Chapter IV: Kralyevitch Marko; Or, the Royal Prince Marko (1)

The Marko Legends

Marko was, as we have already seen, the son of King Voukashin; and his mother was Queen Helen, whom the Serbian troubadours called by the pleasing and poetic name Yevrossima (Euphrosyne) in their songs and poems.

According to the popular tradition, the Prince was born in the castle of Skadar (Scutari), and his mother, being the sister of that most glorious and adventurous knight Momchilo, fortunately transmitted much of the heroism, and many of the other virtues, characteristic of her own family, to her son.

But there is also another tradition, equally popular, which maintains that Marko was the child of a veela (fairy-queen) and a zmay (dragon). The fact that his father was a dragon is believed, by those who accept this tradition, to explain and in every way to account for, Marko's tremendous strength and his astonishing powers of endurance.

Truly Prince Marko possessed a striking and extraordinarily attractive personality: he so vividly impressed the minds of the Serbian people, people of all ranks and localities, that he has always been, remains to this day, and promises ever to remain, our most beloved hero. Indeed there is no Serbian to be found, even in the most remote districts, who has not a great love for Kralyevitch Marko, and who cannot tell his story.

This Prince's brave deeds and all his exploits have luckily been immortalized by the national bards, who are never weary of describing him in their ballads and legends as a lover of justice, the hater of all oppression, and the avenger of every wrong. He is always represented as the possessor of great physical strength: his principal weapon was his heavy war-club (it weighed one hundred pounds--sixty pounds of steel, thirty pounds of silver, and the remainder was pure gold) and it must be borne in mind that the swords and clubs wielded by the merely human hands of his antagonists can never kill him; they never injure him, for they scarcely ever even touch this hero. Marko is always thought to have had much of the supernatural in him.

Marko, who was often rough and ready in his behaviour, and more especially so to the Turks, whose very Sultan, indeed, he mightily terrified with the tales he told of his many bloodthirsty and warlike deeds, was invariably a most dutiful, loving and tender-hearted son to his mother: and there were occasions when he willingly consulted her, and followed the advice she gave him.

Prince Marko was fearless: It was said that "he feared no one but God"; and it was his rule to be courteous to all women. In Serbia it was the usual custom to drink a great deal of wine, the red wine of which we so often hear, and this custom was one which Marko upheld: but it is always said, and universally believed, that he was never drunk.

The ballads also sing of King Voukashin. Voukashin had been the Councillor of State during the reign of Doushan the Powerful. The capital of the Empire was Prizrend, and Marko was brought up then at the Court, by his father Voukashin. According to the generally accepted belief it was Marko who, a little later on, attended the Emperor as secretary and councillor of State, and was entrusted by Doushan, on the approach of death, with his young son Ourosh.

The Bad Faith of Voukashin

One ballad relates that the Emperor Doushan had bequeathed the crown to Voukashin and stipulated in his will that that monarch should reign for seven years, and at the end of that time he should give up the rule to the Tsarevitch Ourosh. King Voukashin not only prolonged his haughty rule to sixteen years, but absolutely refused to yield the sceptre even then, and moreover proclaimed himself sovereign Tsar. The ballad further depicts the incessant struggles which were in the end to cause the downfall of the Serbian mediaeval State. And so tradition, earnestly sympathizing with the just anger felt by the people against the rebels, and their lamentation over the lost tsardom, charges Voukashin with all the blame and responsibility--curses him as a usurper and a traitor, and execrates him for his cunning and inconsistency: whilst on the other hand tradition ever extols and glorifies his son Marko as the faithful defender of Prince Ourosh, as the great avenger of national wrongs, and praises him at all times for his good heart, his generous foresight in politics and private affairs, his humanity, and above all his readiness to perish in the cause of justice.

The Horse Sharatz

The story of Marko cannot be told without some account of Sharatz, his much-loved piebald steed, from whom he was never parted.

Sharatz was undoubtedly unique. There are several versions of the story as to how Marko became possessed of him: Some of the bards assert that Sharatz was given to Marko by the same veela who had from the first endowed him with his marvellous strength; but there are others who affirm that Marko once bought a foal suffering from leprosy, and that the Prince tended him himself and completely cured him, taught him to drink wine, and finally made him the fine horse that he became.

And there are others again who say that at one time, in his youth, Marko served a master for three years, and that for his sole reward he asked permission to choose a horse from among those then grazing in the meadow. His master gladly consented, and Marko, according to his custom, tested each horse in turn, by taking it by the tail and whirling it round and round.

At last, when he came to a certain piebald foal he seized it by the tail: but this animal did not stir, and Marko, with all his vast strength, could not make it move one step. Marko chose that foal, and it became his beloved Sharatz. The Serbians of Veles still call a great plain near Demir-Kapi 'Markova Livada' (Marko's meadow). Sharatz means 'piebald,' and it is said that the skin of Marko's horse was more like the hide of an ox in appearance than like the skin of an ordinary horse. The Prince called him by various endearing names, such as Sharin or Sharo, and was devoted to him for the hundred and sixty years they were together.

This wonderful beast was the strongest and swiftest horse ever known, and he often overtook the flying veela. He was so well trained that he knew the very moment when to kneel down to save his master from an adversary's lance; he knew just how to rear and strike the adversary's charger with his fore-feet. When his spirit was thoroughly roused Sharatz would spring up to the height of three lengths of a lance and to the distance of four lance-lengths forward; beneath his hoofs glittering sparks shone forth, and the very earth he trod would crack and stones and fragments fly in all directions; and his nostrils exhaled a quivering blue flame, terrifying to all beholders. He often bit off the ears of enemies' horses and crushed and trampled to death numbers of Turkish soldiers. Marko might peacefully doze, and sometimes even go to sleep, when riding through the mountains; and all the time he was safe, for Sharatz would keep careful guard. Therefore the Prince would feed his steed, with bread and wine, from the vessels that he used himself and loved him more than he loved his own brother; and Sharatz shared, as he deserved to share, the glory of many a victory with his master. Marko never rode upon another horse, and together they were described as "a dragon mounted upon a dragon."

There are in existence about thirty-eight poems and perhaps twice as many prose-legends containing detailed descriptions of Marko's thrilling exploits, and there is hardly a Serb or a Bulgar anywhere to be found who cannot recite at least a few of them. In the Balkans-Turkish War, 1912-13, a gouslar, when not fighting, would take his goussle [24] and recite to his comrades heroic poems of which the greater number related to Marko. The intense veneration felt by Serbians for this beloved Prince proves an unfailing bond between them in their own country and in all parts of the world.

There are, naturally enough, various accounts of the death of Marko. The story that has most appealed to his countrymen and taken a specially firm hold of their poets' imaginations is that he never died. It is believed that he withdrew to a cave, near his castle at Prilip, which is still standing, to rest, and that he is there, now, asleep. From time to time he awakes and looks to see if his sword has yet come out of a rock into which he had thrust it to the very hilt. When the sword is out of the rock Marko will know that the time has come for him to appear among the Serbians once more, to re-establish the mediaeval empire, lost at the battle of Kossovo. [25]

As for Sharatz, he is still feeding, but he has now nearly finished his portion of hay.

PRINCE MARKO TELLS WHOSE THE EMPIRE SHALL BE

Four tabors [26] met together on the beautiful field of Kossovo near the white church Samodrezja: [27] One tabor was headed by King Voukashin; the second by Despot Ouglesha; [28] the third by Voivode Goyko, and the fourth by Tsarevitch Ourosh.

The first three of these were disputing over the inheritance of the Empire and were ready to stab one another, so eager were they all to reign. They did not know who had been appointed the Tsar's successor and who was the rightful heir to the throne. King Voukashin announced: "The Empire was left to me!" Voivode Goyko cried out: "Not so! The Empire is mine!" and Despot Ouglesha interposed angrily, "You are both wrong, for know that the Empire is mine."

The youthful Tsarevitch remained silent, for he was not bold enough to proffer a single word in the presence of his haughty elders.

King Voukashin prepared a message and sent it by a faithful servant to the Archdeacon Nedelyko, at Prizrend, summoning him to come at once to the field of Kossovo and state without delay to whom the Empire had been left--for he must surely know, having received the last confession of the illustrious Tsar Doushan the Mighty and been in attendance upon him up to his death. Besides, it was known that the Archdeacon had the archives under his care, and could at least produce the Emperor's will. Despot Ouglesha also sent a missive to the Archdeacon by his swiftest messenger; a third was written by Voivode Goyko, who dispatched it by his special courier, and a fourth was inscribed and sent off by Ourosh.

The messages were all dispatched secretly, but the couriers reached Prizrend and met at the gates of Nedelyko's dwelling. But Nedelyko had gone, as Court Chaplain, to officiate at the morning service in the Cathedral. The men were enraged at the delay, and without even alighting from their horses, they rushed infuriated, into the sacred edifice, raised their whips and brutally struck the good Archdeacon, commanding him: "Behold, O Archdeacon Nedelyko! Hasten now, this very hour, to the plain of Kossovo. Thou must state to whom the Empire belongs, for thou hast received the confession from the illustrious Tsar and administered the last sacrament to him, and it is thou who hast the state records in thy care. Hasten, hasten, lest we, in our fierce impatience, do sever thy head from thy body!"

Archdeacon Nedelyko wept with grief and mortification and thus replied: "Begone, ye servants of the most mighty princes! Begone from the House of God! Suffer first that we end God's service, then will I make known into whose hands the Empire is to fall!"

The couriers then went out and awaited the coming of the Archdeacon. Presently the Archdeacon came to them and spake in this wise: "O my children, messengers from the King himself, and from the Princes! I received the last confession of our glorious Tsar, and gave him the sacrament; but about the Empire and affairs of state he spoke never a word, for we were concerned only with the sins that he had committed. Ye must go to the city of Prilip, for there is the castle of the Royal Prince Marko. Marko, as ye may remember, learned from me how to read and write; later he was secretary to the Emperor and he was then entrusted with the care of the records, and he will surely know to whom the empire was entrusted. Call Marko to the field of Kossovo to say who is now the Tsar. Marko will tell the truth, for he fears none but God!"

Marko is Summoned

The messenger set out at once, and, arriving at Prilip, they smote on the portals of the castle. The knocking was heard by Yevrossima, and she spoke thus to her son: "O Marko, my dearest son! who are they who knock at the gates below? They may be messengers from thy father!"

Marko commanded that the gates should be opened, and when the messengers entered they bowed with profoundest respect, and said: "May God always help thee, O noble Lord Marko!"

The Prince laid his hand upon their heads with kindness and said: "Be welcome, ye my dear children! Are the Serbian knights in good health? And is all well with the glorious Tsar and King!"

The couriers again made humble obeisance, saying: "O noble Lord, thou most Royal Prince Marko! All are well, though not, we fear, upon friendly terms together! The King, thy father, and other princes are seriously contending for the Empire upon Kossovo, that vast field which is near the church Samodrezja; they are ready to stab each other at any moment with their blades, for they know not to whom the Empire rightly belongs. Thou art now called upon, O noble Prince, to proclaim the heir to the Imperial crown."

The bard goes on to narrate how Marko went to Yevrossima and asked her advice, and although it was well known that Marko himself loved the truth, his good mother implored him with the following words: "O Marko, thy mother's only son! May the food on which thou wert nourished be not cursed! Speak not falsely either to please thy father, or to satisfy the ambitions of thine uncles, but tell, I beg of thee, the truth before God lest thou shouldest lose thy soul. It were better that thou shouldst perish than sin against thy soul!"

Marko took the ancient documents, mounted Sharatz and rode forthwith to the plain of Kossovo. As he approached his father's tent King Voukashin saw him and exclaimed: "Oh, how fortunate am I! Here is my son Marko; he will say that the Empire was left to me, for of course he knows that it will pass from father to son!"

Marko heard this, but said not one single word, neither would he turn his head towards the King's tent.

When Despot Ouglesha saw Marko, he spoke in this wise: "Oh, what a lucky thing for me! here is my nephew Marko; he is certain to say the Empire is mine! Say, O Marko, the Empire is mine! We would reign together, you and I, like brothers!" Marko still kept silent and did not even turn his head in the direction of his uncle's tent.

As Voivode Goyko perceived his coming, he exclaimed: "Oh, here is a stroke of good fortune for me! here is my dear nephew Marko: he is sure to say that the Empire was left to me. When Marko was a little child I used to caress him fondly, for he was dear to me as a golden apple, and always most precious. Whenever I rode out on horseback I always used to take Marko with me. O Marko! dear Marko, thou must say that the Empire is mine! It will be virtually thou who shalt reign as Tsar, and I shall be at thy right hand, at all times ready, as thy counsellor!" Marko, still without a word, and completely ignoring Voivode Goyko, went straight on to the tent where Tsarevitch Ourosh was, and there he alighted from his Sharatz.

When the young Ourosh saw him, he sprang from his silken couch, and exclaimed: "Hurrah! Behold my godfather Marko! Now he is going to tell us who the true Tsar is!" They embraced each other, inquired after each other's health, and seated themselves upon the couch from which Ourosh had just risen.

Marko tells the Truth

Some time elapsed and the sun had set, the night passed, morning dawned, and church bells called all to morning prayers, and after the service the King, the Princes and great Lords went out into the churchyard, where they took their places at tables, and ate sweet-meats and drank brandy. Marko at last opened the ancient documents, and said aloud: "O my father, thou King Voukashin! Art thou not content with thy Kingdom? May it be turned into a desert if thou art not. Oh! that thou shouldst wish to seize another's Empire! And thou, my uncle, Despot Ouglesha! Art thou not satisfied within thine own territory? Is it indeed too small for thee that thou must struggle for the Empire that belongs to another? May it also turn into a desert! And thou, my uncle, thou Voivode Goyko! Is thy Dukedom not vast enough for thee? May it likewise become a desert if it is not! Oh that thou too shouldst strive for another's Tsardom? Do ye not all see and understand? If ye fail to see may God not see ye! It is clearly stated in the records that the Empire was left to Ourosh. From father shall it pass to son. To this youth now belongs the Imperial Crown of his ancestors. It was Ourosh whom our late Tsar, on his dying day, named as his successor!" When King Voukashin heard this, he sprang to his feet, drew out his golden yatagan and would have pierced his son with it. The Prince, pursued by his father, fled, for, indeed, it would have been unseemly for Marko to fight with and perhaps mortally strike his own father. Marko ran round the church Samodrezja, his father closely following, till they had run round the building three times, and then, when Voukashin was on the point of getting within reach of his son, all at once a mysterious voice from within the church uttered these words: "Run into the church, O, thou Royal Prince Marko! Seest thou not that otherwise thou shalt perish by thy father's hand, because thou hast spoken the truth so dear to God?" The doors suddenly opened of themselves and Marko passed inside; then they closed and interposed themselves between the two men. King Voukashin began to strike violently upon the doors with his short hanging sword until he noticed that there were drops of blood trickling down the beam, whereupon he was seized with remorse and sighed in lowly penance, saying: "Alas! Unfortunate man that I am! O, thou infinite and divine God! Hear me! I have killed my son Marko!" But the mysterious voice from the church answered: "Behold! Voukashin thou most mighty King! Lo, thou hast not even wounded thy son Marko, but thou hast injured the angel of the true God!"

At these words the King grew again enraged with Marko and cursed him in these words: "O Marko, my only son, may God kill thee! Mayest thou never be entombed! Mayest thou have no son to come after thee! May thy family end with thee! And, worse than all, may thy soul depart not from thy body before thou hast served as vassal to the Turk!" In these bitter words the King cursed Marko, but the new Tsar, Ourosh, blessed him, saying: "O my beloved god-father, Marko! May God ever support thee! May thy word be always respected and accepted by all just men for ever in the divan! [29] May thy bright sabre prosper in all battles and combats! May there never be a hero to overpower thee! May it please God that thy name shall at all times be remembered with honour, for so long as the sun and the moon continue to shine."

PRINCE MARKO AND A MOORISH CHIEFTAIN

A great and powerful Moorish chieftain had built for himself a magnificent castle, rising to the height of twenty storeys. The place he had chosen for the castle was by the sea, and when it was quite completed he had panes of the most beautiful glass put in for windows; he hung all the rooms and halls with the richest silks and velvets and then soliloquized thus: "O my koula, [30] why have I erected thee? for there is no one but I who is there to tread, with gentle footsteps, upon these fine rugs, and behold from these windows the blue and shining sea. I have no mother, no sister, and I have not yet found a wife. But I will assuredly go at once and seek the Sultan's daughter in marriage. The Sultan must either give me his daughter or meet me in single combat." As soon as the Moor, gazing at his castle, had uttered these words, he wrote a most emphatic letter to the Sultan at Istamboul, [31] the contents of which ran thus: "O Sire, I have built a beautiful castle near the shore of the azure sea, but as yet it has no mistress, for I have no wife. I ask thee, therefore, to bestow upon me thy beloved daughter! In truth, I demand this; for if thou dost not give thy daughter to me, then prepare thyself at once to meet me face to face with thy sword. To this fight I now challenge thee!"

The letter reached the Sultan and he read it through. Immediately he sought for one who would accept the challenge in his stead, promising untold gold to the knight who would show himself willing to meet the Moor. Many a bold man went forth to fight the Moor, but not one ever returned to Istamboul.

Alas! the Sultan soon found himself in a most embarrassing position for all his best fighters had lost their lives at the hand of the haughty Moor. But even this misfortune was not the worst. The Moor prepared himself in all his splendour, not omitting his finest sabre; then he proceeded to saddle his steed Bedevia, securely fastening the seven belts and put on her a golden curb. On one side of the saddle he fastened his tent, and this he balanced on the other side with his heaviest club. He sprang like lightning on to his charger, and holding before him, defiantly, his sharpest lance, he rode straight to Istamboul.

The instant he reached the walls of the fort, he spread his tent, struck his lance well into the earth, bound his Bedevia to the lance and forthwith imposed on the inhabitants a daily tax, consisting of: one sheep, one batch of white loaves, one keg of pure brandy, two barrels of red wine, and a beautiful maiden. Each maiden, after being his slave and attending on him for twenty-four hours, he would sell in Talia for large sums of money. This imposition went on for three months, for none could stop it. But even yet there was a greater evil to be met.

The Entrance of the Moor

The inhabitants of Istamboul were terrorized one day when the haughty Moor mounted upon his dashing steed entered the city. He went to the Palace, and cried loudly: "Lo! Sultan, wilt thou now, once and for ever, give me thy daughter?" As he received no answer he struck the walls of the Palace with his club so violently that the shattered glass poured down from the windows like rain. When the Sultan saw that the Moor might easily destroy the Palace and even the whole city in this way, he was greatly alarmed, for he knew that there was no alternative open to him in this horrible predicament but to give up his only daughter. Although overwhelmed with shame, therefore, he promised to do this. Pleased with his success, the Moor asked for fifteen days' delay before his marriage took place that he might go back to his castle and make the necessary preparations.

When the Sultan's daughter heard of her father's desperate resolution, she shrieked and exclaimed bitterly: "Alas! Behold my sorrow, O almighty Allah! For whom have I been taught to prize my beauty? For a Moor? Can it be true that a Moor shall imprint a kiss upon my visage?"

The Sultana's Dream

That night the Sultana had a strange dream, in which the figure of a man appeared before her, saying: "There is within the Empire of Serbia a vast plain Kossovo; in that plain there is a city Prilip; and in that city dwells the Royal Prince Marko who is known among all men as a truly great hero."

And the man went on to advise the Sultana to send, without delay, a message to Prince Marko and beg him to become her son-in-God, and at the same time to offer him immense fortune, for he was without doubt the only one living likely to vanquish the terrible Moor and save her daughter from a shameful fate. The next morning she sped to the Sultan's apartments and told him of her dream. The Sultan immediately wrote a firman [32] and sent it to Prince Marko at Prilip, beseeching him to journey with all speed to Istamboul and accept the challenge of the Moor, and if he should succeed in saving the Princess the Sultan would give him three tovars [33] of pure golden ducats.

When Marko read the firman, he said to the Sultan's young courier, a native of Tartary: "In the name of God go back, thou Sultan's messenger, and greet thy master--my father-in-God--tell him that I dare not face the Moor. Do we not, all of us, know that he is invincible? If he should cleave my head asunder, of what avail would three tovars, or three thousand tovars, of gold be to me?"

The young Tartar brought back Marko's answer which caused the Sultana so much grief, that she determined to send a letter to him herself, once more beseeching him to accept the challenge and this time increasing the reward to five tovars of pure gold. But Marko, though generally so chivalrous and courteous to all women, remained inexorable, replying that he would not meet the Moor in combat even if he were to be presented with all the treasure the Sultan possessed; for he did not dare.

The Princess appeals to Marko

When the broken-hearted bride heard that this answer had come from Marko she sprang to her feet, took a pen and some paper, struck her rosy cheek with the pen and with her own blood traced the following: "Hail, my dear brother-in-God, O, thou Royal Prince Marko! Be a true brother to me! May God and Saint John be our witnesses! I implore thee, do not suffer me to become the wife of the Moor! I promise thee seven tovars of pure gold, seven boshtchaluks, which have been neither woven nor spun, but are embroidered with pure gold. Moreover, I shall give thee a golden plate decorated with a golden snake, whose raised head is holding in its mouth a priceless gem, from which is shed a light of such brilliance, that by it alone you can see at the darkest hour of midnight as well as you can at noon. In addition to these I shall present thee with a finely tempered sabre; this sabre has three hilts, all of pure gold, and in each of them is set a precious stone. The sabre alone is worth three cities. I shall affix to this weapon the Sultan's seal so that the Grand Vizir may never put thee to death without first receiving his Majesty's special command."

When he had read this missive, Marko reflected thus: "Alas! O my dear sister-in-God! It would be but to my great misfortune if I came to serve thee, and to my still greater misfortune if I stayed away. For, although I fear neither the Sultan nor the Sultana, I do in all truth fear God and Saint John, by whom thou hast adjured me! Therefore I now resolve to come and, if necessary, to face certain death!"

Marko prepares to succour the Princess

Having sent away the Princess' messenger without telling him what he had resolved to do, Marko entered his castle and put on his cloak and a cap, made of wolves' skins; next he girded on his sabre, selected his most piercing lance, and went to the stables. For greater safety he fastened the seven belts under the saddle of his Sharatz with his own hands; he then attached a leathern bottle filled with red wine on one side of his saddle and his weightiest war-club on the other. Now he was ready and threw himself upon Sharatz and rode off to Istamboul.

Upon reaching his destination he did not go to pay his respects either to the Sultan or to the Grand Vizir, but quietly took up his abode in a new inn. That same evening, soon after sun-set, he led his horse to a lake near by to be refreshed: but to his master's surprise Sharatz would not even taste the water, but kept turning his head first to the right, then to the left, till Marko noticed the approach of a Turkish maiden covered with a long gold-embroidered veil. When she reached the edge of the water she bowed profoundly toward the lake and said aloud: "God bless thee, O beauteous green lake! God bless thee, for thou art to be my home for ever more! Within thy bosom am I henceforth to dwell; I am now to die, O beauteous lake; rather would I choose such a fate than become the bride of the cruel Moor!"

Marko greets the Princess

Marko went nearer to the maiden and spoke thus: "O, thou unhappy Turkish maiden! What is thy trouble? What is it that has made thee wish to drown thyself?"

She answered: "Leave me in peace, thou ugly dervish, [34] why dost thou ask me, when there is nought that thou canst do to help me?"

Then the maiden related the story of her coming marriage with the Moorish chieftain, of the messages sent to Marko, and finally she bitterly cursed that Prince for the hardness of his heart.

Thereupon Marko said: "O, curse me not, dear sister-in-God! Marko is here and is now speaking to thee himself!"

Hearing these words the maiden turned toward the famous knight, embraced him and earnestly pleaded: "For God's sake, O my brother Marko! Suffer not the Moor to wed me!"

Marko was greatly affected, and declared: "O dear sister-in-God! I swear that so long as my head remains upon my shoulders, I shall never let the Moor have thee! Do not tell others that thou hast seen me here, but request the Sultan and thy mother to have supper prepared and sent to the inn for me, and, above all things, beg them to send me plenty of wine. Meanwhile I shall await the Moor's coming at the inn. When the Moor arrives at the Palace, thy parents should welcome him graciously, and they should go so far as to yield thee to him in order to avoid a quarrel. And I know exactly the spot where I shall be able to rescue thee, if it may so please the true God, and if my customary good luck, and my strength, do not desert me."

The Prince returned to the inn, and the maiden hastened back to the Palace.

When the Sultan and the Sultana knew that Marko had come to their aid, they were much comforted, and immediately ordered a sumptuous repast to be sent to him, especially good red wine in abundance.

Now all the shops in Istamboul were closed, and there was silence everywhere as Marko sat drinking the delicious wine in peace. The landlord of the inn came presently to close his doors and windows, and, questioned by Marko as to why the citizens were all shutting up their dwellings so early that day, he answered: "By my faith, you are indeed a stranger here! The Moorish chieftain has asked for our Sultan's daughter in marriage, and as, to our shame, she is to be yielded to him, he is coming to the Palace to fetch her this day. Therefore, owing to our terror of the Moor, we are forced to close our shops." But Marko did not allow the man to close the door of the inn, for he wished to see the Moor and his gorgeous train pass by.

The Moor in Istamboul

At that very moment, as they were speaking, Marko could hear from the city the clangour caused by the Moorish chieftain and his black followers, numbering at least five hundred, and all in glittering armour. The Moor had roused his Bedevia, and she trotted in such a lively manner that the stones, which she threw up with her hoofs, whizzed through the air in all directions, and broke windows and doors in all the shops she passed! When the cavalcade came up to the inn, the Moor thought: "Allah! I am struck with wonder and astonishment! The windows and doors of all the shops and houses throughout the entire city of Istamboul are closed from the great fear the people have of me, except, I see, the doors of this inn. There must either be nobody within, or if there is anybody inside, he is assuredly a great fool; or perhaps he is a stranger, and has not yet been told how terrible I am." The Moor and his retinue passed that night in tents before the Palace.

Next morning the Sultan himself presented his daughter to the Moorish chieftain, together with all the wedding gifts, which were known to weigh twelve tovars. As the wedding procession passed the inn where Marko waited, the Moor again noticed the open door, but this time he urged Bedevia right up to it to see who might be there.

Sharatz and Bedevia

Marko was seated at his ease in the most comfortable room the inn could boast, leisurely drinking his favourite red wine; he was not drinking from an ordinary goblet, but from a bowl which held twelve litres; and each time he filled the bowl he would drink only one half of its contents, giving, according to his habit, the other half to his Sharatz. The Moor was on the point of attacking Marko, when Sharatz barred his way and kicked viciously at Bedevia. The Moor, meeting such unexpected resistance, promptly turned to rejoin the procession. Then Marko rose to his feet, and, turning his cloak and cap inside out, so that to the first glance of those who saw him he presented the terrifying appearance of a wolf, inspected his weapons and Sharatz's belts carefully, and dashed on his charger after the procession. He felled horsemen right and left, till he reached the dever and the second witness, and killed them both. The Moorish chieftain was immediately told of the stranger who had forced his way into the midst of the procession, and of those whom he had killed, also that he did not look like other knights, being clad in wolves' skins.

Marko and the Moor

The Moor astride his Bedevia, wheeled round and addressed Marko thus: "Ill fortune is indeed overtaking thee to-day, O stranger! Thou must have been driven here by Satan to disturb my guests and even kill my dever and second witness; thou must be either a fool, knowing nothing of to-day's events, or thou must be extremely fierce and hast gone mad; but maybe thou art merely tired of life? By my faith, I shall draw in the reins of my Bedevia, and shall spring over thy body seven times; then shall I strike off thy head!" Thereupon Marko answered: "Cease these lies, O Moor! If God, and my usual luck, do but attend me now, thou shalt not even spring near to me; still less can I imagine thee carrying out thy intention of springing over my body!" But, behold! The Moor drew in his Bedevia, spurred her violently forward and indeed he would have sprung over Marko, had not Sharatz been the well-trained fighter that he was, and in a trice he reared so as to receive the adversary against his forefeet and swiftly bit off Bedevia's right ear, from which blood gushed forth profusely and streamed down over her neck and chest. In this way Marko and the Moor struggled for four hours. Neither would give way, and when finally the Moor saw that Marko was overpowering him, he wheeled his steed Bedevia round and fled along the main street of Istamboul, Marko after him. But the Moor's Bedevia was swift as a veela of the forest, and would certainly have escaped from Sharatz if Marko had not suddenly recollected his club, and flung it after his adversary, striking him between his shoulders. The Moor fell from his horse and the Prince severed his head from his body. Next he captured Bedevia, returned to the street where he had left the bride, and found, to his astonishment, that she with her twelve tovars of presents, was alone, awaiting him, for all the wedding-guests and the retinue of the Moorish chieftain had fled at full gallop. Marko escorted the Princess back to the Sultan, and cast the head of the Moorish chieftain at his feet.

The hero now took his leave and started at once on his journey back to Prilip, and the following morning he received the seven tovars of gold which had been promised to him, the many precious gifts which the Princess had described, and last of all a message thanking him for the marvellous deeds he had done, and telling him that the vast stores of gold belonging to his father-in-God, the Sultan, would for ever be at his disposal.

PRINCE MARKO ABOLISHES THE WEDDING TAX

Early one morning the Royal Prince Marko rode across the plain of Kossovo. When he reached the river a maiden from Kossovo met him, and Marko greeted her in the usual Serbian custom: "May God aid thee, O maiden of Kossovo!"

The maiden bowed very profoundly, and answered: "Hail! thou unknown hero!"

Marko, after having looked for a while at her, said: "Dear sister, thou maiden of Kossovo, thou art beauteous, though thou mightest well be a little younger! Thou art tall, strong and graceful; thy cheeks look healthful and thou hast a pleasing and dignified appearance. But, alas! dear sister, thy hair is grey and becomes thee not. Who caused thy sorrow? Tell me, is it thyself, thy mother or thy aged father."

The maiden shed many bitter tears, and amidst her sobs answered Marko thus: "O dear brother, thou unknown knight! I am not the cause of mine own misfortune, and it is neither my mother nor yet my father who has brought great trouble upon me; but I have lost all happiness through the evil-doing of a Moor who dwells beyond the sea. He has taken possession of the whole field of Kossovo and has imposed, among other extortions, a terrible tax of thirty ducats to be paid by all brides, and thirty-four ducats by all bridegrooms. My brothers are poor and have not the money necessary to pay my tax, therefore I am unable to wed my sweetheart and have thus lost all happiness. Merciful God, should I not go and take my life?"

Thereupon Prince Marko said: "Dear sister, thou maiden of Kossovo! Do not trifle with thy life; abandon every such idea, else thou shalt bring sin upon thy soul! Tell me, where is the castle where the Moorish Lord may be found? I think I have something to say to him!"

To this the maiden answered: "O my brother, thou unknown knight! Why dost thou inquire about his castle? How I wish it could be razed to the ground! Thou hast, perhaps, found a maiden according to thy heart and thou goest now to pay the wedding tax, or art thou the only son of thy dear mother? I fear for thee, O brother, for thou mayest perish there, and what then would thy sorrowful and lonely mother do?"

Marko plunged his hand into his pocket, took out a purse and handed it to the maiden saying: "O sister! take these thirty ducats, go home and await in peace for what may befall thee; [35] only kindly point out to me the castle of the Moor, for I am going to pay him thy wedding tax!"

Thereupon the maiden, glowing with unexpected happiness spoke thus: "It is not a castle, but tents (and may they be cursed!). Seest thou not upon the plain where flutters that silken flag? There is the Moor's own pavilion; around it grows a pleasant garden which he has dared to decorate with the heads of seventy-seven Christian heroes, and he has forty servants, who are, day and night, on guard near by."

Marko visits the Moor

Upon hearing these words Marko took leave of the maiden and rode toward the tents. He urged his steed so violently that under his hoofs living fire shone, and from his nostrils appeared a bright blue flame. Mad with anger Marko rode fiercely across the camp and, with tears streaming from his eyes which were fixed upon the plain of Kossovo he exclaimed: "Alas, O plain of Kossovo! Oh! to think that thou shouldst have remained to see this day! And, after the reign of our great Emperor, [36] that thou shouldst be here to witness the tyranny of a Moor! Can I endure such shame and sorrow: Oh! that the Moors should be allowed to ravage thee! Now shall I either avenge thee, or perish!"

The sentinels observed Marko's arrival and went to inform their Lord: "O Master, thou Moor! A strange and fierce hero, riding a piebald steed, is approaching; and it is plain that he intends to attack us."

But the Moor answered indifferently: "O my children, ye forty true servants of mine! That hero will not attack us. He is undoubtedly bringing his wedding tax and, because he regrets the amount of money he has to give up, he is impatiently urging on his charger. You had better go forth and welcome him; take his steed and his weapons from him and show him to my tent. I do not care for his treasure, but I am quite willing to cleave his head and seize his courser, which would suit me well!"

The servants went forth to obey, but when they saw Marko near, they were so terrified that they did not dare face him, but fled to hide themselves behind their chieftain, concealing their yataghans under their cloaks at the sight of Marko.

As the fierce Prince came up, he alighted in front of the opening of the tent and spoke aside to his trusty courser: "Walk about alone, my Sharo," said he, "for I am going into this tent to see the Moor; go not too far from this spot, as should evil happen I may have need of thee!" Then Marko entered the pavilion.

The Moorish chieftain sat enjoying cool wine which was poured out for him by a Christian woman and a maiden. The princely Marko saluted the Moor: "May God help thee, my Lord!" The Moorish chieftain answered: "Hail, thou unknown knight! Be seated, that we may drink wine together ere thou dost tell me why thou hast come hither!"

Prince Marko answered: "I have no time to drink with thee; but I have come with the intention of seeing thee. I have found a maiden after my own heart, my guests and their horses await me a little way down the road, while I came to pay thee my wedding tax. I shall at once give thee the gold so that nothing may hinder my happiness. Tell me now, what must I pay?"

The Moor answered in a very friendly manner: "Well, thou oughtest to have known that long ago: it was thirty ducats for brides and thirty-four for bridegrooms; but as thou appearest to be a distinguished knight, it would not hurt either of us if thou gavest me a round hundred ducats!"

Prince Marko took out of his pocket three ducats and laid them before the haughty Moor, saying: "Believe me I have no more money; I should be grateful if thou wouldest wait till I reach my bride's house, for there we shall certainly receive many rich presents. I shall give thee all the presents and will retain the bride only for myself!"

Marko pays for All

Thereupon the mighty Moor shouted out, bitterly enraged: "I allow no credit, thou wretch! Thou art bold enough to laugh at me!" Then he sprang to his feet, raised his club and struck Marko's shoulders three or four times.

Marko smiling, said: "Heroic Moor, dost thou strike in earnest or dost thou merely strike in jest?"

The Moor, continuing the assault, hissed: "I beat thee in earnest!"

Marko smiled again, and remarked: "Oh, then, I pity thee! Since thou art striking with serious intent, know then that I too have a club. Now I shall smite thee as many times as thou hast struck me, no more than that! Let us make it a fair fight!" With this, Marko raised his mace and smote the Moor with such force that his head fell from his shoulders!

At this Marko burst into laughter: "Merciful God, mayest thou be thanked! How quickly the Moorish hero's head was cleft asunder! It now lies just as if it had never been upon his shoulders!"

He now unsheathed his sword, and caught the Moor's bodyguard, cleaving also their heads one after the other, except four of their number, whom he left to tell the tale to all who wished to hear the truth. Then he took down the heads of the Christian heroes and carefully buried them, that wolves and vultures might not devour them. He next instructed the four remaining servants to run across the field of Kossovo, north, east, south, and west, and to proclaim to all that maids and youths were henceforth free to marry without paying the hated tax, for had not the Royal Prince Marko come and paid once for all?

When the oppressed Christians learned the news, they all, young and old, joined in the joyful cry: "May God grant Royal Prince Marko long life! For Marko has freed our land of a monster! We pray to God that his soul may be purified of all sin."

PRINCE MARKO AND BOGDAN THE BULLY

Early one morning three Serbian knights rode out from Kossovo; one was Prince Marko of Prilip; the second was Relya of Bazar, and the third was Milosh of Potzerye. They were bound for the seashore, and their way lay through the vineyards of Bogdan the Bully. Relya of Bazar was a joyous young knight, and he encouraged his steed to prance gaily through the vineyard, whereby he broke some of the tall vines loaded with sweet grapes.

Marko admonished his friend thus: "Thou hadst better leave these vineyards alone, O my Relya! If thou only knewest whose they are thou wouldst keep thy courser under careful control: for they belong to Bogdan the Bully. Once I, myself, was riding through these very vineyards, and as I was young then, I also made my Sharatz prance along, as thou art doing. But, alas! I was seen by Bogdan riding on his slender mare Bedevia. I knew that I was at fault and, as the true God does not support guilty men, I dared not face him, but fled up the rocky coast. He pursued me, and if I had not had my trusty Sharatz he would indeed have caught me. But thanks to Sharatz I at last got farther and farther from him. When Bogdan saw that at the rate I was fleeting he could never reach me, he swiftly threw his club after me and just touched my back with its handle, so that I fell forward over on the ears of my Sharatz and regained my seat only by a great effort. However, I did escape him. This happened some seven years ago, since when I have not come this way until to-day."

As Marko said this, the three knights noticed in the distance a cloud of dust, in the midst of which they recognized Bogdan with twelve attendants on horseback. Marko exclaimed: "Hark ye, my two brothers-in-God! Here he is! and he will surely kill all three of us if we do not make our escape."

To this Milosh of Potzerye answered: "O my brother-in-God, thou Royal Prince Marko! The whole people believe that there are no greater heroes living than we three Serbian knights; it would be far better for us all to perish than shamefully to flee!"

When Marko heard this, he said: "Listen to me, my brothers-in-God! Since that is so, let us divide the enemy. Will ye face Bogdan alone or his twelve knights?"

Milosh and Relya chose to fight Bogdan alone, leaving Marko to meet the twelve followers. This division was quite agreeable to Marko, and it was hardly arranged than Bogdan came up at the head of his troop. He was immediately engaged by Milosh and Relya, while Marko turned his attention to the twelve attendants. Swinging his heavy mace he urged Sharatz against his foes, and in a very short time all were hurled to the ground. Marko then alighted from his horse, bound their hands behind them, and drove them through the vineyards.

He had gone but a little distance when he saw Bogdan driving toward him his two friends, their arms bound in the same manner as those of Bogdan's followers. At this Marko was seized with fear and looked around for a means of escape. The next moment he remembered that the three brothers-in-God had sworn faithfulness one to another, and that they were pledged at all times to help one another. So tightening Sharatz's reins he drew his helmet over his forehead, furiously unsheathed his trusty sabre, and cast one fierce, dark glance at Bogdan.

The Bully fears to meet Marko

When the Bully saw the terrific fury and determination in Marko's eyes his legs shook beneath him, and he turned his mare away, not daring to meet Marko face to face. He could not, however, hope to escape the vengeance of the Prince, and so after a short silence he called out: "Come, O Marko, let us be reconciled. Wilt thou release my twelve attendants? If thou art willing to do that I shall in turn set free thy brothers-in-God."

Marko agreed to this, and alighting from Sharatz, he unhooked from his saddle a skin of wine, and they all sat down to refresh themselves with the cool wine and to partake of freshly gathered grapes. When they had rested, the three friends mounted their horses and prepared to depart. As they were about to ride off Marko thus addressed Bogdan: "Mayest thou prosper with God's help, O Bogdan! And may we meet again some day in good health and once more drink together!"

To this Bogdan replied: "Farewell! and may God ever help thee, O thou Royal Prince Marko! But may my eyes never again behold thee! Seeing how thou hast terrified me this day, I do not think that I shall wish ever to meet thee again!"

PRINCE MARKO AND GENERAL VOUTCHA

Hark! Is it thunder or is it an earthquake? Neither, but guns are roaring from fort Varadin: General Voutcha is feasting in triumph, for he has captured three Serbian heroes; the first is Milosh of Potzerye, the second is Milan of Toplitza, and the third is Ivan Kosantchitch. The General has thrown them into the deepest dungeons of his castle, noisome holes where stagnant water lies knee-deep and the bones of warriors lie piled as high as the shoulders of a hero.

Milosh of Potzerye is of noble lineage, unaccustomed to privation and suffering, and he bitterly laments and deplores his fate, as he peers anxiously through the grating of the massive door into the dark passage by which alone succour might come. And, indeed, after three days he saw a messenger, to whom he called: "O, my brother-in-God! Bring me that whereon I may inscribe a missive!"