Prevod

Once upon a time, as never before, there lived an old man and an old woman. They were so poor they had not so much as a crust to wash down with water. When they had cornmeal, they had no salt; when they had salt and cornmeal, they had nothing to cook with them. They lived from one day to the next. They had three children, ragged and unwashed, poor little souls. The youngest seemed cleverer than his two elder brothers, but he was crippled in both legs. His name was Tugulea. Now, their neighbor was the Earth Ogress. This ogress was so wicked that none of her neighbors had any peace. She trampled their fields and brought all manner of troubles upon them. When Tugulea was born and the Fates came to foretell his life, the Earth Ogress happened to be there. She heard the destiny they foretold for him and, out of spite, later stole the sinews from his legs, which was why he was crippled. Because of this, and because they were poor, the old man, his wife, and their children became the laughingstock of everyone in the village. Even his own brothers mocked poor Tugulea. When the children had grown a little older, Tugulea said to his mother one day, in front of his brothers, “Mother, I have heard that you have a rich brother who lives in another village. Why not go and ask him for some old mare, so that we too can go hunting? I am tired of sitting at home by the hearth.” “Stop your prattle and get out of the way, Tugulea the Cripple,” his brothers said, laughing. “Our mother had better go to our uncle and ask for two horses for us, since we are fit to mount and dismount.” Tugulea swallowed his shame, bowed his head, and said nothing. But a mother is a mother, after all. She went to her brother and asked for two horses for her elder sons and a mare for Tugulea. Her brother gladly gave them to her, moved above all by pity for Tugulea, so that he too might get about. The brothers were beside themselves with joy when their mother brought the horses home. Tugulea, however, could find no comfort, for he was crippled and did not know how he might ever be made whole. A few days later, Tugulea said that he too would like to go hunting with his brothers. They laughed at him. But when their mother also pleaded with them, they took him along. They made ready and set out. In the forest, his brothers marveled at how surely Tugulea struck whatever game he set his sights upon. Not one arrow flew in vain. Every one found flesh. They spent three days and three nights hunting. On the third night, Tugulea dreamed a pleasant dream. He seemed to be in a beautiful garden, as beautiful as paradise itself. He sat in a corner, sad and downcast because he could not walk about and enjoy its beauty. The birds were singing fit to burst. The leaves of the trees rustled in the breeze, and the flowers gave off a fragrance that went to one’s head. He gazed longingly at it all, unable to take his own pleasure in it. Then he raised his eyes and prayed that God would take his life rather than let him live in such misery. As he prayed in his dream, a fairy suddenly appeared before him, so beautiful and gentle that he had never seen such a being in all his life. And it seemed to him that she asked, “Why do you lament and grieve, my boy?” “How could I not lament and grieve, fairy of all beauty?” he seemed to answer. “I am crippled, and because of it I have become the laughingstock of all the boys in the village.” “There, my dear, weep no more, for they know not what they do. I shall help you,” the fairy seemed to say. “You will be healed and become an emperor.” “I have no need of an empire. I should be happy enough merely to walk. But that can never be, for, look, it is as though I had no sinews in my legs.” “It can be,” the fairy seemed to add firmly. “You did have sinews, but the Earth Ogress took them from you when you were little. Take this little belt. When you wear it, you may become whatever you wish by turning three somersaults. Do your utmost to recover your sinews from the ogress.” He took the belt, but when he raised his eyes to ask who she was and why she had taken pity on him, the fairy was nowhere to be seen. She might have vanished into the earth. At that very moment he awoke. He found the little belt in his hand. He fastened it about his waist, turned three somersaults, thinking that he wished to become a bird, and at once a bird he became. He turned another three somersaults and became a man again. He nearly lost his wits for joy, but mastered himself. He fastened the belt next to his skin so that it could not be seen and took care to tell his brothers nothing. As it happened, that fairy was the good Fate who had watched over his birth. When daylight came, he and his brothers returned to their earthen hut, bringing a great deal of game. A few days later they set out again. When they left the horses to graze, the elder brothers told Tugulea to watch them, for they were tired. They lay down and fell asleep at once. Tugulea tethered the horses, then turned three somersaults, became a bee, and set off northward, toward the Earth Ogress’s dwelling. When he arrived, he buzzed up and down, slipped into the ogress’s house, and listened to her talking with the ogres who were her sons-in-law and the ogresses who were her daughters. Among other things, he heard the old ogress say, “Look here, girls, see whether Tugulea’s sinews are still in the box where I put them behind the stove.” “They are,” answered the youngest ogress. “I saw them only today.” “Well, you will soon be going to homes of your own,” said the wrinkled old creature. “You must know to beware of this Tugulea. Even I am afraid of him, though I have taken his sinews.” From them Tugulea also learned that the youngest ogress’s wedding was to take place in a few days, and that game was needed for the wedding feast. The shriveled old harpy assigned each of her sons-in-law a place to hunt. Tugulea had heard and learned enough for one visit. When he returned to his brothers, the first pale light was stealing into the village. “Get up, brothers,” he said. “Daylight has caught us napping.” “Why did you let us sleep so long?” they asked reproachfully. He held his tongue. They rose and went hunting, then returned home. Tugulea slept outdoors every night, always planning how to recover his sinews. He kept visiting the ogress without anyone’s knowledge, watching for a favorable moment to take them back. One evening he became a fly and went down the chimney into the chamber where the box of sinews was kept, while the ogress was away. As soon as he was inside, he became a man, took the sinews out of the box, and fitted them to his legs. The moment he put them in place, they joined to him as though they had been there since the beginning of the world. He became a fly again and went home. The following night the ogres were to go hunting for the wedding. Tugulea first went to lie in wait for the eldest ogre. As he drew near, the ogre’s horse began to snort, but the ogre said, “Whoa there, you two-bit nag! Surely no crow has brought a bone of Tugulea’s here, nor the wind a hair of his, since his sinews are behind my mother-in-law’s stove.” “How can you be so sure?” Tugulea asked. “Get down, and let us face each other and fight.” At the sight of him, the ogre’s blood froze. They began to fight with maces, but Tugulea swung his own and struck the ogre such a blow that the creature was done for. Then he cut off his head, took his horse and weapons, and went to meet the middle ogre. He dealt with him in the same way. Then he went to meet the youngest. When he came upon the youngest ogre, he challenged him too. First they fought with maces, and the maces shattered. They fought with spears, and the spears broke. Then they took to their swords, and the ogre’s snapped. After that they wrestled hand to hand. They struggled and struggled until Tugulea overcame the ogre and cut off his head as well. He took his weapons and horse too, and made his way home with them all. Dawn was breaking when he arrived. He tied up the horses and put the ogres’ weapons safely away. Then he woke his brothers to go hunting. When they saw the horses, they were astonished. They questioned him, but he would tell them nothing, saying he knew nothing about them. His brothers mounted the ogres’ horses and set out. Tugulea, however, rode the youngest ogre’s horse, for it was the strongest. Seeing that her sons-in-law were late, the ogress said to her daughters, “There is something amiss here. Go and see whether Tugulea’s sinews are where I put them.” “They are nowhere to be found,” the daughters replied after searching. “Your husbands must have been slain. Tugulea has done this. Go into the forest where he must pass and do as I have told you.” As Tugulea was riding through the forest with his brothers, he saw a vineyard laden with grapes. He sensed that something was wrong. How was it that he had never seen this vineyard in the forest before? His eldest brother wanted to pick a bunch of grapes. Tugulea stopped him. Then he dismounted, drew his broadsword, and began hacking at the vines. All at once, blood as black as pitch began to flow from the severed stems. His brothers marveled at this. Then they mounted and rode on. They traveled a while and came upon an orchard of plum trees. Tugulea would not let his middle brother pick any plums, but did as he had done in the vineyard, and blood flowed from the cut trees as well. Farther on they came to a well. He knew there had never been a well in that forest. He would not let his brothers drink the water. Instead, he took his spear and thrust it several times into the bottom of the well, and suddenly dark, foul-smelling blood began to gush out. It poured as though from a slaughtered cow. These were the ogress’s daughters, who had meant to poison Tugulea, the son of the old man and the old woman. As they rode on together, Tugulea said to his brothers, “Look behind us, brothers, and see what is there, for something is scorching me.” “What should it be?” his brothers answered, looking back. “There is a little red cloud coming after us as fast as the wind.” “That is the old ogress,” he said. “She is after me. Scatter, each of you in a different direction, and go home, so that you do not cross her path, for she will tear you to pieces.” After they parted, Tugulea went into a cave to shelter until the ogress had passed. The accursed ogress came raging along, mad with fury, flashed past the cave like lightning, and rushed onward, so blinded by anger that she could see nothing. Tugulea came straight out of the cave, mounted, and took to the road. He made off eastward as fast as he could, and rode and rode until he reached the court of an emperor who for twenty years had been building a very high wall on the side facing the ogress’s lands, for he too had no peace because of her. He had only just finished it. As soon as Tugulea arrived, he told the emperor that he had killed the ogress’s sons-in-law and daughters. Then he asked him to order all his smiths to make a great iron club at once, so that he might kill the old ogress too. The emperor gladly agreed to let Tugulea do whatever he thought best, if only he could rid them of that accursed creature. Tugulea had a hole made in the middle of the city wall. Then he ordered a great heap of wood to be brought and set alight in the middle of the city, and placed the iron club in the fire until it glowed red. Meanwhile, after rushing this way and that without finding Tugulea, the ogress sniffed him out and realized that he must be with the emperor of the great wall. She turned back, and then you should have seen her go! In a single headlong rush she reached the wall and collapsed beside it, overcome with exhaustion and rage. Then she got to her feet as best she could and tried to leap over it. She leaped, but in vain. When she saw that she could not clear the wall, she climbed up to the hole Tugulea had made and began sucking in her breath, meaning to swallow everything in the city. The emperor and the townspeople might have been figures painted on a wall, so utterly had fear turned them to stone. But Tugulea kept his wits. Holding the fiery-red club by its handle, he went to the opening. When the ogress drew in one mighty breath, she sucked the burning club straight into her heart. The ogress gave a single roar. “You have cooked my goose, Tugulea!” she cried, and died on the spot. The emperor, the boyars, and all the people of that realm thanked God for delivering them from the ogress, her daughters, and her sons-in-law, who had brought so much evil upon them. As for their deliverer, they called him Tugulea the Brave and Wise. After this, the emperor raised Tugulea to great honors. For a time he lived there as happily as a child in his mother’s arms. But certain envious boyars planted fear in the emperor’s heart, telling him that sooner or later Tugulea would take his kingdom. Hearing such things, the emperor began to ponder what trick he might use to be rid of him. At last he listened to the advice of the most spiteful of his old boyars. He sent for Tugulea, and Tugulea came. “Tugulea the Brave,” said the emperor, “the council of my realm has judged it fitting that you should go to the Emperor of Stririlor and ask for his daughter’s hand on my behalf.” “If the council of the realm has judged it fitting, I am ready to obey,” he replied. “When, then, do you propose to leave?” “If it were up to me, tomorrow.”

They prepared the letters Tugulea was to carry, gave him money, and he set out after taking his leave of the emperor and the boyars. The crowds accompanied him beyond the city gates and gazed after him until he was out of sight. First Tugulea went to meet his brothers. He told them how he had killed the old ogress, then explained the errand the emperor had entrusted to him. He gave them a little money to take to their parents, and they embraced and parted. Tugulea’s brothers had begun to look at him with envy. They could not bear that Tugulea should rise so high and put them to shame: they were older, yet they were left beneath him like a pair of fools. As Tugulea went about his errand, he met a man on the road who was crying out that he was dying of hunger. He went closer to see what sort of man this might be. And what should he see? A man like any other, following seven plows as they plowed the earth, never ceasing his cries. “What a mighty fellow you must be,” Tugulea called to him as though to an old friend, “to eat the furrows turned by seven plows and still cry that you are starving!” “I am no mighty fellow,” answered the hungry man. “The mighty one is Tugulea, the son of the old man and the old woman, who killed the ogress, her daughters, and her sons-in-law.” “I am he,” Tugulea told him. “If you are, take me with you, for perhaps I may be of some use.” He took him along, and they set out. After a few days’ journey, he came upon another man, into whose mouth flowed the water from nine wells, though he still cried that he was dying of thirst. He questioned him as he had the hungry man, and when he received much the same reply, he took this man with him too and went on. They traveled and traveled, and traveled farther still. When they came to cross some mountains, they met another man with two millstones fastened to his feet, leaping from mountain to mountain. When he ran, he overtook hares and stroked their backs, yet he cried out that he had no room to run. Tugulea questioned him as he had the others, and the man gave the same reply. He took him along too, and they went forward with God’s blessing. On their way they met a man with one white mustache and one black one, dressed in nine sheepskin coats and crying that he was freezing to death, though it was nearly noon and the sun blazed as it does in the hottest days of July. After questioning him, and finding that he too wished to come, Tugulea took him along as well. Onward they went, ever onward, without looking back. They traveled a while longer, and toward dusk they met a man who stood looking up into the sky with a bow in his hand. Tugulea asked him, “What are you doing there, my good man?” “What am I doing?” he answered. “There is a gnat that has flown right up to the raging winds, and I mean to bring it down with my arrow.” “You must be a mighty fellow,” Tugulea said, “if you can hunt a gnat we cannot even see.” “What of that? The mighty one is Tugulea, the son of the old man and the old woman, who killed the ogress and all her daughters and sons-in-law,” the man replied. “I am he,” answered Tugulea. “If you are, take me with you, for perhaps I may be of some use.” After traveling farther, they reached some beautiful valleys, beyond which rose mountains clothed in trees whose greenery delighted the heart. There they came upon a man who kept muttering something under his breath, and whenever he brandished the staff in his hand, a hundred little birds sprang into being. When Tugulea asked by what mighty power he worked these wonders, he answered that Tugulea was the mighty one, who had performed so many brave deeds. Learning that he was speaking to Tugulea himself, the man followed him like all the others. So they all journeyed on, on and on, like the words of the tale that now unfolds, and wherever they went they asked after the Emperor of Stririlor. In the towns and villages where they stopped for the night, everyone welcomed them and gladly gave them lodging when they heard Tugulea’s name. One morning they caught sight of the towers of the city where the Emperor of Stririlor lived. They quickened their pace, and by evening they reached the city gates. The next day they rose, washed their faces, dressed, shook the dust from their clothes, and praised the Lord for helping them arrive alive and unharmed. Tugulea told his companions why he had come, and they answered that if the emperor would not give his daughter willingly, they would take her by force. After all, they had not come along with Tugulea the Brave merely for show. Once Tugulea had delivered the letters he had brought, the emperor said to him, “I am willing to give you my daughter if you successfully carry out the tasks I shall set you. But if you fail, your head shall lie where your feet now stand. Know that well. I give you until tomorrow to consider whether you dare attempt them.” “I dare, illustrious emperor,” Tugulea replied. “Give your command.” “By tomorrow morning you must eat nine ovenfuls of bread,” the emperor ordered. “Then let the baking begin as soon as possible,” Tugulea replied. They agreed on the hour when he should come and begin to eat. Guards were also posted to keep watch. That evening they all arrived. Looking at the hungry man, Tugulea said, “Let us see what you can do, Brother Hungry.” “Leave it to me,” he answered. “Take a loaf apiece, so that you too may have a little snack.” Then he began tossing ten loaves at a time into his mouth and swallowing them, and by midnight he had finished all nine ovenfuls. It was as though he had merely tossed them over his shoulder. He even gathered up the scraps his companions had left, swallowed those too, and began to cry, “I am starving! I am starving!”

The guards, who had stood there like so many simpletons, watching the loaves disappear, went and told the emperor what had happened. The emperor too was astonished. Then he ordered nine casks of wine to be brought and commanded Tugulea to drink them dry before daybreak. Tugulea said to the thirsty man, “At them, Brother Thirsty!” “Is that all?” he asked. He pulled the bungs from several casks at once and swallowed the wine as though it were sinking into the earth. When he had finished them all, he too began to cry, “I’m dying of thirst! I’m dying of thirst!” The emperor grew uneasy when the guards told him what had happened, and he began heating the great oven with nine cartloads of wood. When Tugulea was ordered to go into the oven, he looked at the man who was always cold and said, “Your turn has come, Brother Moustache.” “I’ll soon have your teeth chattering as though you were hammering nails,” the fellow replied. And indeed, as soon as he reached the oven, which was glowing red as flame, he put his hand to his white moustache, plucked out a few hairs, and threw them inside. At once frost formed around the oven’s mouth. Then all Tugulea’s companions went into the oven with him and began to shout that they were freezing. When the emperor came and saw them, he began to wonder what to do about this uncanny Tugulea. At Tugulea’s request, the emperor ordered another nine cartloads of wood to be brought and set alight, but it was as though the fire were burning on ice. Now this emperor had a sly young serving girl who could outrun the greyhounds. He ordered Tugulea to send one of his men with her to the Well of the Iele, each to bring back two pitchers of water. If Tugulea’s man returned first, he would give him his daughter; but if the serving girl came back before him, Tugulea was to understand that all his companions would be impaled, and he himself on a stake higher than the rest. Tugulea accepted. Then, looking at his companion with the millstones on his feet, he said, “What do you say, cousin? Shall we carry off the maiden, or shall we take our ease on the points of those stakes?” “Let us try our luck. Perhaps we can leave those roasting spits for the emperor.” The man with the millstones on his feet and the fleet-footed girl set out together, each carrying two pitchers. On they went, chatting as they ran, until they reached the Well of the Iele. Here the girl began her tricks. Besides being quick on her feet, she was rather pretty, and she coaxed the man with the millstones into laying his head in her lap, so that they might rest a little while she searched his hair. As she ran her fingers through his hair, he fell asleep. Once she saw that he was sound asleep, she took a dry horse’s skull that lay nearby, gently rested his head upon it, emptied his pitchers, picked up her own, and took to her heels. Neither road nor feet held her back. Tugulea and his companions stood on a hill, looking in the direction from which the two water-bearers were to return. Suddenly they caught sight of the girl. On she came, swift as the wind. Of their man there was neither sight nor sound. Then Tugulea said to the skilful archer, “Look there, brother, and see what our companion is doing.” “He is snoring away,” the archer replied, “with his head on the dry skull of a dead horse.” He drew his bow, loosed an arrow, and crack! It struck the horse’s skull squarely and sent it flying from beneath the sleeper’s head. The man sprang up and looked for the girl, but she was nowhere to be seen. He filled his pitchers at once. Then he set off as swiftly as thought, covering ten fathoms at a bound. He caught up with the girl at the very palace gate and, as he passed her, smashed her pitchers with the stones on his feet. When he carried his pitchers up to the emperor, the emperor asked where the girl had been left. “She is coming behind,” Tugulea replied. “Wait a little and you will see her.” When the girl arrived and went before the emperor, she told him the whole of her trickery. The emperor could not sleep all night, so troubled was he by his thoughts. The next day, one of his counsellors, who knew what was weighing on his mind, came and suggested another task for Tugulea. The emperor liked the advice, and, summoning him, said, “Tugulea, you have done everything I commanded. I ask only one more service of you, and then we shall be done.” “Give your command quickly, Emperor, for the emperor who sent me may grow angry at such a delay, and I would not have that for anything in the world.” “You must make fifty barren women give birth in a single night.” “What a task!” said Tugulea. “Only have them brought here at once.” The emperor ordered fifty women to be brought, and placed each in a separate room. Tugulea raised his eyes to the enchanter and said, “Show us, Cloaked One, what your spell-filled staff can do.” “The emperor might have thought of something harder. This is child’s play,” he replied. Going into the women’s rooms, he muttered a few words over each of them and tapped each lightly on the back with his staff. Then he came out. One after another, they all gave birth before morning. When the emperor arrived the next day and heard the babies squalling so loudly that his ears rang, he clutched at his hair and hurried away. Just as he was stepping over the threshold to return to his palace, the enchanter touched him too with his staff, and at once he found a little brood of ducklings waddling after him, quacking. The empress and the counsellors laughed to see the emperor with the ducklings at his heels. As for him, he was frightened by Tugulea’s tricks and, no longer daring to give him another command, decided to hand over his daughter. When everything needed for the journey had been made ready, Tugulea took the emperor’s daughter and set out. The emperor, his wife, and his whole court escorted them beyond the city, with trumpets and horns, drums and shawms. After bidding the emperor farewell, Tugulea went on his way, leaving each of his companions where he had first found him. As they travelled, he noticed that the daughter of the emperor of the Stririlor was sad. When he asked why she was so sorrowful, she replied, “I would sooner take my own life than fall into the hands of the emperor who sent you, if you will not have me yourself.” Tugulea was pleased by these words, and they went straight to his heart. Yet there was nothing he could do. He had to keep the promise he had made to the man who had sent him. On the road he saw an eagle. Tugulea took an arrow from his quiver, fitted it to his bow, and aimed. The eagle said to him, “Do not shoot, brave Tugulea, for I may be of great help to you when you are in need and think of me.” Tugulea spared him and went on. They reached a great forest, and as night was falling, he stopped there. He built a large fire and lay down to rest. Suddenly the girl gave a frightened cry: “A bear!” Tugulea, who had been dozing beside the fire, sprang to his feet and seized his bow and arrows. As soon as he saw the bear, he took aim. But the bear stood still and began to call out, “Do not kill me, brave Tugulea. Rather, pull out the thorn that has pierced my paw, for I too may be of great help to you when you are in need and think of me.” Tugulea stayed his hand. When the bear came up to him, he worked away until he had pulled out the thorn, then bound up the wound. The bear went grumbling back the way he had come. The next day Tugulea set out early and travelled all day long. Towards sunset he reached the emperor who had sent him. As soon as he arrived, he presented the daughter of the emperor of the Stririlor. At the sight of Tugulea, the emperor was seized with mortal terror, for he had believed him dead. Then he received the maiden with great honour and prepared for her the room where his mother had slept. Tugulea too was given a chamber in the imperial palace. Afterwards, he told the emperor all that had befallen him before he had brought the girl back. That night the emperor held council. He said to his counsellors, “What do you think we should do with this Tugulea, my lords? He rid us of that accursed dragon-woman and her brood. But what if he should now take it into his head to rule as well? What shall we do then? Blood will flow upon blood, and in the end I fear he will be the victor.” “Have no fear, Emperor,” said the envious counsellor. “We shall be rid of him. You need only order someone to poison him, and he will be safely out of the way.” “What are you saying?” another counsellor asked. “Is poison the reward for one who has rendered so many services and delivered us from the calamity hanging over our heads?” “You are right,” replied a third counsellor. “In my opinion, Tugulea should receive imperial honours and be entrusted with the highest affairs of the empire. Let him be raised to the rank of one of the twelve great boyars.” Some said one thing, some another, but they could reach no agreement because of the envious boyar. “I think,” said the emperor, cutting them short, “that it would be just for him to marry the daughter of the emperor of the Stririlor, whom he has brought here, for he risked his life to win her. Though she pleases me greatly, and my eyes are drawn to so delicate a beauty, I shall forgo such a treasure and leave her to the man who brought her to me. Then, after rewarding him royally for the services he has rendered me and the people of my empire, I shall ask him to return to his own land. In this way we may spare the poor common folk the shedding of blood, for I do not believe a hero such as he would attempt to encroach upon the rights handed down to me by my forefathers. Only we must ask the maiden whether she wishes to take him for her husband.” “You have spoken wisely, Emperor,” replied most of the counsellors, “and Your Majesty’s judgment will be pleasing to God as well.” The next day the emperor summoned Tugulea and the princess to the great council chamber and told them what his council had decided. The emperor’s daughter replied, “May God grant you many years, Emperor, and may you reign in peace. This seems just to me as well. I myself would have told you so, had you been unwilling to acknowledge it. When an empire is blessed with so just and impartial a ruler, happy are the people of that empire.” “For once in my life, Emperor, I too have seen a righteous judgment,” said Tugulea. “And since you are giving me my happiness, my arm is pledged to your empire. Should any calamity fall upon your people, remember that there is a Tugulea in the world who will be ready to shed his blood for you and your country.” After receiving imperial gifts as well, Tugulea set out a few days later with his betrothed, meaning to go and see his parents again. And that was the way he took. When Tugulea left the imperial court, the emperor and his household escorted him with royal honours as far as the border. There they parted and bade one another farewell. The maiden and Tugulea seemed to fly rather than walk, so happy were they that God had fulfilled their wish. Travelling on, they reached the meeting place appointed with his brothers just as the sun stood high in the sky. When his brothers saw Tugulea with a bride more beautiful than the flowers and whiter than the froth of milk, they conceived an evil design against him. Before lying down to sleep, they slipped away from Tugulea, went a little apart, and began to plot how to rid themselves of him. “Now the whole village will laugh at us beside our brother,” said the middle one. “Let us kill Tugulea,” said the eldest. “You shall take his horse, and I his bride.” As they planned, so they did. During the night they rose and, with trembling hands, struck Tugulea with a sword. They took his maiden and his horse and fled. On and on they ran, until, at daybreak, they were near their village. The girl began to weep so bitterly that nothing they did could comfort her. “We are agreed on this,” the brothers told her. “Know that we shall kill you too if you tell anyone we murdered Tugulea.” They reached their parents’ home. When Tugulea’s parents heard that he had been killed fighting dragons, as his brothers told them, even the wood and stones might have wept for pity. They could not dry the tears in their eyes, God help them. They mourned and wailed beyond all soothing. The poor girl wept in silence, for she dared not utter a word. But Tugulea still had a spark of life in him, for his brothers had not quite killed him. When they struck with the sword, their hands had trembled with fear, and they had failed to sever his head. Coming a little to his senses, but unable to rise, he began to groan with pain and grief, above all when he saw that neither the maiden nor his horse was beside him. As he thought of his sorrow and of the poor girl, not knowing what she might suffer at his brothers’ hands, he remembered the eagle and the bear. Before long, the eagle appeared beside his head. While Tugulea was telling him what had happened, the bear’s voice suddenly sounded through the forest: “Grr! Grr! Grr!” The bear came thundering along, making the whole forest shake, snapping dry branches beneath his feet and sending the boughs crashing as he passed. The eagle was on the point of taking flight, but when he saw that the bear too had come to help Tugulea, he settled beside him again. Tugulea barely had the strength to tell the bear what had happened. Then, in a fading voice, he asked for a little water. The eagle darted to the spring and brought water in his crop. Meanwhile Tugulea asked the bear, since he himself could not move, to feel his wounds and set any broken bones back in their places. When the water came, Tugulea drank. The bear said to the eagle, “What can we do now for our benefactor, so that we do not leave him to die?” “Bring me two little flasks,” the eagle replied, “and tie them to my feet. I shall fly as swiftly as thought and fetch remedies for Tugulea from the River Jordan, where there are two springs, one of living water and one of dead water, for he has done us so much good.” The bear found the little flasks and tied them to the eagle’s feet. The eagle flew like the wind towards the Jordan and returned as swiftly as thought. The bear never stirred from Tugulea’s side. As soon as the eagle appeared, the bear poured the dead water over all the wounds, and the flesh knit together. Then he poured the living water over him two or three times, and Tugulea was healed of all his hurts, sound and whole as his mother had borne him. Finding himself as strong as before, Tugulea thanked the eagle and the bear, then said, “I see that you have loved me better than my own brothers. I have nothing left in the world now. From this day forward I shall live with you as with brothers.” “We welcome you gladly,” replied the eagle. “But how will you live far from your beloved and your fellow men?” “If that cannot be,” Tugulea went on, “then…” “May honey sweeten the words I interrupt,” said the bear, “but it must be possible. The eagle will go as our messenger to find out what is happening at your brothers’ house. I shall stay with you, and when the right moment comes, you will go and take back your bride and your horse. And, if you wish, we shall deal with your brothers too.” “That is good advice,” Tugulea replied. The eagle flew off, learned everything that had happened, and returned to tell Tugulea that whatever he meant to do, he must do it quickly, for they were all pressing the maiden to marry one of the brothers, believing Tugulea dead. As soon as he heard this, Tugulea set out with his companions, the eagle and the bear, and after a few days they reached the neighbourhood of his home. They waited until evening, and under cover of darkness he entered the yard. Once inside, the bear began to growl. The brothers rushed out in alarm and ran after him. The bear turned aside and came back to Tugulea. Meanwhile the girl took his weapons from where his brothers had put them and came to meet Tugulea with them. The eagle darted to the shed where Tugulea’s horse stood neighing, untied its halter with his beak, and the horse came to its master. Once they saw him armed, the bear and the eagle bade him farewell and left, warning him to take care not to fall into another trap. After they had gone, Tugulea entered his parents’ house. They no longer knew him. But the maiden, with tears on her cheeks, told them the true story of the attempt on Tugulea’s life. His brothers had gathered all the neighbours, saying that a bear had come into the village. When they returned and saw Tugulea, they stood as though struck by God. Tugulea’s horse sprang at them and killed them both with its hooves, then came to its true master, shedding tears and licking his hands. When the neighbours heard of his brothers’ wicked deeds, they said that God’s wrath had fallen upon them through the horse that had killed them. Tugulea was just telling his parents all that had befallen him in his wanderings when suddenly a commotion was heard in the yard. They went out to see what it was. And what do you think they saw? A company of soldiers. Their captain dismounted, approached, and handed Tugulea an imperial document. The emperor of the Stririlor had died. The document they brought was his will. As he lay sick on his deathbed, his counsellors and his people had asked whom he would leave to rule over them, since he had no other children. The emperor had answered that he knew no one more worthy than Tugulea. Then the will had been drawn up and signed by the emperor and all the assembly. The next day Tugulea set out for his empire with his bride and his parents. As soon as he arrived, word came that he had also been chosen emperor by the people of his own country and his neighbours in the city he had delivered from the fury of the dragon-woman, her daughters, and her sons-in-law. It seemed that the emperor there had died as well, and he too had left no heir. Then Tugulea united the two empires and married his beloved maiden. They held a wedding whose fame spread over the whole earth and was told to their children’s children. And they reigned as long as God willed. As for me, I mounted a hazel rod, to bid you follow the ways of good. I mounted a rooster tall, to tell you the tale, great and small.