“Go, then, to the town of Kiev, to the town of Tschernigof, and do no
wrong on your way, and spill no Christian blood wantonly.”
Ilija, the Muromer, received their blessing, and prayed to God. Then he
bid his parents farewell, and went on his way. He travelled so far in a
dark forest that at length he came to the hold of some robbers. As soon
as the robbers saw the Muromer, they began to wish for his beautiful
horse, and they said one to another—
“Let us seize this horse, which is so beautiful that its like has never
been seen, and let us take it from this unknown fellow.”
So they all, five-and-twenty, set upon Ilija, the Muromer. Ilija reined
in his horse, took an arrow out of his quiver, put it on the string of
his bow, and shot it into the ground with so much force that the pieces
of earth flew over three acres. When the robbers saw that they looked at
one another with astonishment. Then they threw themselves on their
knees, and said—
“Master and father, we have wronged you. If you want to punish us take
our treasure, our fine clothes, and as many of our horses as you like.”
“What should I do with your treasure?” said Ilija. “If you want to keep
your lives, see that you do not do the like in future.” So he went on to
famous Kiev. He came at length to the town of Tschernigof, and found it
beset by an army of pagans, so great that no one could tell their
number. They wanted to destroy the town, tear down the churches, and
carry off the princes and nobles as slaves. When Ilija, the Muromer, saw
the army he was afraid, but he placed confidence in the Highest, and
braced himself up to die for the Christian religion. So he attacked the
pagan army, put them to flight, took the chiefs prisoners, and carried
them to Tschernigof. When he came to the city the folk ran out to meet
him, the prince and the nobles coming first. They gave him thanks, and
then went with him to offer up praise to God, who had preserved the town
safe, and not allowed it to be overthrown by so large an army.
Then they conducted Ilija to the palace, and entertained him at a great
feast. After that Ilija, the Muromer, went straight on to Kiev, along a
road which the Robber Nightingale had kept for thirty years, and on
which he suffered no horseman or traveller on foot to pass, putting them
to death, not by the sword, but by the sound of his robber whistle. When
Ilija came into the open fields he rode on to the Bianski forest, and
went far on, passing over marshes, by means of bridges made of
water-elder, to the river Smarodienka. When the Robber Nightingale saw
him about twenty versts away, he guessed his errand, and sounded his
robber whistle. But the hero did not quail, and came on till he was only
ten versts off, when the robber blew his whistle so loudly that Ilija’s
horse fell down on its knees. Then Ilija went up to the robber’s nest,
which was built upon twelve oaks. When the robber saw the hero he blew
with all his might and tried to kill him, but Ilija took his bow, put a
new arrow on the string, shot it straight into the robber’s nest, and
hit the robber in the right eye. Robber Nightingale fell down from the
tree like a sheaf of oats.
Ilija, the Muromer, took him, bound him fast to his saddle, and rode
away to Kiev. At the side of the road stood the palace of Robber
Nightingale, and as he rode by the robber’s daughters were sitting at
the open window.
“There comes our father,” said the youngest, “riding, and bringing with
him a peasant, tied to his saddle.”
The eldest looked at him carefully, and began to weep bitterly.
“It is not our father,” said she, “that rides there, but a strange man
who has made him prisoner.”