One day Ilya rode his shaggy bay steed Cloudfall across the open
steppe; and as he went slowly onward he was thinking deeply, for he
had performed many deeds of the greatest valour, and was now wondering
greatly what he should do next.
"I have visited many lands," he said in a brooding voice, "and have
seen many strange people, but for a long time I have not visited Kiev,
where I took Nightingale the Robber as a prisoner firmly bound to my
stirrup of bright steel. I will go now to Kiev once more, so that I
may see what is happening in the household of Prince Vladimir."
Raising his head and smiling quietly like a man filled with a
secret purpose, he gave Cloudfall the rein, and before he could say
"Svyatogor" he was in the city of Kiev, where it was told him by a
cook whom he met hurrying across the street that Prince Vladimir was
holding a merry feast.
Ilya at once tethered Cloudfall to the carven pillar in the cathedral
court and took his way on foot to the banquet-hall of Prince Vladimir,
which he entered without invitation, knowing that all wayfarers were
welcome to the board of the hospitable Prince.
As soon as he had passed the threshold, Ilya bowed to North, South,
East, and West, and then to Prince Vladimir and Princess Apraxia in
particular, thinking that the royal couple would surely have a clear
remembrance of all the wonderful things that had taken place on his
last visit to their town. But neither the Prince nor the Princess
knew him again, and it was as a perfect stranger that Vladimir
addressed him.
"What is your name and to which horde do you belong?" he asked;
"and have you any title of degree?"
"Fair Sun Vladimir," said Ilya, who was secretly taken aback at his
reception, but determined not to show it, "I am called Nikita from
beyond the Forest."
"Welcome, my brave and merry little fellow," said the Prince with great
heartiness; "sit down at our board and eat and drink freely. You will
find a little room at the lower end of yonder table. I am sorry there
is not more room, but your sharp eyes will see at once that I feast
to-day a noble company of princes, statesmen, wealthy merchants,
and bold warrior-maids as well as sixty great Russian heroes whose
adventures have been many."
Now Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck did not relish the tone of the
Prince's speech, and felt it a deep humiliation that the conqueror
of Nightingale the Robber should break the royal bread at the lower
end of the table. His anger rose, and raising his head he cried:
"Fair Sun Vladimir, do you think to place me among the crows while you
feast with the eagles? Nay! I will not eat bread with those beneath
my degree."
Such a speech from a man who had made no claim to higher rank than that
of Nikita from beyond the Forest, who was clearly a nobody, roused in
turn the anger of the Prince. He sprang nimbly to his feet, his face as
black as a thunder-cloud, and roared like a crowded den of wild beasts:
"Ho, there, ye mighty heroes of Holy Russia! Will you hear yourselves
classed with carrion crows? Seize the stranger, but take care that
three of you hold each arm, hale him to the courtyard and strike off
his head." Then there was a great commotion, and the cooks began to
wring their hands, for they knew that if they did not keep the food
hot while the quarrel was proceeding, the Prince would need new cooks
on the following day.
Three heroes grasped the right arm of Ilya and three heroes grasped his
left arm. He waved his right hand and three heroes fell breathless to
the floor of red brick; then he waved his left hand and three heroes
fell on top of them. Thereupon Vladimir roared out a command that
twelve fresh heroes should seize him, but these champions fared like
their fellows. Then twelve more rose before him and six more behind;
and these met the same fate as the rest.
Meanwhile the cooks had been able to snatch away the dishes from
beneath the nose of the angry Prince and were now hurrying away to
place them in the ovens. Then they heaved in unison such a sigh of
relief that the fire burned as brightly as it burns upon a frosty
night.
Ilya strode forth from the banquet-hall and the anger burned fiercely
within his breast. When he reached the courtyard he turned about and
fitted an arrow to his bow. As he drew the cord he whispered to the
shaft, "Fly, my dart, about the princely towers and strike off the
spires and crosses of gold from the royal palace." Off went the arrow,
but it did not travel by a straight road. It made a circuitous tour
of the pinnacles and domes of the stately building, and as it went on
its way spire after spire and cross after cross tumbled down upon the
pavement. Ilya gathered up these golden trophies, went to the tavern in
the market-place and ordered the landlord to bring out his best green
wine, for which he would pay with the royal spires and crosses. Then he
stood in the doorway and invited all the loafers of the market-place
to come and drink the health of Prince Vladimir, who had been good
enough, as he grimly remarked, to provide the means of drinking it.
For once the loafers hesitated to lift the green wine to their
lips. "What will the Prince do to us in the morning," they asked, "when
he finds that we have drunk up all his golden spires and crosses?"
"Drink, my men," said Ilya. "To-morrow I myself will reign as Prince
in Kiev town, and ye shall be my chiefs." Then they drank and drank
again; but Ilya of Murom did not put the bowl to his lips in such
company, for he merely meant to use these men in his determination
to win respect and ample apology from the Prince.
In the meantime Prince Vladimir sat at the board with the hungry
revellers about him; but he was so deeply wrapped in thought that he
did not even notice that the cooks had taken away the dishes. "Who is
this who has come to town?" he asked moodily. Then a young nobleman,
whose name was Nikitich, sprang to his nimble feet and said, "I have
met all the mighty heroes of Holy Russia save one, and that one
is Ilya of Murom, who, I have heard, will not die in battle. This
wonderful visitor is no Nikita from beyond the Forest. It must be
none other than Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck. I fear, my Prince,
with all respect to your Highness, that you did not know how to pay
worthy honour to your guest either at his coming or his going."
The Prince's face lighted up, for the young nobleman who had spoken
was the only man in the whole of the company who could read and write,
and on that account was privileged to speak his mind when his fellows
feared for their heads. "Whom shall we send," asked Prince Vladimir,
"to invite the hero to our banquet?" (At these words some of the cooks
hurried off to prepare fresh food.) "My royal chamberlain will not
know how to address him, and my chief page is like a peacock--only
fit to strut about in the sun among the women. Go you, Nikitich, for
you can read and write and therefore have supernatural wisdom. Bow
down before him, with your forehead upon moist Mother Earth, and
invite him by his name and title thrice repeated to honour us with
his presence at a worshipful feast.
"Say that I did not, to my lasting sorrow, recognise him when I placed
him at the lower end of the board, but that now I entreat him to
honour us with his truly remarkable presence. Tell him that I bear no
ill-will for what has passed, and that instead of sitting at the lower
end of the board--though there is now more room in that quarter--he
shall sit in the great corner near to the Princess Apraxia herself."
Now Nikitich, having learnt to read and write, did not act upon
rash impulse, but stood for a few moments looking supernaturally
wise and weighed the matter with the utmost circumspection. "Shall I
go?" he asked himself. "It may mean sudden death for me at the hands
of Ilya. On the other hand, it will certainly mean slow death at
the hands of Prince Vladimir if I do not obey. Perhaps I had better
go." Then with a low bow to the Prince and another to the Princess,
he left the banquet-hall with the step of resolution.
In a few moments he came to the tavern where he saw Ilya of Murom
the Old Cossáck sitting grimly watching the loafers while they drank
the health of Prince Vladimir. "It will be better," said Nikitich to
himself, "if I come upon him from behind, for then I shall be able
to deliver my message without being put in deadly fear by his eyes
of terror." So he approached Ilya from behind as he sat there and,
placing his hands upon the hero's mighty shoulders, told him all
that Prince Vladimir had said; but being able to read and write,
and therefore full of supernatural wisdom, he missed out the sentence
about the Prince bearing no ill-will for what had passed.
Had he been able to watch the face of Ilya as he spoke the Prince's
message, Nikitich would have seen a bright gleam of laughter steal into
the terrible eyes of the Old Cossáck. But when the speech was over,
Ilya did not turn his head. "It is well for you, young Nikitich,"
he said grimly, "that you come upon me from behind. If you had
approached me from before, your body would have been dust and ashes
before now. Go at once and deliver to Prince Vladimir the following
message in answer to his own:
"Let strict orders be issued to all the inn-keepers of Kiev and
Chernigof that they invite all who care to come to quaff green wine
at the expense of Prince Vladimir; and for those who care not for
green wine let vodka, the drink of the peasants, be provided; while
those who love neither shall drink sweet mead beloved of fair ladies
and their squires. By this all men shall know that Ilya of Murom the
Old Cossáck who led captive Nightingale the Robber is now come to
town. Let the Prince also prepare an honourable banquet and reserve
the great corner near the high table for me.
"Otherwise," continued Ilya, at last turning his head and fixing
his heroic eyes on the young man of supernatural wisdom who could
both read and write, "otherwise----" But the ambassador of Prince
Vladimir did not stay to enquire what would happen. The sight of
Ilya's countenance was enough for him, and only the drunken loafers
heard the completion of the hero's threat "--the Prince shall reign
in Kiev no longer than to-morrow's morn."
Then quickly, quickly, very very quickly, and with lightning speed,
ran the wise young man to Prince Vladimir, and quickly, quickly, very
very quickly, and with lightning speed, were the "requests" of Ilya
complied with. Great crowds drew to the tavern, though they came not
to drink but to see the Old Cossáck. They were however disappointed,
for Ilya had gone, post-haste upon the heels of the envoy, to take
his place at the banquet, taking his invitation for granted. But
being a true gentleman, he bowed on entering the hall to the North,
South, East, and West, and then in particular to Prince Vladimir and
Princess Apraxia.
Vladimir rose quickly to his feet and cried with hands extended,
"Ho, there, Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck. Here is a place for you
beside me, in the great corner near the stove. Or if it please you
to sit elsewhere it shall be as you will." So Ilya sat in the great
corner, and before long the cooks and the serving men were passing
to and fro like a whirlwind.
Now, as they sat at meat and as the wine pails freely passed, there
happened a very great wonder; for Prince Vladimir turned to pledge Ilya
of Murom the Old Cossáck, and behold! he no longer sat in the great
corner. The Prince rubbed his eyes in astonishment, but the Princess,
with a somewhat scornful smile, told him to look for Ilya under the
banquet table. Then they looked, but Ilya was not there. So the Prince
sent out messengers upon the broad road which ran for forty furlongs
to the city of Galich; but Ilya was not upon the broad road, and the
only man they met was an old pilgrim who was making his way slowly and
painfully to Kiev town. His smock was tattered with use, and a ragged
girdle was bound about his waist. His cap was heavy with moisture,
his feet were covered with rotten straw, and he leaned so heavily upon
a crooked staff that the moist earth squirted out beneath his step.
The ancient pilgrim entered the town and went to the chief inn, where
he asked courteously enough for a pail and a half of green wine. "You
old grey dog," said the inn-keeper, "we do not trust such as you, nor
can we give you green wine without your money." Then the old man took
from his neck a cross of gold, wonderfully chased, of great weight,
and clearly of as great antiquity. "Take this cross in payment," he
said, but not one of the men dared to handle it. Then seeing that the
old man was faint for want, the peasants about the place gave each a
kopeck that he might have his wine; and when it was brought to him he
drank it in a draught and a half and at a breath and a half. Having
done this, he climbed upon the stove, lay down as if he were in his
mother's cottage, and fell fast asleep.
Very early in the morning, as the warm red sun arose, the old pilgrim
descended from the stove, went down to the cellars, burst open the
door with his foot, took a cask of wine under each arm and rolled
a third before him with his right great toe. So he came out to the
green meadow and then into the market-place, where he shouted out,
in a voice wonderfully strong for so aged a pilgrim, "Ho, ye peasants
of the village, come to the old man's feast." By this time, however,
the men from the tavern were upon him; but though there were many of
them they could not take the wine from the old man, so they went to
make their complaint to Prince Vladimir.
"Bring him before me," said the royal judge, and they did so. Then
the ancient pilgrim raised his eyes, and by means of the smile in
the depths of them Vladimir knew him for Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck.
"Plague upon my love of fun," said Ilya, "but these thick-headed
varlets are easily imposed upon. Let me pay them for my fun and,
Prince, give me work worthy of a hero."
"The time demands a hero's help," said Prince Vladimir, "for my
royal city goes in fear by day and passes sleepless nights in terror
for Falcon the Hunter, who rides the heavens and can pass over the
loftiest barriers to hurl his fiery darts upon every golden pinnacle
which rears upward to the sky. Make a barrier, Ilya, upon the road
by which he comes, and check him, if you can, with fiery shafts from
your magic bow."
Then Ilya's eyes gleamed with pleasure, and he called for six of
the mightiest heroes to help him to form a barrier in the path of
Falcon the Hunter; and among the six was Nikitich, the young man of
supernatural wisdom who could both read and write, as well as Vaska
Longskirt, who was very brave but hampered in his fighting by his
voluminous coat in which he defied the white world. The seven made
a strong barrier on the road by which Falcon the Hunter took his
flight, so strong that no horseman ever so swift could gallop by,
nor wayfarer circumvent it; no wild beast could break it, and if a
ravening eagle or carrion crow soared above it the fiery darts of Ilya
brought it down in a shower of feathers and a rain of blood. "Surely,"
said Princess Apraxia, whose bright eyes always closed involuntarily
as Falcon the Hunter was seen riding upon the clouds, "we shall be
safe from the horror that stalks in the darkness by reason of the
barrier of Ilya of Murom."
But late that night young Falcon the Hunter passed by, leaping from
one low black cloud to another, and with a dazzling smile scorning
the barrier of the seven heroes. In the early dawn Ilya went forth and
traced the footsteps of his black horse--a blasted pine tree with its
heart scorched to charcoal, a tall tower, and several golden pinnacles
of the royal pavilion lying upon the bosom of moist Mother Earth. He
went back to his brother heroes. "While we slept until the white
dawn," he cried in a loud voice, "Falcon the Hunter swept by in his
malignity. What a barrier is this of ours! What a fortress! Let us
arm ourselves, my friends, and go out upon the steppe to seek this
rash intruder whose malignant glance causes the Princess Apraxia
to close her eyes in fear." Then they sat down in a circle to hold
a wise council, having no immediate fear of Falcon the Hunter, who
never came to the city of many golden pinnacles while the sun shone
broadly upon it.
"Whom shall we send against Falcon the Hunter?" asked Ilya, who did
not intend to go himself until the others had failed. "It is of little
use sending Vaska Longskirt, for he will get entangled in the tails
of his coat. Nikitich must go, and if he finds that Falcon the Hunter
is a Russian he shall swear eternal brotherhood with him on behalf
of all of us. But if he finds he is an infidel he shall challenge
him to mortal combat."
Then Nikitich sprang to his nimble feet, saddled and mounted his
good steed, and rode forth to the place where a great river met the
dark-grey sea. As he looked along the straight road he saw a rider
before him who sat upon his horse with the assurance of youth and
victory. His black steed was full of mettle and fresh from the untamed
steppe. At each leap he covered a furlong, and the marks which the
hoofs of his horse made upon the bosom of moist Mother Earth were as
large as a ram or a full-grown sheep. Flames flashed from the mouth of
the steed, lighting up the heavy clouds which hung over the dark-grey
sea, sparks of blue fire showered from his nostrils, and from his
erected ears smoke curled in tiny wreaths which quivered and then
vanished in mid-air. The helmet on the head of the hero glowed like
fire, and blue rays of light darted from ornaments on his doublet,
from his pointed spurs and his stirrups of bright steel. At his left
stirrup ran a swift grey-hound, and a fire-eating dragon was chained
to the right which sang and whistled with a strange music as the horse
and its rider passed on towards the dark-grey sea. From shoulder to
shoulder hopped the clear-eyed bird from which Falcon the Hunter took
his name, and as it passed it plucked at the long yellow locks of the
rider, which streamed upon his shoulders like tongues of living flame.
The knight sat easily upon the back of his strange steed, and as he
rode he amused himself by hurling his bright steel mace towards the
lowering clouds which hung threatening over the dark-grey sea. It
flashed across the cloudy barrier, making a bright reflection in
the heaving water, and then returned obedient to the hand of Falcon
the Hunter without touching either sea or land in its flight. As he
played, Falcon the Hunter spoke to his wonderful mace: "Lightly as
I now whirl this mace aloft, even so lightly will I twirl Ilya of
Murom the Old Cossáck."
Then Nikitich called out, "Ho, there, Falcon the Hunter! Have you no
fear of our barrier?"
Falcon replied over his shoulder, "'Tis not for youths even of
supernatural wisdom to pursue me in the open plain. It is high time
that you were hiding from me in the deep depths of a feather-bed."
When Falcon the Hunter spoke, the waters of the sea were troubled,
flecks of foam appeared upon the deep, and the shallows were choked
with sand. The charger of Nikitich trembled sorely and fell down
upon its knees, while its rider sank upon the bosom of moist Mother
Earth, where he lay as if in a trance for the space of three full
hours. When he awoke, the sun was shining brightly, the waves upon
the ocean danced in glee, and the tumbled rack of grey clouds on the
horizon was all dispersed and scattered. But Falcon the Hunter was
no longer to be seen, for with all his terrors he was afraid of the
jolly sun with his broad and welcoming smile.
Nikitich now mounted his charger and rode off at once to report to
Ilya the Old Cossáck. The old man listened quietly and then said with
a sigh, "I grow old, and yet there is none coming after me to take
my place." Then he saddled his good charger Cloudfall and sprang upon
his back without making any use of the stirrups. On the saddle-strap
hung his war club, mighty in weight; on his left hip rested his sharp
sword and in his hand he held his silken whip; but for this encounter
he placed most reliance upon the fiery darts in the quiver upon his
broad back and in the strength of his mighty bow. Thus armed he rode
forth into the darkness of the mountains, where he found Falcon the
Hunter leaping from summit to summit and rousing the cavernous echoes
with his fear-compelling voice. But neither the flashing flames nor
the rolling angry accents struck terror to the heart of Ilya, for with
a quick movement he shifted his quiver, which was open at both ends,
so that the points of the darts pointed heavenwards, and from these
points streamed a blue radiance which enveloped the form of the hero
like a protecting halo.
Above the noise of the voice of Falcon the Hunter was heard the voice
of the heroic Ilya. "Ho there!" he cried, "Thief, dog, braggart! Why
have you passed our barrier without doing reverence to me or asking
my leave?" When the Hunter heard this challenge he turned and rode
at Ilya, and for a moment, though only for a moment, the heart of
the hero died within him. But with a tightening of the strap of
that wonderful quiver, so that even in the fight his fiery darts
should point heavenwards, he rushed into the fray. First they fought
with their maces until these snapped short at the hilt, but neither
fighter was wounded in the least. Then their swords flashed fire until
both were splintered, but still neither fighter was wounded in the
least. Next they fought with their spears until both were shattered,
and even yet neither fighter was wounded in the least. Last of all
they lighted down upon the ground and fought hand to hand.
All day they fought, till stormy even, till black midnight, till
the grey dawn, and so they did the second day, and likewise the
third. Then Ilya waved his right hand, and his left foot slipped
from under him. Down he fell like a stack of hay, but as he fell
he was able to move his quiver so that the fiery darts with their
streaming blue fire pointed directly heavenwards. As he lay there
Falcon the Hunter planted himself upon his breast and struck at him
with a flashing dagger of steel. But the blow fell upon the upturned
points of those wonderful darts and spent itself on the broad bosom
of moist Mother Earth.
"See!" cried Ilya with a grim laugh. "It was foretold of me that I
should not die in battle. Oh, brave good youth, tell me from what
horde you come and who were your parents."
"It is time," growled Falcon the Hunter, "that you should shave your
head and go to a monastery." At this taunt the heart of Ilya grew
hot and his blood, still youthful, boiled within him. With a mighty
blow of his fist he struck Falcon on his black breast, hurling him
skywards, though not so high as the heavy clouds which lowered above
the heroic fight. When the Hunter fell once more, Ilya sprang to his
nimble feet and sat in his turn upon the breast of his enemy.
"Tell me now, good youth," he said, "the name of thy land, thy horde,
and thy father."
"When I sat upon thy breast," growled Falcon the Hunter, "I did not
enquire of thee thy land, thy horde, and thy parentage, for these
things concern not me, the enemy of all mankind. And if I sat upon it
again I would pierce your bosom, pluck out your heart and examine it in
mere curiosity, and then scatter the fragments of your white body over
the plain, to be torn by the grey wolf and picked by the black crows."
Then Ilya asked his enemy no more questions but drew forth his shining
dagger of steel; and at the sight of this gleaming weapon the heart
of Falcon the Hunter sank within his breast and he gave the answer
required of him:
"I come from far across the sea, from the palace of grey stone where
the sun has no power to enter, and my mother was the warrior-queen
Zlatigorka. The name of my father I do not know. When I left the palace
of grey stone my mother, who now is gentle, told me to meet Ilya of
Murom the Old Cossáck if I could, and having met him to dismount from
my horse and do reverence to him, touching my forehead upon the bosom
of moist Mother Earth."
Then the fierce eyes of Ilya grew soft with compassion, and his mind
went back to the far-off day when he crossed the deep-blue sea in the
strength of his manhood to see the palace of grey stone and to talk
with the warrior-queen who ruled there; for he had vowed that he would
win the love of that brave Princess and take her as his bride. Now,
being a hero, and the maiden a right worthy mate for him, he could
not hope, nor would he care, to win the Princess except he had first
proved that he was stronger than she; and for a long time the two had
striven day after day until at times their hearts were sick of the
eternal conflict, yet neither could bring it to an end. Then at last
the warrior-queen had weakened and had yielded, and had found more
joy in yielding than in conquest; and Ilya had given her his golden
ring set with a ruby red as a flaming heart, while she had given him
a wondrous cross of gold to wear upon his heroic breast; and the two
had lived in the palace of grey stone until a son was born to them and
the fighting queen had forgotten her weapons and her warrior strength
in her motherhood. Then Ilya had been called away on one of his many
quests, and the boy had grown up without his heroic guidance--to become
a scourge to his gentle mother and to all mankind. And as he thought
on these matters, the heart of Ilya was saddened beyond measure,
and stooping over Falcon the Hunter he took him by his white hands,
kissed his lips and called him his son, weeping greatly as he looked
upon him. Then raising his hands he blessed him and said:
"Ride, my son, to the margin of the waters, and then cross the grey
sea until you come to the palace of grey stone and to your lady mother
who lives only in her memories. Greet her lovingly from me, and say
that Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck keeps her ever in his golden heart."
Then Falcon the Hunter rose to his feet and prepared to do his father's
bidding. But when he came to the porch of the palace of grey stone
these were the words he uttered:
"Ho, there, bold and evil woman! Come forth! Was it indeed the son
of a peasant whom you gave me for a father?"
Then his mother came out upon the porch, and though her face was grey
with double grief and she stooped as if she needed the strong arm of
a brave man about her shoulders, the undutiful son struck at her with
his flashing sword and she fell dead upon the pavement.
Even this piteous sight did not touch the cold and fiery heart of
Falcon the Hunter, who shouted out so that the walls of the palace
of grey stone rang again, "I go now to give the old peasant, Ilya of
Murom, to speedy death." Thereupon he crossed the grey sea over which
the angry clouds were lowering, mounted his charger, and rode quickly
towards the fair white linen pavilion of Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck.
Lifting the curtain of the tent, he found his father sleeping and
hurled a burning shaft at him; but it struck the wondrous cross of
gleaming gold which Ilya wore upon his heroic breast and glanced
harmlessly aside, though the mighty blow roused the hero from his
slumber. He leapt from his couch, seized his undutiful son by his
yellow curls, and laid him lifeless upon the plain. So Ilya of Murom
the Old Cossáck freed the people of Holy Russia from their fear of
Falcon the Hunter, the enemy of all mankind.