic interactions with the Western Desert, see Wilkinson, Early Dynastic Egypt, 173–175.

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7. On the toponymn Tjehenu, see Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, 82–85. 8. Urk. I  232, 13; Spalinger, JSSEA 9 (1979):  125–160; Gundlach, Die Zwangsumsiedlung auswärtiger Bevölkerung, 88–90. 9. The reliefs that Sahure (or possibly an earlier ruler) commissioned to commemorate his victory over the Libyans were copied by three additional Old Kingdom rulers—Niuserre, Pepi I, and Pepi II—and almost two millennia later during the reign of Taharqa; in each case, the later rulers copied not only the layout of the reliefs, but even the names of the Libyan chief and his family members. For this scene, an excellent example of “history as ritual” (see Chapter 1, note 36), see Stockfisch, in Schade-Busch, ed., Wege öffnen: Festschrift für Rolf Gundlach zum 65. Geburtstag, 315–323. 10. Marochetti, Reliefs of the Chapel of Nebhepetra Mentuhotep at Gebelein, 57–61. 11. Led by the future Senwosret I, the Libyan campaign is an important event in the beginning of The Story of Sinuhe; archaeological remains, such as the fortress of Qaret el-Dahr, with large blocks containing the cartouche of Amenemhat I, supports the literary evidence. For the site of Qaret el-Dahr, see Fakhry, ASAE 40 (1940):  845–848; a more recent plan of the site appears in Marquié, CCE 8:1 (2001): 77–114 (a report on the Roman Period remains that are the focus of current excavations). 12. Some conflicts may have already begun during the reign of Akhenaten, although the evidence is sparse and related primarily to an enigmatic painted papyrus from Amarna—see Darnell and Manassa, Tutankhamun’s Armies, 196–200. 13. Cf. Osing, in LÄ III, cols. 1015–1033. 14. For overviews of Egyto–Libyan relations during the New Kingdom, see Kitchen, in Leahy, ed., Libya and Egypt, 15–27; Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, 82–85, passim; O’Connor, in Ancient Egypt: A Social History, 271–278; idem, in Leahy, ed., Libya and Egypt, 29–113; Snape, in O’Connor and Quirke, eds., Mysterious Lands, 93–106; Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 235–248; for Seti I in particular, see Murnane, Road to Kadesh, 99–100. 15. Habachi, BIFAO 80 (1980):  13–30; Hoffmeier, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies, 215–216; Morris, Architecture of Imperialism, 624–645; Snape, in O’Connor and Quirke, eds., Mysterious Lands, 100–105; Spencer, Kom Firin I, 22–24; Thomas, MDAIK 56 (2000): 371–376. 16. Snape and Wilson, Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham I, 128. 17. Snape, Libyan Studies 34 (2003):  6–7; idem, in Bietak, Czerny, and ForstnerMüller, eds., Cities and Urbanism in Ancient Egypt, 271–288. 18. Hope and Kaper, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honour of K. A. Kitchen, 219–236; Hope summarizes the significance on pp. 225–226:  The occurrence of Ramesside material especially in Dakhleh Oasis attests a continued interest in the region, which may be related to the Libyan menace. The link between these categories of material seems inescapable, and Egyptian activity in the oases of the Western Desert may reasonably be considered to reflect a concern not only with the economic exploitation of the region but with the security of its western border and its dealings with the Libyans. 19. The bibliography on the Libyan Period is large and diverse—among the useful overviews, see Broekman, Demarée, and Kaper, eds., The Libyan Period in Egypt; Ritner, The Libyan Anarchy; Vittmann, Ägypten und die Fremden.

Notes [ 2 4 7 ]

20. Ritner, in Broekman, Demarée, and Kaper, eds., The Libyan Period in Egypt, 333–339. 21. On this final point, see Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 362, noting that forms such as the non-initial main sentence (iw=f Hr sDm) and circumstantial negative past (iw bw pw=f sDm) indicate that P. Louvre 3136 is not (directly) derivative of a monumental hieroglyphic source. 22. Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 359. 23. Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 359. 24. In several cases these points are placed between the subject of a sentence and an adverbial adjunct within the same statement, and of the seventeen supralinear points in the two columns, only seven appear to mark a break between sentences. 25. On the possible use of these points as a scribal means of “checking” a text, see p. 26. 26. Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 359–365. 27. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, 125–133. 28. Popko, “Kriegsgeschichte Ramses’ III,” http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/GetTextD etails?u=guest&f=0&l=0&tc=31&db=0. 29. The philological notes to the text appear in Appendix 4, pp. 195–201. 30. For a collection of nonliterary references to the king’s role as military leader, see Shaw, Royal Authority in Egypt’s Eighteenth Dynasty, 87–125. 31. KRI V 10, lns. 9–10: wD tw it=k Imn r sksk pD.wt psD.t. 32. KRI V 11, lns. 2-3: wD Hm=f ib=f wsr m on nxt r tA pn Xsy n tmH nty m bA.w n Hm=f m it=f sbi sw m Htp m aH n wAs.t 33. For more detailed philological commentary on this passage, see p. 198. 34. Cf. Epigraphic Survey, Reliefs and Inscriptions at Luxor Temple, vol. 1, pl. 91, ln. 2; commentary volume, 35. 35. For the songs of soldiers during the Opet Festival, see Darnell, “Opet Festival,” in UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology. Compare also the Turin ostracon published in Maspero, RdT 2 (1880): 116–117. 36. Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 2, pl. 111; for a song of victory in a more strictly military context, compare the xnw n swhA “chorus of cheering” after the rout of the enemy in the initial skirmish between the army of Thutmose III and the forces of the prince of Kadesh at Megiddo, described in a damaged portion of the Karnak annals (Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 23) and the fearsome shout in the tenth campaign of Thutmose III (ibid., 85-86). Military songs are attested in other ancient cultures as well—compare the Roman songs described in Östenberg, Staging the World, 260 and n. 333. 37. Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 1, pl. 23, ln. 2 (= KRI V 18, ln. 4); pl. 27, ln. 37 (=KRI V 23, ln. 15; note the variant: “Amun-Re is the god who decreed the protection (nxw) of the ruler against every land”). 38. See p. 198. 39. Raue, Heliopolis und das Haus des Re. 40. Goedicke, BACE 6 (1995): 39–42; for the interconnectedness of the urban centers and necropoli of the Memphite area, see also Jeffreys, in Guksch and Polz, eds., Stationen, 63–71. 41. For Heliopolis and Memphis as dual concerns for the pharaoh, compare line 6 of the Great Karnak Inscription (KRI IV, 3, lns. 4–5): [ . . . ] r mkt Iwnw niw.t tm r xw.t inb-ity n tA-(t)nn r swDA st Hr Dw.t “in order to protect Heliopolis, the

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city of Atum, in order to guard Ineb-iti (Memphis) for Tatenen, in order to keep them safe from evil.” In lines 15–16 of the Israel Stela (KRI IV, 16, lns. 10-13), Merneptah is described as: pA nhp Hr Hwt-kA-PtH wSbt Iwnw “the one who cares for Memphis, who champions Heliopolis.” 42. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 113–115. 43. Victory Stela, ln. 3 (= KRI IV, 13, lns. 12–15). 44. Victory Stela, lns. 8–9 (=KRI IV, 15, lns. 1–3). 45. KRI IV, 34, lns. 13–14. 46. Darnell and Manassa, Tutankhamun’s Armies, 118–119. 47. A convenient overview appears in Müller, BACE 20 (2009): 115–142, although his discussion fails to note the important distinction between the direct cruelty of inflicting pain on someone and the more abstract cruelty of mutilating a corpse (e.g. severing a hand or phallus). 48. On this ceremony, see Binder, The Gold of Honour; on the palace and gift-giving to officials, see Raedler, in Gundlach and Klugs, eds., Der ägyptische Hof des Neuen Reiches, 59–64. 49. Ln. 12 (= KRI IV, 3, ln. 14); for the reading, see Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 21–22. 50. For the historical context of the Victory Stela, see inter alia Ahituv and Oren, eds., The Origin of Early Israel; Hasel, Domination & Resistance; Killebrew, Biblical Peoples and Ethnicity. 51. Lacovara, New Kingdom Royal City, 28–29; O’Connor, in Bleiberg and Freed, eds., Fragments of a Shattered Visage, 167–198. See also O’Connor, in Silverman and O’Connor, eds., Ancient Egyptian Kingship, 263–300. 52. O’Connor, in Bleiberg and Freed, eds., Fragments of a Shattered Visage, 172–178 and references therein to older archaeological reports. 53. O’Connor, in Bleiberg and Freed, eds., Fragments of a Shattered Visage, 175. 54. Fisher, Museum Journal 12 (1921): 30–34. 55. The identification of the unusually situated Window of Appearances at the palace of Merneptah in Memphis remains a topic of debate—see Vomberg, Das Erscheinungsfenster innerhalb der amarnazeitlichen Palastarchitektur, 258–260. The “window” mentioned in the Great Karnak Inscription is not attributed to a specific palace, but the relationship of Memphis to the Libyan campaign makes the Memphite palace an attractive possibility (for the text, see KRI IV, 8, ln. 1; Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 52). 56. For popular access to the palace, compare Kitchen, in Oren, ed., The Origin of Early Israel, 90; O’Connor, in O’Connor and Silverman, eds., Ancient Egyptian Kingship, 266–290. 57. For an extensive overview of the literature and archaeological evidence, see Vomberg, Das Erscheinungsfenster innerhalb der amarnazeitlichen Palastarchitektur. 58. While Vomberg, in Das Erscheinungsfenster innerhalb der amarnazeitlichen Palastarchitektur, suggests that the Theban west bank palaces were not actually used, O’Connor, in Silverman and O’Connor, eds., Ancient Egyptian Kingship, 279–283, argues for a ceremonial or at the very least symbolic use directly tied to the functioning administrative palace on the east bank. Note also the cogent arguments in Endruweit, in Moers et al., eds. jn.t Dr.w, Festschrift für Friedrich Junge, vol. 1, 145–177 (particularly on the applicability of the “false door” for linking the occasional actual use of the building with the king’s continual presence).

Notes [ 2 4 9 ]

59. Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 2, pl. 111; Kemp, Ancient Egypt, 2d ed., 273–276; see also Ritner, Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice, 122–128. 60. Interestingly, at the Window of Appearances at Medinet Habu, the smiting scenes include Nubians, Asiatics, and Libyans, but the enemy presentation scenes contain only enemies that Ramesses III definitely fought, Libyans and Sea Peoples; in sum, this represents a juxtaposition of topos and mimesis among Ramesses III’s military deeds. 61. For the theological implication of fencing, see Decker, in Ulf, ed., Ideologie— Sport—Außenseiter, 129–143; Piccione, in Teeter and Larson, eds., Gold of Praise, 335–349. 62. Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 2, pl. 111. 63. On the term wiAwiA, see Darnell, Inscription of Katimala, 28–29. 64. Caminos, LEM, 64–65, n.  1. Compare also the mention of the Window of Appearances in P. Harris I 4, 12 (Grandet, Le papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 22, n. 97) and 78, 4 (describing how the products of the mining expedition to Timna were paraded beneath the Window). 65. P. Koller col. 5, lns. 1–3 (= Gardiner, LEM, 120); slightly modified translation of Caminos, LEM, 438–439. A  similar list of preparations appears in Anastasi IV, col. 13, ln. 8 through col. 17, ln. 9; among the items in this list are fine horses from Mesopotamia and Turkey—a nice parallel with the depiction of Ramesses III training his horses in the upper right corner of the same wall as the facade of the Window of Appearances at Medinet Habu (Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 2, pl. 109). 66. Cf. Endruweit, in jn.t Dr.w: Festschrift für Friedrich Junge, vol. 1, 145–177. 67. P. Anastasi col. 6, lns. 1–4 (= Gardiner, LEM, 15); Caminos, LEM, 48–49. 68. For references to the other named palace—aH wTs-nfrw—see Caminos, LEM, 49. 69. For the palace as cosmos, see O’Connor, in O’Connor and Silverman, eds., Ancient Egyptian Kingship, 290–296. 70. On kingship and solar religion, see most recently Spalinger, The Great Dedicatory Inscription of Ramesses II. 71. Darnell, Enigmatic Netherworld Books, 137; note also the presence of the sundisk as “classifier” in words relating to shade and shadow—Goldwasser, Prophets, Lovers, and Giraffes, 14. 72. Bell, in Mélanges Mokhtar, vol. I, 32–37; for the interesting episode of the shade of Tjekerbaal in the Story of Wenamun, see Moers, Fingierte Welten, 142–144; Jackson, JNES 54 (1995): 273–286. For iconographic evidence, compare the sunshade with royal cartouches among weapons and other “New Year’s gifs” in the tomb of Qenamun—Davies, The Tomb of Ken-Amun at Thebes, pl. 20. 73. See the passages cited on p. 199 below. 74. Teeter, Presentation of Maat, 89–90. 75. For the king’s role to sxpr Maat, compare Assmann, Ma’at, 186–189, passim. 76. Faulkner, JEA 39 (1953): 42. 77. Coulon, CRIPEL 28 (2009–10):  211–238; Maderna-Sieben, in Gundlach and Rößler-Köhler, eds., Selbstverständnis und Realität, 77–98; Spalinger, Five Views on Egypt, 87–121;; on the setting of some royal hymns upon a king’s arrival at a city, see Fischer-Elfert, SAK 27 (1999): 65–85; Ragazzoli, Éloges de la ville, 157–160. 78. See the discussion on pp. 17–18 above. 79. Even texts outside of the historical genres, such as the “praise of cities,” can include allusions to historical events, such as Ramesses II’s marriage to a Hittite princess—see Ragazzoli, Éloges de la ville, 141–142; note also the encomium to

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Ramesses V in P.  Chester Beatty I—see Verhoeven, in Schade-Busch, ed., Wege öffnen, 352–363, for the relationship between the encomium and the story The Contending of Horus and Seth. 80. Gauthier, Dictionnaire, vol. II, 58; de Meulenaere, BIFAO 62 (1964):  161, 170; Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 25–26; Spencer, Kom Firin I, 7–8; the arguments of Vandersleyen, in Eyre, ed., Seventh International Congress, 1201–1202, situating Perire near the mouth of the Fayum does not find confirmation in the other sources; finally, Gardiner, AEO II, 106*, no. 387: tA wHy n Iry-st(?) is probably not a reference to Perire. 81. See Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 23–26, 42, 56–57. 82. KRI IV, 22, lns. 8–9 (restoration from the parallel passage in the Great Karnak Inscription). 83. See Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 25–26, and Spencer, Kom Firin I, 7–8, for earlier scholars’ suggestions. 84. See the judicious comments of Spencer, Kom Firin I, 7–8; note also the martialthemed text on a newly published doorjamb from Kom Firin in Spencer, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honour of K. A. Kitchen, 493–504. 85. Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 251; for the site of Kom Abu Billo, see Hawass, SAK 7 (1979): 75–88. The location of Kom Abu Billo at the end of the Wadi Natrun has particular significance for the Libyan invasion, since Merey led his large force through several Western Desert oases, using desert roads to maintain uncertainty about the objective of his attack; the statement in line 15 of the Karnak Inscription: “it is at the fields of Perire that he (Merey) reached the western borders” could then refer to the Libyan army reaching the Nile through the Wadi Natrun, after having traveled from Farafra and attacked the land of the Tjehenu. 86. Gardiner, Ancient Egyptian Onomastica II, 161*. 87. Cf. Wb. I 515.10, defining the word as “villa.” 88. Ln. 49 (= KRI IV, 8, lns. 3–4); Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 56–57. 89. Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. II, n. 101 (pp. 23–24), n. 519 (pp. 130–131). 90. Kemp, Ancient Egypt: Anatomy of a Civilization, 1st ed., 188–190. 91. Such specialized supply-forts existed among the fortification of Middle Kingdom Nubia, such as the fortress of Askut (see Smith, Askut in Nubia, 44–50). In addition to regular foodstuffs, the western Delta, and possibly foundations such as the pr-mA, might have also produced wine; for viticulture in the western Delta, compare Abdel Samie, Hieratic Documents from the Ramesside Period, 44–45; McGovern, JEA 83 (1997): 89–90. 92. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 48–50; Morris, Architecture of Imperialism, 774–782. For economic development in the Western Delta as well, compare a statue of an official named Amenmose (Twentieth Dynasty) that records the foundation of new religious edifices for Amun-Re at an unknown location in the Western Delta; see Frood, Biographical Texts from Ramessid Egypt, 183–185; Gardiner, JEA 34 (1948): 19–22. 93. Compare the mention of pA dmi Wsr-mAa.t-ra xsf 7mHw (Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 1, pl. 22) in Ramesses III’s Year 5 campaign. 94. KRI V, 50, lns. 3–4; Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 2, pl. 70. 95. Sorouzian, Les Monuments du roi Merenptah. 96. von der Way, Göttergericht und “Heiliger” Krieg im Alten Ägypten. 97. KRI IV, 2–12; Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription; Kitchen, RITA, vol. IV, 2–10. 98. A recent suggestion by Redford (in Hawass and Richards, eds., The Archaeology and Art of Ancient Egypt, vol. 2, 300) that Dedy is a title rather than a name is unlikely.

Notes [ 2 5 1 ]

For the significance of naming an enemy in Egyptian texts, see Loprieno, Topos und Mimesis, 38–40; for naming and namelessness, see also pp. 37–38. 99. The doubts of a combined Libyan–Sea People force in Iskander, in D’Auria, ed., Offerings to the Discerning Eye, 187–193, rely on hypothetical restorations and do not fit the clear association of the two groups in Merneptah’s historical inscriptions, such as that stated explicitly in the Kom el-Ahmar Stela, ln. 13 (KRI IV, 22, ln. 8): IoAySA nA xAs.tyw [nA] ym in.n pA wr Xsy “ . . . Akawasha, the foreign lands of the sea, which the wretched chief [of the Libu] brought” and the column that describes the Shekelesh being with the chief of the Libu (KRI IV, 23, lns. 6-7). 100. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, 94–99. 101. On these routes, see Darnell, in Wilkinson, ed., The Egyptian World, 29–48; Giddy, Egyptian Oases, 5–18. 102. Hope and Kaper, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honour of K. A. Kitchen, 219–236; a permanent New Kingdom presence in Farafra Oasis is also possible, but not confirmed—see Giddy, Egyptian Oases, 47–48. 103. KRI IV, 4, ln. 9; Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 28–30. 104. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 23–27. 105. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 103–107. 106. For overviews of military events during the reign of Ramesses III, see Grandet, Le Papyrus Harris I; idem, Ramsès III; Morris, Architecture of Imperialism, 774–782; Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 235–248, all with references to previous literature. 107. Grimal, in Guksch and Polz, eds., Stationen, 263–271; Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 113–115. 108. The only toponymn associated with the Year 5 invasion appears in the pictorial record; during the accounting of enemy dead (through severed hands and phalli), a fortress labeled “Usermaatre, beloved of Amun, repels the Tjemehu” appears in the background (Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 1, pl. 22). 109. Contra Lesko, Serapis 6 (1980): 83–86; for more detailed arguments, see Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 131–132. 110. KRI V, 24, ln. 14–15. 111. Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 246–247. 112. KRI V, 65, lns. 2–5; Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 2, pl. 83, lns. 46–47. 113. O’Connor, in Leahy, ed., Libya and Egypt, 29–113. 114. See, conveniently, Edgerton and Wilson, Historical Records of Ramses III, 87–94. 115. Victory Stela, lns. 4–5 (KRI IV, 14, lns. 3–4), Merneptah is di Hry nHH m ib MSwS “one who puts eternal fear into the hearts of the Meshwesh;” in the Kom el-Ahmar Stela, verso, ln. 5 (KRI IV, 21, ln. 16) states: mSwS fx nHH m pHty n aHAwty on “The Meshwesh are devastated forever through the might of the victorious warrior.” As O’Connor, in Leahy, ed., Libya and Egypt, 40, summarizes for Merneptah’s historical records: “Meshwesh parallels Tjemeh/Tjehnu as a designation of regions or people known to the Egyptians but not necessarily involved in these specific events.” 116. KRI IV, 9, ln. 4. 117. Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, 251–252. 118. P. Harris I, col. 76, ln. 11. 119. This analysis of P. Harris I follows Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. II, 245–251. 120. Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. 1, 337 and vol. 2, 245–254. 121. On the political structure of the Tjemehu, see O’Connor, in Leahy, ed., Libya and Egypt, 66–76.

[252]

Notes

122. Among the relevant sources for Egyptological analysis, see Bachhuber and Gareth Roberts, eds., Forces of Transformation:  The End of the Bronze Age in the Mediterranean; Bryce, Kingdom of the Hittites, 2d ed., 333–347; Cline and O’Connor, in O’Connor and Quirke, eds., Mysterious Lands, 107–138; Drews, The End of the Bronze Age; Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 240–243; Helck, Beziehungen Ägyptens und Vorderasiens zur Ägäis, 106–170; Killebrew, Biblical Peoples and Ethnicity, 197–246; Lipiński, On the Skirts of Canaan in the Iron Age, 36–48; Oren, ed., The Sea Peoples and their World; Sanders, The Sea Peoples; Stadelmann, LÄ V, cols. 814–822; Sweeney and Yasur-Landau, Tel Aviv 26 (1999): 116–145. 123. Hirsch, in Gundlach and Rößler-Köhler, eds., Das Königtum der Ramessidenzeit, 219–220. 124. Moran, The Amarna Letters, 150 (EA 81), 201–202 (EA 122, 123)—in EA 122 and 123, Ribaddi reports that Sherden are slain by Suteans; on Sherden in Egyptian sources, see also the summary of Cline and O’Connor, in O’Connor and Quirke, eds, Mysterious Lands, 114–115. 125. Kitchen, RITA, vol. 2, 120 (= KRI II, 290); idem, RITANC, vol. 2, 173–174. 126. Cline and O’Connor, in O’Connor and Quirke, eds., Mysterious Lands, 112–113; Kitchen, Pharaoh Triumphant, 40–41. 127. KRI II, 11, lns. 6–10 (P 26). 128. Drews, End of the Bronze Age, 104ff.; Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 77–82. For a contrasting presentation of chariot warfare tactics, see Littauer and Crouwel, in Raulwing, ed., Selected Writings on Chariots, other Early Vehicles, Riding and Harness, 66–74. 129. Roberts, in Bachhuber and Roberts, eds., Forces of Transformation: The End of the Bronze Age in the Mediterranean, 61–63. 130. Chevereau, Prosopographie des cadres militaires égyptiens du Nouvel Empire, 62 (titles “Commander of the great fortresses of the Sherden” and “Commander of the five fortresses of the Sherden”). 131. P. Harris I 76,8–76, 9; see further Grandet’s discussion in Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 203–204 (n. 833) and 243 (n. 919). 132. Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 6, pl. 600b; this example demonstrates that Srdn n pA ym in P. Harris I 76, 7 is not a scribal error (contra Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 240). 133. Katary, in Bowman and Rogan, eds., Agriculture in Egypt, 61–82; idem, CRIPEL 28 (2009–10): 292–293; Kemp, Ancient Egypt, 2d ed., 254–255, 297. 134. Cline and O’Connor, in O’Connor and Quirke, eds., Mysterious Lands, 116; Killebrew, Biblical Peoples and Ethnicity, 202–205. 135. For the different headband patterns in depictions of Pelset (circular) and Tjeker (triangular), see Gareth Roberts, in Bachhuber and Gareth Roberts, eds., Forces of Transformation: The End of the Bronze Age in the Mediterranean, 63–68 (as he notes, these small distinctions should not be taken as definitive evidence of identity in each case). 136. Cline and O’Connor, in O’Connor and Quirke, eds., Mysterious Lands, 120–122. 137. Cline and O’Connor, in O’Connor and Quirke, eds., Mysterious Lands, 116; Killebrew, Biblical Peoples and Ethnicity, 202–208. 138. One intriguing possible exception may be a gift from Tushratta, king of Mitanni, to Amunhotep III, which included “flaming arrows” (Moran, The Amarna Letters, 56, EA 22).

Notes [ 2 5 3 ]

139. The Gebel Barkal Stela of Thutmose III describes an unusual “celestial body” that burns up the enemy Nubian forces, but this is probably a meteor or other natural phenomenon rather than a man-made device (see Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 112–113). 140. An overview of incendiary devices in ancient warfare appears in Mayor, Greek Fire, Poison Arrows, and Scorpion Bombs, 207–250. 141. Cf. Polyaenus, Stratagems, 2.3.13. 142. Among the many possible examples, compare Gebel Barkal Stela (Urk. IV 1230, lns. 3–4): in Ax.t=f sxr n=f st nsr.t=f dr.t xfty.w “It is his uraeus that struck them down, his flaming one that repelled his foes.” The same fierce uraeus protects the solar god himself—cf. Assmann, Sonnenhymnen, 36; idem, Liturgische Lieder, 157 n. 10; other aspects of the royal regalia (such as the red crown) express from an early date the destruction of enemies—compare Goebs, Crowns in Egyptian Funerary Literature, 204ff. 143. Hasel, Domination & Resistance, 84–86. 144. Quirke, in M.  Bietak and E.  Czerny, eds., Scarabs of the Second Millennium BC, 183–184. 145. Cf. the goddess Sekhet, personification of the field, who presides over these activities:  Caminos, Literary Fragments in the Hieratic Script, 7; Guglielmi, WdO 7 (1974): 206–227; Hartwig, Tomb Painting and Identity, 104. The violent hippopotamus hunt is also designated kA.t sx.t “the work of Sekhet” [Guglielmi, WdO 7 (1974): 218–220; Säve-Söderbergh, Hippo Hunting, 10, 37–38;]. 146. See the list of attestations in Leitz et al., eds., Lexikon der ägyptischen Götter, vol. IV, 132; for a discussion of the epithet “mistress of the field,” particularly in relation to Delta Isaic cults, see Manassa, Enchoria 32 (2010–2011): 56–60. 147. Compare the description of the threat to the pyramid fields around Memphis in the Karnak Inscription—see Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 113–115. 148. Urk. IV 7, ln. 7. 149. The speeches of the army are Urk. IV 649, lns. 14ff.; 651, lns. 16–17; 654, lns. 16ff. 150. On the euphemism “the strong arm of pharaoh” to explain the Egyptian army’s success in the absence of the pharaoh, see p. 186. 151. See p. 160 above. 152. Darnell and Manassa, Tutankhamun’s Armies, 118–119 and references therein. 153. Smith, The Fortress of Buhen: The Inscriptions, pl. 29, line 6. 154. Smith, The Fortress of Buhen: The Inscriptions, 127 n. 16. 155. Haring, in Demarée and Egberts, eds., Village Voices, 71–80; McDowell, Village Life, 226–227. The “enemy” (xry) that prevented work during the reign of Ramesses III is most likely not related to the Libyan incursions—see Haring, in Atti del VI Congresso Internazionale di Egittologia, 163. Note also the letter from the reign of Ramesses IX (P. Louvre 3169) that describes interactions with the Meshwesh in the Delta—translations and references in Kitchen, in Leahy, ed., Libya and Egypt, 22–23; Wente, Letters from Ancient Egypt, 53. 156. O. Cairo CG 25776 (Černy, Ostraca hiératiques, vol. 1, 85 and 97*; cited in Haring, in Demarée and Egberts, eds., Village Voices, 72 n. 6) consists of five broken lines, and no narrative can be reconstructed; the qaf at the end of line 2 may be the first letter of the name of the Libyan tribe Qeheq, hence its relevance here. x+2

[ . . . ] XAkw-ib xAs.t o[ho? . . . ] [ . . . ] rnpi nfr di.t HwA.t [xrw? . . . ] x+4 [ . . . ] r xnn ib=f [ . . . ] x+3

[254]

Notes

x+5

[ . . . ] xw=k sw nr=f mn.(w) [ . . . ]

x+2

[ . . . ] the evil ones, the foreign land of Q[eheq? . . . ] [ . . . ] beautiful youth who causes that [the enemies?] rot [ . . . ] x+4 [ . . . ] so that his heart might alight [ . . . ] x+3

x+5

[ . . . ] (so that) you might protect him, fear of him enduring [ . . . ]

The epithet rnpi nfr in line x+3 finds a parallel in the Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, line 2 (see Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 9). CHAPTER 6 1. Butterfield, The Historical Novel: An Essay, 6. 2. An estimation of the original textual corpus of pharaonic Egypt appears in Kahl, Siut—Theben, 28–29. For hints at additional New Kingdom stories that have not survived, see p. 19 above. 3. Orel, The Historical Novel from Scott to Sabatini, 3. 4. Compare the role of tA sxmxt-ib aA “the great female entertainer” in Fox, Love Songs and the Song of Songs, 55–56. 5. For general treatments of humor in ancient Egyptian sources, see Guglielmi, GM 36 (1979): 69–85; Houlihan, Wit and Humour; Morenz, SAK 27 (1999): 261–269; for post-New Kingdom material, compare Jasnow, Enchoria 27 (2001): 62–81. 6. Compare Parkinson, Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry, 179–180. 7. Cf. Assmann, The Mind of Egypt, 247: “Just as the new social class of patrons transformed the cultural semantics of the Old Kingdom and determined the loyalist worldview of the Middle Kingdom, so the new class of military leaders and military aristocrats determined the cultural forms of the New Kingdom, notably the Ramesside Period.” A more nuanced and detailed presentation of the description of the military as a social group can be found in Gnirs, Militär und Gesellschaft; idem, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 67–141; Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 70–82. 8. These commanders are probably the group that speaks in the first person plural at the end of the second column of P. Louvre 3136 (see pp. 139–140). 9. In Moers, ed., Definitely: Ancient Egyptian Literature, 79. 10. Spalinger, Five Views on Egypt, 5–49 (quote from p. 49). 11. Compare the analysis of Gnirs, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 91–95; for chariot officers and scribal training, see also idem, Militär und Gesellschaft, 19–31. 12. Menna’s letter to his son Merysakhmet/Pa-iry criticizes the son for his aimless travel, making allusions to “mingling with Asiatics” (Fischer-Elfert, in Dorn, ed., Living and Writing in Deir el-Medine, 87–92). 13. Cf. The Satirical Letter of Hori. 14. Loprieno, in O’Connor and Quirke, eds., Mysterious Lands, 31–51 (note particularly his discussion on pp. 42–45 of the centrifugal geography of the Ramesside Period); for the “genre” of travel literature, see Moers, Fingierte Welten. 15. Spalinger, Five Views on Egypt, 35–36. 16. Spalinger, War in Ancient Egypt, 1–31 (with particular reference to the reliefs of Ahmose). 17. For this as the defining feature of “history” in Egyptian literature, compare Derchain, RdE 42 (1992): 35–47 (for more on the Berlin Leather Roll, see note 70).

Notes [ 2 5 5 ]

18. The primary text edition remains Gardiner, Late-Egyptian Miscellanies; a translation and commentary was published by Caminos, Late-Egyptian Miscellanies. A  translation of select texts appears in Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II:  Neues Reich, 2d ed., 156–173. Convenient overviews in the context of New Kingdom literature include Moers, in Lloyd, ed., Companion to Ancient Egypt, 688–689; van de Walle, La transmission des textes littéraires égyptiens, 33–35. 19. Late-Egyptian Miscellanies, ix; recent editions of select genres within the LEM corpus include Jäger, Altägyptische Berufstypologien; Ragazzoli, Éloges de la ville en Égypte ancienne; Spalinger, Five Views on Egypt, 5–49. 20. Erman, Die ägyptischen Schülerhandschriften; Goelet, in D’Auria, ed., Servant of Mut: Studies in Honor of Richard A. Fazzini, 102–110; McDowell, in der Manuelian, ed., Studies in Honor of William Kelly Simpson, vol. 2, 601–608; idem, in Demarée and Egberts, eds., Deir el-Medina in the Third Millennium AD, 217–233; Osing, in Brancoli, Ciampini, and Roccati et al., eds., L’Impero ramesside, 135, suggests that around the reign of Ramesses II, the collection known as the Late Egyptian Miscellanies replaces the Book of Kemyt as an instructional text. 21. Hagen, in Dunn, ed., Current Research in Egyptology 2004, 84–99; idem, in Mairs and Stevenson, eds., Current Research in Egyptology 2005, 38–51; Jäger, Altägyptische Berufstypologie, 193–194; Quirke, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 382–383.. Note also the comments in Mathieu, in Andreu, ed., Deir elMédineh et la Vallée des Rois, 120–126, for schools and texts at Deir el-Medina. 22. Sweeney, LingAeg 14 (2006): 433–450. 23. This selective list of topics derives from P.  Bologna 1094, a miscellany that is almost entirely a collection of letters; one of the few other texts in the papyrus is a short hymn. 24. On this corpus, see Chapter 1, note 128 above. 25. Assmann, OLZ 69 (1974): 117–126; idem, in Moers, ed., Definitely: Egyptian literature, 1–15; Moers, in Lloyd, ed., Companion to Ancient Egypt, 699–701. 26. Helck, in Osing and Dreyer, eds., Form und Mass, 218–225; see also the references in Chapter 3, note 16. 27. Helck, SAK 15 (1988): 143–148. 28. See further Gnirs, in Gundlach and Vogel, eds., Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, 94–97; as she notes on p. 94, “Diese Kombination literarischer Texte dürfte nicht zufällig sein; sie zeigt, dass Liebesdichtung und romantische Kriegsliteratur von denselben Gesellschaftskreisen rezipiert wurden.” For the motif of a hero departing by chariot in fairy-tale as well as historical texts, see Liverani, in Bahrani and Van der Mieroop, eds., Myth and Politics in Ancient Near Eastern Historiography, 85–96 (cited in Spalinger, RdE 58 [2007]: 148) . 29. Spalinger, RdE 58 (2007):  147–151; as he notes on p.  150, “Baldly put, The Doomed Prince as The Two Brothers is a literary narrative and not a folktale.” 30. Simon, in Kessler et al., eds., Texte—Theben—Tonfragmente, 385–398. 31. The Doomed Prince and the Greek romances may also share a similar relationship vis-à-vis fate: “All moments of this infinite adventure-time are controlled by one force—chance.” (Bakhtin, Dialogic Imagination, 94). 32. Schneider, JSSEA 35 (2008): 181–205; the intertextuality between New Kingdom historical fiction, P. Anastasi I, and the LEM corpus argues against Hinzte’s suggestion that the lack of foreign words in the LES indicate that they were not composed by “educated scribes” (Untersuchungen zur Stil und Sprache, 76–77).

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Notes

33. Dawson and Peet, JEA 19 (1932): 167–174; Schulman, JSSEA 16 (1986): 28–35, 39–44; a new edition of this composition is in preparation by the author. 34. Compare the opposite phenomenon whereby a throwstick is used to classify a foreign word even though the word itself clearly refers to an Egyptian—see Allon, LingAeg 18 (2010): 8. 35. Egyptian historical fiction is as accepting of the values of imperialism as the archetype of British colonial literature, Kipling’s Kim; see, conveniently, the overview in Montefiore, Rudyard Kipling, 81–103 (esp. 87–88). 36. I would like to thank Jan Montefiore and Harish Trivedi for many of the references in this and the following footnote. Works praising Kipling’s use of foreign loan words and phrases, include inter alia Islam, Kipling Journal 171 (1969): 15–19; Lewis, Sahibs, Nabobs and Boxwallahs, 24–31 (noting that Kipling is not alone among nineteenth-century British authors who successfully employ Indian loan words); Shackle, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 48:  2 (1985):  386; Volodarskaya, Voprosy filologii 2000, No. 3:  39–52 (accessed 07/22/2011 at http://dlib.eastview.com/browse/doc/2369341). Note in particular the arguments in Stewart, Journal of Narrative Technique 13:1 (1983): 47–57 that Kipling’s success in capturing the voices of the characters has disturbed critics’ sensibilities, thus spurring negative reactions since the stories’ publication down to the present day; for a nuanced presentation, see Ambreen, Making Words Matter: The Agency of Colonial and Postcolonial Literature, 58–96. 37. Cf. Husain, The Indianness of Rudyard Kipling; Montefiore, Rudyard Kipling, 32–41. 38. Brunner, Grundzüge einer Geschichte der Altägyptischen Literatur, 94 n. 10; FischerElfert, in Tait, ed., Never Had the Like Occurred, 135; Quirke, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 386. Another narrative cycle may have centered around the god Bata, who appears in The Tale of the Two Brothers as well as a fragmentary Louvre Papyrus (E 25 353)—see Barbotin, RdE 50 (1999): 23. For later demotic cycles, see p. 163. 39. Brack and Brack, Das Grab des Tjanuni. 40. Urk. IV, 1004.2–10; see also Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 6. 41. Compare the Instruction of Ani, col. 10, ln. 6: “One teaches the Nubian to speak Egyptian, the Syrian and other foreigners too.” 42. For an overview of donkeys in early Egyptian ritual deposits and rock art, see Huyge, in Riemer et al., eds., Desert Animals in the Eastern Sahara, 293–307. 43. Wilkinson, Early Dynastic Egypt, 294–295. 44. For discussions of the theology of Seth, see inter alia Altenmüller, Synkretismus in den Sargtexten, 198–207; Assmann, Of God and Gods, 28–52; Hornung, Symbolon, N.F. 2 (1975): 49–64; te Velde, Seth, God of Confusion; idem, LÄ V, cols. 908–911; Zandee, ZAS 90 (1963): 144–156; for a recent overview of Seth in the post-New Kingdom era, see Schorsch and Wypyski, JARCE 45 (2009): 177–200; a collection of monuments relating to Seth appears in Cruz-Uribe, JARCE 45 (2009): 201–226. 45. On the 400 Year Stela, see pp. 47–48 above. 46. See p. 47. 47. See pp. 139–143. 48. See pp. 48–49. 49. Cf. te Velde, Seth, God of Confusion, 120. 50. On the equation of Seth and Baal, see Allon, Ä&L 17 (2007): 19–22; Pusch and Eggebrecht, in Czerny et  al., eds., Timelines, vol. 1, 249–261; Tazawa, SyroPalestinian Deities in New Kingdom Egypt, 154–159; Wettengel, Die Erzählung von den beiden Brüdern, 233–244.

Notes [ 2 5 7 ]

51. Grimal, Les termes de la propagande, 401–402. 52. Cornelius, The Iconography of the Canaanite Gods Reshef and Ba’al, 161–167, 212–224. 53. Broze, Les Aventures d’Horus et Seth dans le Papyrus Chester Beatty I, 119–20; Petschel and von Falck, eds., Pharao siegt immer, 21–22; Silverman and HouserWegner, in Hawass and Richards, eds., The Archaeology and Art of Ancient Egypt:  Essays in Honor of David B.  O’Connor, 417–418; te Velde, Seth, God of Confusion, 99–108. 54. Manassa, Late Egyptian Underworld, 526 s.v. “Apep,” esp. 303–306, 311–312. 55. te Velde, Seth, God of Confusion, 109–151; for the foreigners’ relationship with Seth affecting practical decisions, compare the possible significance of the “birthday of Seth” (the third epagomenal day) as the day that Shasu are granted permission to graze in the Delta (noted in Fischer-Elfert, in Leder and Streck, eds., Shifts and Drifts in Nomad-Sedentary Relations, 334). 56. Hornung, Symbolon, N.F. 2 (1975): 59–60; te Velde, JARCE 7 (1968): 37–40; for a cautionary note regarding Egyptian deities in the role of trickster rather being than trickster characters, see Borghouts, in Thompson and der Manuelian, eds., Egypt and Beyond, 48. 57. Hyde, Trickster Makes this World. 58. KRI IV 15, ln. 11: xAa swtx HA=f r pAy=sn wr fx nAy=sn wHy.w Xr s.t rA=f. 59. P. Anastasi II, col. 2, lns. 4–5 (= Gardiner, LEM, 13, lns. 2–4; note particularly the use of the negative aorist to describe the continual rejection of the foreign king’s offerings): xtA m bAw=f wa bw Szp nTr wdn=f bw ptr=f mw n.w p.t iw=f m bAw n Wsr-mAa.t-ra anx wDA snb 60. Here taking the opposite of the king’s proper role as stated in the treatise King as Solar Priest; see Assmann, König als Sonnenpriester. On the motif of “divine judgment” see von der Way, Göttergericht und heiliger Krieg, 35–48. 61. In the historical records of Merneptah, the divine presence is most clearly expressed in the dream of Merneptah in which Ptah presents the pharaoh with a khepesh-sword and the judgment of the enemy by the gods of Memphis (see, in general, von der Way, Göttergericht und “Heiliger” Krieg im Alten Ägypten; for the divine dream, see Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 40–41, 117–119; Szpakowska, Behind Closed Eyes, 52–54). 62. In Horowitz, ed., New Dictionary of the History of Ideas, xxxv. The need to reexamine Egyptian traditions of historiography is affirmed in Woolf’s reflection of the standard Egyptological viewpoint as: “nor is it clear that Egyptian efforts at record keeping, though certainly serious, were deliberately aimed at constructing accounts of the past for the benefit of present and future generations.” 63. Redford, Pharaonic King-lists, Annals, and Day-books, xv. 64. See inter alia (for New Kingdom and earlier sources), Assmann, The Mind of Egypt (and references to his extensive other historiographical discussions therein); Baines, Visual and Written Culture, 179–203; idem, in Feldherr and Hardy, eds., The Oxford History of Historical Writing; Beylage, Aufbau der königlichen Stelentexte vom

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Beginn der 18. Dynastie bis zur Amarnazeit, vol. 2, 534–538; Fitzenreiter, ed., Das Ereignis; Geschichtsschreibung zwischen Vorfall und Befund.; Popko, Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung der Ahmosiden-und Thutmosidenzeit, 141–162, passim; Redford, Pharaonic King-lists, Annals and Day-books; Van Seters, In Search of History, 127–187; Vernus, Essai sur la conscience de l’Histoire dans l’Égypte pharaonique (with a detailed treatment of The Lament of Khakheperresoneb); Wildung, Die Rolle ägyptischer Könige im Bewußtsein ihrer Nachwelt I. The following overview does not intend to summarize or survey the broad topic of historiography, but merely to demonstrate the potential contribution of the four works of New Kingdom historical fiction to this field of research. 65. P. Anastasi I, ln. 7 (Fischer-Elfert, Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I, 26): wHa itn.w gn.wt mi irr.t sn. 66. An interesting comparison is offered by cuneiform literature, which, despite its rich commentary tradition, does not include commentaries to historical inscriptions—see Frahm, Babylonian and Assyrian Text Commentaries, esp. p. 381. 67. The works of historical fiction would then represent the type of historical consciousness that Derchain assumed for the (presumed) Eighteenth Dynasty author of the Berlin Leather Roll (RdÉ 43 [1992]: 35–47); see further, note 70 below. 68. For administrative texts at Deir el-Medina, compare Haring, JESHO 46 (2003): 260. King lists in private contexts, such as the writings of Kenherkhopeshef, show both standard forms, as well as more “personal” lists, including the names of kings whose mortuary temples he may have visited—see McDowell, in Demarée and Egberts, eds., Village Voices, 96–97. 69. Gaballa, The Memphite Tomb Chapel of Mose; see also Piacentini and Orsenigo, in Piacentini and Orsenigo, eds., Egyptian Archives, 83–102. 70. Examples of copies of historical texts that are also extant in their monumental form (or a related version thereof) include the passage from one of the Kamose Stelae on the Carnarvon tablet (see Chapter 2, note 2 above) and the hieratic copies of the Kadesh Battle Poem (Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative). The original text does not survive for the Berlin Leather Roll, the building inscription of Senwosret I copied during the reign of Thutmose III. For the text, see Goedicke, in Müller, ed., Festschrift zum 150jährigen Bestehen des Berliner Ägyptischen Museums, 87–104; Parkinson, Voices from Ancient Egypt, 40–43. For the Middle Kingdom date of the text, see Piccato, LingAeg 5 (1997): 137–159 and references therein. The eloquent arguments of Derchain, RdÉ 43 (1992): 35–47, are based on a highly uncertain dating of the text as an original composition of the Eighteenth Dynasty, and thus cannot be used here to reconstruct ancient Egyptian historiography. 71. For the preservation of autobiographical inscriptions in nonfunerary contexts, see Kahl, Siut—Theben. 72. The topic of “archaism” in Egyptian art is vast—see now the overview in Kahl, in UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology (http://escholarship.org/uc/item/3tn7q1pf ); for the interplay of two- and three-dimensional forms, note the comment in Di. Arnold, in Czerny et  al., eds., Timelines, vol. 1, 39:  “an ancient motif, inactive for extended periods, is suddenly rediscovered, adapted to contemporary usage, reshaped not only for the new material, stone, but also for a different art form, architecture.” 73. See above, Chapter 1 note 52.

Notes [ 2 5 9 ]

74. Cf. Eyre, in Loprieno, ed., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 415: “The ‘history’ of literary heroes was not real history, but created by a process of imaginative empathy, elaborated for the literary purpose of the individual author in addressing a contemporary audience.” 75. Gardiner JEA 32 (1946): pl. VI, lns. 36–38: iw Tzi.n=i stp HAt-a Dr wn aAm.w m oAb n tA-mHw Hw.t-war.t SmA.w m-oAb=sn Hr sxn iry.t HoA.n=sn m-xmt Ra See also Allen, BES 16 (2002):  1–17; Redford, in Oren, ed., Hyksos, 16–17. For Hatshepsut’s statement and a possible contrast with Amunhotep II’s worship of Baal, see Schneider, Ä&L 13 (2003): 160–161. 76. As Polz, Der Beginn des Neuen Reiches, 307 observes, only fifteen to twenty years separate the death of Ahmose-Nefertari and the accession of Thutmose II, a significant personal link between Hatshepsut and the expulsion of the Hyksos. 77. For the biography of Ahmose Pennekhbet, see Popko, Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung, 207–220 and references therein. 78. Murnane, JARCE 26 (1989): 188–189. 79. Cf. pp. 39–43 above. 80. For other individuals who appear in literature and who may have had historical templates, compare Khonsuemhab (p. 18), Djehutyemhab (p. 163), and the general Merery (Chapter 3 note 13). 81. See Chapter 3, note 24. 82. Among the many possibilities, compare the tombs of Tjanuni (Brack and Brack, Das Grab des Tjanuni) and Amenemhab-Mahu (TT 85), who both record their participation in the campaigns of Thutmose III. The use of a tomb autobiography as the basis for an Egyptian literary text should also be seen in light of Assmann, in A. Assmann, J. Assmann, and Hardmeier, eds., Schrift und Gedächtnis, Archäologie der literarischen Kommunikation I, 64–93; interestingly, both historical fiction and tomb texts share a commemorative aspect for private individuals. For the tomb as a locus for “historiographical” activity compare Van Seters, In Search of History, 185. 83. Navrátilová, The Visitors’ Graffiti of Dynasties XVIII and XIX; idem, in Hagen et al., eds., Narratives of Egypt and the Ancient Near East, 261–265; Peden, Graffiti of Pharaonic Egypt. 84. Compare the extensive case study in Kahl, Siut—Theben; for the related material from Tebtunis showing such traditions extending into the Roman Period, see Ryholt, in Lippert and Schentuleit, eds., Tebtynis und Soknopaiu Nesos, 151–152. 85. Urk. IV 661, l. 14–662, l. 6: (i)r ntt ir.n nb.t Hm=f r dmi pn r xrw pf Xsi Hna mSa=f Xsi smnw m hrw m rn=f m rn n na.t [m rn.w] n.w imy-rA mn[fy.t . . . ] [iw=s]n smn.(w) Hr ar.t n.t dHr m Hw.t-nTr n.t Imn m hrw pn

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On this text, see Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 4–5, 33–34; Spalinger, Aspects of the Military Documents, 121–122. 86. The naming of commanders within Thutmose III’s military records finds parallels in the few named individuals in battle reliefs—compare Murnane, Road to Kadesh, 107–114 (for a Mehy—possibly the same individual—in the love poetry, see also Fox, The Song of Songs, 64–66; Helck, SAK 15 [1988]:  143–148); Spalinger, The Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 349; idem, The Great Dedicatory Inscription of Ramesses II, 111–112. 87. Compare also the interesting comment in the Gebel Silsila speos of Horemhab (Theim, Speos von Gebel es-Silsileh, vol. 1, 142, 320–321): [sS=f..] n zi nb Hr rn=f m xpSy.w sA.w Xny.w “[He records . . . ] of every man by name from the infantry(?), the companies of the navy.” 88. For the later popularity of Thutmose III, in both royal and private monuments, compare Jaeger, Essai de classification et datation des scarabées Menkhéperrê; Radwan, in Guksch and Polz, eds., Stationen, Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte Ägyptens, 329–340. 89. Cf. Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 110–112. 90. Baines, in Grimal, Kamel, and May-Sheikholeslami, eds., Hommages Fayza Haikal, 29–43; for the Nineteenth Dynasty, at least one small object from the reign of Ramesses II juxtaposes the name of a private official (the majordomo of the pharaoh, Iyemseba) with a highly abbreviated scene of the king on his chariot defeating enemies, while his soldiers run in a register beneath their king— for a discussion of this object, see Schmidt, in Schade-Busch, ed., Wege öffnen, Festschrift für Rolf Gundlach zum 65. Geburtstag, 288–297 91. Compare the statement in the Karnak Inscription of Merneptah cited on p. 162. 92. For the details that suggest the equation between Thutmose III in Asia and the Battle of Megiddo, see above, pp. 107, 115–116. 93. KRI IV 12, lns. 4–5. 94. KRI IV 33–37; Kitchen, RITA, vol. IV, 1–2. More than a coincidence, the Libyan leader Merey may have been in communication with the Nubian rebel leaders, and at the very least, the Nubians probably took advantage of Egypt’s weakness and the distraction of the Libyan campaign (Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 95–97 and references therein). 95. See above, pp. 131–136. Papyrus Harris I or similar records may also lie behind a label to Ptolemy X slaying enemies before Horus at Edfu Temple, which mentions three ethnonyms—Meshwesh, Shasu, and Tjeker—that are not typical of Ptolemaic inscriptions (which tend to use archaizing terms from the Old or Middle Kingdoms), but appear prominently in the records of Ramesses III—see Yoyotte, Kemi 12 (1952):  92–93; see also Bianchi, in Bleiberg and Freed, eds., Fragments of a Shattered Visage, 5–6. 96. See p. 135. 97. Compare Baines’s observation about Wenamun (in Assmann and Blumenthal, eds., Literatur und Politik im pharaonischen und ptolemäischen Ägypten, 213):  “As with the date and the general context, so with Smendes and Tentamun, the bald treatment means that the audience must know something about them, or be prepared to find it out while reading or listening on, if the narrative is to make sense.” 98. McDowell, in Demarée and Egberts, eds., Village Voices, 95–109. 99. See Popko, Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung, 17. 100. See inter alia Baines, Assmann, and Blumenthal, eds., Literatur und Politik im pharaonischen und ptolemäischen Ägypten, 209–233; Burkard and Thissen, eds.,

Notes [ 2 6 1 ]

Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte II, 47–56; Eyre, in ibid., 235–252; Schipper, Die Erzählung des Wenamun. 101. See inter alia Cannuyer, LingAeg 9 (2001): 37–43; Gozzoli, The Writing of History in Ancient Egypt, 240–247; Loprieno, La pensée et l’écriture, 81–84; Ritner, in Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 361–366. 102. Baines, Donker van Heel, and Fischer-Elfert, JEA 82 (1998): 234–236. 103. Quack, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte III; for continuity in the use of historical protagonists in literature from the New Kingdom through demotic, see idem, in Roeder, ed., Das Erzählen in frühen Hochkulturen I, 302–304. The appearance of Imhotep within another work of demotic literature suggests that fictional historical “biographies” may be another subgenre—see Ryholt, in Widmer and Devauchelle, eds., Actes du IXe congrès international des études démotiques, 305–315. 104. See now Dieleman and Moyer, in Clauss and Cuypers, eds., A Companion to Hellenistic Literature, 429–447 and references therein. 105. The demotic parallel to parts of Herodotus’ Histories hints at the cross-cultural possibilities—see Quack, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte III; Ryholt, The Story of Petese, Son of Petetum and Seventy Other Good and Bad Stories. 106. Convenient translations include Hoffmann and Quack, Anthologie der demotischen Literatur, 118–152; Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, vol. 3, 125–151; Quack, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte III, 35–48; Ritner, in Simpson, ed., The Literature of Ancient Egypt, 470–491. APPENDIX 1 1. Measurements refer to the dimensions of the text of the papyrus. The dimensions of the sheets are as follows: sheet 1, 37 x 16.2 cm; sheet 2, 24.5 x 19.6 cm; sheet 3, 27.8 x 19.6 cm. 2. Gardiner, LES, xiii. 3. LEM, xvii: It has been badly manufactured out of five separate pieces . . . which accounts for the appearance of the third page of the story of Apophis and Seknenre with which the papyrus opens, both on recto and verso. Clearly p. 2 of that story was originally the last page of the recto; after writing it the scribe turned over his manuscript horizontally and started writing the third page, tiring of this, however, after completing only two lines. Later on, the scribe decided to increase the length of his papyrus by adding some sheets to the left. This brought the last two lines of the story to a very inopportune place on the verso, for which reason he recopied them afresh in their right position on the enlarged recto before starting on the Miscellany that fills the rest of that side. 4. The measurements of the lacunae follow those of Gardiner, LES, having been confirmed by re-measuring each of the lacunae. 5. Cassonnet, Les temps seconds i-sDm.f et i-iri.f sDm, 110; Collier, Wepwawet 2 (1986):  15–22 (discussing the QAS passage on pp.  16–17); idem, Wepwawet 3 (1987): 1–10. The discussion of the introductory section of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and other Late Egyptian Stories in Jay, The Narrative Structure of Ancient Egyptian Tales, 138–145, fails to account for the subtleties of the grammar of the first line of The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre.

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6. Uljas, SAK 35 (2006): 327–336. 7. Hornung, Himmelskuh, 1: xpr swt wbn Ra nTr xpr-Ds=f m-xt wnn=f m nswt “It happened that Re appeared after having become king.” 8. Posener, RdE 11 (1957): 123: xpr swt wn Hm n nswt-bity [Nfr]-kA-[ra] sA Ra [Ppi] mAa-xrw m nsw [mnx m tA r-Dr=f] “It happened that the Majesty of the King of Upper and Lower Egypt [Nefer]ka[re], son of Re [Pepi], true of voice, was the [beneficent] king [in the entire land]. 9. Spalinger, The Great Dedicatory Inscription of Ramesses II, 12–13 n. 21. 10. Compare Spalinger, The Great Dedicatory Inscription of Ramesses II, 12, describing xpr swt as “a facet that moves one into the arena of a non-dated time.” 11. Hintze, Untersuchungen zu Stil und Sprache neuägyptischer Erzählungen, 31–36; Jay, The Narrative Structure of Ancient Egyptian Tales, 158–163. 12. Cf. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 7 and references in n. 16. 13. JEA 5 (1918): n. 3; followed in Wente, in Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 3d ed., 69. 14. hrw is Coptic xoou (Crum, Coptic Dictionary, 730), while hAw becomes xh (Vycichl, Dictionanaire étymologique de la lange Copte, 285). 15. Redford, Pharaonic King-lists, 139 n. 55. 16. Westendorf, ZÄS 79 (1954): 67. 17. Quarrel of Apophis and Seqenenre’, 3–5; for a refutation of Goedicke’s reading of this passage, see Popko, http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/S02?wc=291508&db=0. 18. Cf. Enmarch, A World Upturned, 75. 19. Wilson, Ptolemaic Lexikon, 39; on Sakhmet and pestilence, see p. 44. 20. LES 85a, n. 1, 1g–h. 21. See already Redford, Or. 39 (1970): 50. 22. Raue, Heliopolis und das Haus des Re. 23. Compare m “durch etwas” (Wb. II, 1.12). 24. Goldwasser, in Czerny et al., eds., Timelines, vol. 2, 129; Wente, in Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 70. 25. Cf. Winand, Études de néo-égyptien I, 180–189; for the replacement of the sDm.n=f of the hieroglyphic texts of the Kadesh Battle Poem with sDm=f in the hieratic copies of the text, see Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 204–216. 26. For an example of the verb xrp used passively in a way similar to the description of Apepi, compare the later description of the land of Egypt during Irsu’s reign in P. Harris I, col. 75, lns. 4–5: iw Irsw wa xArw m-di=w m wr iw di=f pA tA (r)-Dr=f m xrp r-HA.t=f Irsw, a Syrian, was with them as ruler; he made the entire land be subordinate to him (lit. a controlled thing before  him). For commentary, see Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, 220–225. 27. DZA 28.073.090 (= Urk. IV 1723, 2); this passage is cited with a different interpretation of xrp in Popko, http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/S02?wc=291508&db=0. 28. Winand, Études de néo-égyptien, 303–310. The passive sDmw=f may also suggest that Apepi is not directing the government himself, but that his scribes/administration are essentially overseeing the ones in charge—compare P. Sallier I 6, 8–9: sS mntf xrp bAk.w n bw nb “the scribe—it is he who directs the work of everyone.”

Notes [ 2 6 3 ]

29. Cf. Wente, in Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 70. Storerooms can be mH “filled” with produce (Wb. II 116.12), but no examples are forthcoming of the stative of mH used as an adverbial expression for completeness of tax payments. 30. JARCE 25 (1988): 161. 31. SAK 20 (1993): 81–94. 32. Zur sozialen Bedeutung zweier Begriffe für ‘Diener’: bAk und Hm, 213–216. To his references should also be added Spalinger, SAK 23 (1996): 353–376, who discusses the transformation of bAkw from a word used within Egypt’s borders to its New Kingdom application vis-à-vis foreign lands within the Egyptian empire. Compare also Panagiotopoulos, A&L 10 (2000): 147–152. 33. Hintze, Untersuchungen zu Stil und Sprache, vol. 1, 43–54. 34. Wb. V 377.1ff.; compare also Popko, http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/S02?wc= 291600&db=0 (citing DZA 31.257.610). 35. Lesko, Dictionary of Late Egyptian, 177; Wilson, A Ptolemaic Lexikon, 452–453. 36. For the offering of floral wreaths in temple settings, see Dittmar, Blumen und Blumensträuße als Opfergabe im alten Ägypten, 41–44; Goedicke, The Quarrel of Apophis and Seqenenre’, 13–14. For funerary rituals, see Derchain, CdE 30 (1955): 225–287. 37. Compare Chassinat, Edfou V, 305, lns. 2–3. 38. Winand, Études de néo-égyptien, 365–373. 39. For a spatial reading of the prepositional phrase, see Popko, http://aaew.bbaw. de/tla/servlet/S02?wc=291600&db=0 (with appropriate caution regarding the Ramesside understanding and literary portrayal of the topography of Avaris). 40. Cf. Wente, in Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 70: “exactly as is practiced the temple of Pre-Harakhti.” 41. Goedicke, The Quarrel of Apophis and Seqenenre’, 14, similarly argues for aoA as a noun, but his translation “for his very straight-dealing” referring to Pre-Horakhty lacks parallels in the divine sphere (the references on p. 14, n. 90 from Ptahhotep argue for aoA in the story in a general sense of “correctness” of ritual practice). 42. Gardiner, LEM, 114, lns. 15–16; on this passage see also Gardiner, JEA 42 (1956): 15; Caminos, LEM, 421. 43. For an alternate interpretation in which nswt acts as the object of thi, see Popko, http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/S02?wc=291636&db=0; he rightly rejects Goedicke’s reading “Traitors of the king” (The Quarrel of Apophis and Seqenenre’, 15–17). 44. David, Syntactic and Lexico-Semantic Aspects of the Legal Register, 29. 45. Compare among the many possible examples, Amenemope, 25th chapter:  m ir piTA zi iw=f m Dr.t nTr mtw=k Hs Hr=f thi=f “Do not mock a man who is in the hand of god, and then agree with him when he transgresses.” 46. Allen, The Debate between a Man and His Soul, 31–32. 47. Hintze, Untersuchungen zu Stil und Sprache, 7–30; for the examples in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, see ibid., 27–28. See also Neveu, La particule xr en néo-égyptien, 103. 48. Cf. Poem sect. 34 =  KRI II, 14, lns. 1–5; Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 5; see also idem, The Great Dedicatory Inscription of Ramesses II, 55. 49. See the extensive treatment in Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 117–128 (the examples in QAS appear on p. 127). 50. Schneider, in Perdue, ed., Scribes, Sages, and Seers, 35–46. 51. In Czerny et al., eds., Timelines, vol. 1, 130.

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52. She points to P. Anastasi II, col. 4, ln. 8–col. 5, ln. 1: mr.wsy pA hn n=f A.t=f “How beloved is the one who bends his back to him.” 53. For a discussion of hAn “to bend” in the context of personal piety and its interesting use as a martial pun in the letters of Djehutymose and Butehamun, see Sweeney, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies in Honor of K. A. Kitchen, 505–508. 54. For this form, compare col. 3, ln. 2: smi.w nb.t md.t i.hAb n=f nswt Ippy Hr=sn “all of the spoken communications aboutwhich King Apepi sent to him.” 55. Winand, Études de néo-égyptien, 391–398, noting the rarity of this form in Late Egyptian and identifying the reign of Merneptah as the turning point in the final decline of the freely formed sDm.n=f relative. As Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 66, notes, the sDm.n=f is an allomorph of the perfect active sDm=f, which can be extended to the relative uses of those forms (cf. also Winand, Études de néo-égyptien, 393, sect. 617). The existence of allomorphs is further demonstrated in the alternation of Dd and Dd.n in epistolary formulae, for which see Bakir, Egyptian Epistolography, 48–50; for Dd as a technical term for dictating a letter, see ibid., 33. 56. On registers in New Kingdom texts, see Chapter  1, note  168. For the grammatical register of direct speech functioning as a form of characterization, compare the unusual grammar in a statement attributed to Khufu in P. Westcar— Gilula, LingAeg 1 (1991): 125–127; and the analysis of Tjekerbaal’s Egyptian in Satzinger, LingAeg 5 (1997): 171–176; note also the response in Egberts, GM 172 (1999): 17–22. 57. For the Middle Egyptian nominal passive sDmw=f, the earlier studies of Doret, Narrative Verbal System, 85–88, and Westendorf, Der Gebrauch des Passivs, 97–101, remain useful. For the importance of nominal emphatic forms in interrogative statements in Late Egyptian, see Cassonnet, Les temps seconds i-sDm.f et i-iri.f sDm, 43–6; Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 132. 58. Frandsen, Outline of Late Egyptian, 27–31 (although on p.  250, n.  2 to §20, he suggests the existence of the nominal passive sDmw=f in LRL 29, 11–12); Winand, Études de néo-égyptien, 303–310, only recognizes a “perfective passive sDmw=f”, categorizing the sDm.tw=f as the corresponding nominal passive form. 59. Darnell, Enigmatic Netherworld Books, 520, text note e and references therein, including the key study of Wente, in der Manuelian, ed., Studies in Honor of William Kelly Simpson, vol. 2, 863–865; Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 101 (citing p. Mayer A rt. 2, 19); for monumental Ramesside examples, see Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, 66–67, 146. For the survival of this form in postNew Kingdom “late Middle Egyptian,” see der Manuelian, Living in the Past, 216– 218; the bare-initial uses in Jansen-Winkeln, Spätmittelägyptische Grammatik, 327–328 (sect. 518–519) may also be examples of the nominal passive sDmw=f. 60. Westendorf, Der Gebrauch des Passivs, 29–38, argues against the existence of a passive sDmw=f with pronominal subject; compare, however, the examples in Doret, Narrative Verbal System, 85–86 (ex. 147) and167 (ex. 305). 61. Westendorf, Der Gebrauch des Passivs, 97–107. 62. For the passive sDmw=f with pronominal subject in New Kingdom texts, compare Winand, Études de néo-égyptien, 305–306. 63. Winand, Études de néo-égyptien, 263. 64. Cf. KRI II, 57, lns. 11–15 (P  177):  rwi=i bin nb nty m tA pn “I removed all evil that is in this land,” the Dedicatory Inscription of Ramesses II at Abydos (KRI II, 334, lns. 7–8): ir sDm=i gAb wAww=f r xpr wD=i rwi(w)=f Hr-a.wy m x.t nb.t “If I  hear about a lack that is about to occur, I  command that it be prevented (lit.

Notes [ 2 6 5 ]

removed) immediately by means of anything (necessary);” and the Victory Stela of Merneptah (KRI IV 13, lns. 12–13):  rwi Dw n biA Hr nHb.t pa.t “who removes the mountain of iron from the necks of the pat-people.” For the act of rwi against enemies, see also Wilson, Ptolemaic Lexikon, 576–577. 65. Cf. the Stela of Herihor (Cairo CG 42190): ir rmT nb nty iw=f (r) rwi pAy twt Hr s.t=f m-xt rnp.wt on.w . . . “As for any man who will remove this statue from its place after many years . . . ” 66. KRI I, 52, ll. 1-–2; cited in Lesko, Late Egyptian Dictionary, 2d ed., vol. 2, 221. 67. Following Beinlich, Das Buch vom Fayum, 289–293, discussing the numerous occurrences in that text and showing the applicability of the definition to other examples of the word; the suitability of a “swamp” rather than a “canal” for hippopotami in QAS was noted already by Gardiner and Bell, JEA 29 (1943): 38–39; see also Spalinger, in Bechtold, Gulyás, and Hasznos, eds., From Illahun to Djeme, 274; Yoyotte, MDAIK 16 (1958): 428–430;. For an alternative interpretation of the significance of the Hn.t in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenere, see Schneider, Ausländer in Ägypten, vol. 1, 163. 68. P. Anastasi II, 1, lines 4–5 = Gardiner, LEM, 12, ln. 12. Compare also the use of xa with brazier to refer to the eastern horizon as the place where the sun rises and destroys his enemies (P. Bologna 1094, 2, 6 = Gardiner, LEM, 2, l. 16); for the significance of this writing, see Darnell, Enigmatic Netherworld Books, 145–146. 69. See p. 56. 70. Wb. I  294.13; Gardiner, JEA 19 (1933):20; Jansen-Winkeln, Inschriften der Spätzeit, vol. 2, 23–26. For this definition applied to The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, compare Peust, Indirekte Rede im Neuägyptischen, 88. 71. Peust, Indirekte Rede im Neuägyptischen, 88, ex. 2; such pronoun confusions should be seen within the context of “interquotation” between letters, which function like reported speech—see Sweeney, Correspondence and Dialogue, 23–28 (with a mention of pronoun change on p. 25). 72. Cassonnet, Les temps seconds i-sDm.f et i-iri.f sDm, 47–49; Hintze, Untersuchungen zur Stil und Sprache, vol. 1, 199–201On isT and rhetorical questions, see Darnell, Katimala, 32, note d and references therein; Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 87; Sweeney, Correspondence and Dialogue, 106–107. For the definition of rhetorical questions in Middle Egyptian, see the useful studies of Sweeney, LingAeg 1 (1991):  315–331; idem, Correspondence and Dialogue, 141–147. For the particle isT in noninterrogative uses, see the extensive discussion in Oréal, Les particules en égyptien ancien, 171–258; also surveys in Borghouts, Egyptian, vol. 1, 125; Depuydt, in Thompson and Der Maunelian, eds., Egypt and Beyond, 95–99. 73. One can also compare examples of proclitic is introducing a question; cf., among the many possible examples, Taylor, The Tomb of Paheri, pl. 3 (cited in Gardiner, Egyptian Grammar, §491, 2):  is HAty=n n biA.t “Are our hearts of copper?”; the Annals of Thutmose III (Urk. IV 650, lns. 3–4; Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 14 and n. 83): is bn Sm Htr m-sA Htr [mSa] rmT m mit.t “Would not horse have to go behind horse and the [army] personnel likewise?”.Gardiner, Egyptian Grammar, 185, signals the equivalence of proclitic is and ist from the Eighteenth Dynasty onwards; a more detailed diachronic study of the particle isT is currently in preparation by the author. 74. Col. 9, ln. 5 = Gardiner, LES, 35, ln. 7 (and a parallel question in lns. 12–13) 75. Col. 1, lns. 11–12 = Gardiner, LES, 38, lns. 6–7. 76. Col. 2, l. 79 = Gardiner, LES, 75, lns. 8–9.

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Notes

77. The sequence iwf Say.t “meat and biscuits” occurs in the Late Egyptian Miscellanies (Anastasi IV 3, 7 = Gardiner, LEM, 37, 16; Anastasi IV 15, 2 = Gardiner, LEM 51, 9). For the ingredients of Say.t, see Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 91, n. 332 (also in the sequence iwf Say.t). 78. For the term waw HAw.t as “chief soldier,” see Černy, A Community of Workmen at Thebes in the Ramesside Period, 3d ed., 241–242; Schulman, Military, Rank, Title and Organization, 49. 79. Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 213–214 and 253 (on the application of HAw.tyw to foreign soldiers). 80. On sAwi, see Černy and Groll, Late Egyptian Grammar, 17–21; Gardiner, ZÄS 50 (1912): 114–117; Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 165. APPENDIX 2 1. All measurements of the broken portions indicate the blank space without taking into account the proposed restorations in brackets. 2. Measurement without proposed restoration; based on other writings in the papyrus, n pA xry n Ypw would take up about 48 mm. 3. Wb. II 110.6–7; Hoch, Semitic Words, 135–137. 4. In the rare cases where mri is spelled (cf. BM 10085 ‘III’, ln. 5 = Leitz, Magical and Medical Papyri, pl. 50), a stroke appears after the r, while in COJ, a reed-leaf clearly follows the r, further suggesting a writing of mrynA. 5. For the reading mi r-a “in the manner of,” see Peet, JEA 11 (1925): 226, followed by Goedicke, CdE 43 (1968):  221 and Popko, http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/ S02?wc=294521&db=0, all citing Urk. IV 1292, ln. 11 (stela of Amunhotep II from Amada): xr Hr-a n nsr.t=f mi r-a–n wnmy.t “(every land) having fallen immediately to his flame, in the manner of a devouring fire.” 6. Wb III, 195.12–16; Janssen, Commodity Prices, 160–161; note particularly P. Anastasi IV, col. 14, lns. 2–3 (= Gardiner, LEM, 50, lns. 7–8). For the frequency of this object in P. Harris I, see Grandet, Le Papyrus Harris I, vol. 3, 129 s.v. Htp. 7. LES, 82a, 1,2, note c. 8. Morris, Architecture of Imperialisim, 138. Note additionally the correspondence between iway.t-troops and the garrisons mentioned in the Amarna Letters—see Schulman, Military Rank, Title and Organization, 18; the dual system of garrison troops and roving patrols that appears in the Amarna Letters may derive from an earlier Thutmoside model—compare Galan, in Lorton and Bryan, eds., Essays in Egyptology in Honor of Hans Goedicke, 91–102. 9. Murnane, JARCE 26 (1989):  187, n.  28. Note also the references collected in Redford, The Wars in Syria and Palestine of Thutmose III, 11. 10. Hirsch, in Gundlach and Rößler-Köhler, eds., Das Königtum der Ramessidenzeit, 213–215 and references therein. 11. Satzinger, Neuägyptische Studien, 20–21. 12. Satzinger, Neuägyptische Studien, 265, n. 1. 13. Neveu, La particule xr en néo-égyptien, 104. 14. Cf. Epigraphic Survey, Reliefs and Inscriptions of Luxor Temple, vol. 1, 21. 15. Layton, Coptic Grammar, 118–120 (sect. 152). 16. Compare Redford, in Aufrecht, eds., Aspects of Urbanism in Antiquity from Mesopotamia to Crete, 210–220. 17. Col. 4, lns. 8–9 = Gardiner, LEM, 81, lns. 6–7. 18. Wb. II 110.5; Hoch, Semitic Words, 132–134.

Notes [ 2 6 7 ]

19. The mri-groom (No. 203) appears between the TAy xaw “weapon bearer” and the sAwty Axt “guardian of the crops” (probably a para-military title) in the list of professions—see Gardiner, Ancient Egyptian Onomastica, vol. 1, 93*. 20. Fischer-Elfert, Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I, 129 (=Anastasi I  20, 3), 147 (= Anastasi I  25, 9); note also the title mri n Hm=f “groom of his Majesty” on ibid., 28 (= Anastasi I 1, 7). 21. P. Kohler, col. 1, lns. 1–2. (= Gardiner, LEM, 116, lns. 11–12) is part of a letter describing the preparation of horses for a campaign to Kharu, including “stable masters” and “mri-grooms.” P. Bologna 1094 col. 9, ln. 6 (= Gardiner, LEM, 9, ln. 1) describes the branding of a younger brother to serve as groom of a “majordomo (aA pr).” P. Sallier I, col. 7, ln. 2 (= Gardiner, LEM, 84, ln. 10) also describes orphans becoming grooms. Not included in Gardiner’s edition, but also part of the LEM corpus, is an example of mri in BM 10085 ‘III’, ln. 5 = Leitz, Magical and Medical Papyri, pl. 50. 22. Kitchen, in Oren, ed., The Origin of Early Israel, 73–74. 23. Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 87. 24. Winand, Études de néo-égyptien I, 495–504 (tracing the ir SNsDm to a periphrastic use of the prospective sDm=f that combined with the paradigm of SN/iw=f r sDm); he cites this example from The Capture of Joppa on p. 497 but avoids the issue of the verbal morphology by transliterating snn as sni. 25. Gardiner, LES, 3, ll. 10–11: snn ( ) pw ir.n pA Xrd Hr=sn “The youth passed by them.” This parallel spelling as an infinitival form obviates the suggestion of Gruen, JEA 58 (1972): 307, who proposes as an alternate that the term snn is the noun “charioteer.” Goedicke’s restoration (CdE 43 [1968]: 219) “or else one of the mercenaries may surpass [them for] their [weariness]” lacks parallels and does not fit well with the attested uses of the Apiru in ancient Egyptian texts. 26. For an analysis of the form of the enemy of Joppa’s request, see Sweeney, in Hasitzka et al., eds., Das alte Ägypten und seine Nachbarn, 146–147, 153. 27. Wilson, JNES 7 (1948): 134; Buchberger, WdO 20/21 (1989/90): 28–29. 28. For this spelling of sDw, compare Lesko, Late Egyptian Dictionary, vol. 2, 100. 29. LES 83, ln. 3. 30. Janssen, Daily Dress at Deir el-Medina, 46–51. 31. Goedicke, CdE 43 (1968): 220. 32. Wente, in Simpson, ed., Literature of Ancient Egypt, 73. 33. The verb aHa as auxiliary is frequently attested in the Late Egyptian Stories—see Kruchten, Etudes de syntaxe néo-égyptienne, 44–46 (with the example from The Capture of Joppa on p. 45). 34. Compare dwn a as “stretch the arm” to use a weapon—Wilson, Ptolemaic Lexikon, 1187. 35. On this deity, see Grimal, Les termes de la propagande, 403–408; Leitz et al., eds., Lexikon der ägyptischen Götter und Götterbezeichnungen, vol. 3, 211–212; Zabkar, LÄ IV, cols. 163–165;. 36. Grimal, Les termes de la propogande, 403–408. 37. The writing of pA xpS in col. 3, ln. 4 measures 21 mm (and could have been more compressed), and the standard writing of iw=f Hr is about 11–13 mm, thus filling the approximately 30 mm missing at the beginning of the line. 38. Horus and Seth, col. 15, ln. 12 = Gardiner, LES 59, lns. 4–5. 39. Derchain, RdE 26 (1974): 9–12. 40. As noted in Wilson, Ptolemaic Lexikon, 1068; see also Lesko, Dictionary of Late Egyptian, vol. 2, 158.

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41. Bologna 1094 3,10 (= Gardiner, LEM, 4, 1); Caminos, LEM, 14. 42. Compare Sinuhe B55:  iai Hr pw tS wp.wt “he is one who slakes the ardor, who smashes heads.” 43. Wilson, Ptolemaic Lexikon, 1206; for dHr.t “bitterness” spelled with the animal skin determinative, see Wb. V 483.5; Faulkner, CDME, 315. 44. Leahy, in Curtis, ed., Bronzeworking Centres of Western Asia, 298–299. 45. For the reading of the two metal signs as biA.wy, see Jenni, Das Dekorationsprogramm des Sarkophages Nektanebos’ II, 20–22; von Lieven, in Ryholt, ed., The Carlsberg Papryi 7: Hieratic Texts from the Collection, 27–29. 46. P. Bologna 1094, col. 1, l. 5 (Gardiner, LEM, 1, lns. 7–8); Caminos, LEM, 4–5 gives it a more modern translation, “firmness of brass,” and collects similar phrases in the LEM corpus. 47. Goetze, in Corolla Linguistica, 58–59 (quote from p. 59). 48. GM 109 (1989): 73–82; Ward dismisses the.ti ending as irrelevant, although other Late Egyptian orthographies suggest that the .ti ending does indeed represent a dental or feminine ending—see Quack, LingAeg 12 (2004): 137–141. 49. The origins of the word tekhbesti in Egyptian and its transformation in meaning from other Near Eastern languages is a brief overview of Manassa, LingAeg, forthcoming. 50. Laroche, Glossaire de la langue hourrite, 250–251; Nozadze, Vocabulary of the Hurrian Language, 347 (reference courtesy of Aaron Butts); Wegner, Hurritisch, 2d ed., 58. 51. CAD, vol. 18, 40; for the use of taxapSu as an element in horse armor, see Kendall, Warfare and Military Matters in the Nuzi Tablets, 314–315. I would like to thank Prof. Benjamin Foster for very helpful discussions about this word in Akkadian documents; he notes (personal communciation) that a term like taxapSu might be parallel to the English terms “woolens” or “linens,” which similarly encompass a wide variety of specific objects in a single lexeme. 52. Olmo Lete and Sanmartin, A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition, vol. 2, 863; Pardee, Semitica 49 (1999): 56, n. 107 (disputing the accuracy of the equation of the tģpt and taxapSu with horses) (references courtesy of Aaron Butts); see also Heltzer, The Internal Organiziation of the Kingdom of Ugarit, 83. 53. Ward, GM 109 (1989): 73–82, and earlier references therein; Hoch, Semitic Words in Egyptian Texts, 362–363. 54. Janssen, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies, 272; Breyer, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies, 85–87; idem, Ägypten und Anatolien, 367–368. 55. Ost. Gardiner 67, 5–6 (= KRI III, 542, lns. 14–15): mtw=f iTA XAr n bd.t nbd.t txbs n Hw.t-nTr 4 And he took a sack of emmer, and basketry, namely 4 tekhbes of the temple. From this text, we learn that the txbs(ti)object is coiled like basketry, as indicated by the word nbd (Wb. II 246.9; Janssen, Commodity Prices, 136–138). The exact same expression is used in other ostraca followed by another word for basket (Liverpool ostracon 13.626, DZA 24.988.160; O.  Petrie 17, DZA 24.988.200):  nbd kbs ir n dbn 1 “basketry, namely a kebes making one deben.” On kbs see also Hoch, Semitic Loan Words, 316–317. For depictions of small

Notes [ 2 6 9 ]

baskets that may be the type of basket called kbs, see Gourlay, Les sparteries de Deir el-Médineh, vol. 1, pls. 8–10. 56. Janssen, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies, 272. 57. Černý, Hieratic Inscriptions from the Tomb of Tutankhamun, 27, n. 59. 58. Breyer, in Collier and Snape, eds., Ramesside Studies, 85–87, makes an interesting comparison with Fabergé eggs; however, his suggestion of a Hittite origin for the word or identification with a specific gift from Suppiluliuma to Ankhesenamun remain without firm evidence. Note also the critique of the derivation of certain Egyptian loan words from Hittite in Simon, GM 227 (2010):  77–92 (reference courtesy of reviewer). 59. The presence of the article pA is not helpful in determining a reading of either 200 or 300—in numbers below 200 the article should coincide with the gender of the noun, while over 300 the default is feminine (Černý and Groll, Late Egyptian Grammar, 86). 60. Gardiner, LES, 83a, note a to col. 2, ln. 4. 61. The soliders are designated with the Egyptian term waw, one of the more common terms in Egyptian miltiary texts—see Redford, Wars in Syria and Palestine, 197 and n.  17; on the social status of the waw, compare Katary, CRIPEL 28 (2009–2010): 290–292. 62. Hassan, MDAIK 35 (1979): 121–124; Vergote, in Israelit-Groll, ed., Egyptological Studies, 105–116; Vernus, in Berger and Bernard Mathieu, eds., Études sur l’Ancien Empire et la nécropole de Saqqara dédiées à Jean-Philippe Lauer, 439–441. 63. Janssen, Commodity Prices, 385–387; idem, Donkeys at Deir el-Medina, 71. 64. Hoch, Semitic Words in Egyptian Texts, 43. 65. Meeks, BiOr 54 (1997): 36, suggesting a relationship with the wood itwrn mentioned on the Second Kamose Stela. 66. Goedicke, CdE 43 (1968):  228, n.  2 first suggested the nautical term; see also Dürring, Materialien zum Schiff bau im Alten Ägypten, 65; Jones, A Glossary of Ancient Egyptian Nautical Titles and Terms, 202. 67. Polotsky, Israel Oriental Studies 6 (1976): 35, 39. 68. See Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 149 and references therein. 69. As recognized already in Hintze, Untersuchungen zur Stil und Sprache, 216. 70. Cassonnet, Les temps seconds i-sDm.f et i-iri.f sDm, 141 (see also p. 211). 71. JEA 58 (1972): 162. 72. Gardiner, LES, 72, lns. 1–2 (=Wenamun 2, 48-49). 73. Borghouts, Egyptian, vol. 1, 280, sect. 80 and n. 5. 74. Morschauser, VA 4 (1988): 151–164. 75. Sweeney, in Hasitzka et al., eds., Das alte Ägypten und seine Nachbarn, 140. 76. Marchese, BIFAO 104/1 (2004): 364–365. 77. See Marchese, BIFAO 104/1 (2004): 360, 364–365. 78. Ragazzoli, ZÄS 137 (2010): 164–166. 79. On variations of the title “scribe of the army,” see Schulman, Military Rank, Title and Organization, 62–66. APPENDIX 3 1. The total measurements of the preserved portion of the first three columns are 36.2 cm long, and 19.5 cm high. The extant text in column x+1 is 5 cm wide; the lines of column x+2 are not of even length, ranging from 25 cm (line 1) to 27.3 cm (line 10); column x+3 is unevenly preserved, with between 1 and 3 cm of the beginning of the column, with an additional fragment (maximum height

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2.

3. 4.

5. 6.

7. 8. 9.

8.8 cm x maximum length 6.3 cm) containing additional portions of lines 6–10. I  would like to thank Sara Caramello for her detailed measurements of the papyrus. Botti, JEA 41 (1955): pls. 16–18; an additional fragment was placed in column x+1, lns. 8–11 and column x+3, ln. 10, through the work of Roccati (as represented in the photograph in Eggebrecht, ed., Ägyptens Aufstieg zur Weltmach, 192). Spalinger, Transformation of an Egyptian Narrative, x. Botti, JEA 41 (1955):  pl.  18: sS Hw.t-nTr wab-a.wy [ . . . ] MnTw(?)-(m)wAs.t pn [ . . . ] nswt-bity Wsr-mAa.t-ra / r-nty tw.i Hr Dd n Imn-ra nswt nTr.w “The scribe of the temple, pure of arms, Montu(em)waset, (son of) Pen[ . . . ] king of Upper and Lower Egypt, Usermaatre / to the effect that I say to Amun-Re, king of the gods.” KRI II, 58, lns. 6–11. Two Brothers, col. 6, lns. 5–6 (= Gardiner, LES 15, 13); the king can also make petitions of the gods—again, among the many examples, compare the statement in the Wadi Mia inscription of Seti I (KRI I 66, l. 12): mk iry.n nTr spr.wt=i [bsi]=f n=i mw Hr Dw.w . . . “Look god has carried out my petitions, conducting for me water upon the mountains . . . ”. Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 140–141; Winand, Études de néo-égyptien 1, 231–236. For an alternate reading of xr + perfective sDm=f, see Popko, http://aaew.bbaw.de/ tla/servlet/S02?wc=298123&db=0. On this distinction, see Vernus, Future at Issue, 66–67; note particularly his statement on p. 67, n. 46: The situation however, is perhaps not that simple, since the Middle Egyptian message auxiliary xr has values not always very different from those of the Late Egyptian particle xr, insofar it is a sequential marker. For L.E. xr headed constructions and L.E.  sequential forms (conjunctive; iw.f-Hr-stp) are mutually incompatible, which suggests that they belong to the same paradigmatic class.

10. Gilula, JNES 34 (1975): 135–136. 11. Johnson, Demotic Verbal System, 178–179. 12. Layton, A Coptic Grammar, 283–285 (termed the “future conjunctive”); he notes that the first person form is “rare” (sect. 357). 13. Cf. CT I 230f cited in Gilula, JNES 34 (1975): 136. 14. P 84 (KRI II, 31, lns. 6–9); P132 (KRI II, 45, lns. 6–10); P 153 (KRI II, 51, lns. 12–16); cf. Gardiner, Kadesh Inscriptions, p. 19. 15. Wb. V 578.8–10; Grapow, Die bildlichen Ausdrücke, 85. 16. On this figure in ancient Egyptian texts, see Fischer-Elfert, Abseits von Maat, 148–158. 17. Anastasi V col. 7, ln. 8–col. 8, ln. 1 (Gardiner, Late Egyptian Miscellanies, 59, lns. 6–7); parallel noted by Fischer-Elfert, SAK 27 (1999): 82. 18. Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 245, n. 922. 19. Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 252, n. 928. 20. Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu, vol. 1, pl. 11, ln. 4 (Nubians = KRI V 9, ln. 5); pl. 24, ln. 4 (Libyans = KRI V 19, ln. 3); pl. 26, ln. 12 (Libyans = KRI V 20, ln. 2); pl. 27, ln. 37 (Libyans = KRI V 23, ln. 13); pl. 28, ln. 54 (Sea Peoples); idem, Medinet Habu, vol. 2, pl. 98, ln. 6 (Amorites); most of these examples, and the P. Harris I parallels, were also noted in Fischer-Elfert, SAK 27 (1999): 82, n. 59.

Notes [ 2 7 1 ]

21. Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, p. 100; Winand, Études de néo-égyptien I, 239–240. 22. In Lesko, ed., Egyptological Studies in Honor of Richard A. Parker, 155. 23. SAK 27 (1999): 81–82. 24. See the examples in Fischer-Elfert, SAK 27 (1999): 82, n. 61; for religious compositions showing the same confusion, compare the writing of sS for StA in the Eleventh Hour of the Book of Amduat (Manassa, Late Egyptian Underworld, 355– 356, text note b). 25. Hintze, Untersuchungen zu Stil und Sprache, 7–30; the spelling A.t as iAd.t also appears in The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre and The Contendings of Horus and Seth. 26. As noted in Fischer-Elfert, SAK 27 (1999): 82, n. 58. 27. Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 53–54; for the Coptic descendant of this form, see Layton, Coptic Grammar, sect. 54. 28. Botti, JEA 41 (1955): 66; Spalinger, in Lesko, ed., Egyptological Studies in Honor of Richard Parker, 155. 29. Compare Černy and Groll, Late Egyptian Grammar, 454–457 (note particularly ex. 1240). 30. Černy and Groll, Late Egyptian Grammar, 404–407. 31. Sweeny, Correspondence and Dialogue, 49; for this passage, see also idem, in Hasitzka et al., eds., Das alte Ägypten und seine Nachbarn, 145. 32. Sinuhe B58–59; see also Gardiner, Notes on the Story of Sinuhe, 35. 33. Urk. IV 890, lns. 11–13. 34. The ancient idiom effectively conveys the king being in the chariot, so to be at the king’s side is to be at his feet. 35. http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/S02?wc=298362&db=0, citing P.  Koller 2,5 (= Gardiner, LEM, 117, ln. 16–18, ln. 17; Caminos, LEM, 132. 36. For a later example of the sbi-wind, see Rosati, in Osing and Rosati, Papiri Geroglifici e ieratici da Tebtynis, 195–196 and n. 24. 37. Hornung, Texte zum Amduat, vol. 3, 763; for commentary to this passage, see Manassa, Late Egyptian Underworld, 356–357. 38. Lesko, Late Egyptian Dictionary, 177. 39. Rössler-Köhler, in LÄ III, cols. 1080–1090; van Essche, in Delvaux and Warmenbol, eds., Les divins chats d’Égypte, 32–37. 40. Popko’s suggestion bAk (http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/S02?wc=298462&db=0) does not fit the context of Thutmose III in Asia, particularly as the term is used in the ostraca concerning donkey-hires from Deir el-Medina—see Janssen, Donkeys at Deir el-Medina, 81–84. 41. Typically used as a royal epithet—compare P. Harris I, col. 75, ln. 10; for sHn “organizer” as a title (used in religious contexts), see Darnell, SAK 22 (1995): 54–55. 42. http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/S02?wc=298572&db=0 with references. APPENDIX 4 1. The preserved width of this column is 15.1 cm; no clear restorations exist to suggest the original width of the column, although if the first and second columns were about the same width, one can estimate that 2  cm are missing from the beginning of col. x+1. Traces of an earlier text at the ends of lines 4–9 are not included in the transcription. 2. The preserved width of this column is 13.9 cm; assuming that the restoration [Hr pA r]wD at the end of line 2 is correct, that would give an original width of about 16.2 cm (using measurements of other writings of Hr, pA, and approximating a

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simple-r for the writing rwD “bank” as rwD “granite”, although an estimation of 17 cm is also possible. 3. Möller, Paläographie, vol. 2, 46 (no.  510); a similar phenomenon appears in the hieratic paleography of Ramesside rock inscriptions—see Ali, Hieratische Ritzinschriften, Taf. 202–203 (V30). 4. Compare Janssen, JEA 73 (1987): 161–167; idem, JEA 86 (2000): 52–56. 5. Kroeber, Die Neuägyptizismen vor der Amarnazeit, 32–35. 6. Ranke, Die ägyptischen Personennamen, vol. 1, 186; on the –y ending in names, see also ibid., vol. 2, 143. 7. Compare the Great Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, line 76:  pA hniw Hr sp nb r pr-Driw “the one who buttresses at every occasion, more than a fortified enclosure!” (for a lexicographical discussion, see Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 75, note f). 8. Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 363. 9. Untranscribed in Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, pl. II, ln. 2; the author’s tentative reading Hm=f in Great Karnak Inscription, 125, 127 note c should be emended accordingly. 10. Compare the description of Apepi’s “desire” to send an offensive message to Seqenenre (see p. 168). 11. P. Harris I  78, lns. 1–2 and 78, lns. 5–7 (used to describe the pharaoh sending forth expeditions to the mining regions of Timna and Serabit el-Khadim). 12. KRI V 10, lns. 9–10:  wD tw it=k Imn r sksk pD.wt psD.t “Your father Amun dispatches you to destroy the Nine Bows.” Piye Victory Stela, ln. 12 (Grimal, La stèle triomphale de Pi(‘ankh)y, 11*):  rx.n=k Imn nTr wD n “You know that Amun is the god who dispatches us.” 13. Winand, Etudes de néo-égyptien, 344–349; Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 147–148. 14. P. Anastasi IV, col. 6, ln. 2 (= Gardiner, LEM, 40, ln. 14); P. Anastasi III, col. 7, ln. 3 (= Gardiner, LEM, 28, ln. 10); for the frequency with which cities are written with a divine determinative, see McDowell, LingAeg 18 (2010): 308–309. 15. Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 363. 16. As noted in Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 127. 17. Contra Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, pl. II, ln. 4. Compare Möller, Hieratische Paläographie, vol. II, 4; the schematic example in lapidary hieratic still includes a down-curving stroke representing the head—Ali, Hieratische Ritzinschriften, tafel 32. 18. Lns. 5–6 (= KRI V 38, lns. 3–6). 19. The use of the same image in the Piye Stela may be an intentional reference to the glorious days of Ramesside Egypt (Grimal, La stèle triomphale de Pi(‘ankh)y, 28–29): aHA=n m xAb.yt xpS=k “we fight in the shade of your strong arm.” 20. http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/S02?wc=291196&db=0. 21. KRI V 16, ln. 15. 22. Grandet, Le Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 213–214, n.  894 (general use), 253 (elite soldiers). 23. Morris, Architecture of Imperialism, 815–817; Valbelle, in Mélanges Mokhtar, 315–19. 24. On these the Western Frontier Zone fortresses, see pp. 118–119; compare the similarly named dmi mentioned in the Kadesh Poem (KRI II 14.7–8):  Ra-ms-swmry-imn pA dmi nty m tA in.t pA aS “ ‘Ramesses-beloved-of-Amun’—the fortress/ city which is in the valley of the pine.”

Notes [ 2 7 3 ]

25. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 129, note b. 26. Col. 76, ln. 11–col. 77, ln. 1; see further Grandet, Papyrus Harris I, vol. 2, 249–251. 27. Wb. II, 116.12. 28. Possibly related to sAw.ty as a title at Deir el-Medina, for which see Černy, A Community of Workmen at Thebes in the Ramesside Period, 3d ed., 44. 29. Darnell, Theban Desert Road Survey, vol. I, 114, n. jj. 30. Salinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, 362. 31. Cf. Junge, Late Egyptian Grammar, 250–258. 32. See the references in Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 130. 33. For the use of pr + a divine name to express an administrative unit, see Kessler, in Adrom, Schlüter, and Schlüter, eds., Altägyptische Weltsichten, 65–104. 34. Morris, Architecture of Imperialism, 820–821. 35. See p. 137. An endowment stela from the Fayum (KRI V, 270) records a “great one of the thr.w” Amunkhau of the stronghold of Ramesses III, “who loves his army,” but does not refer to Sherden (contra Morris, Architecture of Imperialism, 821). 36. The reading of di.t=n follows the suggestion of Popko, http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/ servlet/S02?wc=291431&db=0; contra Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 129. 37. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 42–43, and pl. 8, ln. 33 (for the unusual writing irwy.n, see ibid., 45–46). 38. Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 103–107. 39. Compare The Eloquent Peasant B1 35 (Parkinson, The Eloquent Peasant, 10): pr pw ir.n=f r-Hrw “He went forth, upwards (i.e. to the high ground).” The tomb robbery papyri use r-Hry to describe ascending the gebel; cf. P. Mayer B 6–7: iw=n Tzi r-Hry iw=n m Sm wa “We ascended to the high-ground, being in one party.” 40. Compare the Karnak Inscription of Merneptah, ln. 49:  nA dmi.w Hr.w n xAs.t “the high fortresses of the desert” (emending the translation in Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 56); another parallel (albeit restored) is offered by an inscription of Montuhotep IV in the Wadi Hammamat (Couyat and Montet, Les inscriptions hiéroglyphiques et hiératiques du Ouadi Hammamat, 80, ln. 5):  ir.n=i xAs.t m itrw in.t [Hry.t] m wA.t mw “I transformed the desert into a river, the [upper] wadi into a watercourse.” The afterlife similarly contains features described with the adjective Hry (Naville, Aegyptische Todtenbuch, vol. 2, 257):  S.w Hry.w“upper lakes;” additional attestations can be found in Hannig, Ägyptisches Wörterbuch II, 1731–1732. 41. Spalinger, Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative, pl. III. 42. Möller, Hieratische Paläographie, vol. II, 57, as noted in Manassa, Great Karnak Inscription, 130 note i; Popko (http://aaew.bbaw.de/tla/servlet/GetCtxt?u=guest &f=0&l=0&tc=1281&db=0&ws=378&mv=4) follows the reading of “600.”

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H IE R O G LYP H I C P L ATE S

Hieroglyphic Plate 1a: P. Sallier I (BM EA 10185), Column 1, lns. 1–6

Hieroglyphic Plate 1b: P. Sallier I (BM EA 10185), Column 1, lns. 7–10

Hieroglyphic Plate 2a: P. Sallier I (BM EA 10185), Column 2, lns. 1–6

Hieroglyphic Plate 2b: P. Sallier I (BM EA 10185), Column 2, lns. 7–11

Hieroglyphic Plate 3: P. Sallier I (BM EA 10185), Column 3

Hieroglyphic Plate 4: P. Harris 500 (BM EA 10060), Column 1

Hieroglyphic Plate 5: P. Harris 500 (BM EA 10060) Column 2

Hieroglyphic Plate 6: P. Harris 500 (BM EA 10060), Column 3

Hieroglyphic Plate 7: P. Turin 1940+1941, Fragments and Column X+1

Hieroglyphic Plate 8: P. Turin 1940+1941, Column X+2

Hieroglyphic Plate 9: P. Turin 1940+1941, Column X+3

Hieroglyphic Plate 10: P. Louvre N3136, Column X

Hieroglyphic Plate 11: P. Louvre N3136, Column X+1

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IND E X

adventure time, 22–23, 148 Aeneid, 96 Ahmose, 12, 34, 102, 158 Attack on Avaris, 35, 41, 56–57, 159 Ahmose (son of Ibana), 68, 110, 140, 236 n. 105 Ahmose-Nefertari, 8, 38 Ahmose Pennekhbet, 68, 158 Akhenaten, 34, 49, 80, 123, 127, 141 Alesia, 67 “Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves,” 69, 96, 98 Amarna Letters, 71, 74–75, 137, 267 n. 5 and Apiru, 80, 81 and messengers, 100 and queens, 94 Amenemhat I, 118 Amenemhat I, Instruction of, 26, 32, 33 Amenemope, Instruction of, 12, 264 n. 45 ames-staff, 84 Amun(-Re), 7, 9, 30, 37, 42–43, 50, 52–53, 65, 99–100, 108, 115, 116 commissioning of battle, 83, 121–122 as name of battalion, 127 present on the battlefield, 104–110111, 112–114, 133, 156 Amunhotep I, 38, 102 Amunhotep II, 17, 52, 78, 80, 81, 127 Amunhotep III, 11, 80, 161 Amunmose, 7–9 Ankhtyfy, 14, 224 n. 151 annals, 14, 45, 73, 74, 81, 103, 150–151, 157 Annals of Thutmose III, 15, 16, 51, 66–67, 73, 78, 80, 82, 92, 103, 107, 108, 114, 140, 150–151, 160, 171 Apep, 57, 154

Apepi, 23, 36–37, passim as historical figure, 30–31, 35–36 literacy of, 51–52 as monotheist,48–49 prenomen of, 37 as worshipper of Seth, 46–51 Apiru, 69, 75, 77, 79, 80–82, 104, 106, 107, 150, 159 Archers, 128, 130, 133–134, 138 Aruna Pass, 66–67, 95, 108, 140 Astarte and the Insatiable Sea, 17–18, 127, 174 audiences, 3, 6, 7, 27–29, 31, 33, 45, 52, 64, 73, 82, 92, 104, 125, 138, 144–146 authorship, 6, 7, 26, 31, 36, 44, 78, 81, 116, 120, 123, 135, 149, 151–152, 157, 159–161 autobiographies, 2, 14, 68, 82, 84, 110, 140, 150, 186, 193, 219 n. 68 Avaris, 29, 31, 32, 34, 35, 38, 39–42, 44, 47, 49, 57, 64, 93, 153 awenet-staff, 69, 70, 82–83, 84–86, 90, 148, 149 Aziru, 81 Baal, 17–18, 101, 112–113, 198 on 400 Year Stela, 47–48, 155 as serpent slayer, 154 syncretism with Seth, 92, 101, 113, 154–155 Bahariya Oasis, 132 Bakhtin, Mikhail, 20, 21–24 Baskets, 75, 88–89, 90–91, 82, 86, 98, 149, 181, 184–185 Bata, 22, 191, 257 n. 38

bears, 19 Beqaa Valley, 81 Birds, 91, 93, 108–110, 192 Blinding of Truth by Falsehood, 24, 63, 175 Book of Amduat, 194, 225 n. 168, 272 n. 24 Book of the Dead, 55 bravery, 28, 66, 110–111 British Museum EA 10058, 56–57, 218 n. 55 British Museum EA 10060, 85, 68–70, 148, see also The Capture of Joppa, The Doomed Prince,and love poetry British Museum EA 10182, 32 British Museum EA 10183, 32, see also The Tale of the Two Brothers British Museum EA 10185, 32–34, see also The Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre British Museum EA 10247, see The Satirical Letter of Hori British Museum EA 10222, 32 British Museum EA 69863, 70 Byblos, 70, 81, 86 captives, 70, 78, 80, 100, 109, 123, 135, 136, 137, 192 Capture of Joppa, The, 3, 4–5, 25, 68–70, passim characters of, 70–73, 78, 81–82 chronotope of, 23, 248 colophon of, 25, 186 historical template of, 15, 16, 67, 68, 76–77, 95 role of Djehuty in, 70–73, passim role of Seth in, 48, 58, 88, 92 role of the enemy in, 76, 83, 86, 91–94 role of Thutmose III in, 99–101 setting of, 73–75, 76 Carnarvon Tablet, 31–32, 35, 36, 46 chariot driver, 88, 91–92 chariotry, 11, 42, 69, 75, 76, 78–79, 86, 95, 103–104, 106–107, 108, 109, 111, 112–113, 114–115, 133, 135, 137, 148, 152, 182, 192, 201 chronotope, 21–24, 39, 148, 157 circumvallations, 67, 76 colophons, 25–26, 186 commentaries, 4, 19, 157

[334]

Index

Contendings of Horus and Seth, 17, 24, 26, 87, 175, 183, 193, 217 n. 30, 242 n. 25 courtly literature, 20 cowardice, 59, 77 cruelty, 123–124 cultural memory, 34, 49 Cusae, 34 Dakhla Oasis, 118, 119, 132 Darb el-Arbain, 132 day-book, 15–16, 66, 74, 76, 161 decorum, 5, 10, 101, 111, 139, 155 Deir el-Bahri, 18 Deir el-Ballas, 42–43 Deir el-Medina 26, 29, 38, 55, 104, 141–142, 152, 184, 200 demotic literature, 73, 163 Deshasheh, 93 Destruction of Mankind, 169 Djehuty, 23, 28, 70–73, passim Djehutyemhab, 163 Djehutymose, 141 diglossia, 26 diplomacy, 62, 72, 80, 81, 89, 93–94, 163 donkeys, 103, 115–116, 153 Elephantine, 34 Elkab, 68 Eloquent Peasant, The 27, 236 n.120, 274 n. 39 encomia, 63, 105, 127 ethnicity, 35, 244 n.51 exoticism, 18, 22, 73, 148 Farafra Oasis, 119, 132 fencing, 125 festivals, 11, 28, 29, 55, 77, 123, 135, 162 fiction(ality), 120, 138, 140 flames, 134, 136, 138–139, 140, 141 folk-tales, 17, 68–69, 94, 98, 148, 159 foreign deities, 6, 17, 113, see also Baal foreigners, 4, 5, 6, 9–10, 30, 35, 36, 40, 75, 79, 80, 86, 91–94, 100, 110, 115–116, 144, 145 as auxiliaries, 117, 119, 131–132, 137–138, 152, 201 dialogue with, 76, 182 domination of, 9–10, 67, 84, 100, 109, 124–125, 127, 144, 156

and plague, 44–45, 170 as rulers of Egypt, 30, 35, 36, 38, 39, 50, 57, 153 and Seth, 4, 38, 46–47, 48–50, 58, 70, 92, 149, 153–156 See also Apiru, maryannu, smiting scenes, women Fortresses, 10, 40, 43, 57, 118–119, 128–130, 132, 136, 137, 162, 200, 201, 247 n. 11 Four Hundred Year Stela, 47–48, 153 Fowler, Alstair, 20, 21 Gebel Barkal Stela, 15, 103, 107, 115, 116, 127, 161, 254 n. 142 genre, 3, 13, 15–16, 17, 19–24, 29, 34, 39, 58–59, 63, 82, 147, 157, 163 Girga Road, 132 Giza, 2 Graffiti, 12, 18, 163 Greek literature, 22–23, 69, 148, 154, 163 Grooms, 76, 77–78, 79, 181 Hasa, 118, 120, 130–131, 134, 136, 162 Hatshepsut, 8, 37, 39, 64, 84, 116, 158 Heb-sed, see jubilee Heliopolis, 37, 43, 56–57, 79, 81, 123–124, 162, 170, 198 Henotheism, 49 Hermopolis, 34, 46 hieratic, 16, 18, 25, 31, 46, 162 hippopotami, 30, 34, 51, 53–57, 60, 63, 144, 147, 153, 156, 159, 174 historical fiction, 13–14, 19–24, 29, passim definition of, 3, 20, 24, 157–158 function, 61–63, 144–146 historical geography, 10, 39, 153 historicism, 6, 34, 49, 53, 68, 89 historiography, 2, 5, 6, 12, 16, 18, 47, 49, 57, 65, 78, 82, 102, 116, 156–163 Hittites, 50, 78, 95, 101, 102, 137, 144 homo ludens, 6 Horakhty, 61, 113, 121, 123, 126, 127, 156, 199 Horemheb, 11, 37, 41, 78, 91, 261 n. 87 horses, 68, 75–76, 77–78, 79, 103, 104, 106, 107, 113, 114, 115–116 Horus, 65, 88, 126, 153, 168

House of Life, 12–13, 25, 73, 81, 143 humor, 11, 15, 19, 55, 63, 65, 69, 83, 94, 116, 125, 144, 145, 147, 159 Hutwaret, see Avaris hyberbole, 63 Hyksos, 3, 4, 30, 31, 34–35, 37, 38, 46, 49–50, 62, 64, 93, 153, 155 capital of, 39–41 expulsion from Egypt, 31, 41, 56–57, 102, 146, 158 names, 35–36 origins of, 35, 40 rulership of Egypt, 30, 35, 36, 38, 39, 49–50, 57, 153 Hymn to Hapi, 26, 33 Hymn to the King in His Chariot, 68, 86, 113, 149 impalement, 123–124, 141 Inti , 93 instruction literature, 12, 20, 26, 32, 213 n. 160 “Instruction of Letter Writing,” 26, 33, 61–63, 147 Instruction of a Man for His Son, 26 intertextuality, 13–14, 15, 20, 34, 51, 63–65, 75–76, 80, 85–86, 103, 110–111, 134–136 intoxication 76,77 Ipuwer, Admonitions of, 170 Irem, 59 Isis, 56–57, 139 Joppa, 73–75, 76, 78, 87, 92–93 jubilee, 28, 147, 205 n. 52 Kadesh, Battle of, 5, 29, 32–33, 50, 52, 77, 78, 95, 100–101, 105, 110–111, 112, 127, 140, 151, 161, 191, 192, 194 Kamose, 31–32, 34, 35–36, 60 Kamose Stela, 31–32, 5–36, 39, 46, 51, 64, 93, see also Carnarvon Tablet Karnak Temple, 31, 42, 53, 66, 77, 84, 119, 131, 158, 161, 163 Kenherkhopeshef, 29, 38, 259 n. 68 Khaemwaset, 1–2, 18, 163 Khamudi, 56 Kharga Oasis, 118, 132 Kharu, 103, 115–116 Khasekhemwy, 153

Index [ 3 3 5 ]

khepesh-sword, 9, 37, 83, 111, 113, 122, 186 Khety, Instruction of, 33 Khnum, 37 Khonsuemhab and the Spirit, 18–19 Khufu and the Magicians, 59, 64, 111, 219 n. 58, 265 n. 56 kilts, 47, 87, 113, 138 King’s Son of Kush, 71, 141 kingship, 35–36, 43–44, 64, 111, 119, 126–127, 147, 153 Kipling, Rudyard, 149 Kom Abu Billo, 128–129 Kom Firin, 128–129 landscape, 10, 40, 73 Late Egyptian, 26–27 Late Egyptian Miscellanies, 16, 42, 61–63, 85, 105, 109, 125–126, 145, 146–147, 153, 155, 174, 182, 184, 192, 193 letters, 20, 32, 33, 38, 39, 44, 50, 52, 61–62, 70, 71, 79, 81, 93, 98, 100–101, 125–126, 146–147, 157 libraries, 12–13, 19, 27, 29, 33, 161 Libyan Battle Story, 3, 5–6, 10, 15, passim and Battle of Perire, 128–129, 130–134 chronotope of, 23 and Merneptah, see and Battle of Perire and Ramesses III, 134–137 role of the pharaoh, 124–127, 130–134 role of Sea Peoples, 136–138 and songs of victory, 122–123 Libyans, 9–10, 11, 23, 19, 45, 57, 91, 113, 120, 131–133, 136, 142–143 relations with Egypt, 118–119, 128–130, 134–136 See also Hasa, Meshwesh, Tjehenu lions, 56, 83, 91, 113, 114, 134, 183, 194 lists, 7, 9, 12, 19, 34, 38, 39, 74, 100, 140 literacy, 27, 29, 51–52, 99 love poetry, 29, 39, 85, 87, 148, 213 n. 157, 261 n. 86 Maat, 36, 44, 48, 64, 92, 110, 121, 126, 127, 135, 155, 156 maces, 83–84

[336]

Index

manacles, 70, 83, 87, 88, 90–91, 109, 149, 183 maryannu, 5, 69, 75, 78–80, 81, 148, 159, 182 Medinet Habu, 7–12, 56, 91, 104, 113, 125, 129–130, 134, 135, 138, 174 Medjoy, 16 Megiddo, Battle of, 5, 51, 76, 77, 93, 116, 160 fictionalization of, 103, 107, 108, 115–116, 150, 161 strategy of, 66–68, 95 Mehy, 148, 261 n. 86 Memphis, 25, 39, 42, 46, 123–124, 200 Menisut, 8 Menna, 5, 110–111 Merey, 57, 123, 128, 131–132, 135, 136, 141 Merneptah, 3, 5, 15, 23, 25, 32, 42, 44–45, 57, 79, 105, 119, 120–121, 123–124, 128–129, 131 133, 136, 138, 151, 155, 162 Meshwesh, 118, 130–131, 132, 134, 135–136, 142, 152, 261 n. 95 messengers, 31, 54, 58, 60, 62, 78, 82, 91, 100 Middle Egyptian, 26–27, 63 migdol-tower, 8 Min Festival, 11–12 monotheism, 34, 48–49, 53, 153 Montu, 58, 103, 111–112, 114, 115, 156 Montuhotep II, 12, 14, 18, 118 Na-amunre, 8, 10, 152 namelessness 37–38, 70, 76, 219 n. 58 Neferkare and Sisenet, Tale of, 59, 169 Nefertiti, 93–94 nemset-vessels, 87–88, 180 new moon, 67, 103, 108 nomen, 37 Nubia, 16, 29, 41, 52, 59, 65, 71, 118, 119, 123, 125, 132, 141, 145, 146, 162 oases, see Bahariya Oasis, Dakhleh Oasis, Kharga Oasis officials, 12, 60, 71, 140 Opening of the Mouth, 88 oral performance, 19, 27–29, 135, 159 ostraca, 18–19, 25, 79, 142, 182, 184

overseer of northern foreign countries, 84 palaces, 10–11, 15, 40–41, 42–43, 54, 58, 64, 82, 93, 121, 124–126, 141 paleography, 25, 105, 120, 197, 273 n. 3 Papyrus Anastasi I, see Satirical Letter of Hori Papyrus Anastasi II, 155, 211 n. 124 Papyrus Anastasi VII, see British Museum EA 10222 Papyrus Boulaq 18, 15 Papyrus D’Orbiney, see British Museum EA 10183 Papyrus Harris I, 15, 79, 134, 135, 136, 162, 192, 200 Papyrus Harris 500, see British Museum EA 10060, see also The Capture of Joppa and The Doomed Prince Papyrus Hermitage 1116A, 78 Papyrus Louvre N 3136, 120–121, see also The Libyan Battle Story Papyrus Sallier I, see British Museum EA 10185 Papyrus Sallier II, see British Museum EA 10182 Papyrus Sallier III, 32 105, 112, 140, 172, 187, 244 n. 60 Papyrus Turin 1940 +1941, 104–105, see also Thutmose III in Asia paratextual elements, 25, 61 paronomasia, 47, 68, 86 Paser, 5, 103, 105, 106, 107, 108, 110–111, 112, 144, 150, 151 Peleset, 109, 118, 121, 131, 134, 137, 138, 152, 162 Pentaweret, 26, 27, 30, 31, 32–33, 61–62, 105, 147, 170, 172 Peribsen, 153 Perire, Battle of, 5, 23, 45, 117, 120, 123, 128–129, 120–134, 138, 151, 161–162 pestilence, 30, 44–46, 57, 64, 170 Piramesses, 31, 34, 38, 40, 41–42, 47, 48, 61, 143, 153, 159, 174 Piye, 229 n. 10, 240 n. 180, 273 n. 12, 273 n. 19 plague, see pestilence praise of cities, 20, 39, 153, 211 n. 126, 250 n. 79

Pre, 37, 47, 49, 50, 61, 95, 121, 123, 126–127, 156, 199 prenomen, 37, 49, 106 Princess of Bakhtan, The, 163 Prophecies of Neferti, The, 20, 27, 64, 213 n. 149, 217 n. 44, 219 n. 58, 224 n. 140, 228 n. 208, 243 n. 34 Puduhepa, 94 pylons, 8–9, 10, 84 pyramids, 1–2, 8, 38, 123, 128, 134 Qaret el-Dahr, 247 n. 11 Quarrel of Apepi and Seqenenre, The, 3, 4, 15, 25–26, passim characters of, 30–31, 34–39 chronotope of, 23 historical context of, 31–32, 57–58 and kingship, 43–44, 53–53 and royal novel, 34, 50–51, 58, 60, 63–65 setting of, 39–43 theology of, 46–50, 55–56 use of rubrics in, 26 Qina Brook, 108 quotations, 5, 13, 15, 104, 105, 112, 146, 156, 262, 214 n. 169, 266 n. 71 Ramesses II, 5, 8, 9, 15, 18, 19, 23, 25, 29, 33, 36, 41, 47, 50, 52–53, 75, 77, 78, 82, 94, 95, 101, 104, 109, 110–111, 112, 118–119, 127, 129, 137, 146, 155, 191, 194, 199 Ramesses III, 5, 15, 23, 25, 29, 45, 79, 81, 109, 113, 118, 119–120, 121, 122, 125, 129, 130, 131, 134–136, 137, 138, 151–152, 162, 192, 198, 199 Ramesses IX, 38, 141–142 Ramesseum, 12 Rekhmire, 110, 238 n. 148 Rhind Mathematical Papyrus, see British Museum EA 10058 Ribaddi, 81, 232 n. 52, 253 n. 124 royal councils, 31, 50–51, 60, 64 royal ka, 37 royal novel, 4, 5, 20, 34, 50–51, 58–59, 60, 63–65, 139, 159, 176 rubrics, 26, 52, 104, 169 Sahure, 118 Sakhmet, 44, 83, 170, 183

Index [ 3 3 7 ]

Saqqara, 8, 32 Satire of the Trades, The, 145–146 Satirical Letter of Hori, The, 16, 18, 19, 32, 33, 63, 73, 74, 77, 79, 86–87, 145, 149, 157, 212 n. 128 Satuna, 19 scarabs, 35, 161 scribes, 12–13, 16, 18, 25–26, 38–39, 51–52, 62, 64, 145 Sea Peoples, 10, 11, 45, 128, 131, 132, 134, 137–138, 151, 162, 198, see also Pelset, Sherden Seqenenre, 3, 4, 23, 30, passim as historical figure, 35–36, 38, 42–43, 52 mummy of, 32 as worshipper of Amun-Re, 52–53, 59, 156 Seth, 30, 37, 41, 47–48, 49–50, 55, 56–57, 65, 88, 103, 113, 127, 152–156, 159 and foreigners, 4, 38, 46–47, 48–50, 58, 70, 92, 149, 153–156 as patron of the Ramesside Dynasty, 4, 38, 47–48 slayer of Apep, 113, 154 syncretism with Baal, 92, 101, 113, 154–155 as trickster, 154 Seti I, 18, 25, 59, 65, 68, 81, 82, 118, 127, 174, 271 n. 6 Shah Nameh, 69, 96–97, 98 Sherden, 23, 121, 131, 132, 134, 137, 138, 152, 201 sieges, 66, 67, 74, 76, 78, 93, 94–95, 96, 103, 107, 116, 148 signaling, 193–194 Sinuhe, Story of, 26, 79–80, 82, 186, 193, 211 n. 116, 219 n. 58, 222 n. 105 Siwa Oasis, 132 smiting scene, 8–9, 14, 83–84, 86, 94, 101, 144, 183 Snofru, 118 Sobekemsaf I, 56 Sobekhotep II, 15 solar bark, 57, 92, 154 songs of victory, 28, 122–123 staffs, 83–86 standards, 113–114 strategems, 94–95, 97–98

[338]

Index

strategy, 59, 66, 95, 132, 201 Syria-Palestine, 5, 35, 66–67, 69, 71–72, 76, 80, 102, 124, 144, 146, 149, 159 Taatja, 110 Tale of the Doomed Prince, 17, 24, 68, 145, 148, 182 Tale of the Two Brothers, 17, 22, 24, 33, 191, 233 n. 57, 257 n. 38 Tatenen, 123 Taweret, 55–56, 156, 174 taxes, 43, 45, 46, 64, 65, 147, 170, 171 Tell el-Daba, see Avaris textual criticism, 4, 19, 157 Theban Tomb 17 (Nebamun), 93 Theban Tomb 74 (Tjanuni), 150–151, 228 n. 1, 236 n. 16, 237 n. 134, 260 n. 82 Theban Tomb 131 (User), 90 Thebes, 29, 36, 42, 43 Thutmose III, 8, 15, 23, 66–67, 71, 75, 77, 78, 80, 81–82, 83, 84, 86, 88, 91, 92, 93, 100, 102–103, 104, 106, 107, 108, 110–111, 112, 115–116, 127, 140, 146, 148–149, 150–151, 156, 158. 160–161 Thutmose III in Asia, 3, 5, 15, 23, 25, 29, passim and the Battle of Megiddo, 103, 107, 108, 115–116, 150, 161 quotation of the Kadesh Battle Poem, 103–104, 105, 110–111, 112, 127 role of Paser, 5, 103, 105, 107, 108, 110–111, 144, 150, 161 Thutmose IV, 114–115 time of troubles topos, 45, 64, 169 Tiye, 93–94 Tjanuni, see Theban Tomb 74 Tjaru, 56–57 Tjehenu, 118, 128, 129 tomb robbery, 32, 38, 226 n. 180, 274 n. 39 tombs, 15, 18, 29, 32, 38, 41, 68, 80, 110 of Djehuty, 70–71, 73, 100, 160 topographical lists, 9, 74 travel, 145 travel literature, 20 trial literature, 20

trickster gods, 154 Trojan horse, 69, 77, 96, 98 Turin Canon, 12, 36, 38, 39 Tutankhamun, 41, 113, 184 Ugarit(ic), 17–18, 93, 184 Usersatet, 52 verse points, 26, 104 Wadi Natrun, 129 warfare, 10, 14–15, 59, 62, 67, 89, passim divinely sanctioned, 53, 100 fictionalization of, 57, 94–98, 103, 107, 108, 115–116, 132–134, 150, 161

records, 10, 13, 16, 60, 118, 127, 150–151, see also day-book, royal novel see also strategy, stratagem Ways of Horus, 201 Wenamun, The Report of, 82, 86, 87, 145, 163, 175, 185, 208, n. 81, 250 n. 72, 261 n. 97 Weni, 14 winds, 112, 114, 156, 194 wine, 77 Window of Appearances, 10–11, 42, 125–126 women, 86–87, 88, 89, 91–94, 110 wrestling, 11, 125 Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham, 118

Index [ 3 3 9 ]