the hero answered.

And the Sultan went on to tell Marko about the evil doings of Moussa, and asked him: "Couldst thou undertake, O Marko, to go to the sea-coast and kill Moussa Kessedjiya? If thou wouldst do this, I would gladly give thee as much gold as thou canst desire."

Thereupon Prince Marko answered: "Alas, O Sire! The dampness of the stone dungeon has ruined my bones and much hurt my eyes. How could I venture to fight a duel with Moussa? But, if thou wishest me to try that feat, place me in a good inn somewhere, supply me with plenty of wine and brandy, fat mutton and good white bread, that I may perhaps regain my strength. I shall then tell thee as soon as I feel myself able to fight a duel."

Hearing this, the Sultan summoned attendants to wash Marko, to cut his hair, to shave him and to trim his nails. Then he had him conducted with honour to the New Inn, where there was abundance of everything to satisfy his needs.

Marko remained in the inn for three months, zealously eating and drinking, and he had thus considerably restored his strength, when the Sultan asked him: "Dost thou yet feel thyself able to go and overcome Moussa, for my poor subjects are incessantly sending me complaints against that accursed brigand?" And Marko answered the Sultan thus: "Let a piece of perfectly dry wood of a medlar-tree, which has been cut off nine years be brought to me, that I may test my strength!" When the piece of wood was brought, Marko took it in his right hand and squeezed it so hard that it broke in three. "By my faith, Sire, it is not yet time for me to venture a duel with such a dangerous adversary as Moussa!"

So Marko remained in the New Inn for another month, eating, drinking, and resting, till he felt a little stronger. Then he asked again for a dry stick from a medlar-tree. When the wood was brought to him, he squeezed it with his right hand till it broke in pieces, and this time two drops of water came from it. Then Marko said to the Sultan: "Sire, now I am ready to fight the duel."

Marko orders a Sword

From the palace Marko went straight to Novak, the famous maker of swords. "Make me a finer sword than any thou hast ever made before, O Novak!" said Marko, and he gave the smith thirty ducats and went back to the inn. There he stayed to drink red wine for the next few days, and then went again to the smith's. "Hast thou finished my sword, O Novak?" And the swordsmith brought forth the blade and gave it to Marko, who asked: "Is it good?" "There is the sword and here is the anvil; thou canst try on it the quality of thy sword!" answered Novak timidly. Thereupon Marko lifted his sword and struck the anvil with it so hard that he cut right through it. "O Novak, the swordsmith, tell me now, truthfully--and may G.o.d help thee--hast thou ever made a better sword?" And Novak answered: "Since thou didst call upon the name of the true G.o.d, I must tell thee truthfully that I did once make a better sword; yea, and it was for a better warrior. When Moussa turned rebel and went to the sea-coast, he ordered me to make him a sword, with which he cut right through the anvil as thou hast done, and through the trunk of an oak-tree upon which it was standing, as well."

This enraged Marko. "Hold out thy hand, Novak, that I may pay thee for my sword!" No sooner had the man stretched forth his right arm, than Marko by a swift stroke cut it off from the shoulder. "Now, O Novak, from this day thou shalt not make either a better or a worse sword than mine! And take these hundred ducats as thy reward!"

Marko meets Moussa

Then Marko mounted his Sharatz and rode off to the sea, seeking and inquiring all the way for Moussa. One morning early he rode up the defile Katchanik, when suddenly he saw Moussa Kessedjiya, calmly seated on his black steed with his legs crossed, throwing his mace to the clouds and catching it again in his right hand. When the two knights met, Marko said to Moussa: "Knightly Moussa, move aside and leave the path free for my Sharatz to pa.s.s! Move aside or bow before me!"

To this Moussa answered: "Pa.s.s on quietly, Marko, do not start a quarrel. Better still, let us dismount and take refreshment together. I shall never move aside to make way for thee. I know well that thou wert born of a queen in a palace, and wert laid upon silken cushions. Doubtless thy mother wrapped thee in pure silk, and fastened the silk with golden thread, and gave thee honey and sugar; my mother was a poor, wild Albanian, and I was born on the cold rocks near the sheep she was tending, and she wrapped me in a rough, black cloth, tying it on to me with bramble twigs; she fed me on oatmeal--but above all things she always made me swear that I should never move aside for anybody."

Hearing this, Marko of Prilip aimed his lance at Moussa's breast, but the fierce Albanian received it on his warrior-mace, and it glanced off, whizzing high above his head. Then Moussa threw his own lance, aiming at Marko's breast, but the princely hero received it on his club and it broke in three. They next unsheathed their swords and attacked each other at close quarters. Marko gave a great stroke, but Moussa interposed his mace and the sword was shattered. Instantly Moussa raised his own sword to strike his adversary, but Marko, in the like manner, received it upon his club and the weapon snapped in two near its hilt. Then they began labouring each other with their maces until these broke too. They next dismounted and seized each other fiercely. The famous heroes were equally matched for once, the knightly Moussa against the princely Marko. Moussa could neither throw Marko down, nor could Marko overcome Moussa. For a whole summer's morning did they wrestle together. At about noon, white foam rose on Moussa's lips, and Marko's lips were covered with blood and foam. Then Moussa exclaimed: "Do throw me down, O Marko! or, if you cannot do it, let me throw you down!" Marko did all he could, but his attempts were vain. Seeing this, Moussa exerted his last remnants of strength and, lifting Marko from the ground, he threw him on to the gra.s.s and pressed his knees on his breast.

Marko, in great danger, exclaimed: "Where art thou now, my sister-in-G.o.d, thou Veela? Where art thou to-day, mayst thou live no longer! Now I see thine oath was false when thou didst sware to me that whenever I should be in distress, thou wouldst help me!"

The veela appeared from behind the clouds, saying: "O my brother, Royal Prince Marko! Hast thou forgotten my words: That thou shouldst never fight on Sunday? I cannot help thee, for it would not be fair that two should fight against one. Where are thy secret poniards?"

Moussa cast a glance to the clouds to see where the voice came from, and this was his undoing, for Marko seized the moment, drew out a secret blade, and with a sudden fierce stroke cut Moussa so that his body was opened from his waist to his neck.

Marko disengaged himself with difficulty from the embraces of the horrible Moussa, and as the body lay upon its back the Prince discovered through the gaping wound that his adversary had three rows of ribs and three hearts. One of the hearts had collapsed; another was still beating excitedly; on the third a serpent was just awaking, and as it saw Marko it hissed: "Praise G.o.d, O Royal Prince Marko, that I still slept while Moussa was alive--for a three hundred fold misfortune would surely otherwise have befallen thee!"

When Marko heard this, tears poured down his cheeks and he lamented: "Alas! Gracious G.o.d forgive me, I have killed a better knight than I am!"

Then he struck off Moussa's head with his sword, put it into Sharatz's nose-bag and returned triumphantly to Istamboul. When he flung the head of Moussa before the Sultan the monarch was so horrified that he sprang to his feet. "Do not fear the dead, O gracious Sultan! If thou art frightened by the sight of Moussa's head, what wouldst thou have done if thou hadst met him alive?"

The Sultan gave three tovars of gold to Marko, who returned to his castle at Prilip.

As for Moussa the Bully, he remained on the top of Katchanik Mountain.

THE DEATH OF PRINCE MARKO

In the early dawn of a Sabbath morning Prince Marko paced the sea-sh.o.r.e. Soon he came to a bridle path that led up the slopes of the Ourvinian mountain, and as he got near to the mountain top, his faithful Sharatz suddenly stumbled and began to shed tears. His moans fell sadly upon Marko's heart and he addressed his favourite thus: "Alas! dear Sharo, my most precious treasure! Lo! we have dwelt happily together these many summers as beloved companions; till now thou hast never stumbled, and to-day for the first time thine eyes do weep: G.o.d alone knows what fate awaits us, but I can see that my life or thine is in great peril and that one of us is surely doomed to die."

When Marko had spoken to his Sharatz thus, the veela from the Ourvinian mountain called to him: "My dear brother-in-G.o.d! O Royal Prince Marko! Knowest thou not, brother, why thy horse is stumbling? Thy Sharatz is grieving for thee, his master. Know that ere long ye must be divided!"

Marko answered: "O thou white veela! May thy throat cause thee pain for speaking thus: How in this world could I ever part from Sharatz, who through many a land and many a city hath borne me from dawn till sunset; better steed never trod our earth than Sharatz, and Marko never better hero. While my head is on my shoulders, never will I be severed from my beloved steed!"

And the veela called again: "O my brother, Royal Prince Marko, there is no force which can tear thy Sharatz from thee; thou canst not die from any hero's shining sabre, or battle-club, or lance of warrior; thou fearest no hero on earth--but, alas! thou must die, O Marko! Death, the ancient slayer, will smite thee. If thou wilt not believe me, hasten to the summit of the mountain, look to the right and to the left, and thou wilt presently see two tall fir-trees covered with fresh green leaves and towering high above the other trees of the forest. Between those fir-trees there is a spring; there alight, and bind thy Sharatz to one of the fir-trees; then bend thee down and the water will mirror thy face. Look and thou shalt see when death awaits thee!"

Marko learns his Fate

Marko followed the veela's instruction, and when he arrived upon the mountain top, he looked to the right and to the left, and truly, he saw the two tall straight fir-trees just as she described them, and he did everything she had counselled him to do. When he looked into the spring he saw his face reflected in the water, and lo! his fate was written on its surface!...

Then he shed many bitter tears, and spoke in this wise: "O thou treacherous world, once my fairy flower! Thou wert lovely--but I sojourned for too short a time with thee: yea for about three hundred years! The hour has come for me to depart!" Then he drew his sabre and hastened to Sharatz; with one stroke he smote off his head. Never should he be mounted by the Turk; never should a Turkish burden be placed upon his proud shoulders; never should he carry the dyugoom [39] from the well for the hated Moslem!

Marko now dug a grave for his faithful Sharatz and interred him with more honour than he had buried Andreas, his own brother. Then he broke his sabre in four that it might not fall into the hands of a Moslem, and that the Turk might not brandish it with something of his own power, lest the curse of Christendom should fall upon him. Marko next broke his lance in seven pieces throwing the fragments into the branches of the fir-tree. Then he took his terrible club in his right hand, and swiftly flung it from the Ourvinian mountain far into the dark sapphire sea, with the words: "When my club returns from the depths of the ocean, then shall come a hero as great as Marko!" When he had scattered thus all his weapons, he drew from his belt a golden tablet upon which he inscribed this message: "To him who pa.s.ses over this mountain, and to him who seeks the spring by the fir-trees and finds Marko's body: know that Marko is dead. There are here three purses filled with golden ducats. One shall be Marko's gift to him who digs his grave: the second shall be used to adorn churches; the gold in the third shall be distributed among the blind and maimed, that they may wander in peace through the land and with hymns laud Marko's deeds and feats of glory!"

When Marko had thus written he bound the tablet to a branch that it might be seen by the pa.s.sers-by. He spread his cloak on the gra.s.s beneath the fir-trees, made the sign of the holy cross, drew over his eyes his fur cap and laid himself down....

The Finding of Marko

The body of Marko lay beside the spring day after day till a whole week had pa.s.sed. Meanwhile many a traveller pa.s.sed over the broad path and saw the knightly Marko, but one and all believed him to be slumbering and kept a safe distance, fearing to disturb or awake the sleeping hero. Fortune is the leader of misfortune, as misfortune often leads to fortune: and it befell that Va.s.so the igouman (abbot) of Mount Athos, rode that way from the white church Vilindar attended by the youthful Issaya his deacon. When the igouman noticed Marko, he beckoned to Issaya. "O my son," he said, "be cautious, lest thou wake the hero, for Marko is furious when disturbed and may destroy us both." Then he looked anxiously round and saw the inscription which Marko had fixed above his head. He drew near cautiously and read the message. Then he dismounted hastily from his horse and seized Marko's hand--but the hero moved not! Tears rushed from the eyes of Va.s.so, and he lamented loudly the fate of Marko. After a time he took the three purses from the hero's girdle and hid them beneath his belt. Long he pondered as to where he should entomb Marko; at length he placed the hero's body on his horse and brought it to the sh.o.r.e. In due course he arrived safely with it at the white church Vilindar, and having sung the customary hymns and performed those rites which are fitting he interred Marko's body beneath the centre of the church.

There the aged igouman buried Marko but he raised no monument over the tomb, lest foes should learn the whereabouts of the hero's grave and take vengeance on the dead.

CHAPTER V: BANOVITCH STRAHINYA

Historical Data

The ballad relating to Banovitch Strahinya is one of the finest and most famous which the anonymous Serbian bards composed during the Middle Ages. The author was probably a dependent of the descendants of Banovitch, and utilized a few historical and biographical data, which he must have found among the ma.n.u.scripts and other records belonging to his lord or in the other castles he visited from time to time.

Prince Ourosh (of the Nemanya dynasty) married Helen, a French princess of the house de Courtenay, and through her he kept up friendly relations with the French Court of Charles of Anjou in Naples, and he endeavoured to negotiate an alliance between Serbs and French for the overthrow and part.i.tion of the Byzantine Empire.

Some Serbian historians believe that Banovitch Strahinya was really the glorious Strashimir Bals.h.i.tch-Nemanyitch (who reigned conjointly with his two brothers from 1360-1370 in Skadar, the capital of Northern Albania) and a descendant of the old Provencal family of des Baux.