Marginalized Textile Producers in New Kingdom Egypt

Abstract

Textiles were ubiquitous in the elite Egyptian cultural sphere—from clothing, furniture coverings, and wall decorations to grave goods and temple offerings. The Egyptian world was draped in cloth, yet the producers were often marginalized members of society—immigrants, war captives, and women, who produced for a select few to whom they did not often belong. This paper aims to use textiles as a medium to investigate how the New Kingdom textile industry maintained social inequalities and power differentials. This paper highlights the efforts of marginalized labor in the production of textiles in New Kingdom Egypt, utilizing an intersectional approach to understand the interactions of the producers, varying levels of management, and elite consumers. Textiles were a high-value resource and one of the only goods that increased in value with labor, unlike other crafted goods, like metals, for example. I posit that this was inherently linked to the marginalization of the labor involved. The fabrics woven were a display of the Egyptian hegemony and reaffirmed the social order between the elites and the rest of society.

1. Introduction

New Kingdom Egypt (1550–1069 BCE) was a time of great economic development, empire building, and technological change. Kings like Thutmose III expanded the boundaries of the Egyptian state to the north and south, conquering and capturing large numbers of people to bring back to Egypt as enslaved individuals. At the same time, temple and palace institutions were building their economic power through their control of large land endowments and the cooption of marginalized groups for labor. Technological innovations, like the horse and chariot, rapidly changed many industries and contributed to the larger exchange networks in the region. The textile industry also saw similar advancements.

New technologies like the vertical loom and tapestry weaving appeared at this time. Enslaved and captive peoples were forced to produce textiles for the expanding palace and temple institutions, which relied on these fabrics not only for clothing their elite populace but also for their temple rituals, funerary assemblages, and brokering between the “Great Kings” of the Late Bronze Age (Eichler 2000; Matić 2017; Papazian 2012). Current discussions of the textile industry tend to focus on the development of these technologies or the chaîne opératoire of textile production, but focus is rarely placed on the actual individuals providing the labor. Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood (2001, pp. 434–36) dedicated a section to the topic of producers in their larger work, concluding that

The bulk of textile producers, however, were treated collectively as people in some form of servitude… with the virtually common term for ‘serf’ and ‘weaver’ {being} a pointer to the scale of the textile labor force as well as to its status.

(p. 434)

Recent work on elucidating marginalized individuals in the ancient record has focused on decentering the dominant perspective (male and elite) to reveal the hidden labors of marginalized groups, or the “weaker voices”, as coined by Matzner and Harrison (2019). Much of this type of work has occurred in the Greek- and Roman-focused “Classical” world, with less scholarship of this type performed within Egyptology (Bernard 2019; Bond 2016; Karanika 2014; Laes 2011; Moss 2024; Quillien 2016). Interestingly, there has been a slew of historiographic-focused publications on the underrepresented labor of Egyptian excavators (Cline 2023; Doyon 2018; Meskell 2000; Quirke 2010).

In alignment with the aforementioned works, this paper aims to highlight the marginalized individuals producing textiles for palace and temple institutions during the New Kingdom to comprehend how these groups served as a key source of power for the Egyptian state. An intersectional approach will be utilized, which allows for the interrogation of the varying and overlapping identities of these weavers, whose experiences were impacted by their marginalization. The experiences of a foreign elite woman and a Nubian prisoner of war must be examined differently. This approach allows us to access these “hidden voices” vis-à-vis their involvement with the Egyptian state or the elite management, for which we have better evidence. Ultimately, we will see that immigrants, captives, and women comprised a significant proportion of the labor for the New Kingdom’s textile industry—some even from elite backgrounds, but all of whom were not the main consumers or benefactors of the high-value goods that they produced.

2. Studying the Marginalized

The study of marginalized groups developed out of postcolonial studies and critical theory (Buchanan 2018). Originally, the term refers to groups of colonized people who are socially, politically, and geographically excluded from the hierarchies of power (Gramsci et al. 1971), but it has since developed a broader meaning and, therefore, a broader application. Later, the study of marginalization was adopted by post-processual archaeologists who sought to bring attention to the diverse experiences of people in the past. Within archaeology and studies of ancient cultures, these theories have been widely applied, especially in colonial contexts (Hamilakis 2016; Lemos and Budka 2021).

Expanding outside of colonial frameworks, other scholars have applied these ideas to explore labor and economic exploitation in the ancient world. As mentioned earlier, the highlighting of “weaker voices” (Matzner and Harrison 2019) within labor relations has been more widely studied in Greek and Roman “Classics” than in the field of Egyptology, except in works concerning the Egyptian hegemony in Nubia (see Lemos and Budka 2021). This study seeks to address this absence through an investigation into the marginalized groups at the foundation of the New Kingdom’s textile industry.

Who is defined as marginal or subaltern is context-specific and does not automatically equate to a lower class, since not all lower-status groups are conceptualized as marginal in hegemonic social discourse (González-Ruibal 2021, p. 369). As the words suggest, these terms refer to individuals on the fringes or, more specifically, to groups who are excluded from certain social systems, especially access to power. Clear examples of marginalized or subaltern groups are the Roma, undocumented migrants, or unhoused people. In the ancient world, commonly studied groups would be enslaved peoples, women, or nomadic groups, for example. For this study, “marginalized” will be used to describe individuals or groups who are hierarchically positioned as subordinate within a system—the political state, the patriarchy, heteronormativity, or in a given occupation or status group (Gidwani 2009). The Egyptian New Kingdom society was both highly patriarchal and highly stratified, with great disparity between those of elite status and the rest of the populace. This implies that most social groups could be considered to be marginalized, as they were excluded from various social systems, particularly in terms of access to power.

Closely aligned with this is the concept of intersectionality, which provides an understanding of how marginalization is experienced and reproduced. Marín-Aguilera (2021, p. 566) reminds us that marginalized groups are neither (only) colonized people nor homogeneous. “Marginalized” is an invented concept. It has never been claimed as the identity of said groups, yet it is useful to study those purposefully left out of social systems and power hierarchies. The marginalized can be found at the intersections of different axes of oppression in specific historical contexts. This means that an individual is always situated within different domains of power. Intersectionality looks at the overlapping layers of oppression that work together to produce unique individualized experiences for a given person (Hill Collins 2022). For example, in ancient Egypt, women were a marginalized group, kept out of positions of power. Yet elite women, who were economically and socially advantaged, perpetrated similar “matrixes of domination” or “overlapping domains of subordination (Hill Collins 2022, p. 227)” to others, be they lower-status individuals, enslaved peoples, or even other women. We will see such power dynamics at play within the textile industry.

For better or worse, the ancient Egyptian evidence is highly skewed towards the funerary sphere and the elite populace. The experience and existence of the average Egyptian are harder to access, which might explain the insufficiency of literature on the topic.1 Given that marginalized groups are “hidden” within the official record, new approaches to textual analysis and material culture studies emerge as useful tools to study such groups. Techniques like critical fabulation (Hartman 2008) and other methods of interpretation for “silences” in the archives of the Black enslaved experience in early American history studies are useful approaches for the ancient Egyptian record. The goal is to bring attention to the in-between—the areas in the textual record where individuals are unnamed or are mere numbers that previously have been ignored to construct the stereotypical histories of a powerful king. Consider the Annals of Thutmose III, which mention thousands of captive and enslaved individuals who are often overlooked by scholars focused on Thutmose III’s empire-building strategies.

Within material and archaeological studies, material culture is the key method of studying marginalized groups. All humans leave things behind, and by looking at the types of objects discarded, attempts can be made to give voice back to these groups who are typically left out of the official record. Within the textile industry during the New Kingdom, this could look like objects that indicate foreignness—a non-Egyptian spindle whorl or foreign weaving techniques, for example. Such considerations should be kept in mind as we look at the data for the role that marginalized groups played in the textile industry.

Lastly, the value that textiles held in Egyptian society is important to understand. Textiles in the past were highly valued objects, not only economically but especially ideologically and socially (Riggs 2014). To provide some context for ancient Egypt, textiles were a highly valued good, second only to precious metals, as can be seen from gift exchange in the Amarna letters. Cloth was a highly fungible good, often standing in as a proto-currency. Textiles were not only important but were integral to temple, state, and funerary ritual, given their connection to protection and rejuvenation. Textiles played important roles in many coming-of-age rites. Textiles as dress were a major component of outward identity expression and social differentiation. Though textiles could be highly valued, it would appear that the weavers and textile producers were not, occupying a marginalized status within Egyptian society.

3. Locating the Weavers in New Kingdom Egypt

Within state-associated production, most textile producers were marginalized by the dominant New Kingdom Egyptian system, within these institutions themselves, or as outsourced labor. Recently, the discussion around slavery in Pharaonic Egypt has gained traction, paralleling efforts from scholars studying the Greek, Roman, and Near-Eastern contexts (Rowlandson et al. 2024; Karev 2022, 2023; Loprieno 2012; Lam 2023). Overall, the evidence for Pharaonic slavery is minimal and difficult to interpret. We know that there were several categories of individuals that are translated into English as “enslaved persons”, like bꜣk, ḥm, ḥm-nsw, and mrt (Eyre 2024, p. 39), but the differences between these terms, as well as how the Pharaonic slavery system worked, still require further study. The main group of individuals engaged in textile production was the mrt, who were employed under the pr-šnꜥ (Eichler 2000).

The pr-šnꜥ has been traditionally defined as a storehouse, from pr meaning “house” and šnꜥ “to keep away or separate” (Wb 504).2 This could relate to the caching or storing of goods but might also be connected to the segregation of individuals laboring under the auspices of the pr-šnꜥ structure. The šnꜥ were established in relation to temple structures. For example, the tomb of Kel (TT 54) lists a šnꜥ of Khonsu (Polz 1990, p. 44). The main temple that we see associated with textile production is the Temple of Amun at Karnak.3 The main distinction between a workshop that produced goods like statuary, furniture, or jewelry, for example, and the pr-snꜥ was how the goods were consumed. Eichler (2000, p. 97) argues that all pr-šnꜥ finished goods were returned to the temple for use in the temple rituals and furnishing of the temple personnel and family. In contrast, Polz (1990, p. 47) understands the šnꜥ to be the main production facility that supplied a large part of the population with necessities as the main node in the redistributive economy. Additionally, fabric production was administratively close to the treasury, since the goods were of a high value and were stored in the treasury post-production.

Fabric manufacturers were supervised either by specialized foremen or by the overseer of the šnꜥ (i̓ry šnꜥ). Above that person was the i̓my-rꜥ šnꜥ n i̓mn, who oversaw the delivery of finished goods, including fabrics, and managed the supply and allocation of the mrt workforce. The administrative structure was very similar to that of workshops. In the middle hierarchy, scribes were absent, replaced by specialized foremen. Since the pr-šnꜥ was so closely linked to the treasury, it differed greatly from more independent temple administrative areas like the granary. The šnꜥ were also in no way connected to the state-owned šnꜥw workshops, clearly distinguished from civilian administration within the temple (Eichler 2000, pp. 112–13). Eichler (2000, p. 112) argues that it was in the reign of Thutmose III, with the huge influx of foreign captives, that the pr-šnꜥ facilities became further defined as a separate entity, separate from the treasury, as evidenced in the tomb of Rekhmire.

In the Egyptological literature, the term mrt is translated as “enslaved person” or “serf”. An early work on the topic by Bakir (1978, p. 27), which addresses slavery in ancient Egypt, notes that the term mrt was ambiguous, ultimately concluding that they “may be regarded as slaves [sic] put to work, especially on land and given other work attached to the šnꜥ”. However, more recent scholarship has added further nuance. Papazian (2012, p. 196) specifies that slavery only became a social reality of the mrt in the New Kingdom when one sees the term used to denote enslaved foreigners and prisoners of war. Eichler (2000, p. 97) sees the translation of the term as interchangeable between weaver and slave, depending on the context. If weaving activities are mentioned, the term “weaver” is applied, but otherwise, a broader translation of “serf” or “enslaved person” is best. He defines them as workers employed under the pr-šnꜥ institution, with the pr-šnꜥ solely engaged in agriculture and textile production. This is the definition adopted here.

In many cases, the textual record does indicate a clear demarcation for the two functions of the mrt—agricultural labor and textile production. The differences are evidenced in the use of different determinatives for the word: Gardiner N36 𓈘 for weaving arts and Gardiner U7 𓌻 for agriculture pursuits.4 This distinction is clear from the Grand Dedicatory Inscription of Ramses II (Gauthier 1912, 1.72; 1.88):

“…through his establishing of his festival with fields, mrt [𓌻], and cattle… mrt [𓈘] being accessed for linen for your [the god’s] wardrobe”

Another text from the tomb of Rekhmire further supports this differentiation. In one scene, Rekhmire is shown inspecting the captives that Thutmose III assigned to the Temple of Amun at Karnak, who are labeled as mrt (𓈘 Gardiner N36), with the caption specifying their work as “manufacture of king’s linen, bleached linen, fine linen [///] linen, close-woven linen… (Davies 1943, pl. lvii). This is furthered through the Annals of Thutmose III, which record how the king provided mrt to the god Amun,

“… to fill his workhouse [pr-šnꜥ], to be weavers, to make for him byssus, fine linen, white linen, shrw-linen, and thick cloth… Tally of male and female Asiatics (sic) and male and female Nubians whom My Majesty gave to my father, Amun… 1588…”.

(Redford 2013, pp. 138–39)

One of the main ways of finding the mrt weavers in the textual record is through their inclusion in the titles of their overseers (

Table 1. New Kingdom officials with the title “Chief of the Weavers”.

Name	Title	Source
Djehuty	Chief of the Weavers of Amun	TT 45; Davies (1948)
Amenemhat	Chief of the Weavers of Amun	TT 82; Davies and Gardiner (1915)
Djehutymes called Aa	Chief of the Weavers of Amun	TT 82; Davies and Gardiner (1915)
Djehutymes	Chief of the Weavers of Amun	TT 82; Davies and Gardiner (1915)
Min-nakht	Chief of the Weavers of Amun	Silsilah Stela, TT 87; Caminos and James (1963)
Nebseny	Overseer of the Weavers of Amun	TT 38; Davies (1963); Kuentz (1923)
Kenamun	Chief of the Weavers of Amun	TT 93; Davies (1930)
Menkheperreseneb (ii)	Overseer of the Weavers of Upper and Lower Egypt	TT 79; Shirley (2005)
Wennefer	Chief of the Weavers of Fine Linen of Amun	TT 45; Davies (1948)
Djehutyemhab	Chief of the Weavers of Amun	TT 45; Davies (1948)
Neferrenpet	Chief of the Weavers of the Ramesseum	TT 133; Kitchen (1996)
Nebwaau	Dyer of the Red Linen of Osiris	Cairo 34017; Al-Ayedi (2006, no. 915)
Khaiemtener	Chief of the Weavers	P.BM EA 10568; Peet (1915)
Iriperet	Chief of the Weavers	P.BM EA 10053; Peet (1915)
Saipedmi	Overseer of the Weavers of the Chantress of Amun	P.BM EA10053; Peet (1915)
Ikherpay	Chief of the Weavers	P.BM EA 75015; Demarée (2006)

).5

Even within a study of the bureaucracy of the textile industry, the individuals producing the textiles are hidden in broad titles, usually related to the structures that profited from their production—the Temple of Amun and the treasury. It is in these tombs and the tombs of others involved in the management of the pr-snꜥ that we find the mentions of the mrt, always as a collective. The mrt, or enslaved weavers, are never individually named or given any credit for their artistic production.

In the “matrixes of domination” within the textile industry, these “middling” elites, as argued by Eichler (2000), were subject to the powers that be, yet they also perpetuated the established social hierarchies onto lower-status groups and enslaved peoples through their managerial position over the mrt. In each of these instances, these overseers would have managed many textile artists, with clear power hierarchies constantly being affirmed and reaffirmed. This strict social ordering is made evident in the tomb of Rekhmire, where Rekhmire, as a high elite male, is shown as larger-than-life, with the overseers of the mrt before him as lesser elites, and the actual weavers depicted as Hittite, Nubian, and Syrian women based on their hairstyles and clothing. Some are accompanied by their children (Figure 1).

The textual and artistic data are skewed toward the 18th Dynasty, given the higher proportion of 18th-Dynasty tombs. However, it does appear clear that the weaving industry was firmly under the auspices of the Temple of Amun during the mid-18th Dynasty. This concurs with what we know about the Temple of Amun at Karnak and the expansion of the institution, especially during the reign of Thutmose III. Of the known titles, there are two peaks: during the reigns of Thutmose III and Ramses II. This, however, also coincides with the dating of the tombs, which I do not believe is a coincidence.

3.1. The Expanding New Kingdom Empire and the Growth of the mrt Weavers

The growth in the number of mrt weavers is related to the expansion of the Egyptian empire north and south of its traditional borders (Eichler 2000, p. 112). Our understanding of mrt as a social category can be furthered through an examination of these individuals’ experiences as prisoners of war. Exploited captives and enslaved peoples from both West Asia and Nubia were structurally necessary to the function of the pr-šnꜥ in the production of textiles. These weavers were producing finely woven garments and other types of fabrics, like the newly introduced tapestry weave that we first find in the 18th Dynasty.6

The textual record abounds with evidence for the taking of captives from campaigns, especially women.7 Amenhotep I recorded taking almost 90,000 prisoners from campaigns in the 7th and 9th regnal years (Amer 1984). From Thutmose III’s Coronation Inscription, he supposedly “filled it [the temple] with captives from the south and north countries, being children of the chiefs of the Retenu and children of the chiefs of Khenthennofer, according to what {his} father commanded” (Breasted 1906, p. 67). Thutmose IV took Hurrian captives and settled them as workers at his mortuary temple (Bryan 1991, pp. 336–47). Amenhotep III took 740 captives, of whom two-thirds were women and children, as recorded on his Semneh Stela (Kozloff 2012, p. 167). Ramses III recorded the taking of 342 women, 65 young women, and 151 girls “branded and enslaved, tattooed with [his] name” (pHarris I, 177: 4–6; Grandet 1994). Even if these numbers are exaggerated and we take a small percentage as truth, that is still thousands of people taken captive, brought into Egypt, and enslaved during the New Kingdom.

As noted earlier from the tomb of Rekhmire, the captives from Thutmose III’s campaigns were assigned to the Temple of Amun as mrt to produce textiles—“royal linen, white linen, fine linen, and close-woven linen” (Davies 1943, pl. LVII). They were producing high-quality linen—the items that would clothe the god’s statue and the king’s body and decorate the palace and temple structures. The tomb of Puyemre also depicts overseers of the mrt, this time in Nubia, bringing textiles for Puyemre’s inspection (Figure 2; Davies 1922, pl. XLIII). In this case, it would appear that the production was occurring in the Egyptian colonies in Nubia using Nubian labor, with the products being sent to the Temple of Amun (“registration of linen for Amun”).

Another example comes from the tomb of Paheri, which depicts foreigners, distinguished by their hairstyles, engaged in the harvesting, bundling, and rippling of flax, an integral aspect of textile production (Morris 2014, p. 371).

Looking at the networks of power, the individuals engaged in textile labor from lower-status groups never saw the economic fruits of their labor. These fabrics might have been used in the daily temple ritual for clothing the cult statue—cloth that was ritually pure and necessary for the functioning of the cult of a deity yet woven by enslaved or virtually enslaved individuals for the larger temple system. The effort of the exploited weavers was not reflected in their treatment by management, nor in their remuneration by the state, yet their efforts did, indeed, increase the value of the finished product. As Warburton (2012, p. 308) has shown, textiles were second only to metal and precious stones in relative value, and unlike metals, whose value was solely dependent on their weight, textiles increased in value as the product was transformed from flax to woven cloth. The textile industry perpetuated the marginalization of the weavers to ensure the continued production of a high-value commodity. Through the enslavement of prisoners of war and captives and the maintenance of their low status in Egyptian society, the temple and state institutions engaged in textile production guaranteed a free labor force and continued economic growth.

3.2. Institutional and Home-Based Workshops

Archaeologically, no pr-šnꜥ workshop has ever been found. However, we do have artistic depictions of weaving workshops in relation to temple and state institutions. One example is from the tomb of Neferhotep (TT49; Davies 1933, Figure 3). He was the “Chief Scribe of Amun” during the reign of Ay. We can see the storerooms of the Temple of Amun with a scribe accounting for goods, including gold, grain, papyrus, wine, oil, and linen (Davies 1933; pl. XLV). Women are depicted with baskets full of bread and linen, making deliveries to the storeroom (pls. XLV, XLVI). At the lowest part of the wall, the temple workshop scenes are depicted. A carpentry shop, bakery, and weaving workshop are depicted (pls. XLV, XLIV). The weaving workshop shows an upright loom, similar to those seen in tombs 103, 104, and 133 (Davies 1933, p. 38). Unfortunately, this part is the most degraded, but line drawings by Hay and Wilkinson are available (Additional MSS, British Museum 29824, pp. 11–15). The looms are upright, with the weavers sitting on stools before them.

The tomb of Neferrenpet (TT133; Davies 1948) is another particularly illustrative example of a temple weaving workshop (Figure 4). Neferrenpet was the “Head of the weavers in the House of Usermaatre-Setepenre (Ramses II) in the estate of Amun (the Ramesseum)” and “The Head of the Weavers of the Two Lands.” On the outer eastern wall, on the southern side, Neferrenpet is depicted overseeing a weaving workshop (Davies 1948; pl. XXXV; Figure 4.14). Here, we can see men, women, and children engaged in textile production. In the upper register, individuals bring what appears to be linen of various hues. There is also a balance weighing the linen where the hanks are being placed. In the lower register, to the left, individuals are seated for cleaning or winding thread. Next to them, to the right, women are shown laying the warp, with four upright looms depicted to their right.

An alternative explanation is that a significant portion of the textiles were produced through the outsourcing of labor, resembling a cottage industry (Rutherford 2013), as argued by Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood (2001) and Hodgkinson (2018), among others. In a cottage industry, an institution provides the raw materials to the worker to produce the finished product, usually meeting a quota. As we shall see, in the Egyptian system, enslaved labor was often provided as well. The worker was able to keep anything over the quota. The key characteristics of a cottage industry are (1) that the raw materials are provided by the state/institution/industry and (2) that the labor is performed in a domestic setting.

However, it is essential to exercise caution when labeling all production as outsourced due to the absence of temple- or palace-affiliated workshops. Many workshops that we know were associated with temple or palace institutions have not been discovered archaeologically despite being depicted in art. It is most likely that these two systems coexisted. However, in both cases, the temple or state owned the supplies and the labor force, which were then “loaned” out to domestic households for production. A possible depiction of cottage-level production can be found in the tomb of Nebamun (TT17). The scene depicts men, women, and children of Nebamun’s estate bringing sacks of cloth or yarn and pieces of linen, with one individual receiving punishment, presumably for their missing quota (Säve-Söderbergh 1957, pl. XXII). Depictions of looms in domestic settings also exist, which could be interpreted in support of a cottage industry, as evidenced by a limestone talatat from Amarna (Messiha and Elhitta 1979, pl. XXXI).

The transfer of individuals for a specific time or perpetuity is also indicated. One text references the awards that Amun will grant an elite individual; among other forms of wealth and abundance, the individual will also be given “weavers (mrt) who [will] flourish” (Caminos 1954, p. 138). This would indicate that the holding of mrt weavers by an elite individual was a common enough occurrence that they were an expected part of elite households, like wine, beer, bread, and fish.

The main piece of support cited by Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood (2001, p. 431) is P. Anastasi VI, a letter from the Scribe Inena to the Scribe of the Treasury Kageb (Caminos 1954, p. 280). The letter is somewhat difficult to understand, but Inena is leveling accusations against a steward, Seba. Seba supposedly, on numerous occasions, removed several male and female weavers who were assigned to Inena, with Seba arguing that he felt he had a claim on them:

Then he proceeded to register the weavers in the scroll in my name; he had taken the weavers away, and they were in his village. He then proceeded to register the scroll in my name in the temple of Ramses III… He also took away the weavers in the Domain of Nebethotep after he had taken away from me another two girls… When the registering of the weavers in my name was complete, he set people in pursuit of me, saying, “Produce the output of the weavers,” so he said although I had already handed over the output of the weavers to the Overseer of the Treasury… He also took away the woven fabric which I would have brought to the Overseer of the Treasury.

(Caminos 1954, p. 280)

In this text, Inena provides a detailed list of the woven fabrics that Seba took from him. The local army commander, Huy, was called upon to pass judgment on the accusation, but the result was not disclosed. It appears that Inena, a scribe, was responsible for both cultivating land and supervising several weavers. His association seems to be with the Temple of Ramses II, while Seba’s is with the Domain of Nebethotep. Inena received several weavers from the temple, who he “signed out” under his name, with the expectation that the finished products would be turned over to the Overseer of the Treasury after a certain amount of time. Seba’s kidnapping of Inena’s laborers and finished products put Inena at risk of punishment, prompting him to write to the Overseer of the Treasury, Kageb, to explain his situation. In doing so, the preserved letter provides us with a detailed insight into the inner workings of the textile industry and the “farming out” of textile labor.

Another letter preserved in Papyrus Sallier I also supports a quota system, referencing the “weavers who carry off their daily quota consisting of the gleanings of yesterday” (Caminos 1954, p. 307). This would indicate that the weavers received a ration of grain from the king in return for their labor. Another text from Gurob (Papyri Fragment Group Y; Gardiner 1948, pp. 24–26) is highly fragmentary but appears to also support such a system. Much of the text is lost, but what remains is a list of households with their associated textile outputs. The reconstructed formula for each line is “Household X: [list of textiles]”. For example,

House of Heref: idg-cloth 1

House of Sekhepertawy: mss-cloth 1

House of Aanekhtu: mss-cloth 1

House of Meryherishef: small mss-cloth 1”

(Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood 2001, p. 431)

If we turn to the archaeological evidence for a cottage industry, the site of Amarna provides evidence for the outsourcing of textile production. Hodgkinson’s (2018) comprehensive study of the various industries at Amarna concluded that textiles were the only industry that appeared in near similar concentrations in each of the areas of Amarna. Certain areas specialized in certain industries, but textile production was ubiquitous. All larger households engaged in the production of textiles for their consumption, and perhaps for the smaller local market economy. In addition, larger households engaged with the state administration for the production of a variety of goods, one of which was also textiles. The Workmen’s Village, unlike the other areas of Amarna, appears to have been solely engaged in textile production. Similar archaeological evidence for a cottage industry can be found at Deir el-Ballas and Deir el-Medina as well.

From this summary of the archaeological evidence and textual record, the evidence indicates frequent and close interactions between the state and elite households, as well as the continual distribution, exchange, and delivery of textiles between households and palace or temple institutions. Regardless of the location of the weaving activity, poor conditions, as expressed in the Teachings of Khety, were still possible, and the location of the activity did not impact how the weavers were marginalized in Egyptian society. The letter of Inena and other textual evidence depict the weavers as commodities that can be “signed out”, and their production is tracked like field yields. These industries directly profited from the labors of these marginalized groups. Just as was evidenced earlier, the weavers were not individualized, and even when they were apparently kidnapped, as mentioned by Inena, the problem was not so much the missing weavers but the missing output.

3.3. Experience and Treatment

Gleaning anything from the textual record about the experience of a weaver is difficult. However, one piece of wisdom literature provides some insight. The Teaching of Khety describes the following:

“The weaver lives inside the weaving house; he is worse off than a woman, with his knees up to his stomach, unable to breathe any air. If he wastes any daytime not weaving, he is beaten fifty lashes. He must give a sum to the doorkeeper to be allowed to go out to the light of day”.

(Lichtheim 1973)

Even accepting that the Teaching of Khety was for and by an elite audience, the described experience of the weaver feels realistic, albeit probably exaggerated in certain aspects.8 The individual (male, in this case) exists solely in the weaving workshop, like a woman presumably exists solely in her house. Just as the “woman” is reduced to her role in the household from the patriarchal elite perspective, the weaver here is depicted in his most reduced form. The message behind the Teaching is to exalt a scribal career in comparison to more “manual” labor. Not all weavers would have had a similar experience—some might have had worse treatment, and others better.

The work described was physically difficult, and the space was stuffy and uncomfortable. The weaver would receive physical punishment if a quota was not met and would have to bribe their way out of the establishment. The subtle way of subverting power is evident as well (compare Scott 1985). The weaver could “waste time” to show their displeasure and as a subtle sign of revolt, though it would earn them a physical punishment.

As for a possible depiction of a workshop as described in the Teachings of Khety, the tomb of Djehutynefer (TT104) depicts a weaving installation on the lowest floor of the nobleman’s house (Figure 5). This has typically been interpreted as a basement in the literature, due to its depiction below the ground register line and the thicker wall in the middle of the room (Davies 1929, p. 237).9

How well this depiction related to an actual weaving installation is debatable. Even if the exact conditions described in the Teaching were exaggerated, we can imagine a similar space. What can be said for certain is that the spinning and weaving process would have taken a toll on the individual’s body, regardless. Poor conditions would have contributed further to the development of physical deterioration, from arthritis to weakened eyesight and possibly blindness if, indeed, the room is understood to be below ground with reduced light.10 The mrt, enslaved weavers, and other lower-status textile artists led difficult lives that were otherwise hidden from the textual documentation, tomb depictions, and temple spaces.

4. Women Weavers and the Case of Gurob

Interestingly, unlike other artist groups, weaving spans the gamut of Egyptian society, though most of the weavers remained marginalized in that it was still a predominantly women-based industry.11 An elite individual can still be marginalized if an aspect of their identity falls into such a category, like identifying as a woman in the patriarchal male Egyptian society. Thus, it is crucial to consider the intersectionality of the groups contributing. The access and privileges of an elite woman were different from those of a foreign woman or an Egyptian woman from a lower-status background.

Hill Collins’ (2022) “matrixes of domination” provide clarity. Though women, in general, were a marginalized group when compared to men, higher-status women ultimately had more avenues to power than other marginalized groups vis-à-vis relationships with the men in their lives. This explains how individuals who themselves are marginalized can perpetuate hierarchies and power differentiations onto others. Higher-status women presumably felt themselves both at the whim of the patriarchal system yet better placed in comparison to others. Such intersections are well evidenced in the textile industry.

Gurob provides the best evidence for the palace’s involvement in textile production, but we should assume similar occurrences at other known palace structures—Amarna, Deir el-Ballas, and Malkata, for example. The site was a residence for the women associated with the royal court, as well as an administrative and production center in the 18th and 19th Dynasties, specializing in the production of linen using both Egyptian and non-Egyptian labor. For example, Thutmose III “gave” foreign captives to his palace at Gurob, presumably for textile production (Kozloff 2012, p. 19).

Several papyri found at the site reference the production of textiles. P.BM EA 10568 discusses the production of textiles at Gurob in connection with Per-Ramses in the Delta (Eyre 2024, p. 114). A certain Rahotep wrote to the head of the council of Gurob asking about the transfer of several weavers. The Chief of the Weavers of Per-Ramses received two women weavers from Rahotep at Gurob for work in textile production (Allam 2001, pp. 89–96).

Archaeologically, textile manufacturing tools have been found at Gurob, with a small concentration coming from the 1A1 industrial areas to the northeast of the palace area, but Hodgkinson (2018, p. 203) argues that the main production area has yet to be found. Over 75 whorls, 95 pin beaters, 5 warp spaces, 2 weaving slays, and some loom parts can be attributed to the site (Spinazzi-Lucchesi 2020). This would indicate that weaving was occurring onsite, and that the site was not merely functioning as a trading hub in the region. Petrie also recorded a large quantity of textiles from the cemeteries at the site, though many were in poor condition (Serpico 2008, pp. 20–21). It is possible that these textiles were woven at the site itself (Picton et al. 2016, p. 3).

Evidence for royal women at the palace includes the famous dark-wood head of Tiye (Berlin 21.834/17851), a silver ring of Amenhotep III (UC12320), a faience lily with the name of Tiye in a cartouche (UC12439), a silver ring of Akhenaten (UC12429), a gold scarab (UC7866), a cubit rod with the names of Tutankhamun and Akhnesenamun, a travertine vase (UC16021) with their names again, an offering table with Tiye and Amenhotep II’s names, and some other royal materials (Picton 2016, p. 233). Direct evidence for the connection between these royal women and the textile industry is scant. We know that textiles were produced at the site, and weaving was a known activity of royal women (Kozloff 2012, p. 19), so it is possible to also assume some involvement or oversight in the textile economy of the site by the royal women.

There is also evidence for the placement of foreign brides and their retinues residing at Gurob. The Amarna letters provide us with evidence of large bridal retinues coming into Egypt contemporaneously with occupation at the site. One letter records the transfer from Mitanni to Egypt of 2 ladies-in-waiting, 300 associated women, and 30 men (EA 25; Moran 1992). This record is perhaps substantiated by one of the marriage scarabs of Amenhotep III (BM EA 68507), which records how “Marvel brought his Majesty Gilukhipa daughter of the Mitannian Shuttarna II, and 317 women of her private household” (Blankenberg-van Delden 1969, pl. 34). Other letters between the Great Kings record the transfer of both men and women either as gifts or for marriage (ex. EA 19, 64; Moran 1992). According to the Marriage Stela at Abu Simbel, Ramses II married another one of the Hittite princesses, Maahoreneferure, who is said to have come with many gifts—“gold, silver, much bronze, slaves; horses, cattle, goats, rams… such were the dues they brought for Ramses” (Bryce 2003, p. 110). Furthermore, there is clear proof that Maahorneferure was present at the site. Gurob Fragment U (UC32795) might indicate the bringing of textiles to the queen (Gardiner 1948, pp. 22–24). Due to the unclear nature of the papyrus, we cannot unequivocally state that this indicates royal involvement in the industry, yet that is still a possibility (Gasperini 2018, p. 9).

Additional evidence of foreign presence at the site comes from the excavation of several toggle pins, a dress accouterment not part of the typical Egyptian dress package (Petrie 1891, p. 19, pl. 22; Gasperini 2018, p. 13). A spindle with a low whorl, different from the Egyptian high whorl, has been argued to indicate the presence of foreign weaving practices (Barber 1991, pp. 64–65).12 From the papyrological evidence, one letter (UC 32784), dating to the second year of Seti II’s reign, from an unnamed woman to the king, states that she wanted to train foreigners in the workshops at the site (Griffith 1898, pp. 94–98; Gardiner 1948, pp. 145–49; Gasperini 2018, p. 14). The specific type of work is unspecified, but weaving remains a possibility. The most significant indicator of the presence of foreigners is cooking pottery (Gasperini 2018, p. 10). From the cemeteries, there is further evidence of women of a non-Egyptian background. A number of the tombs bear inscriptions with foreign names. For example, Tomb 21 was for Anentursha (Petrie 1890, p. 41; Gasperini 2018, p. 11), with foreign objects also coming from the tombs (Shaw 2017, p. 185). Given that these individuals were given a tomb with luxury tomb goods, these may be the women who were part of these bridal retinues. Again, the connection between the foreign women at the site and the production of textiles is tenuous, yet there is an argument to be made for such a view.

The degree of autonomy and control that the women of Gurob had over the production of their labor is unclear. Presumably, these palaces produced linen that was then sent to the treasury or a temple storehouse. Kozloff (2012, p. 19) argues for Gurob functioning as a place of new and burgeoning weaving technologies, with the presence of foreign weavers at the site and the introduction of the vertical loom into Egypt. Women from a variety of backgrounds would have been living and working together, sharing weaving traditions and techniques. The weavers at these palace sites might have engaged in the production of specialty fabrics—ones of finer-quality fabrics or varied weave types, for example. Indeed, dyed and extremely fine-quality textiles have been recovered from the site (Picton et al. 2016, p. 3). Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood (2001, p. 476) argue for a similar function for the Workmen’s Village at Amarna, given the strict security of the site. From the text mentioned above, there was a clear internal exchange of textiles from the site with the capital at Per-Ramses. Though it remains unclear how involved the royal women at the site were in Gurob’s textile economy, textiles were being produced at the site and exchanged within the larger Egyptian economy.

Within the micro-economy of textile production at the site of Gurob, we can see the intersection between the various marginalized groups, with certain groups having an even “weaker voice”. If we assume that the royal women, both domestic and foreign, were weaving and/or involved in the oversight of the industry, the elite women had a different experience compared to the lower-ranked individuals, which is reflected in the textual record. As we have seen earlier, none of the lower-status or enslaved weavers were named directly, and they were only discussed for their labor capacity. On the other hand, if we interpret UC32795 as an indication of Maahorneferure’s direct involvement in the textile industry at the site, we can see how the royal women had more access to power and agency within the industry.

The palace site of Gurob stands as just one location where such interactions might have taken place. Given the varying backgrounds and experiences of the textile artists at the site, we might relate the technological or social advances seen in the dress culture to these interactions. For example, we might attribute the sudden appearance of tapestry weave during the reign of Thutmose III or pieces of a hybrid nature, like the so-called “Syrian” tunic from the tomb of Tutankhamun, to such types of interactivities between these women.13

5. Conclusions

The evidence enumerated above indicates the complex nature of the textile industry during the New Kingdom. The main producers of the textiles were marginalized individuals—women, enslaved peoples, captives from war, and foreigners. Highlighting the labor of these other voices upends the embedded narratives and allows us to investigate power hierarchies and differentials. The New Kingdom textile industry provides a crucial arena for an investigation into how textiles were produced, and by whom. The diverse backgrounds and identities of textile producers were highlighted through an intersectional approach. The New Kingdom society marginalized textile producers based on their social status, ethnic background, and gender identity, with most weavers experiencing exploitation through multiple aspects of their identity. For example, from Gurob, if royal women were engaged in textile management or production, we can understand how their social and economic power differentiated their experience in the textile industry compared to a lower-status producer.

While in temple- or palace-affiliated workshops or domestic contexts, many enslaved captives from war campaigns were forced to produce textiles for the state apparatus. In both respects, these individuals were never named, and we only get a glimpse of them through their exploitation in propagandistic texts like the Annals of Thutmose III, through the titles of their elite overseers, or from the accounting of their production. They were commodified much like the goods that they were expected to produce.

The power relations inherent in the production of textiles impacted how the textiles were used to maintain social inequalities. The textiles themselves were embedded with the social and economic factors that went into their production. Royals or elites donning these textiles woven by captives from foreign campaigns, for example, made a clear statement of who held power in Egyptian society, how the elites wished to be perceived by their social equals, and the statement of might by the temple and palace institutions who controlled and benefitted from production. Given that textiles were such a highly valued good in Egyptian society, these marginalized individuals—these textile artists—were a major source of the power that these institutions wielded.