Ancient Egyptians Didn't Actually Love War — And One Soldier's Story Proves It
History

Ancient Egyptians Didn't Actually Love War — And One Soldier's Story Proves It

BookOfWorldHistory May 6, 2026 9 min · 1,609 words
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Egypt fought plenty of wars. But if you read what ordinary Egyptians actually wrote about military life, a very different picture emerges — one of men who missed their farms, dreaded the march, and would have much rather been scribes. This is the story of what soldiering really looked like in ancient Egypt, and of one young charioteer who ended up in the most dangerous moment of the most famous battle in Egyptian history.

There's a version of ancient Egypt that shows up in popular history — one where pharaohs are always conquering, soldiers are always marching, and military glory sits at the center of everything. It's not entirely wrong. Egypt fought wars, ran campaigns, pushed its boundaries, and produced some of the ancient world's most impressive military records. But read what Egyptians actually wrote about themselves — not the official temple carvings commissioned by pharaohs, but the letters, the instructional texts, the personal advice passed down from men who had lived through army service — and a much more human picture emerges. Egyptians, by their own account, were not a people who loved war. They fought when their pharaoh told them to, and they fought with real discipline when they had strong leadership. But their hearts stayed at home. The farms, the families, the familiar rhythms of daily life along the Nile — that's what they actually wanted. Among all the careers available to an Egyptian man, being a soldier ranked low. Being a scribe ranked highest. The gap between those two things tells you a lot about what Egyptian civilization actually valued.

Ancient Egyptian relief carving depicting Ramses II in his chariot during the Battle of Kadesh.

Egyptian temple reliefs showing Ramses II in battle were official propaganda designed for permanence — but letters and instructional texts written by ordinary Egyptians tell a far less glorious story about what military service actually felt like from the inside.

What Egyptians Actually Thought About Being a Soldier

An old Egyptian text survives — written by a man who had served as a soldier before becoming a government official — in which he advises a young man who is considering joining the army. The young man is particularly drawn to the chariot corps, which was the elite branch of the Egyptian military and carried real social prestige. Chariot soldiers were often from higher social ranks. The equipment was expensive, the horses were impressive, and to a young man watching them train, the whole thing looked like an appealing life. The writer doesn't dismiss that initial appeal. He acknowledges it. At first, yes — you get new weapons, good horses, a fine chariot. When you come home on leave, people look at you differently. You feel pride. Then he gets honest about what comes after. In inspections, the smallest imperfection in your equipment brings beatings. Weapons not properly maintained, chariot not perfectly ready — punishment is quick and physical. For the ordinary foot soldiers, the barracks were places of constant strict discipline with little comfort. When campaigns began, soldiers marched enormous distances through rough terrain in intense heat, carrying weapons and supplies on their backs. Water sources along the way were often contaminated, and men got sick from drinking what was available. In battle, they faced serious wounds and death while generals who directed the fighting from safe positions received most of the honor and reward afterward. When they finally came home, many soldiers were injured or ill, some had been robbed along the way, and the rewards were thin for anyone below officer rank. The writer's conclusion was blunt: stay home, become a scribe. A scribe worked in an office, kept records, wrote letters for officials and wealthy families. The work was safe, carried social respect, and didn't involve anyone beating you for a scratch on your shield. Fathers whose sons became scribes were genuinely proud — sometimes more proud than the scribes themselves deserved to be, given that some of them looked down on their own farming families once they had the title.

Ancient Egyptian scribe statue showing a seated official writing on papyrus.

The scribe sat at the top of ordinary Egyptians' career ambitions — a safe, respected, indoor job working for government or powerful households, regarded as far preferable to the hard discipline and physical danger of army life according to surviving Egyptian texts.

What the Egyptian Army Actually Looked Like

None of this meant Egypt couldn't put together a functioning army when it needed one. It could, and by ancient standards it was a capable force — just not a particularly large one. Most major campaigns involved around twenty thousand men. Numbers above twenty-five thousand were unusual. The army was made up of several distinct types of fighters. Infantry spearmen wore padded clothing and leather caps and carried shields alongside their long spears. Archers were often lightly equipped for mobility and were regarded as particularly dangerous — Egyptian archers had a real reputation for accuracy. Chariot soldiers made up the elite strike force, riding in fast, light vehicles pulled by pairs of horses that were groomed and decorated for the occasion. One man drove, the other fought — using a bow at range and swords or spears at close quarters. Immediate around the pharaoh marched his personal guard, a unit called the Sherden. These were foreign soldiers, most likely from Sardinia, and they looked nothing like typical Egyptian infantry. They wore horned metal helmets, carried heavy round shields, and fought with large swords. Behind the main fighting force came other hired fighters — Sudanese warriors in animal skins, Libyan soldiers from the west with distinctive feathers in their headgear. Scouts ranged far ahead of the column to locate the enemy and report back. Behind everything came the long supply train: donkeys loaded with food, water, weapons, and equipment, keeping the army fed across terrain that had very few roads and no guarantee of reliable water sources.

Menna — The Young Charioteer Chosen to Drive the King

Among the soldiers who marched north with Ramses II into Syria, one young charioteer had been given an assignment that set him apart from every other man in the army. His name was Menna, and despite being young, his skill with horses and chariot had earned him recognition. He was selected to drive the royal chariot — to be the man controlling the vehicle that carried Ramses II himself into battle. It was an honor that came with the most direct possible exposure to danger. For most of the long march north toward Hittite territory, there was nothing dramatic to report. The army moved, Menna maintained the horses and kept the chariot in perfect condition, and the enemy stayed invisible. Scouts reported that the Hittite forces had pulled back from the area around the city of Kadesh, apparently unwilling to fight. Ramses took this to mean the city would fall without significant resistance. He moved ahead with one division of his army, leaving the rest to follow at some distance behind. His forces set up camp near Kadesh, unloaded the supply donkeys, and began to rest after the march. Then two men were captured and brought before the king. After questioning — the texts record that beating was involved — they admitted the truth. The Hittite army had not retreated. It was sitting just out of sight, waiting.

Ancient Egyptian temple relief showing the Battle of Kadesh chariot clash between Egyptian and Hittite forces.

The Battle of Kadesh in northern Syria around 1274 BCE was one of the largest chariot engagements in ancient history — and it came within a narrow margin of being a catastrophic Egyptian defeat before a last-ditch defense by Ramses II and a handful of loyal soldiers changed its course.

The Moment Everything Fell Apart — and What Menna Did

Before Ramses could fully react to the news, the Hittites moved. An Egyptian brigade coming up from a different direction suddenly broke and ran — men streaming back toward the camp, chased by thousands of Hittite chariots that hit them at exactly the right moment, when they were tired from marching and not expecting contact. The Hittite chariots smashed through the scattered troops and poured into the Egyptian camp. Within a very short time, Ramses found himself nearly alone. The organized army he had commanded minutes earlier had scattered in all directions. Only a small cluster of loyal chariots remained near him. This was the moment that separated Ramses II from a long list of pharaohs nobody remembers. He didn't wait. He climbed into his chariot, where Menna was standing at the reins, and ordered a charge directly into the Hittite force. Menna was afraid — the accounts don't hide that, and it would have been strange if he weren't, given what he was looking at. But he trusted the man standing next to him and drove the horses forward. Ramses fired continuously from the chariot as Menna pushed through the Hittite lines, arrows finding targets, clearing space, forcing the enemy chariots back enough to keep the small Egyptian group from being completely surrounded. They did this repeatedly — charging through, fighting back, regrouping, charging again — buying time for scattered Egyptian soldiers to stop running and start returning to the fight. It was slow. Egyptian arrows were running low. Soldiers fought with swords and spears when they had nothing else left. But the Hittite attack gradually lost its momentum. When Egyptian reinforcements finally arrived from another direction, the situation shifted. Hittite commanders were killed. Confusion spread through their formations. The Hittite king, watching from across the river, had lost control of the battle he had been winning minutes earlier. Both sides were too damaged and exhausted to keep fighting. They stopped. The Egyptians marched home without the great victory the campaign had promised — Kadesh stayed in Hittite hands — but having survived what had very nearly been a complete disaster. The treaty they eventually signed with the Hittites years later became one of the oldest known peace agreements in history.

Coming Home — What Menna Got for Staying

When the Egyptian army came back across the border, crowds turned out to greet them — flowers, cheering, the kind of welcome that tends to be proportionally enthusiastic to how close the catastrophe had been. Ramses was celebrated, as pharaohs always were after campaigns regardless of outcome. But in front of the assembled army, he made a point of singling out Menna. He took a gold collar from around his own neck and placed it around the young charioteer's. He spoke publicly about what Menna had done — staying at the reins when the situation looked beyond recovery, driving the royal chariot into a force that vastly outnumbered them, holding his nerve when officers of far higher rank had abandoned their king and run. The same officers who had fled got a different kind of public recognition. Ramses addressed them by name in front of everyone and told them exactly what he thought of their choices. Menna went home with the gold collar, a reputation that traveled ahead of him, and a story that outlasted him by several thousand years. Not a scribe. Not the career the old text-writer would have recommended. But in the end, the man who stayed beside his king at Kadesh ended up being remembered in a way that most scribes were not.

Ancient Egyptian relief depicting a pharaoh rewarding a loyal soldier with a gold collar after battle.

The gold collar placed around a soldier's neck by the pharaoh himself was one of ancient Egypt's highest military honors — and Menna's public recognition in front of the army, while the officers who fled were publicly rebuked, made his reward as much about loyalty as about courage.