When the devastating news of the king's terminal affliction spread through the ranks, the bright day turned as dark as night for the realm's high nobles. They assembled in distress around the royal throne, and the wide plain echoed with deep murmurs of grief. Sekandar, perceiving the panic among his forces, recognized that his appointed hour had arrived and the sun of his earthly reign was setting. He ordered his imperial throne to be carried out of the palace into the open desert, so that he might address his troops one final time.
Upon beholding the pale and spent countenance of their monarch, the army erupted into a fiery torrent of lamentation. Soldiers wept over the dark turn of fortune, foreboding that with the king's demise, the glory of Rum would crumble and its foes would rejoice. Sekandar, gathering his faint strength, spoke in a gentle yet resolute tone, urging them to walk in fear of God, to hold fast to wisdom and modesty, and to remember that mortality is the inescapable decree laid upon all humankind. With these solemn parting words, the famous conqueror yielded his spirit.
At his passing, a deafening wail rose from the assembled host. Warriors cast dust upon their heads, wept tears of blood, set fire to the royal pavilions, sheared the manes and tails of a thousand steeds, and turned their war-saddles upside down. A splendid coffin of pure gold was brought into the plain. Sakuba, the venerable bishop, washed the king's body with clear rosewater, anointed it with pure camphor, wrapped it in gold-woven Chinese silk, and preserved the noble form in honey before sealing the golden chest.
When the coffin was raised, a sharp dispute arose between the Persian and Roman factions. The Persians contended that since this land was the traditional resting place of great emperors, the king should be buried locally rather than paraded across the earth. A wise Roman guide replied that a ruler's remains belong to the soil of his birth. To resolve the strife, a Persian sage directed them to an ancient meadow known as Jorm, where a mystical mountain was famed for echoing divine answers to human queries. They brought an elder to the grove and put the question to the mountain. A clear, resonant voice thundered back: 'The dust of Sekandar belongs to Alexandria, where he spent his living days!' Hearing this cosmic decree, the army departed the grove of Jorm without delay, bearing the golden coffin swiftly toward Alexandria.