Ramose gave him the letter. The king read it first to himself and then aloud so calmly that it might have been written about someone else:
"Ribaddi, Viceroy of the King of Egypt in Canaan, thus speaks to the King: for ten years I have been sending to thee for help but thou hast not helped me. Now Azini, an Amorite, a traitor, has risen against thee and gone over to the king of the Hittites. And they have gathered together chariots and men to conquer Canaan. The enemy is at my gates, to-morrow they will enter and kill me and throw my body to the dogs. Well does the King of Egypt reward his faithful servants! May the gods do the same unto thee as thou hast done unto me. My blood is on thy head, traitor!"
"How dares this dead dog insult our god-king!" Tuta said, with indignation.
The king looked at him again, and he subsided.
"Has Ribaddi perished?" the king asked.
"He has," Ramose answered. "He threw himself on his sword so as not to fall into the enemies' hands alive."
"What will happen now, Ramose?"
"Why, this, sire: the king of the Hittites will have Canaan; the thieves will undermine the wall and enter the house. We were for four hundred years under the yoke of the nomads, and we may be for another four hundred under the yoke of the Hittites. Your great-grandfather, Tutmose the Great, made Egypt the head of all nations and we were the light of the world and now this light is no more...."
"What are we to do then, Ramose?"
"You know yourself, king."