throughout the army; all say that Alexander is right courteous
and debonair as regards the knights whom he had taken inasmuch as
he had not given them up to the king, who would have had them
burned or hanged. But the king is in earnest in the matter.
Forthwith he bids the queen that she come and speak to him and
keep not her traitors; for it will behove her to give them up or
he will take them against her will. Then the queen has come to
the king; they have had converse together about the traitors as
it behoved them; and all the Greeks had been left in the queen's
tent with the ladies. Much do the twelve say to them, but
Alexander does not say a word. Soredamors observed it; she had
sat down near him. He has rested his cheek on his hand, and it
seems that he is deep in thought. Thus have they sat full long
till Soredamors saw on his arm and at his neck the hair with
which she had made the seam. She has drawn a little nearer him,
for now she has opportunity of speaking with him; but she
considers beforehand how she can be the one to speak, and what
the first word shall be; whether she will call him by his name;
and she takes counsel of it with herself. "What shall I say
first?" thinks she. Shall I address him by his name, or as
'friend'. Friend? Not I. How then? Call him by his name? God! The
word friend is so fair and so sweet to say. What if I dared to
call him friend? Dared? What forbids it me? The fact that I think
I should be telling a lie. A lie? I know not what it will be; but
if I lie it will be a weight on my mind. For that reason it must
be allowed that I should not desire to lie in the matter. God! He
would not lie now a whit if he called me his sweet friend. And
should I lie in so calling him? Both of us ought indeed to speak
truth; but if I lie the wrong will be his. And why is his name so
hard to me that I wish to add a name of courtesy? It seems to me