In 1274BCE, near the Levantine town of Kadesh, a miracle occurred: Ramesses II of Egypt, isolated from his forces due to faulty intelligence, single-handedly destroyed a Hittite army. Out of the 2,500 chariots attacking him, not one survived. The pharaoh subsequently threw countless enemies into the river Orontes, only sparing the Hittite king after he begged for mercy. It was a mighty victory – and a mighty mix of fact and fiction.

This version of events is found in two texts commissioned by Ramesses: the so-called Official Record and the Poem of Pentaur (named after the scribe of Papyrus Sallier III). After the Kadesh campaign, the pharaoh used these texts to portray himself as the archetypal glorious commander: feared by the enemy and protected by the gods. These works appeared primarily on royal architecture, such as the monumental temples at Abu Simbel, Karnak, Luxor and Abydos. Carved in stone, the inscriptions were designed for eternity, and the detailed reliefs accompanying them meant that even the illiterate majority could understand. Meanwhile, the Poem was also circulated on papyrus, allowing the story to travel rather than being confined to immobile monuments. Thus, Ramesses did everything to spread the word to everyone – from humble peasants gazing at temple walls to nobles enjoying court poetry.

Considering how many copies of the Ramesses-approved narratives were produced, and how many remain preserved, it is unsurprising that they are still the most famous treatments of the fateful events of 1274BCE. This is rather unfortunate, as careful examination of archaeological evidence and lesser-known texts has shown that this official line is not even an exaggeration: it creates victory out of defeat.

In his accounts, Ramesses claims that the victory gave Egypt domination over the Levant. If so, we might expect to find traces of Egyptian rule at Levantine sites of the 13th century BCE: for example, Egyptian-style artefacts or inscriptions. However, such sites invariably produce texts in the cuneiform script of the Hittites and Mesopotamia, while the pottery, architecture, and cult-oriented items are also distinctly un-Egyptian. If the Egyptians did conquer this area, they did not show it.

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Such absence of evidence is nevertheless not conclusive evidence of absence, especially in a notoriously complicated archaeological region. A stronger sign that the battle was at best indecisive comes from an Egypto-Hittite treaty of 1259BCE, fifteen years after Kadesh. This is preserved both in Egyptian, on the walls of two temples in Thebes, and in Hittite, on a cuneiform tablet from their capital, Hattusa. The treaty establishes friendly relations between the two states, who acknowledge each other as equals, and stipulates that the Kadesh area will remain in Hittite hands. Ramesses was apparently less keen to draw attention to this text: its two surviving exemplars are dwarfed by the plethora of preserved copies of the Official Record and Poem. Where displayed, it is not exactly attention-grabbing: a dense block of text with few visual stimuli.

However, this is still not comprehensive proof of Egyptian failure at Kadesh: considering the fifteen year gap, it could still be conceivable that Ramesses triumphed but then failed to retain his gains. The definitive evidence comes from an archive found at Hattusa, which contains over 100 private letters between Ramesses and his Hittite counterpart, Hattusili III. The letters are in Akkadian cuneiform, the international language of the age. Written after the treaty was signed and not intended for public perusal, they provide a unique glimpse of the frank exchanges between the rulers. In one letter, Hattusili asks why Ramesses was treating Kadesh as a victory even though the Hittites had “defeated the King of Egypt”. Ramesses, meanwhile, acknowledges that the battle was difficult. In his words, “it was the hostility of a god, and he caused me problems”. This is hardly the discourse of a clear victor.

The Hattusa archive also gives us a better indication of what did happen at Kadesh. The letter of Ramesses quoted above, accepted by Hattusili, says that the pharaoh heard from two Bedouin early in the campaign that the Hittite army was hundreds of miles away. He therefore split off from his main force and advanced quickly with a small contingent, hoping to secure the Kadesh region before the enemy arrived. However, the Bedouin had in fact tricked Ramesses, as the Hittites were already at Kadesh. The pharaoh was then attacked by this much larger force, equipped with many chariots. He avoided catastrophe because the main Egyptian army relieved him, and losses were heavy on both sides. The Egyptians eventually retreated without capturing their strategic objectives.

Of course, the discovery of this archive does not mean that the hunt for evidence is over. We still await the full results of ongoing excavations at Pi-Ramesse, the capital of Ramesses II. It may well hide further texts. Furthermore, the diversity of sources, spanning Egyptian, Hittite and Akkadian and coming from both Egypt and Anatolia, means that another piece of the jigsaw might still emerge in the field or in some long-forgotten museum basement. The search must go on.

Nonetheless, by comparing the Hattusa letters with the Ramesses-sanctioned Poem and Official Record, we already get a remarkable insight into royal propaganda. The narrative designed for internal consumption was fiction moulded around a kernel of fact: the pharaoh was indeed cut off from his army, he did face a chariot onslaught while outnumbered, and he did inflict casualties. He lost, but so what? As politics continues to show, even dubious achievements can become triumphs after sufficient amplification and trumpeting.