The Russian Story Book 20

The Russian Story Book 20

"Take this letter and ask Nikitich, the young man of supernatural

wisdom who can both read and write, to tell thee what it contains,

for it disposes in set terms of all your pretensions to royalty. Clean

all the streets of Kiev town, take down the wonder-working crosses of

the Holy Temples--but leave upon the domes the tall fiery darts of

Ilya lest Falcon the Hunter should still be alive--and build stalls

for horses in the churches. Cleanse also your palaces of white stone

and prepare beds without number, for our host is great. Brew sweet

liquors, for our thirst is also great, and let cask stand upon cask

in noble array. For in less than two days Tsar Kalin and his great

host shall walk the streets of Kiev, and our master shall wed the

Princess Apraxia."

 

The boldness and the careful detail of the command caused the heart of

Prince Vladimir to sink very low, and the best he could imagine was to

gain time. So he caused Nikitich to write a letter in reply, saying:

"Cleaning and fermenting are both slow processes. I shall need a space

of three months to prepare this city for its coming guests." Then

the favourite runner of Tsar Kalin brought this submissive reply to

his master, and the truce was granted.

 

Prince Vladimir paced to and fro in his chamber, chewing his moustache,

and occasionally heaving a heavy sigh when no one was near. Meanwhile,

the cleaning and the brewing were proceeding apace, for as Princess

Apraxia said quietly, "There is nothing lost by cleanliness, and a

good store in the larders and the cellar, for who knows which of our

friends will sleep in the clean beds and partake of our cheer."

 

"Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck is no more," said Prince

Vladimir bitterly. "There is no hero to fight for our faith and

fatherland. There is none to defend Prince Vladimir." When the busy

Princess heard these words she paused for a moment in her work and

said, "Little father, command thy trusty servants to go to the deep

dungeon and see whether Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck be even yet

alive." Then she went on with her dusting, for the china bowls and

cups from Farthest East were always her own particular care.

 

"Foolish princess," said her husband, pausing in his pacing to and

fro. "If I cut off your light head, will it grow again? How can the

youthful aged one be alive after three years' starvation?" The Princess

said nothing, but went on with her work, and in a few moments Vladimir

himself went off to the dungeon on the desperate chance. And there,

to his wonder, he found Ilya lying on cushions of down, with food of

the richest and wine of the greenest on a table beside him, on which

was also spread a wonderful written parchment of the Holy Gospels.

 

Vladimir was so much astonished to find Ilya not only alive and well,

but to all appearance very comfortable and happy, that he bowed to

North, South, East, and West, and then particularly to the hero. "Come

forth, Ilya," he said, as if he had taken no share in the Old Cossáck's

imprisonment. "Come forth, and defend us against the Golden Horde,

for the sake of the widows and orphans which are to be." Ilya smiled

gently and rose slowly from his seat of comfort, for three years'

restraint had somewhat stiffened him. Then Vladimir hastened to take

him by the hands, as if he had quite forgiven him for a crime which

he had never committed, and leading him to his own table, placed him

in the great corner and heaped food of the best before him.

 

But Ilya was not hungry, and he left the table without a word, for he

wanted heroic exercise most of all. In the open field he saw Cloudfall

grazing quietly as though his master had ridden him only yesterday;

and you may be quite certain and absolutely sure that no other rider

had during the past three years sat on the back of the faithful shaggy

bay steed. The horse gave a joyful chuckle when Ilya once more drew

near to him, and as his master proceeded to saddle him he turned his

head about and gazed upon him with heroic approbation.

 

Certain of the people of Vladimir's palace saw Ilya mount upon

Cloudfall, but they did not see him as he rode away, so swift was

his flight--there was but a smoke wreath on the open steppe and

streams of water burst forth where good Cloudfall's hoofs beat upon

the ground. He gave a great leap upwards and alighted on the crest of

a lofty mountain, from whence he looked out across the open plain to

see if any of the heroes were within sight who had come out to defend

Holy Russia against the Golden Horde of the Tatars.

 

Far away in the east he saw the white linen pavilions of the heroes

who had helped him to form the barrier against Falcon the Hunter,

and the sun shone brightly on their golden embroideries. At the

opening of one snowy tent his keen eyes could descry even at that

distance how the fine wheat had been shaken out upon the earth for

the delight of a hero's charger, and how that same hero had planted

upright a spear of heroic height and hung upon it a golden tassel,

not for vanity of youthfulness, but as a signal to all the enemies of

Holy Russia that a champion abode within that pavilion. As he stood

there with his hand shading his eyes Ilya saw another hero come to

that vicinity and, even at that far distance, he knew him for the

young man of supernatural wisdom--Nikitich, who could both read and

write. He saw how the new-comer pitched his pavilion, shook out fine

wheat for his charger's delight, planted a lofty spear and displayed

two tassels, not for vanity of youthfulness, but to show that a hero

and a scholar abode in that pavilion.

 

Then Ilya came down from the mountain-top, and before you could say

Svyatogor he had arrived in the space between the two upright staffs,

where he gave Cloudfall the rein that he might take his share of the

fine wheat, planted his own lofty spear and hung three tassels upon

it, as a sign that a hero, a scholar, and a landed gentleman had come

to the assistance of Holy Russia against the Golden Horde. He now

entered one of the snowy pavilions, where he found twelve Russian

heroes sitting at meat, who all rose to their feet, kissed him and

bade him welcome, whereupon they sat down again to go forward with

the business of eating. But as he was not yet hungry Ilya did not

join them. He hastened to explain his mission, and asked for their

help in defending Kiev town, Vladimir, and Princess Apraxia. But one

of them said:

 

"Nay, nay, Ilya of Murom, we will not mount our steeds to defend Kiev

town, Vladimir, and his Princess. For he has many princely nobles, whom

he feasts right heroically and upon whom he bestows the richest gifts."

 

"It will be the worse for all of you," said Ilya, in great anger,

and their voices rose in wrath so that the good steeds raised their

heads from the fine wheat and looked with intelligent wonder through

the opening of the pavilion.

 

Meanwhile Vladimir wrapped himself in his black velvet mantle, which

was trimmed with marten, and paced to and fro in his palace in Kiev

town, for the time of the truce was almost over, and so far the heroes

had not made their appearance. Now as he paced up and down to soothe

his anxiety his nephew Yermak came to him and begged that he might

have a warrior's charger, a coat of heavy chain mail and a ponderous

mace, as well as leave to ride against the Golden Horde.

 

"You are a mere boaster," said Vladimir carelessly. "Why, you have

never yet handled a mace."

 

"If you do not give me the charger, uncle," said Yermak, "I will set

out on foot." The youth's quiet determination had more effect upon

Vladimir than weeks of persuasion, and he bade Yermak choose what

charger he desired from the royal stables as well as the armour which

suited him best from the armoury. Off went the youth in great glee

and equal haste, but the chain mail which he found was so rusty that

he flung it down with impatience upon the brick floor, whereupon all

the rust flew from it; so he picked it up, selected weapons to his

taste, ran to the stables, saddled a horse, mounted it and rode at

topmost speed to the pavilion of the heroes.

 

And what did he find in that hour of anxiety and the direst peril? Why,

the twelve heroes contentedly sitting playing at draughts upon

a board of gold and Ilya sound asleep upon a couch under a heavy

coverlet of sables. Then the anger of Yermak was very great indeed,

and he shouted with all his might. "Ho, there, you Old Cossáck, Ilya

of Murom. Yonder in Kiev city there is bread to eat and to spare,

but no one to defend the place against the Golden Horde."

 

Now Ilya, from force of habit and long practice, slept always with

one ear open, and he knew also that it was a fatal mistake to lose his

calmness, especially when others about him had lost their own. So he

turned slowly on his couch and said quietly, "Climb up into the damp

oak, young Yermak, and make an effort to number the host which comes

against us by counting the standards which are displayed." So Yermak

climbed up into the damp oak, and Ilya turning upon his other side

went to sleep once more. From his perch in the damp oak Yermak saw a

vast host of the Golden Horde, and how at that moment the leaders were

marshalling their men in battle array; and he knew that the shaking

of the bough on which he sat came from the trembling of moist Mother

Earth at the tramp of their myriad feet. So great was the army that

the swift grey wolf could not trot round it in the space of a long

spring day; the black raven could not fly about it in the longest

day of summer; the grey bird could not wing its flight across it in

the longest light of autumn.

 

Now Yermak had in him some of the qualities of a hero, for the size of

the host roused his courage to such a height that he felt impelled to

advance against it by himself, single and alone. So he leapt quickly

from the damp oak, sprang upon his charger, and rode fiercely across

the open steppe against the vanguard of that great host. Meanwhile

the game of draughts went quietly on in the fair pavilion of white

linen, and Ilya slept. For three days and three nights this went on

while Yermak hurled himself again and again against the forefront of

the Golden Horde. Then Ilya awoke and said to Nikitich:

 

"Mount into the damp oak, young man of supernatural wisdom. Perhaps

young Yermak has fallen down from the branch for no longer do I see

him there."

 

Then Nikitich climbed up into the tree-top and looked out upon the

Golden Horde. He saw the vast host and he saw more than that--not the

black raven flying, nor the bright falcon soaring, but that heroic

youth galloping boldly against the heathen horde; and he made his

report to Ilya, who rose deliberately from his couch:

 

"Rise, ye draught players, and mount your good steeds. Then in the

first place let one of you take grappling hooks and catch young Yermak

by the shoulders. Say to him when he is stayed in his headlong flight,

'Thou hast breakfasted to-day. Now let the heroes dine.'"

 

So one of the company went out with strong grappling irons. Thrice he

caught Yermak by the shoulders and thrice did the young man break

away, rending his chain mail in the action. Then the messenger

returned to report his failure and Nikitich made the attempt with

as little success. So Ilya went himself. He sat on Cloudfall as the

grandfather of all the oaks stood upon the lap of moist Mother Earth,

and caught Yermak by the shoulder with his heroic hand saying to him,

"Rest your heroic heart and let us labour now."

 

Then Ilya rode against that mighty host as the swift eagle swoops

down upon the swans and geese or the falcon darts upon the wild duck;

and at the place against which Yermak had beaten in vain he made a

breach in the line and began to hew a path through the host as the

mower makes a way through the thick standing wheat. Then Cloudfall

addressed him with the voice of a man:

 

"Ho, thou mighty hero of Holy Russia! with a heart of steel thou hast

advanced against this mighty host, but even your great might may

not overcome it, for that pestilent robber, Tsar Kalin, is served

by many men of great renown and warrior-maids of heroic strength

and feminine fierceness. Moreover, he is a wily leader, for he has

dug three trenches across the open steppe and into these you will

fall. I can lift you out of the first and likewise out of the second,

but out of the third I may not lift you though I should succeed in

rising from it myself. For I watched them digging the trenches while

you were sleeping, and, indeed, I missed a great deal of the fine

wheat while I served you in this manner."

 

Such a counsel of despair was not pleasing to the heroic Ilya,

who grasped his silken whip in his right hand and beat Cloudfall

soundly upon the flanks. "Traitor and renegade," he cried in heroic

anger, "I feed thee on white wheat and give you water from crystal

springs and yet you will forsake me in the deep ditches of the open

steppe." And he paid no heed to the warning of the intelligent animal,

but rolling up the sleeve of his right arm advanced with unabated

fury against the foe. In a few moments he came to the first trench,

into which he fell forthwith and from which Cloudfall bore him forth

in safety. On he rode, fighting all the way, until he came to a second

ditch, and from that also he escaped in like manner. Then he advanced

again, fighting all the way, until he came to the third ditch from

which Cloudfall leapt nimbly. But he left Ilya behind. Thereupon

the accursed Tatars leapt down into the trench and fell upon Ilya

of Murom the Old Cossáck. They bound his swift feet and his strong

white hands and led him to where Tsar Kalin sat in his pavilion of fair white linen embroidered with gold.