Prevod

Once upon a time there was a wealthy couple who had twelve sons. When the youngest was grown, he no longer wanted to stay at home; he wanted to go out and try his luck in the world. His parents said they thought he had everything he could wish for at home, and that he was welcome to stay with them. But he could find no peace; go he would and go he must, and so at last they had to let him. When he had been walking for a good while, he came to a king’s palace. There he asked for work, and work he was given.

The king’s daughter in that country had been carried off into the mountain by a troll, and the king had no other children. Both he and the whole country were therefore in great sorrow and distress, and the king had promised the princess and half his kingdom to whoever could rescue her. But no one could do it, though there were plenty who tried. When the lad had been there a year or so, he wanted to go home again and visit his parents;

but when he reached home, his parents were dead, and his brothers had divided everything they owned among themselves, so that there was nothing left for the lad. “Am I to have no share of what my parents left?” he asked. “Who could have known you were still alive, when you’ve been roving and wandering about like that?” his brothers answered.

“But never mind; there are twelve mares up on the moors that we haven’t divided yet, and if you’ll have them for your share, you may take them.” The lad was well pleased with this. He thanked them and set off at once for the moors, where the twelve mares were grazing. When he got there and found them, each had a suckling foal, and beside one of the mares there was a big dun colt, so sleek and well fed that his coat shone.

“You’re a handsome fellow, my little colt!” said the lad. “Yes, but if you kill the other foals, so that I can suckle all the mares for a year, you’ll see how big and handsome I shall grow,” said the colt. So the lad did as he was asked: he killed all twelve foals and went home again.

When he came back the following year to look after the colt and the mares, the colt was so fat that his hide gleamed, and so tall that the lad could barely climb onto his back; and all the mares had foaled again. “Well, I certainly got something in return for letting you suckle all my mares,” said the lad to the yearling. “But now you’re big enough, and you must come with me.” “No, I must stay here another year,” said the colt. “Kill the twelve foals now, so that I can suckle all the mares this year too, and you’ll see how big and handsome I shall be by next summer!” So the lad did as he was asked once more. When he came up to the moors the second year to see to his colt and his mares, each mare had a foal, but the dun colt was so big that the lad could not reach up to feel his neck and see how fat he was, and his coat was so glossy that it shone. “You were big and handsome last year, my colt, but this year you’re finer still,” said the lad. “There’s no horse like you in the king’s stables. But now you must come with me.” “No,” said the dun colt again. “I must stay here one more year. Just kill the twelve foals again, so that I can suckle the mares this year too, and then you’ll have something to look at next summer!” The lad did that too: he killed all the foals and went home again.

But when he returned the following year to look after the dun colt and his mares, he was quite taken aback. He had never thought a horse could grow so huge and powerful;

for the dun had to lie down before the lad could mount him, and even with the horse lying down, he had all he could do to climb onto his back. And the horse was so sleek and fat that he gleamed and glittered like a looking glass. This time the dun was quite willing to go with the lad. So the lad mounted him, and when he came riding home to his brothers, they threw up their hands and crossed themselves, for they had never seen or heard of such a horse. “If you’ll have my horse shod as well as can be, and get him the finest saddle and bridle to be had,” said the lad, “you shall have all twelve of my mares, just as they stand up on the moors, and their twelve foals as well”—for that year too each mare had foaled. The brothers were glad to agree, and the lad had his horse shod so well that splinters of stone flew high into the air when he rode over the mountain moors. And he was given a golden saddle and a golden bridle that shone and glittered from far away. “Now we’ll go to the king’s palace,” said Grimsborken—for that was his name—“but be sure to ask the king for a good roomy stable and good fodder for me.” The lad promised not to forget, and rode away; and you may be sure it did not take him long to reach the palace, with such a horse as his.

When he arrived, the king was standing outside on the steps, and he stared and stared at the rider coming towards him. “Well, well!” he said. “Never in all my life have I seen such a fellow or such a horse!” And when the lad asked whether he could have work at the palace, the king was so delighted that he was ready to leap and dance where he stood on the steps. Work? Of course he should have work! “Yes, but I must have a good roomy stable and proper fodder for my horse,” said the lad.

Yes, he should have meadow hay and oats, as much as the dun could eat, and the other knights must lead their horses out of the stable. Grimsborken should have it all to himself, so that he would have plenty of room.

But it was not long before the others at the palace grew jealous of the lad, and there was no end to the harm they would have done him, if only they had dared. At last they hit upon telling the king that the lad had boasted he could rescue the princess, whom the troll had carried off into the mountain long ago, if only he chose. The king at once summoned him and said he knew what the lad had claimed he could do, and now he must do it. If he succeeded, he knew the king had promised both his daughter and half the kingdom, and these he should duly and honestly receive; but if he failed, he should be put to death. The lad denied having said any such thing, but it was no use, for the king would not listen, and there was nothing for it but to say he would have to try.

So he went down to the stable, gloomy and sorrowful. Grimsborken asked what made him so downhearted. The lad told him, and said he did not know what to do. “For rescuing the princess is surely quite impossible,” he said. “Oh, it might well be managed,” said Grimsborken. “I’ll help you, but first you must have me properly shod. You must ask for twenty pounds of iron and twelve pounds of steel for the shoes, and one smith to forge them and another to fit them.” The lad did so, and his request was not refused: he was given the iron and steel and the smiths, and Grimsborken was shod well and truly. Then off the lad rode from the palace, leaving a cloud of dust behind him. But when he reached the mountain into which the princess had been carried, the difficulty was to climb the rock face to the place where he must enter; for the mountain rose straight up, as steep as the wall of a house and as smooth as a pane of glass. The first time the lad charged at it, he got some way up the rock face, but then the dun slipped with both forefeet, and down they came again with a crash that thundered over the moors. The second time he charged, he got a little farther up, but then one forefoot slipped, and down they came with a roar like a landslide. But the third time the dun said, “Now we must give it our all!” And off he went, sending stones flying sky-high about them, and this time they reached the top;

the lad rode in at full gallop, swept the princess up onto the pommel of his saddle, and was out again before the troll could so much as rise to his feet—and so the princess was saved.

When the lad returned to the palace, the king was happy and delighted to have his daughter back, as you may well imagine. But somehow or other the rest of the court had set the king against the lad, so that he was angry with him all the same. “Thank you for rescuing my princess,” he said when the lad came into the palace with her, and then he made to walk away. “She should be mine now as well as yours, for surely you are a man of your word,” said the lad. “Yes, yes,” said the king, “you shall have her, since I have said so. But first you must make the sun shine into the palace.” For just outside the windows stood a great high mountain, casting its shadow over the palace so that no sunlight could enter. “That wasn’t part of the bargain,” answered the lad. “But I suppose there’s no use pleading. I must do my best, for I mean to have the princess.” Down he went to the dun again and told him what the king demanded. Grimsborken thought it could be managed, but first he must have new shoes, and for those he would need twenty pounds of iron and twelve pounds of steel. He would need two smiths as well, one to forge them and one to fit them; then they would surely make the sun shine into the palace. When the lad asked for these things, he was given them at once; the king felt he could not refuse for very shame. So Grimsborken was shod afresh, and with shoes worth having. The lad mounted, and off they went again. With every leap Grimsborken took, the mountain sank fifteen ells into the earth, and so they kept on until the king could no longer see a trace of it.

When the lad came back down to the palace, he asked the king whether the princess should not be his now, for, as far as he could tell, the sun was shining into the palace.

But the others at court had been setting the king against him again, and he answered that of course the lad should have her; he had never meant otherwise. But first he must find her as fine a bridal horse as he himself had for a bridegroom’s mount. The lad said the king had never spoken of that before, and he thought he had earned the princess by now. But the king stood his ground, and said that if the lad could not do it, he should lose his life into the bargain.

The lad went down to the stable again, and sorrowful and downhearted he was, as you may well imagine. There he told Grimsborken that the king had now ordered him to find the princess as fine a bridal horse as his own bridegroom’s mount, or else he should lose his life. “But that won’t be easy,” he said, “for surely there’s not your equal in all the world.” “Oh yes, there is a horse to match me,” answered Grimsborken, “but getting hold of it won’t be easy;

it is in Hell. Still, we shall have to try. Now go up to the king and ask for new shoes for me, and for those we shall need twenty pounds of iron and twelve pounds of steel again, and two smiths, one to forge them and one to fit them. But be sure the hooks and calkins are good and sharp. We must also take twelve barrels of rye and twelve barrels of barley, and twelve slaughtered oxen. And you must ask for all twelve oxhides as well, with twelve hundred nails in each. We shall need it all.” The lad went up to the king and asked for everything Grimsborken had named. Once again the king felt it would be shameful to refuse him, and so he was given it all.

Then he mounted Grimsborken and rode away, and when he had ridden far, far over mountains and moors, the dun asked, “Do you hear anything?” “Yes, there’s a dreadful rushing sound up in the air. I’m beginning to feel afraid,” said the lad.

“Those are all the wild birds of the forest coming on the wing; they have been sent to stop us,” said Grimsborken. “But cut holes in the grain sacks, and they’ll be so busy with the grain that they’ll forget about us.” The lad did so: he cut holes in the sacks, and the barley and rye poured out on every side.

Then came all the wild birds of the forest, so thickly that they darkened the sun. But when they saw the grain, they could not help themselves: they settled down and began pecking and picking up the grain and rye, and at last they began fighting among themselves;

they did no harm to the lad and Grimsborken, but forgot them entirely. Now the lad rode on for a long, long way, over mountains and valleys, over ridges and moorlands. Then Grimsborken pricked up his ears again and asked the lad whether he could hear anything now.

“Yes, now I hear a dreadful crashing in the forest on every side. I think I’m getting frightened now,” said the lad. “Those are all the wild beasts of the forest,” said Grimsborken. “They have been sent to stop us. But just throw out the twelve ox carcasses, and they’ll have enough to keep them busy, and forget about us.” So the lad threw out the ox carcasses, and up came all the wild beasts of the forest—bears and wolves and lions and every kind of fearsome creature. But when they saw the ox carcasses, they began fighting over them till the blood flowed, and forgot the lad and Grimsborken entirely.

Then the lad rode far on again, over many and many a blue horizon, for Grimsborken did not go slowly, you may be sure. Then the dun neighed. “Do you hear anything?” he asked. “Yes, I heard what sounded like a little foal whinnying, far, far away,” answered the lad. “That’s a well-grown foal, I can tell you!” said Grimsborken. “His voice only sounded so thin because he is so far from us.” Then they travelled another good stretch, over another blue ridge or so. Grimsborken neighed again.

“Do you hear anything now?” he asked. “Yes, now I distinctly heard a neigh like a full-grown horse’s,” answered the lad. “You’ll hear him once more yet,” said Grimsborken, “and then you’ll hear what a voice he has.” They travelled over another blue ridge or so, and Grimsborken neighed for the third time. But before he could ask the lad whether he heard anything, a neigh rang out across the moor so loud that the lad thought the mountains and crags would split apart. “Now he’s here,” said Grimsborken. “Quickly, throw the oxhides with the nails in them over me, and roll the barrel of tar out across the ground. Then climb up that great spruce tree. When he comes, he’ll breathe fire from both nostrils, and the tar barrel will catch alight. Watch carefully: if the flame rises, I am winning; but if it sinks, I am losing. And when you see that I am winning, throw the bridle over him—you must take it off me—and then he’ll be tame.” The lad had only just thrown the nail-studded hides over Grimsborken, rolled the tar barrel out across the ground, and climbed safely into the spruce, when up came a horse with fire streaming from him, and at once the tar barrel burst into flame. Then he and Grimsborken fell to fighting, so that the stones danced sky-high. They bit and struck out with both forelegs and hind legs, and the lad looked now at them and now at the tar barrel. At last the flame rose, for wherever the other horse bit or struck, he met the nail-studded hides, and at last he had to yield. When the lad saw this, he was not long in climbing down from the tree and throwing the bridle over the horse. Then it grew so tame that he could have guided it with a thread;

that horse was dun too, and so like Grimsborken that no one could tell one from the other. The lad mounted the dun horse he had caught and rode home to the palace, while Grimsborken ran loose beside him. When he arrived, the king was standing in the courtyard. “Can you tell me now which horse I caught, and which I had before?” said the lad. “If you cannot, I think your daughter belongs to me.” The king went round looking at both the duns, high and low, in front and behind, but not a hair on one was different from the other. “No,” said the king, “I cannot tell you; and since you have found my daughter so fine a bridal horse, you shall gladly have her. But first we must try one thing: whether it is meant to be. Now she must hide twice,” he said, “and afterwards you must hide twice. If you can find her both times she hides, but she cannot find you in your hiding place, then it is meant to be, and you shall have the princess.” “That isn’t in the bargain either,” said the lad. “But we must try, I suppose, if that is how it must be.” And so the princess was to hide first.

She turned herself into a duck and swam about on the water close by the palace. But the lad simply went down to the stable and asked Grimsborken where she had gone. “Oh, you need only take your gun and go down to the well and aim at the duck swimming there,” said Grimsborken, “and she’ll soon show herself again.” The lad snatched up his gun and hurried down to the water. “I think I’ll take a shot at this duck,” he said, and began to aim at it. “No, no, dear fellow, don’t shoot! It’s me!” said the princess, and so he had found her that time.

The second time the princess turned herself into a loaf of bread and lay on the table among four others. She was so like the other loaves that no one could tell them apart. But the lad went down to Grimsborken in the stable again and said that the princess had hidden once more, and he had no idea where she had gone. “Oh, just sharpen a good big bread knife and pretend you are going to cut straight through the third loaf from the left of the four loaves lying on the palace kitchen table, and she’ll soon show herself again,” said Grimsborken. So up went the lad to the kitchen and began sharpening the largest bread knife he could find. Then he seized the third loaf from the left and set the knife against it, as though he meant to cut it right through. “I think I’ll have a crust off this loaf,” he said. “No, dear fellow, don’t cut! It’s me!” said the princess again, and so he had found her the second time too.

Now it was his turn to hide; but Grimsborken gave him such good advice that he was no easy thing to find. First he turned himself into a horsefly and hid in Grimsborken’s left nostril. The princess went searching and prying everywhere, high and low, and she wanted to go into Grimsborken’s stall as well. But he began biting and kicking so fiercely that she dared not come near, and so she could not find the lad.

“Well, since I cannot find you, you must come out of your own accord,” she said, and at once the lad stood there on the stable floor. The second time Grimsborken again told him what to turn himself into, and this time he became a clod of earth and lodged between the hoof and the shoe of the dun’s left foreleg. The princess went searching and searching again, both outdoors and in, and at last she came to the stable and wanted to enter Grimsborken’s stall. This time he let her come right up to him, and she searched high and low;

but she could not get beneath his hoofs, for Grimsborken stood too firmly on his feet for that, and so she could not find the lad. “Well, then, you must come out of your own accord, since I cannot find you,” said the princess, and that very moment the lad stood beside her on the stable floor. “Now you are mine,” said the lad to the princess. “For now you can see it is meant to be,” he said to the king. “Yes, if it is meant to be, then so it must be,” said the king. Fine preparations were soon made for the wedding, and the lad mounted Grimsborken and the princess his match; and you may be sure they were not long on the road to church.