Part 6

"Ah, sweet Marina," said the enchanted youth, "I have come to stay with you always, for since yesterday I have had no peace of mind apart from you."

"I asked you yesterday to stay with me, Nikitich," said the enchantress, "and you would not. So now you are in my power. If I wish, I can turn you into a raven, a magpie, a pig, or a heroic ox with golden horns, silver hoofs, and a coat as sleek as velvet, or even into a loathsome frog. And if I change you into a frog no power on earth or in the sky or in the sea, or in the underworld can change you again so that your spiteful mother will know you."

Then by a slight movement of her lily-white hand she turned the young man into a heroic ox with golden horns, silver hoofs, and a coat as sleek as velvet. And she drove him out into the open steppe to drink swamp water and to eat marsh grass and to be lord over the nine brown oxen which had once been Russian heroes, strong and mighty. Now as he roamed about the plain not far away from the dwellings of Kiev, he saw a flock of geese which belonged to his aunt; and wickedness entered into his heart, so that he trampled the whole gabbling flock to death down to the very last gosling. Then the goose-girls went to their mistress and with much shaking of dark locks and heaving of white shoulders they told their tale.

As soon as they had finished their story the swan-keepers came with a similar tale, and then the shepherds, and after these the herdsmen. Not a living creature of all the flocks and herds had the golden-horned monster spared.

"I know," said the aunt of Nikitich, "whence comes this fierce beast. It is my well-beloved Nikitich whom the vile witch Marina has changed by her sorcery." Even as she spoke the horse-keepers came to tell how the animal had driven the steeds before him so that all had been lost far over the open steppe, dispersed and driven away many miles from Kiev city. Then the aunt of Nikitich rose in white anger, and by means of a secret charm she knew she changed herself into a chattering magpie and flew away to the palace of Marina, where she perched herself upon the sill of the lattice-window and began to scold with all her might and to say:

"Wicked Marina, the ugly! Why have you turned my nephew Nikitich into a golden-horned heroic ox, and set him free to roam across the open steppe? Take off your charm from my nephew or I will turn you into a long-tailed dog to be chased through the lanes of Kiev by the children, or into a chattering magpie full of guile and spleen."

Now at the game of changes no one could excel Marina, and when she heard the threat of the aunt of Nikitich she changed herself into a grey swallow and flew over the head of the chattering magpie far away across the open steppe. After a long flight she came to the golden-horned heroic ox, and alighting upon his head said in his ear:

"Promise me now, Nikitich, promise me with a great oath that you will take the golden crowns with me, and I will turn you back into your own shape again. Swear now, for you have roamed the wild steppe and must needs be weary, and have wandered far by the bubbling marshes and must needs be tired."

"Ah, sweet Marina," said Nikitich, glancing upward with a piteous look, "only deliver me from the form of this heroic beast and I will take the golden crowns with you. I will marry you, Marina, and will teach you the little lessons which a wise husband imparts to an obedient wife for her advantage."

Then Marina believed him and turned him into a goodly youth as he had been when he first entered her apartment in search of his fiery dart; and she changed herself into a lovely bride, but she could not change the emerald hue of her eyes.

"Now I will wed you, Marina," said the wise Nikitich. "Round this bush we go, three times round this willow bush, and then you may call Nikitich your husband if you will." So round the bush they went, hand in hand, three times round the willow bush, while the eyes of the beautiful bride gleamed greener than ever before.

So the bride and bridegroom came, side by side, to the palace of Marina, where Nikitich called to one of the servants:

"Ho, there, bring me a cup of green wine, and a sword of damascened steel, sharp and bright."

At these words the witch bride put forth her spells again and turned her bridegroom into a little ermine and began to frighten him. Then she turned him into a falcon, but by her witchcraft she was able to prevent him from flying anywhere except round and round her head.

"I cannot fly like the falcon clear," said Nikitich, "I can only flap my wings up and down. Give me, I beg of you, a cup of green wine to drink."

Then as if to delight her own eyes and tease him still further, the witch bride turned him once more into a goodly young man who shouted out again:

"Ho, there, bring me a cup of green wine and a sword of damascened steel, sharp and bright."

Once more Marina raised her lily-white hands and began to perform her enchantments. But before she could change her bridegroom again the servant stood at his side with the cup of wine in one hand and the sword in the other. Nikitich set aside the wine and taking the sword in his hands cut off the head of Marina with one sharp stroke.

In the morning, as the young man went to his bath, a great company of princes and nobles met him in the passage:

"Hail, Nikitich," they cried courteously. "How is it with your bride?"

"Hail, princes and nobles, heroes and courtiers of Vladimir," said the young man with a jolly laugh. "Last night I was wedded and no longer alone. This morning I am alone and no longer wedded, for I have cut off the head of my troublesome bride, who had brought to their death many heroes and princes of Holy Russia."

Then he went to his bath, and returning to the court of Vladimir was given a seat in the great corner while he told his wonderful adventure. "There is no need," said the Prince, "to cross the boundless plain for strange happenings, for to the adventurous the adventure may come in a narrow lane."

But in spite of the words of his Prince, Nikitich now longed to roam the open plain to seek fresh adventures. So he set out on the very next day and wandered on and on until he came to a wide-spreading oak on which a pied raven, half of whose wings were white, sat croaking, croaking, croaking. So harsh was its voice that Nikitich strung his bow, fitted a flaming arrow to the cord and prepared to shoot the croaking bird. But as he did so the raven put its head on one side and spoke to him in the speech of Holy Russia.

"Hail now, little Nikitich, the adventurer. Do not kill me and I will make known to you all kinds of secrets. Do not the little ones of the lanes and streets say to one another, 'There is no wisdom in killing an old man, and he who shoots a raven makes no broth.' Now that I see your bow unstrung I will tell you something worth knowing in return for your forbearance. By the lofty mountain across the steppe there are three wonders, even three marvellous damsels. The first is a lily for whiteness, the second is a rose for redness, and the third is a violet for darkness. More beautiful are they than the spring flowers on the steppe. How is this for an adventure on a fine morning for Nikitich the slayer of dragon brides?"

Now Nikitich had succeeded so well in his first adventure that he was burning to try a second. So he lowered his bow and reflected a little before he spoke. Then he said:

"What you have quoted of the children's wisdom must be true and I will try the adventure. It is better to go to the lofty mountain and see with my own eyes the lily, the rose, and the violet, those three marvels of beauty, than that I should prove my valour by shooting a raven." Then the pied bird flew away, croaking, croaking, croaking.

Nikitich turned his horse and rode, quickly, very quickly, very, very quickly, and with heroic speed, towards the lofty mountain far away across the open steppe, and at the foot of this mountain he found a pavilion of fair white linen embroidered with gold. "This is a fitting dwelling for three marvellous damsels," said the young man to himself, "the first a lily for whiteness, the second a rose for redness, and the third a violet for darkness. But it seems to me that either they are not at home or they have locked up their beauty very securely;" for the entrance to the pavilion was secured by a stout bar on which was a lock of damascened steel. The young man alighted, spread fine wheat for his horse near the entrance of the pavilion, planted his spear in the bosom of moist Mother Earth, and went forward to look more closely at the lock, upon which he found this inscription:

"Whoso enters this pavilion shall not come thence alive."

This was, of course, a direct invitation to an adventurous youth, and with one blow of his fist Nikitich struck the lock from its place and it fell to the earth at his feet. Then he removed the beam and pushed his way into the pavilion, where he saw tables set with food of the richest and wine of the greenest. He looked round warily, his hand upon his sword, and even searched beneath the tables, but found neither hero nor damsels in all the place. So he sat down at one table and ate well and drank too well, for as soon as he was satisfied he began to throw food and wine about the floor. When he was weary of this foolish exercise, he lay down to sleep.

For a long time he slept, dreaming of lilies, roses, and violets, and knew not that even as he slumbered the owner of that fair pavilion was speeding across the open steppe. This was the hero Alyosha of the court of Prince Vladimir, who arrived breathless to find a steed feeding quietly before his pavilion, and a sleeper within who had eaten well and drunk too well and then had thrown food and wine about the floor.

Now at this sight Alyosha grew very angry, and his turbulent heart boiled within him. His pointed spear was in his hand, and in a moment his anger suggested to him that he could easily punish Nikitich for his fault. But he put aside the idea with disgust, for he was a hero and a gentleman. "I shall win no honour," he said to himself, "if I kill a sleeping man who is no better than a dead one." Then he reflected for a few moments, smiled gently, went out of the pavilion and mounted not his own horse but the good steed of Nikitich.

Holding his spear reversed, he rode into the pavilion and struck the sleeper on the breast with the butt end of it. Nikitich sat up suddenly, sprang to his nimble feet, from which he had cast his shoes before falling asleep, and grasping his mace in his right hand prepared to defend himself against all comers. Then a stern fight began within the pavilion to the sound of tumbling tables, breaking crockery and crashing glass. All day they fought without ceasing even to snatch up a bite of food; all night the fight went on with never a draught of wine to slake their thirst. For two more days and two more nights the combat continued, and then there came a clap of thunder loud enough to wake Svyatogor from his sleep among the Holy Mountains.

Now Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck heard that sound and he said to himself, "Somewhere in the white world Russian heroes are fighting one another. That is not well, for their strength must be kept for battle with accursed Tatars."

So he saddled his good steed Cloudfall, and those who watched his preparations for his ride saw him mount, but they did not see him as he rode, so quickly sped the shaggy bay steed across the open steppe. In a short space of time he came to the lofty mountain, and entering the pavilion saw the two young men fighting amidst the remnants of a feast. Then he seized Nikitich by his right hand and Alyosha by his left and shouted in a heroic voice, "Why fight against each other, ye heroes of Holy Russia?"

Alyosha was the first to speak. "Ah," he said, "thou Old Cossáck, Ilya of Murom, how could I refrain from punishing Nikitich? For I prepared a banquet within my own pavilion and this fellow unbarred the door, sat down by himself to eat well and drink too well, and then scattered the rich food and green wine about the floor!" As he spoke, the voice of Alyosha rose higher and higher with indignation until the last words were like the scream of a peacock in the garden of the Princess Apraxia.

"You did well, Alyosha," said Ilya with a fatherly smile about his lips, "for a man is no man who is not able to defend his own. And as for you, Nikitich, how does it stand with your case?"

"I could do nothing in honour but fight," was the reply. "For the inscription on the lock denied life to those who entered this pavilion. It was but an invitation to an adventurer from the court of Vladimir."

"You did well, Nikitich," said Ilya with a deep laugh in his eyes, "to defend yourself against such odds, for a hero is no hero who is not able to defend his own." Then he paused and looked at both of the combatants, who presented a sorry spectacle. After that he looked round about the wrecked pavilion which had been intended as a place of entertainment for heroes and bold warrior maids.

"It will be well, Nikitich," he said quietly, "if you stay to be invited to the next feast that is laid in this pavilion, and well for you, Alyosha, if you do not tempt brave men by forbidding them. Come now, calm your heroic turbulent hearts and swear brotherhood with exchange of crosses." Then the two heroes swore eternal friendship with the exchange of crosses, and they all set out for the court of Vladimir, who when he saw them and heard their story laughed in his beard.

"It is not wise, Nikitich," he said, "to expect to win a bride in each day's adventure."

Then they went in to supper, and Ilya of Murom sat in the great corner that night and it was he who told the tale.

HOW THE COURT OF VLADIMIR RECEIVED A VISITOR FROM INDIA THE GLORIOUS

From far beyond the deep blue sea, from India the Glorious, came Lord Diuk the son of Stephen. Like a white hawk his ship skimmed lightly across the heaving waters, and like a white ermine coursing he rode across the boundless open plain. As he rode jauntily onward his bow-case and his quiver beat against his hips, and like a flaming arrow from that same bow was the speed of his good steed, Rough-Coat. His helmet and his armour were of gleaming silver, his shirt of mail, close fitting, was of ruddy gold woven in chains as fine as silk from Samarcand. When he came to a river he asked for no bridge or ford, for Rough-Coat leapt from shore to shore at a single bound.

Now as Lord Diuk rode onward he hunted, and the foxes, martens, eagles, geese, white swans and downy ducks knew and told each other by their cries that a practised hunter was abroad. When an arrow sped from his bow a shaft of light seemed to rend the heavens, and where the flaming darts fell to earth a radiance streamed as from the pale cold moon shining across the white world of the snowy steppe. He shot three times a hundred arrows and three times one, and though he found the three hundred shafts he did not find the three; and this appeared to him to be a very great wonder.

"The three arrows which I have lost," he said to himself, "are of priceless value. They were made of the graceful reeds and were covered with gold beaten finer than the parchment of the holy monks, and set with precious stones so that in their flight they shone like the rays of the sun at early dawn. The feathers were those of the blue-grey eagle, which is swifter in its flight than all the birds of the air, and flies across the deep blue sea to visit its eyrie on the tall burning white stone which flashes for a thousand miles. Its feathers are hard to come by, being more precious than satin or cut velvet, or silk from Samarcand."

Thinking deeply and somewhat depressed at his heavy loss, Diuk once more mounted Rough-Coat and gave him the rein for home. As he sped onward he overtook a company of one and thirty wandering pilgrims, and reining in his horse demanded:

"Ho, there, you greybeards, are you thieves or robbers or travellers, midnight prowlers or plunderers of churches?"

Then the psalm-singers replied:

"Young Diuk, we are neither thieves, nor robbers, prowlers nor plunderers of churches, but pilgrims on the long journey from Kiev town to India the Glorious."

"Is the journey long?" asked Diuk in a more respectful tone.

"We have indeed come a long way from Kiev town," was the quiet answer. "It is a journey of a year on foot and then three months on the bosom of the deep blue sea."

With a low reverence to the holy pilgrims, Diuk rode to his home, which he reached in a short space of time; and on the next day after having been to vespers he sought out his lady mother.

"Mother mine," he said, "must I stay always at home engaged in childish pursuits while my manhood calls me, calls me ever and ever more loudly across the boundless plain? I ought to ride with head aloft and shoulders squared upon my dapple bay steed Rough-Coat, and prove my manhood by my fearless deeds. I have seen some fair cities, but never have I seen Kiev the Great nor beheld with my own eyes the beauty of the Princess Apraxia whom all men praise. Give me leave, lady mother, leave and your good blessing, and let me go to Kiev town at once and now."

Then the mother's heart grew tender, and in her eagerness to keep him by her side she magnified the dangers of the way and thus, all unknowing, added to his eagerness to go.

"Alas, my dear son," she said, "you have not yet ridden far across the boundless plain nor heard the roar of the wild beast and the fierce cry of the accursed Tatar. Never will you return in safety from the dangers of the open steppe. As for Kiev, the city of Vladimir, the people of that place are not worthy to keep company with such as you. They will look upon you as a purse to be picked, for they are traders, sons of merchants, traffickers in goods which your forefathers would win with sword and mace and lance. I will not give you leave and blessing to go to the Court of Vladimir, that ruler of shop-keepers."

Diuk's eyes had gleamed as his mother spoke of the way in which his ancestors had won their wealth; and seeing this she tried another course.

"Besides," she went on quickly, "there are three great barriers on the way to Kiev city. The first is the barrier of the moving mountains, which clash together and catch the unwary traveller in their strong grip. The second is the barrier of the ravenous birds, which will tear thee and thy good steed to a thousand pieces. The third barrier is the Mountain Dragon with twelve tails, each with a sting in it. He will devour you if indeed you have been fortunate enough to pass the clashing mountains and the ravenous birds."

Each fresh terror which she described added to the young man's eagerness to set out upon the journey to Kiev town; and having done reverence to his weeping mother he went to the stable and combed the coat of his faithful steed with a fine comb of fishes' teeth, as well as the mane and tail, which brushed the bosom of moist Mother Earth as he passed on his flight and swept away all traces of his hoofs. Then he saddled his good horse and plaited bright jewels in his mane, standing off to admire his handiwork, speaking meanwhile to the animal in human speech; and in human speech the horse replied to him saying:

"Tear not my sides with spurs, dear master; lash me not with your whip of silk; tighten not the bridle upon my faithful head; but when I speed cling to my mane and fear not when I leap from mountain-top to mountain-top, when I clear a great lake at a bound and a river at an easy jump. So shall I be your friend and helper as was Cloudfall to Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck."

Then Diuk prepared himself for the heroic journey and went to say farewell to his lady mother, who had wept till her eyes were bright again, and she was ready to give both leave and blessing to her bold and fearless son. She gave him also a warning. "My dear son," she said, "when you come to Kiev town and to the Court of Prince Vladimir and he makes a banquet in your honour, boast not of your wealth, or of me your mother." Then she kissed him upon his honey mouth and he rode away with happy heart. They saw him as he mounted Rough-Coat but they did not see him as he rode, so swift was his flight--it was only a wreath of smoke, a pillar of dust far off upon the boundless plain, and he was gone.

Now in due time he came to the first barrier of the moving mountains, which, of course, could not always be meeting, but must also part to meet once more; and watching for the time when they parted, Rough-Coat darted between them so quickly that they only caught a long hair from his flowing tail. Then they came to the second barrier of the ravenous birds, which swooped down upon them. But Rough-Coat dipped his head and flung up his hind feet so that they pecked only at his hoofs and found no sweetness in that meal; and with two heroic leaps the brave steed was far beyond the reach of the pecking birds. Last of all they came so suddenly upon the barrier of the dragon that before he could rouse himself and uncoil his stinging tails one by one Rough-Coat was far beyond the reach of their malice.

So the three terrible barriers were safely passed without the loss of a single arrow, and Diuk rode onward singing gaily of the great deeds of Svyatogor and Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck. On he went across the boundless open plain until he came to a ring-barked oak on which sat a raven as black as night, croaking, croaking, croaking. Diuk looked up with impatience, for in his heart he feared an omen more than clashing mountains, pecking birds, or dragons with twelve stinging tails.

"Thou bird of evil," he cried, "I will scatter thy sable feathers upon the open plain. I will spill thy blood upon the ring-barked oak and give thee over to croaking Death."

But the raven answered him in the speech of Holy Russia, "Shed not my blood, young Lord Diuk. Ride on across the open steppe and you will find an adversary worthy of your stout bow and your shining arrows."

This speech filled the heart of the young hero with gladness and with the hope of meeting an adventure worthy of his ancestry. He rode on again until he came upon the hoof-prints of a horse deeply marked on the broad lap of moist Mother Earth, so deeply that it was clear to all eyes that a hero of mighty stature had recently passed that way. A few more leaps of Rough-Coat, and Diuk came to a pavilion of fair white linen embroidered with gold, beside which strayed a shaggy charger eating fine white Turkish wheat, which was heaped freely upon the ground for his solace and entertainment.

When Diuk saw this his heart failed him and he said to himself, "My courage leaves me and I dare not enter that pavilion, for the hero who sits therein will assuredly cut off my head. But I will place Rough-Coat by the side of this charger and he also shall stoop to the wheat. If the two horses eat together in peace, I will take it as a sign that the hero will do me no harm. But if the horses begin to quarrel I shall know that it is time for me to return to my lady mother." For a strange dread and fear was upon the young man who had set out so boldly but who now felt that he was within the circle of a spell. And well he might, as we shall see.

The two chargers ate in peace, and Diuk, taking heart again, entered the pavilion, bowing as he passed the threshold to North, South, East, and West, and especially to--the owner who slept in one corner with a terrible snore. Diuk came forward, and looking closer knew at once that the sleeper was none other than Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck, wrapt in one of the deep sleeps for which he was as famous as for heroic deeds.