The Pobratim Part 14

Now, master, we do wait for thy behest.

Does thy heart crave to have this maid for bride?

Say, shall we sally forth unto her quest?"

The master mused a while, then answered: "Aye, By Allah! fetch this Russian for my mate!

Tell her she'll be the dame of Primorye, The mistress of my heart and my estate.

But stop.--If Russia should not grant his child, Then tell him I shall kill his puny knights, And waste his lands. Say that my love is wild, Hot as the Lybian sun, deep as the night!"

Now, after riding twenty days and more, The _svati_ reached at last their journey's end, Then straightway to the Russian King they bore Such letters as their lord himself had penned.

The great Czar having read the Moor's demand, And made it known to all his lords at Court, Could, for a while, but hardly understand This strange request; he deemed it was in sport.

A blackamoor to wed his daughter fair!

"I had as lief," said he, "the meanest lad Of my domains as son-in-law and heir, Than this grim Moor, who must in sooth be mad."

But soon his wrath was all changed into grief, On learning to his dread and his dismay, That not a knight would stir to his relief, No one would fight the Moor of Primorye!

Howe'er the Queen upon that very night Did dream a dream. Within Prilipu town, Beyond the Balkan mounts, she saw a knight, Whose mighty deeds had won him great renown.

(Kraglievic Marko was the hero's name); His flashing sword was always seen with awe By faithless Turks, who dreaded his great fame; And in her dream that night the Queen then saw This mighty Serb come forth to save her child.

Then did the Czarin to her lord relate The vision which her senses had beguiled, And both upon it long did meditate.

Upon the morrow, then, the Czar did write To Marko, asking him to come and slay This haughty Moor, as not a Russian knight Would deign to fight the lord of Primorye.

As meed he promised him three a.s.ses stout, Each laden with a sack of coins of gold.

As soon as Marko read this note throughout, These words alone the messenger he told: "What if this Arab killed me in the strife, And from my shoulders he do smite my head.

Will golden ducats bring me back to life?

What do I care for gold when I am dead?"

The herald to the King this answer bore.

Thereon the Queen wrote for her daughter's sake: "Great Marko, I will give thee three bags more, Six bags in all, if you but undertake To free my daughter from such heinous fate, As that of having to become the bride Of such a man as that vile renegade."

To Prilipu the messenger did ride, But Marko gave again the same reply.

The Czar then summoned forth his child to him: "Now 'tis thy turn," said he; "just write and try To get the Serb to kill this man whose whim Is to have thee for wife." The maid thus wrote: "O Marko, brother mine, do come at once.

I beg you for the love that you devote To G.o.d and to St. John, come for the nonce To free me from the Moor of Primorye.

Seven sacks of gold I'll give you for this deed, And, if I can this debt of mine repay, A shirt all wrought in gold will be your meed.

Moreover, you shall have my father's sword; And as a pledge thereon the King's great seal, Which doth convey to all that Russia's lord Doth order and decree that none shall deal Its bearer harm; no man shall ever slay You in his wide domains. Come, then, with speed To free me from the lord of Primorye."

To Prilipu the herald did proceed With all due haste; he rode by day and night, Through streams and meads, through many a bushy dell; At last at Marko's door he did alight.

When Marko read the note, he answered: "Well--"

Then mused a while, then bade the young page go.

But said the youth: "What answer shall I give?"

"Just say I answered neither yes nor no."

The Princess saw that she would ne'er outlive Her dreadful doom, and walking on the strand, There, 'midst her sobs, she said: "O thou deep sea, Receive me in thy womb, lest the curst brand Of being this man's wife be stamped on me."

Just when about to plunge she lifts her eyes, And lo! far off, a knight upon a steed, Armed cap-a-pie, advancing on, she spies.

"Why weepest thou, O maid? tell me thy need, And if my sword can be of any use . . ."

"Thanks, gentle sir. Alas! one knight alone Can wield his brand for me; but he eschews To fight."

"A coward, then, is he."

"'Tis known That he is brave."

"His name?"

"He did enrich The soil with Turkish blood at Cossovo.

You sure have heard of Marko Kraglievic."

Thereon he kissed her hand and answered low: "Well, I am he; and I come for your sake.

Go, tell the Czar to give thee as a bride Unto the Moor; then merry shall we make In some _mehan_, and there I shall abide The coming of the lord of Primorye."

The Princess straightway told the Czar, and he At once gave orders that they should obey All that the Serb might bid, whate'er it be.

That night with all his men the Arab came-- Five hundred liegemen, all on prancing steeds; The Czar did welcome them as it became Men high in rank, and of exalted deeds.

Then, after that, they all went to the inn.

"Ah!" said the Moor, as they were on their way, "How all are scared, and shut themselves within Their homes; all fear the men of Primorye."

But, as they reached the door of the _mehan_, The Arab, on his horse, would cross the gate, When, on the very sill, he saw a man Upon a steed. This sight seemed to amate The Arab lord. But still he said: "Stand off!

And let me pa.s.s."

"For you, this is no place, Miscreant heathen dog!"

At such a scoff Each angry liegeman lifted up his mace.

Thereon 'twixt them and him ensued a fight, Where Marko dealt such blows that all around The din was heard, like thunder in the night.

He hacked and hewed them down, until a mound Of corpses lay amid a pool of blood, For trickling from each fearful gash it streamed, And wet the gra.s.s, and turned the earth in mud Of gore; whilst all this time each falchion gleamed, For Marko's sword was ruthless in the fray, And when it fell, there all was cleaved in twain; No coat of mail such strokes as his could stay, Nor either did he stop to ascertain If all the blood that trickled down each limb Was but that of the foe and not his own.

And thus he fought, until the day grew dim, And thus he fought, and thus he stood alone Against them all; till one by one they fell, As doth the corn before the reaper's scythe, Whilst their own curses were their only knell!

The Serb, howe'er, was still both strong and lithe, When all the swarthy Arabs round him lay.

"Now 'tis thy time to die, miscreant knight!"

He called unto the Moor of Primorye.

With golden daggers they began to fight; They thrust and parried both with might and main; But soon the Arab sank to writhe in pain.

Then Marko forthwith over him did bend To stab him through the heart. Then off he took His head, on which he threw a light cymar (For 'twas, indeed, a sight that few could brook): Thus covered up, he took it to the Czar.

Then Marko got the Princess for his wife-- Besides the gold that was to be his meed, And from that day most happy was his life, Known far and wide for many a knightly deed.

The merry evening came to an end; in the meanwhile the weather had undergone another transformation. The cold having set in, the thin sleet had all at once changed into snow. The tiny patches of ice and the little droplets of rain had swelled out into large fleecy flakes, which kept fluttering about hither and thither, helter-skelter, before they came down to the ground; they seemed, indeed, to be chasing one another all the time, with the grace of spring b.u.t.terflies. Even when the flakes did fall it was not always for long, for the wind, creeping slily along the earth, often lifted them up and drove them far away, whirling them into eddies, till at last they were allowed to settle down in heaps, blocking up doors and windows; or else, flying away, they ensconced themselves in every nook and corner, in every c.h.i.n.k and cranny.

That evening, when the good Christians went to church to hear the oft-repeated tidings of great joy, uttered by the _vladika_, or priest, in the sacramental words: _Mir Bogig, Christos se rode_, or "The peace of G.o.d be with you, Christ is born"; and when, after midnight, they returned home, while huge logs were blazing on every hearth, they hardly knew again either the town or its neighbourhood, all wrapped up in a mantle of dazzling whiteness; the sight was a rather unusual one, for the inhabitants of Budua had seen snow but very seldom.

The whole Christmas Day was spent very pleasantly in going about from house to house, wishing everyone joy and happiness, or receiving friends at home and drinking b.u.mpers to their health. It was, indeed, a merry, forgiving time, when the hearts of men were full of kindness and good-will, and peace reigned upon earth.

There were, indeed, some exceptions to the general rule of benevolence, for, now and then, some man, even upon that hallowed day, bore within his breast but a clay-cold heart, in which grudge, envy and malice still rankled, and the Christmas greetings, wheezed through thin lips, had but a chilling and hollow sound.

The very first person who came to Bellacic's house early on Christmas morning was Vranic, the spy. It was not out of love that he came. He had been sneaking about the house, casting long, prying glances from beneath the hood of his _kabanica_, or great-coat, trying to find out whether Milena were there, for he knew that she had not pa.s.sed the night in her own house.

All at once, whilst he was sneaking about, he was met by several young men, bent on their Christmas rounds of visits; they took him along with them, and, though quite against himself, he was the first to put his foot in Bellacic's house upon that day.

According to the Slav custom, he was asked, after the usual greetings, to tap the yule log with his stick. He at once complied, with as much good grace as he could muster, uttering the well-known phrase:

"May you have as many horses, cows, and sheep as the _badnjak_ has given you sparks."

Knowing that while he was saying these words every member of the family, and every guest gathered together around him, would hang upon his looks, trying to read in his face whether the forthcoming year would be a prosperous one, for the expression of the features, as well as the way in which these words are uttered, are reckoned to be sure omens, Vranic, therefore, tried to put on a pleasant look and a good-natured appearance, but this was so alien to his nature that he was by no means sure of success.

Uros and Milena had, however, stood aloof; they had understood that the prediction must be unfavourable, and, though they did not look up, they heard that the voice, which was meant to be soft and oily, was bitter, hard and grating.

A gloom had come over the house just then; it seemed as if that man of ill-omen had stepped in to damp everyone's joy.

Uros remained stock-still, and though his fingers instinctively grasped the handle of his knife, still he was too much of a Slav to harm a guest in his own house. As for Milenko, not having any reasons for being so forbearing, he was about to thrust the fiend out of his adopted parents' house, when Vranic, drawing back from the hearth, caught his foot on the f.a.g end of a log, and, not to fall, stepped over it. This was the remainder of that log which Uros had himself put upon the fire, and, according to the traditional custom, it had been taken away from the hearth before it had been quite consumed, for it was to be kept, as the fire on New Year's Eve was to be kindled with it. Vranic hardly noticed what he had done, but everyone present looked stealthily at one another, and quietly crossed themselves. Vranic, they knew, had come with evil thoughts in his head, but now he had only brought harm upon himself, for it is well known that whoever steps over a _badnjak_ is doomed to die within the year.

The seer went off soon after this, and then, when the other well-wishers came, the gloom that he had left behind him was dispelled, and the remainder of the Christmas Day was spent in mirth and jollity.

CHAPTER IV

NEW YEAR'S DAY

On the last day of the year the _pobratim_ were sailing on the waters of the Adriatic not far from the island of Lissa, now famed in history for its naval wars. Soon the sun went down behind a huge ma.s.s of grey clouds, and night set in when the vessel was about to sail amidst that maze of inlets, straits, channels and friths, which characterise all that part of the Dalmatian coast. But, though the night was dark and wild, their schooner was strong and stout, and accustomed to weather such heavy seas.

A head-wind arose, which first began to shiver amidst the rigging like a human being sick of a fever; then it changed into a slight wailing sound, so that it seemed at times the voice of a suffering child tossing about in its cot unable to find rest. The wind increased, and the sound changed into a howl like the rage of untamed beasts; it was a horrible concert, where serpents hissed, wild cats mewed and lions roared in and out of time and tune; but not without a strange, weird, uncouth harmony. It was the voice of the storm. Great Adamastor, the genius of the foul weather, baffled at not being able to snap all the ropes asunder and break down the straining masts, was yelling with impotent rage. He was, withal, a cunning old man and knew more than one trick, for, after holding his breath for a while, he would whisper no louder than a mother does when her babe is asleep, and then again, he would begin to snicker slily in a low, snorting way, until, all at once, he broke loose into loud fits of fiendish, hoa.r.s.e merriment.

Added to this head-wind, a heavy sea rolled its huge waves against the prow of the ship and dashed the spray of its breakers up its very sails; then the strong rain would come down in showers at every gust of wind. The elements seemed, indeed, bent upon overwhelming the poor craft groaning at this ill-treatment.