Latest / Ramses the Great: Egypt's Most Powerful Pharaoh — Fexingo History / Ramses the Great's Temple Builders: The Workforce Behind Abu Simbel
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've talked a lot about what Ramses built — Abu Simbel, the Ramesseum, his new capital Pi-Ramesses — but we haven't really looked at who actually built them. Not the pharaoh, not the architects, but the thousands of people who moved stone and carved reliefs. Luna: Were they slaves? I think a lot of people assume that. Lucas: That's the common image, but the evidence points somewhere more interesting. Slaves existed in Egypt — prisoners of war, mostly — but the bulk of Ramses's workforce were free Egyptians: farmers during the inundation season, skilled artisans from towns like Thebes and Memphis, and state-organized crews who worked in shifts. Lucas: The Nile flood, Hapi, was key. From June to September, fields were underwater. Farming stopped. So the state could mobilise thousands of men for building projects. They were fed, housed, and paid in grain and beer. It was a form of taxation — your labour owed to the pharaoh. Luna: So it was like a corvée system? Like in medieval Europe? Lucas: Exactly. In fact, we have a document called the Papyrus Anastasi IV — from around Ramses's reign — that describes a scribe scolding a lazy worker: 'You are a man who is not a man, you cannot make bricks, you cannot carry straw.' It's very bureaucratic. They kept meticulous records of who showed up, who was sick, who deserved extra rations. Lucas: And these weren't unskilled peasants. The master builders, the draughtsmen, the sculptors — they were highly trained. At Deir el-Medina, the village of royal tomb workers, we see families of artisans passing down techniques for generations. They could read and write, they owned their own tools, and they even went on strike when their pay was late. Luna: Wait — strikes in ancient Egypt? Lucas: Yes, under Ramses III, a few decades later, the workers at Deir el-Medina downed tools because the grain rations hadn't arrived. But even under Ramses II, there were disputes. We have an ostracon — a pottery shard — where a worker complains about his copper chisel being too dull. The state was the employer, but workers had a voice. Lucas: Now for a project like Abu Simbel, cut into a cliff face, you're not just moving stones. You're carving a mountain. The work gangs would have used stone hammers, copper chisels, and wooden wedges soaked in water to split rock. Ramses's vizier, a man named Paser, would have overseen the logistics — food, water, tools — for thousands of men living in temporary camps. Luna: How did they get the stones to a site like the Ramesseum, which is huge, but miles from the quarry? Lucas: They used the Nile. Quarries like the ones at Aswan — or the Wadi Hammamat for gold — were near the river or connected by canals. Huge blocks were loaded onto barges during the flood season when the water was high. At the building site, they used ramps of mud brick and sand to drag the stones into place. We've found ramp remnants at several sites. Lucas: And the scale is staggering. The Ramesseum's pylon alone required millions of bricks. The statue of Ramses at the Ramesseum — the one that inspired Shelley's 'Ozymandias' — weighed over a thousand tons. Moving that from the quarry to the temple was a feat of engineering that still impresses today. Luna: So the builders themselves — do we know any of their names? Lucas: We do! The workmen at Deir el-Medina left thousands of ostraca and graffiti. We know names like Qen, the foreman; Kasa, a draughtsman; or Anherkha, a scribe. But for Ramses's big temples, the names of the common workers are lost. What we have are the signatures of the elite: the chief architect, like Amenhotep son of Hapu from earlier dynasties, but for Ramses, we know the 'Overseer of All Works of the King' — a man named Penre. Luna: Penre — I haven't heard that name before. Lucas: He's not famous, but he was essentially the project manager for Ramses's building boom. And there's a lovely scene in a tomb at Thebes showing craftsmen at work — sculptors, painters, carpenters — all laboring on a colossal statue. It reminds us that these were real people, not anonymous masses. Lucas: One thing that strikes me is the pride they took. In the village of Deir el-Medina, workers often inscribed their names on the tombs they built. 'Made by the scribe Ramose' or 'the workman Kha.' They saw themselves as participants in something eternal. Luna: It makes you realise that every monument we marvel at today was someone's daily job. Lucas: Exactly. And that's something we try to bring to life in these conversations — the human side of history. Speaking of which, if you've been stepping into history with us episode by episode, you might have noticed we don't interrupt these stories with ads. That's intentional. We want the narrative to flow, and we think that makes for a better experience. Luna: It does. Especially when we're talking about something like this — the dignity of the workers. Ads would feel out of place. Lucas: So if you value that approach, the simplest way to support it is through buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. No pressure, no perks, just a way to keep the show ad-free. It makes a real difference. Lucas: Anyway, back to Ramses's builders. One of the most remarkable things is the religious dimension. Before a temple was built, priests would perform a foundation ceremony — the 'stretching of the cord' ritual, aligned with the stars. The workers were literally creating sacred space. Their labour was an act of devotion. Luna: So they weren't just building a building — they were building a house for a god. Lucas: Right. And Ramses understood that better than anyone. By employing thousands of men in monumental construction, he wasn't just glorifying himself — he was providing for his people, reinforcing the state's authority, and ensuring the gods were honoured. It was a cycle of power, piety, and prosperity. Luna: And it worked. Because here we are, still talking about him. Lucas: Exactly. The stones may be silent, but the story of the hands that placed them — that's what keeps the past alive.