The strong affection borne by Seti to his young son was fully returned, and it was with the most reverent heed that Rameses, on his accession, carried out and completed all that his father had begun. In Western Thebes Seti had founded a memorial sanctuary to his father’s name, which he intended as his own burial-place. But ‘he died,’ says Rameses, ‘and entered the realm of heaven and united himself with Ra, whilst this his house was being built. The gates showed a vacant place; all the works of stone and brick had yet to be raised, and all the writing and painting to be done.’ The mummy of the king had, it seems, been placed meanwhile in his temple at Abydos. One morning it happened that, after celebrating a magnificent festival of Amen-Ra at Thebes, Rameses started at dawn of day for his new and favourite capital in the Delta.[46] The royal ships, it is said, threw their brightness on the river. Orders had been given for the journey down the stream, but on reaching the canal that led to Abydos the young king gave directions to turn aside thither that he might ‘behold the face of his father and offer sacrifice.’ But on arriving, he was much struck by the general dilapidation of the tombs, and the marks of careless neglect on every side. ‘Nothing had been built up,’ he said, ‘by the son for the father, though he should have been careful to preserve it according to his expectations, since its possessor had taken flight to heaven. But not one son had renewed the memorial of his father who rested in the grave.’ On examining his own father’s temple, he found evidence not only of neglect but of dishonesty. ‘The revenues had failed, the servants of the temple had taken, without exception, whatever had come in for themselves.’ Consequently the columns were not raised on their bases, the statues lay prostrate on the ground. Rameses forthwith called together the princes, the captains and the architects, and after their prostrations and flattering speeches were ended he addressed them. After speaking of the state of things he had found at Abydos, he went on to say: ‘The most beautiful thing to behold, the best thing to hear, is a child with a thankful breast, whose heart beats for his father. When I was but a little boy I attained to the supremacy. The lord of all himself nourished and brought me up; he gave over to me the land. I sat on his lap as a child, and he presented me publicly to the people, saying, “I will have him crowned king, for my desire is to behold his glory whilst I am yet alive. Place the royal diadem upon his brow. May he restore order and set up again that which has fallen into ruin. May he care for the people, the inhabitants of the land.” Thus graciously did he speak out of his tender love towards me. Therefore will I do what is fitting and good for Seti Menephtah.[47] I will renew his memory. I will not neglect his tomb, as children are accustomed to do who do not remember their parents. I will complete it because I am lord of the country. I will take care of it because it is right and seemly.’ He is answered with profuse flatteries, and is assured that none but he and Horus, son of Isis, imagine and perform such things. The king then appoints the following song for his own honour and in his father’s memory:—
‘Awake, lift up thy face towards heaven; behold the sun, O my father, thou who hast become like God. Here am I who will make thy name to live. I myself, I myself am come here to build thy temple near to that of Unnefer,[48] the eternal king.’
Rameses proceeds to tell of all his gifts and rich endowments, and then addresses his father thus:—
‘Thou hast entered into the realm of heaven. Thou art in the company of Ra. Thou art united with the moon and stars. Thou restest in the deep like those who dwell with Unnefer the eternal king. When the sun ariseth thou dost behold its splendour: when he sinketh down to rest, thou art in his train. Thou enterest within the secret house, and remainest in the company of the gods. Speak thou to Ra and to Unnefer with a heart full of love, that he may grant long years and feasts of jubilee unto King Rameses. Well will it be for thee that I should reign for a long time, for thou wilt be honoured by a good son who remembers his father.’
In answer to this invocation Seti appears and promises all that the heart of a king could desire, and more especially the length of days entreated by his son.
Long life was certainly appointed to King Rameses, who reigned for 67 years. Whilst still a youth he was summoned to serious conflict. Not only had the Syrian princes again risen, but the powerful and civilised nation of the Kheta had prepared to put forth all its strength against its mighty rival. Their country lay north of Syria, and their dominion extended eastward over a part of Mesopotamia, and westward to the coast of Asia Minor. Seti had encountered them, but although he claimed a great victory, he had found it advisable immediately afterwards to conclude a treaty and to return home. Khetasir, king of the Kheta, encouraged perhaps by the extreme youth of Seti’s successor, had formed a strong confederacy against Egypt, and placed himself at its head. Besides his Syrian and Phœnician allies, he had called together the inhabitants of Mesopotamia on the east, and of the towns on the sea-coast, including, some have imagined, a contingent from Ilium,[49] as yet unbesieged of Greek, and unknown in song. The Egyptian forces reached Kadesh and pitched their camp in its neighbourhood.
The scenes of this campaign are made very real and living to us, being painted and sculptured in full detail on the walls of the Theban temples, and its chief episode is immortalised in the heroic poem of Pentaur. We see the Egyptian camp in the form of a square, with a temporary wall of enclosure, formed by piled up shields; servants are resting, asses are wandering about; there too is the lion of Rameses, the famous beast who accompanied him in his campaigns, and whose name was Semem-kheftu-ef: ‘Tearer to pieces of his enemies.’ The king’s tent is seen, and near it is the shrine of the god. An inscription duly informs us: ‘This is the first legion of Amen, who bestows victory on King Rameses. Pharaoh is with it. It is pitching its camp.’
Another picture gives us an important episode. The inscription tell us: ‘This is the arrival of the spies of Pharaoh. They are bringing two spies of the Kheta before the king. They are beating them to make them declare where the king of the Kheta is.’ For the plain fact was that the Egyptians were very much at a loss. Not long before two men had come into the camp, professing themselves to be leaders of the Shasu, who were wishing to desert the cause of the Kheta and to join the Egyptian army; for the king of the Kheta was far away, and was remaining in the country of the Khilibu for fear of the Egyptians. Rameses, it is not unlikely, was flattered by this tribute to the terror inspired by his very name; at any rate he believed their story too easily, and set out at once with slender forces in a north-westerly direction, leaving the main body to follow more leisurely. But at this juncture the two spies mentioned in the inscription were captured, and from them was extorted the confession that the Kheta were not by any means far off, but were at that moment lying in ambush close at hand, had horses and riders in great number, and all implements of war, and were ‘more in number than the sands of the sea.’ Anger swelled high in the breast of the young king; he called together the leaders and captains, and bitterly upbraided them for their neglect and carelessness. ‘You have been telling me every day that the enemy are far away in the country of the Khilibu, and now, hear what these men say. Bring up our forces to the attack—they are close at our side.’ But meanwhile the king of the Kheta had fallen suddenly upon the main body of the Egyptian army, who were following the advanced guard slowly and in careless security, and had taken them completely by surprise. They gave way and fell back upon the road that led to the place where the king was stationed with his advanced guard. But ‘when Pharaoh saw this he was wroth; he seized his armour and appeared like unto the god of war in his hour. He mounted his chariot and rushed forth alone. None was with him. He rushed upon the foe and cast them down, and subdued the people before him. Then did the king of the Kheta lift up his hands in supplication.’
The scene is a favourite one, and is depicted more than once. We see the orderly masses of the Kheta in contrast to their less regular and less warlike allies. We see the heroic onslaught of the king, and the desperate encounter of the chariots on the plain of the Orontes. The Khetan chariots are beheld overthrown and hurled into the river, where the horsemen are confusedly struggling. One prince is being dragged out and held with his head hanging down, and we learn ‘This is the King of Khilibu; his warriors are raising him up after Pharaoh has thrown him into the water.’
Such was the battle of Kadesh, in which it is evident that the Egyptian army, after having been brought by bad generalship to the brink of destruction, was saved from ruin by the desperate valour and personal prowess of Rameses himself. It is this exploit that is celebrated by the poet Pentaur two years later in such glowing poetic hyperbole:—