Ivan the Merchant's Son and His Horse

In royal Kief town, glorious Prince Vladimir held a mighty feast, for his princely nobles, stout Russian heroes, and rich merchants. The day was half spent, the feast half over, and all were making brags. Prince Vladimir waxed merry, and paced the banquet-hall.

"Ho, all ye princely nobles, and Russian heroes all," he cried at length: "I too can boast. I have three hundred stallions, and three of exceeding merit: one is an iron-gray, the second's mane hangeth all to one side, the third is coal-black. Him Ilyá of Múrom captured from the Dragon's Son, Tugárin. He can gallop from Kief to Chérnigof, between mass and matins, and the distance is three hundred versts and thereto thirty versts and three. Is there in all Kief town a man whose horse can do the like?" AU hid, and made no answer. Then Ivan Merchant's Son stepped forth, and cried in piercing tones:

"Lord, courteous Prince Vladimir, such a horse have I. And I will lay a great wager; — not a hundred rubles, nor yet a thousand, — but my turbulent head shall be the stake, — that he will run against thy horse from Kief to Chérnigof, between mass and matins, as thou hast said."

"What devil wilt thou ride, then, Ivan?" quoth Vladimir.

With that all the princely nobles and ship-merchants staked a hundred thousand rubles for the Prince; but none laid any stake for Ivan, save only the ruler of Chérnigof.

Then with speed did they write out the strong contracts, and set their white hands thereto, that they might be binding and effectual.

And, when Ivan Merchant's Son had quaffed a cup of green wine, of a bucket and a half, he saluted all and went forth.

When he came to the stall of white oak where stood his shaggy brown steed of three years, he fell down before the horse's left hoof, and wept in floods. "Help me, good my steed," quoth he; and told him of the great wager.

Thereto his shaggy brown made answer in human Russian tongue: "Hey, courteous master mine! Thou hast no cause to grieve. I fear not that iron-gray. If I run for thy wager, I shall outstrip him. But do thou water me for three dawns with mead, and feed me with Sorochinsky wheat. And when the three days are past, a stern messenger shall come to thee from the Prince, bidding thee ride against him. Then saddle me not, Iván, but take me by my silken bridle, and lead me to the royal court. Don thy mantle of sables, — thy mantle of three thousand rubles, with its embossed clasps of five hundred rubles. When thou leadest me to the court, I shall rear up and paw thy mantle, and nip the black sables, and prance in all directions. Then shall the Prince and his nobles marvel. But care thou not, for it shall go well with thee. I will redeem thy turbulent head, and put courteous Prince Vladimir and my elder brother to shame."

All came to pass as the shaggy brown had foretold. When he began to pluck at Ivan's mantle, and to trample on the black sables, all the. princely nobles and rich merchants assembled ui the spacious royal courtyard stood and marvelled.

"Foolish art thou, Ivan Merchant's Son!" they cried. "Thy good steed will spoil thy mantle. Prince Vladimir gave it thee, and he will pardon a great wrong rather than this."

But sweet Ivan made answer: "The foolish are ye. For if I live I shall win another mantle, and if I die I shall have enjoyed this."

Then, as the shaggy brown danced about the court, he began to roar like an aurochs, and to hiss like a dragon. The three hundred stallions were affrighted, and fled the royal court; the iron-gray broke two legs, the long-maned steed his neck; the captive black fled, neighing, with tail uplifted, to the Golden Horde, leaping the Dniepr stream in his flight.

All who saw it were terrified, and Ivan cried: "Is it not time, Prince Vladimir, for us to set out for Chérnigof town?"

Prince Vladimir called to his stable-men to collect the three hundred stallions, and pick out the choicest, the three. But the men made complaint that all the three hundred lay dead, by reason of that terrible cry of Ivan's steed, and there was none left whereon the prince might ride.

Then said sweet Ivan Merchant's Son:

"Delay not, Prince Vladimir, but count out to me that great wager of a hundred thousand rubles."

This Vladimir did with sorrow, and said: "Yield me thy steed, Sweet Ivan Merchant's Son; for I have none whereon to ride."

Quoth sweet Ivan: "My steed was bought in the Great Horde, from under his mother, for five hundred rubles, and before he came to me he cost a thousand. Shall I give such a steed to Prince Vladimir?"

Nevertheless, he yielded him; and Vladimir commanded that the horse should be led to the stable, and fed with fine wheat, and watered with sweet mead.

But the stable-men came running in dire haste, making great complaint, that the steed would neither eat nor drink, but hissed and shrieked like a dragon, and struck dead all the horses.

Then was Prince Vladimir very wroth: he wrapped himself in his mantle of sables, and spoke this word: "Ho there, thou Ivan Merchant's Son! Lead that horse from my court forthwith. The devil take thee and thy steed!" Thus was the great race ridden.