The Pobratim Part 57

"As for me," said one of the younger men, "it's certainly not worth that of a cow!"

"No, nor that of a goat!" added another.

"Well, let's be generous towards the tailor," said Bellacic, laughing, "and settle his brother's life at the price of a huge silver Maria Theresa dollar, eh?"

Some of the arbitrators were about to demur, but as the proposal had come from them, they could not well gainsay it.

"Then it's settled," said Bellacic, hastening to fill the gla.s.ses; "and now, Teodoroff, quick! give us one of your best songs; something brisk and lively."

The _guzlar_ took up his instrument, played a few bars as a kind of prelude, emitted a prolonged "Oh!" which ended away in a trill, and then began the tale of

MARKO KRAGLIEVIC AND JANKO OF SEBINJE.

Two brave and bonny knights, both bosom friends, Were Marko Kraglievic of deathless fame, And Janko of Sebinje, fair and wise.

Both seemed to have been cast within one mould, For no two brothers could be more alike.

One day, as they were chatting o'er their wine, Fair Janko said unto his faithful friend: "My wife has keener eyes than any man's, And sharper wits besides; our s.e.x is dull; No man has ever played a trick on her."

Then Marko, smiling, said: "Do let me try To match, in merry sport, my wits 'gainst hers."

"'Tis well," quoth Janko, with a winsome smile, "But, still, beware of woman's subtle guile."

Then 'twixt the friends a wager soon was laid; Fair Janko pledged his horse, a stallion rare, A fleet and milk-white steed, Kula by name, And with his horse he pledged his winsome wife; Whilst, for his wager, Marko p.a.w.ned his head.

"Now, one thing more; lend me thy clothes," said Mark, "Thy jewelled weapons, and thy milk-white steed."

And Janko doffed, and Marko donned the clothes, Then buckled on his friend's bright scimitar.

As soon as Janko's wife spied him from far, She thought it was her husband, and ran out; But then she stopped, for something in his mien, Which her quick eye perceived, proclaimed at once That warlike knight upon her husband's horse To be the outward show, the glittering garb And a fair mirage of the man she loved.

Thereon within her rooms she hied in haste, And to her help she called her trusty maid.

"O k.u.mbra, sister mine," she said to her, "I know not why, but Janko seems so wroth.

Put on my finest clothes, and hie to him."

When Marko saw the maid, he turned aside, And wrapped himself within his wide _kalpak_, Then said that he would fain be left alone.

He thought, in sooth, that she was Janko's wife.

A dainty meal was soon spread for the knight.

The lady called again her trusted maid, And thus she spake: "My k.u.mbra, for this night Sleep in my room, nay, in my very bed.

And, for the deed that I demand of thee, This purse of gold is thine. Besides this gift, Thou henceforth wilt be free." The maiden bowed, And said: "My lady's wish is law for me."

Now Marko at his meal sat all alone, When he had supped he went into the room Where k.u.mbra was asleep; there he sat down, And pa.s.sed the whole long night upon a chair, Close by the young girl's bed. He seemed to be A father watching o'er his sickly child.

But when the gloaming shed its glimmering light, The knight arose; he went, with stealthy steps, And cut a lock from off the young girl's head, Which he at once hid in his breast, with care.

Before the maiden woke he left the house, And rode full-speed back to his bosom friend.

Still, ere he had alighted from his horse: "You've lost!" said Janko, with his winsome smile.

"I've won!" quoth Marko, with a modest grace; "Here is the token that I've won my bet."

And Janko took the golden curl, amazed.

Just then a page, who rode his horse full-speed, Came panting up, and, on his bended knee, He handed to his lord a parchment scroll.

The letter thus began: "O husband mine, Why sendest thou such pert and graceless knights, That take thy manor for a roadside inn, And in the dead of night clip k.u.mbra's locks?"

Thereon, in sprightly style, the wife then wrote All that had taken place the day before.

And Janko, as he read, began to laugh.

Then, turning to his friend: "Sir Knight," quoth he, "Have henceforth greater care of thine own head, Which now, by right and law, belongs to me.

Beware of woman, for the wisest man Has not the keenness of a maiden's eye.

Come, now, I pledge thy health in foaming wine, For this, indeed, hath been a merry joke."

The greater part of the night was pa.s.sed in drinking and in listening to the bard's songs. Little by little sleepiness and the fumes of the wine overpowered each single man, so that in the small hours almost all the guests were stretched on the mats that strewed the floor, fast asleep.

On the morrow the twenty-four men of the jury went, all in a body, to Vranic's house. They sat down in state and listened to the tale of the brothers' grievances, whilst they sipped very inferior _slivovitz_ and gravely smoked their long pipes. When the tailor ended the oft-repeated story of his grief and grievances, then they went back to Bellacic's house, where they gave ear to all the extenuating circ.u.mstances which Radonic brought forward to exculpate himself. After the culprit had finished, the twenty-four men sat down in council, and discussed again the matter which had been settled the evening before.

A slight, but choice, repast was served to them; and Radonic took care that no fault could be found with the wine, for he feared that they might, in their soberer senses, change their mind and reverse their opinion.

The dinner had been cooked to perfection, the wine was of the best, the arguments Radonic had brought forward to clear himself were convincing--even the four that had been wavering the evening before were quite for him now. The majority of these men were married, and jealous of their honour; the others were going to marry, and were even more jealous than the married men. If Radonic could not be absolved entirely, still he could hardly be condemned.

Thus the day pa.s.sed in much useless talking and discussing, and night came on. At sundown the guests began to pour in, and soon the house was crowded. A deputation was then sent to the Vranic family to beg them to come to the feast. The tailor at first demurred; but being pressed he yielded, and came with his brother.

The evening began with the _Karva-Kolo_, or the blood-dance. It is very like the usual _Kolo_, only the music, especially in the beginning, is a kind of funeral march, or a dirge; soon the movement gets brisker, until it changes into the usual _Kolo_ strain. The orchestra that evening was a choice one; it consisted of two _guzlas_, a _dipla_ or bag-pipe, and a _sfiraliza_ or Pan's seven-reeded flute. Later on there was even a triangle, which kept admirable time.

A couple of dancers began, another joined in, and so on, until the circle widened, and then all the people who were too lazy to dance had either to leave the room or stand close against the wall, so as not to be in the way. Just when the dance had reached its height, and the men were twirling the girls about as in the mazy evolutions of the cotillon, Radonic, who had kept aloof, burst into the room. A moment of confusion ensued, the dancers stopped, the middle of the room was cleared, the music played again a low dirge. The guilty man stood alone, abashed; around his neck, tied to a string, he wore the dagger with which he might have stabbed Vranic had he not throttled him.

As soon as he appeared two of the twenty-four arbitrators, who had been on the look-out for him, rushed and seized him. Then, feigning a great wrath, they dragged him towards Vranic, as if they had just captured him and brought him to be tried.

"Drag that murderer away, cast him out of the house; or, rather, leave him to me. Let me kill him."

"Forgive me," exclaimed Radonic.

"Down upon him!" cried Vranic.

The arbitrators thereupon made the culprit bow down so low that his head nearly touched the floor; then all the a.s.sembly uttered a deep sigh, or rather, a wail, craving--in the name of the Almighty and of good St. John--forgiveness for the guilty man.

"Forgiveness," echoed Radonic, for the third time.

The dancers, who had again begun to walk in rhythmic step around the room, forming a kind of _cha.s.sez-croisez_, stopped, and the music died away in a low moan.

There was a moment of eager theatrical expectation. The murdered man's brother seemed undecided as to what he had to do; at last, after an inward struggle, he yielded to his better feelings, and going up to Radonic, he took him by the hand, lifted him up and kissed him on his forehead.

A sound of satisfaction, like a sigh of relief, pa.s.sed through the a.s.sembly; but then Vranic said, in a voice which he tried to render sweet and soft:

"Listen, all of you. This man, who has. .h.i.therto been my bitterest enemy, has now become my friend; nay, more than my friend, my very brother, and not to me alone, but to all who were related to my beloved brother. All shall forego every wish or idea of revenge, now and hereafter."

Thereupon, taking a very small silver coin, he cut it in two, gave Radonic half, and kept the other for himself, as a pledge of the friendship he had just sworn.

When peace had been restored, and everybody had drunk to Radonic's and Vranic's health, then the _Starescina_, or the oldest arbitrator, whose judgment was paramount, stood up and made a speech, in which he uttered the decision of the jury and the sentence of the _karvarina_, that is to say, that, taking into consideration all the extenuating circ.u.mstances under which the murder had been committed, Radonic was to pay to Vranic the sum of a silver Maria Theresa dollar, the usual price of a goat.

"What!" cried the tailor, in a fit of unsuppressed rage; "do you mean to say that my brother's life was only worth that of a goat?"

A slight, subdued t.i.ttering was heard amongst the crowd; for, indeed, it was almost ludicrous to see the little man, pale, trembling and almost green with rage.

"No," quoth the umpire, gravely; "I never said that your brother's life was worth that of a whole herd or of a single goat; the price that we, arbitrators named by you, have condemned Radonic to pay is a silver dollar. Put yourself in the murderer's place, and tell us what you would have done."

Vranic shrugged his shoulders scornfully.

"We do not appeal to you alone, but to any man of honour, to any Iugo Slav, to any husband of the Kotar. What would he have done to a man who, pretending to be his friend, came by stealth, in the middle of the night, into his home to----"

"Then," cried Vranic, in that shrill, womanish voice peculiar to all his family, "it is not my brother that ought to have been killed. Was he to blame if he was enticed----"

"What do you mean?" cried Radonic, clasping the haft of the dagger, which he ought to have given up to Vranic.

"Silence!" said the umpire: "you forget that you have promised to love----"