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Once upon a time, as never before, there was an emperor called Emperor Roșu. He was deeply troubled, for in his time some zmei had stolen the sun and moon from the sky. So he sent men throughout all the lands and heralds through the towns to proclaim to everyone that whoever could recover the sun and moon from the zmei would have his daughter’s hand in marriage and half his empire besides; but whoever tried and failed must know that his head would be cut off. Many brave young men had come to grief, boasting too readily that they could accomplish such a task; yet when it came to doing it, they rushed this way and that, blundered from corner to corner, and knew neither where to begin nor how to finish—for, you see, not every fly makes honey. The emperor, however, kept his word. In those days there lived a hero named Greucenu. When he too heard of the emperor’s promise, he pondered it this way and that, then took his courage in both hands and, trusting in God’s help and his own strength, set out for the emperor’s court to offer his services. On the road he met two men whom the emperor’s servants were taking to be beheaded, because they had fled from a battle the emperor had fought against some monstrous beasts. The poor men were downcast, but Greucenu comforted them with such gentle words that their hearts grew a little lighter, for he had a gift for speaking. Our Greucenu took hope from this encounter and said to himself, “I shall try my luck. If I succeed in persuading the emperor to spare these men’s lives, I shall venture to undertake the other task as well. If not, then farewell! I shall go back where I came from. Let this be the test of my fortune; it never hurts to try.” And so, turning such thoughts over in his mind, he went on and on until he reached the imperial court. Once before the emperor, he told him so many things, spoke such kind and pleasing words, and argued with such skill that even the emperor came to believe it would be unjust to put those men to death; that it would serve him better to have two more subjects; and that his standing in the world would be all the greater if he showed mercy to his people. The men were beside themselves with joy when they heard that Greucenu had softened the emperor’s heart enough to win their pardon. They thanked Greucenu with all their hearts and promised that all their lives they would pray to God for him, that he might go from triumph to triumph—and so they did. Greucenu took this success as a good omen, and, going before the emperor a second time, spoke in his honeyed voice: “Mighty lord, may you live many years upon the glorious throne of this empire. Many brave men have pledged themselves to Your Majesty to recover from the zmei the sun and moon they stole from the sky, and they have met their deaths because they could not fulfil their promises to Your Majesty. I too, mighty lord, am minded to seek out these wretched zmei and try my luck, in the hope that God may grant us the power to punish those accursed creatures for their reckless insolence. But lend me a helping hand.” “My dear Greucenu,” answered the emperor, “I cannot change one jot or tittle of my decree. This is for no other reason than that I wish to be just. My commands must be the same throughout my empire; partiality has no place with me.” Seeing the emperor’s firm resolve and the justice of his words, Greucenu answered boldly: “So be it, mighty emperor. Even if I knew I should perish, I would not rest until I had brought to a happy end the task I freely take upon myself.” They came to an agreement, and a few days later he set out, after making whatever arrangements he thought necessary to come through this venture with honour. Greucenu took his brother with him, and they travelled and travelled, far into distant lands, until they reached the Earthsmith, his sworn brother. This smith was the most skilful on earth and possessed magical powers besides. Here they halted and rested. For three days and three nights Greucenu and the Earthsmith shut themselves in a chamber and took counsel together. After resting a few more days and laying further plans for what must be done, Greucenu and his brother set out again. As soon as Greucenu had gone, the Earthsmith made an image of him entirely of iron, then ordered that the furnace be kept burning day and night and that the image remain constantly in the fire. Meanwhile, Greucenu and his brother travelled far, and farther still, until they came to a crossroads. There they stopped, sat on the grass, and ate a little of the food they still had with them; then they parted, embracing and weeping like children. Before separating, they each took a handkerchief and agreed: “When the handkerchiefs are frayed at the edges, let each still hope to see the other again; but when they are torn in the middle, let it be known that one of us has perished.” They also thrust a knife into the ground and said, “Whichever of us returns first and finds the knife rusty must wait no longer for the other, for that will mean he is dead.” Then Greucenu took the right-hand road and his brother the left. After wandering a long while to no purpose, Greucenu’s brother returned to the place where they had parted. Finding the knife bright, he settled down to wait, rejoicing, for he had seen the sun and moon in the sky again. Greucenu, meanwhile, followed a path that led him straight to the dwellings of the zmei, set in a place so remote that the devil himself had weaned his children there. Upon arriving, Greucenu turned three somersaults and became a dove. You see, he had heeded the magical teachings of the Earthsmith. In the shape of a dove he flew up and perched on a pear tree directly opposite the houses. Just then the elder daughter of the zmei came out, looked up, and hurried back to call her mother and younger sister to see the wonder. The younger daughter said, “Mother dear, sister dear, this pretty bird seems no good omen for our house. Its eyes do not look like a bird’s eyes; they look more like the eyes of Greucenu the Golden. Until now we too have had our share of good fortune. From now on, may God alone have mercy on us and ours.” It seems the zmei knew something of Greucenu’s valour. All three women went inside and began to take counsel. At once Greucenu turned three more somersaults, became a fly, and entered their chamber. There he hid in a crack in a ceiling beam and listened to their plans. Having committed everything he heard to memory, he went out and took the road to the Green Forest, where he hid beneath a bridge. From what he had overheard, he now knew that the zmei had gone hunting in the Green Forest and would return one in the evening, another at midnight, and their great chief towards dawn. As Greucenu waited there, along came the youngest zmeu. His horse reached the edge of the bridge, snorted, and sprang seven paces backwards. The zmeu grew angry and said, “Ah, may the wolves eat this horse’s flesh! In all this world I fear no one but Greucenu the Golden, and even him I would lay low with a single blow.” Hearing this, Greucenu stepped onto the bridge and called, “Come, valiant zmeu! Shall we cross swords or wrestle?” “Wrestle, for that is fairer.” They came together and grappled. The zmeu lifted Greucenu and drove him into the earth up to his knees. Then Greucenu lifted the zmeu, drove him into the earth up to his neck, and cut off his head. After throwing the bodies of the zmeu and his horse beneath the bridge, he lay down to rest. In the dead of night the elder brother arrived, and his horse sprang seventeen paces backwards. He spoke as his brother had, and Greucenu gave him the same answer. Coming out from under the bridge, he grappled with this zmeu too. And would you believe it, the zmeu lifted Greucenu and drove him into the earth up to his waist! But Greucenu sprang free, seized the zmeu in his turn, drove him into the earth up to his neck, and cut off his head with his broadsword. He threw this carcass and the horse’s body under the bridge as well, then rested once more. Towards dawn, who should come along but the father of the zmei, a fierce old fiend, black with malice; and when he reached the end of the bridge, his horse sprang seventy-seven paces backwards. This vexed the zmeu beyond measure, and he roared, “Ah, may the wolves eat this horse’s flesh! In this world I fear no one but Greucenu the Golden, and even him I need only take aim at with my arrow to lay him low.” Then Greucenu came out from beneath the bridge and said, “Well, valiant zmeu, come and fight! Shall we cross swords, strike with spears, or wrestle?” The zmeu came forward and they fell to fighting. They fought with swords until their swords broke; they struck with spears until their spears broke; then they grappled, shaking

one another so fiercely that the earth trembled. The zmeu gave Greucenu a mighty squeeze, but Greucenu, realizing what he meant to do, swelled his muscles and braced himself, and came to no harm. Then, just when the zmeu least expected it, Greucenu squeezed him so hard that his bones cracked. Such a struggle had never been seen. They fought and fought until noon came and both were weary. Then a raven passed above them, wheeling through the air and watching their struggle. Seeing it, the zmeu said, “Raven, raven, black-feathered bird, bring me a beakful of water, and I shall give you a brave man and his horse to eat.” Greucenu said too, “Raven, raven, bring me a beakful of fresh water, for I shall give you the bodies of three zmei and three horses to eat.” Hearing these words, the raven brought Greucenu a beakful of fresh water and quenched his thirst, for they were desperately thirsty. Then Greucenu took heart again, gathered his strength, lifted the zmeu high, and hurled him down, driving him into the earth up to his neck. He planted his foot on the creature’s head and said, “Tell me, filthy zmeu, where have you hidden the sun and moon? You cannot escape my hands now.” The zmeu stalled and muttered all manner of nonsense, but Greucenu said again, “Whether you tell me or not, I shall find them all the same, and I shall cut off your head besides.” Then the zmeu, still hoping to save his life by speaking, said, “In the Green Forest there is a tower. They are locked inside it. The key is the little finger of my right hand.” As soon as Greucenu heard this, he cut off the zmeu’s head, then severed his finger and took it with him. He gave all the carcasses to the raven, as he had promised, and went to the tower in the Green Forest. He opened the door with the zmeu’s finger and found the sun and moon inside. Taking the sun in his right hand and the moon in his left, he tossed them into the sky and rejoiced exceedingly. When people saw the sun and moon in the sky again, they were glad and praised God for granting Greucenu the strength to triumph over the fiendish enemies of mankind. As for him, content that he had brought his task to a happy end, he set off on the homeward road. Finding his brother at their appointed meeting place, he embraced him; then they bought two horses swift as arrows and made haste back towards the emperor. On the way they came upon a pear tree laden with golden pears. Greucenu’s brother said it would be good to rest a little in its shade and let the horses catch their breath, and meanwhile they could pick a few pears to ease their hunger. Greucenu, who had heard what the women of the zmei were plotting, agreed to rest, but would not let his brother pick the pears, saying he would gather them himself. Then he drew his broadsword and struck the tree at its root. And what do you think? Blood and loathsome venom began to pour out, and a voice was heard from the tree saying, “You have destroyed me, Greucenu, just as you destroyed my husband!” Nothing remained of that pear tree but dust and ashes, while his brother stood rooted in astonishment, not knowing what it all meant. They rode on for a while and came upon a lovely garden, full of flowers and butterflies, with clear, cold water. Greucenu’s brother said, “Let us stop here a little, brother, and give our horses another rest. We can drink some cool water and gather flowers.” “So we shall, brother,” answered Greucenu, “if this garden was planted by human hands and that spring was placed here by God.”

Then he drew his broadsword, struck the stem of a flower that seemed lovelier than the rest, and brought it to the ground. Next he thrust his sword into the bottom of the spring and around its edges; but instead of water, dark blood began to bubble up, just as it had from the flower’s stem, filling the air with a sickening smell. Dust and earth were all that remained of the elder daughter of the zmei, for she had turned herself into the garden and spring to poison Greucenu and kill him. Having escaped this danger too, they mounted and rode away, swift as the wind. But what should they see? The fiendish mother of the two daughters was pursuing them, one jaw in the sky and the other on the ground, ready to swallow Greucenu and more besides. And she had good reason to be bitter and enraged: she had neither husband nor daughters nor sons-in-law left. Sensing that the old she-dragon was following them, Greucenu said, “Look behind you, brother, and tell me what you see.” “What should I see, brother?” he answered. “There is a cloud coming after us like a whirlwind.” Then Greucenu urged on the horses, which ran swift as the wind and fleet as thought. A little later he told his brother to look back again. His brother said that the cloud was drawing closer, like a great blaze. They urged the horses on once more and reached the Earthsmith’s home. There they dismounted and shut themselves inside the smithy. Right behind them came the she-dragon. Had she caught them, she would have destroyed them; not a little bone would have remained. But now she could do nothing to them. So she turned to guile and begged Greucenu to make a hole in the wall so that she might at least see his face. Greucenu pretended to give in and made a hole in the wall. But the Earthsmith stood ready with the iron image of Greucenu, so fiercely heated in the fire that sparks flew from it. When the she-dragon put her mouth to the opening to suck Greucenu in, the Earthsmith thrust the glowing iron image into her mouth and down her throat. She gulped and swallowed it, and burst on the spot. There was your scorched little bride, with no bridegroom to be seen! Before long the she-dragon’s carcass turned into a mountain of iron, and thus they were rid of her too. The Earthsmith opened the smithy door, came outside, and they celebrated their great victory for three days and three nights. He in particular was beside himself with joy over the mountain of iron. Then he ordered his journeymen to make Greucenu a carriage and three horses, all entirely of iron. When they were ready, he breathed upon them and gave them life. Taking leave of his sworn brother, the Earthsmith, Greucenu climbed into the carriage with his own good brother and set off for Emperor Roșu to claim his reward. They travelled and travelled until the road forked. Here they stopped and rested. Then Greucenu unharnessed one of the horses and gave it to his brother, so that he could carry Emperor Roșu the good news that Greucenu was coming home victorious, while he himself followed more slowly. As he went leisurely along, reclining in his carriage, he passed a lame devil who lay in wait for travellers to do them harm. This devil was afraid to face Greucenu, but, unwilling to let even him escape his devilish malice, he pulled the pin from the end of the carriage’s rear axle and threw it far behind. Then he himself called out to Greucenu, “Hey, cousin, you have lost your axle pin! Go and look for it.” Greucenu sprang from the carriage, leaving his broadsword behind by mistake. While he searched for the pin, the devil stole his sword; then, settling beside the road, he turned three somersaults and changed into a great rock. Greucenu fitted the pin back into the end of the axle, secured it firmly, climbed into the carriage, and away he went! He did not notice, however, that his sword was missing. Now listen, good people, and marvel at what befell poor Greucenu. A good-for-nothing among Emperor Roșu’s counsellors had pledged himself to the devil if the fiend would enable him to marry the emperor’s daughter. Indeed, he had even promised the offspring of his marriage to that unclean creature. The fiend knew that without his broadsword Greucenu was a man like any other. His power lay in his sword; without it, that power was lost. So he stole the broadsword and gave it to the wretched counsellor. The counsellor appeared before the emperor and demanded his daughter, saying that he was the one who had won the great victory. Seeing the broadsword in his hands, the emperor believed him, and they began making arrangements for the wedding. While preparations were under way at court for the marriage of the emperor’s daughter to the lying hero who claimed to have recovered the sun and moon from the zmei, Greucenu’s brother arrived with the news that Greucenu would soon be there. As soon as the boastful counsellor heard this, he went to the emperor and said that the man was an impostor and must be thrown into prison. The emperor listened to him. Meanwhile, the counsellor bustled about, urging that the wedding take place as soon as possible, thinking that once he was married to the emperor’s daughter, a hundred Greucenus might come and could do nothing to him, for the deed would be done. But the emperor did not much like the counsellor’s eagerness to hasten the wedding and allowed matters to drag on. Before long Greucenu himself arrived and appeared before the emperor, who no longer knew which man to believe. He thought this must indeed be Greucenu, yet could not account for Greucenu’s sword being in the counsellor’s hands. Only then did Greucenu notice that his broadsword was gone, and only now did it occur to him to wonder why he had not seen the great rock until after finding his axle pin and returning with it to the carriage. He understood that some foul trick was at work. “Most illustrious emperor,” he said, “all the world calls you a just man. I beg you to do me justice too. You have waited long; pray wait a little longer, and you shall see the truth with your own eyes.” The emperor agreed to wait until Greucenu returned. Greucenu climbed again into his carriage with its iron horses and travelled without drawing breath until he reached the great rock beside the place where the unclean one had pulled the pin from his carriage. “Worthless creature, scourge of mankind,” he said, “give me the broadsword you stole, or not so much as dust shall remain of you.” The rock did not so much as stir. Then Greucenu too turned three somersaults and became a mace made entirely of steel, and began striking the rock so hard that the earth shook. With every blow a chip of stone flew off. He struck and struck until he shattered its top. Then at last the rock began to tremble and beg forgiveness. But the mace only struck the harder, raining blow after blow upon it until it was ground to powder. When nothing of the rock was left standing, Greucenu searched through the remaining dust and found the broadsword Satan had stolen from him. He took it and, without a moment’s rest, returned to appear once more before the emperor. “I am ready, mighty emperor,” he said, “to show anyone what Greucenu’s broadsword can do. Let that shameless counsellor who sought to deceive you come here, so that we may settle matters between us.” The emperor summoned him. When he came and saw Greucenu’s darkened brow, he began to tremble and begged forgiveness, explaining how Greucenu’s broadsword had come into his hands. At Greucenu’s request, the emperor pardoned him too, but ordered him to leave the empire. Then he released Greucenu’s brother from prison, and they held a wedding such as only emperors can hold, with festivities that lasted three weeks. . . . And I climbed into the saddle, and told you the tale just so.