UROSH AND THE SONS OF MARNYÁVA

Sacred-Texts Legends & Sagas   

p. 111

IN the fair field of Kósovo were four pavilions pight
By the fair church of Kósovo, Samódrezha the white.
Vukáshin lay in one fair tent, and Lord Úglyesha was nigh;
Goyko the duke and Urosh, the tsar’s son, lay thereby.
The tsars rob one another of the empire of the tsars,
And they yearn to slay each other with the gilded scimitars.
They know not whose is the empire. “It is mine,” Vukáshin saith,
But the great Lord Úglyesha answers: “It is mine, upon my faith.”
And Goyko, the proud voývoda, saith likewise: “It is mine”;
But the son of the tsar, Prince Urosh, in silence must he pine,
For he dares not break his silence before those angry ones,
Before the three great brothers, Marnyáva’s mighty sons.
 Vukáshin writeth a letter, and a herald doth he send,
To Nédelko, the archpriest, in the city of Prizrend;
And he bids him come to Kósovo, that he may there decide

p. 112

To whom of the four princes the realm belongs, this tide;
For he had given the sacrament unto the glorious tsar,
And shriven him; and the ancient books, with the archpriest they are.
Úglyesha writeth a letter and a herald doth he send
To Nédelko, the archpriest, in the city of Prizrend;
And Goyko, the great voývoda, he writeth yet a third,
And sendeth a fiery messenger to the archpriest with his word;
And the son of the tsar, Prince Urosh, sent a letter likewise away.
In secret the fiery heralds went with their letters on that day.
By the house of the Archpriest Nédelko, in Prizrend, the white town,
The heralds met, but the archpriest out of his house was gone,
For he sat at the service in the midst of matin song.
So fierce were those fierce heralds, so keen the strong of the strong,
That they came not down from the chargers, but through the door did dash,
And the good Archpriest Nédelko they smote with the woven lash:
 “Come swift, thou priest, to Kósovo, that there thou mayst decide
To whom of the four princes the realm belongs, this tide;

p. 113

For thou didst give the sacrament unto the glorious tsar,
And shrovest him, and the ancient books of learning with thee they are.
If thou comest not to Kósovo, forthwith thou shalt lose thy head.”
 Then wept the Archpriest Nédelko, and unto them he said:
 “Till we are done with the service, get hence, ye strong of the strong,
And it will be shown hereafter to whom doth the realm belong.”
 Out rode the heralds straightway. When the liturgy was done,
Forth came the Archpriest Nédelko, and spake to all and one:
 “With me the tsar took sacrament, to me he did confess;
But I asked not of his kingdom, but of his wickedness.
But to the house of Marko in the town of Prilip hie,
For Marko was my pupil to read in charactery;
And the good Marko Krályevich was a scribe before the tsar,
And the books of yore with their ancient lore, this day with him they are;
And who shall have the kingdom, Prince Marko shall make known.
He speaketh the truth, for he feareth none save the true God alone.”

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 To Prilip, to Prince Marko’s house, went on the heralds four;
They came unto the milk-white house, and smote with the ring on the door.
And Yévrosima heard it and called unto her son:
“Do thy father’s heralds at the door with the ring strike thereon?”
 Marko arose and opened the door. They bowed where they did stand:
“God bless thee, Marko!” But Marko, he stroked them with his hand:
“Now welcome, sons! With the champions and the tsars are all things well?”
But thereupon the heralds down on their knees they fell:
 “The lords are well, Prince Marko, but they are not at peace this night;
In Kósovo they quarrel, by Samódrezha the white;
The tsars rob one another of the empire of the tsars,
And they yearn to slay each other with the gilded scimitars;
But to whom the realm belongeth, no man of them doth know,
Wherefore they cite thee to tell them on the field of Kósovo.”

Prince Marko went into the house:
	“My mother of delight,

In Kósovo they quarrel, by Samódrezha the white;
The tsars rob one another of the empire of the tsars,

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And they yearn to slay each other with the gilded scimitars;
But to whom the realm belongeth, no man of them doth know.
Therefore they cite me to tell them on the field of Kósovo.”
 Though greatly Marko loved the truth, she conjured him the more:
 “Let not my rearing be accurst in thee, the son I bore,
For thy father or his brethren speak not false, whate’er the stress,
But according to the living God speak out his righteousness.
Hurl not the spirit, Marko; save thou the soul, my son.
Rather lose life than that the soul should have a stain thereon.”
 Marko brought forth the ancient books, and mounted Dapple the gray;
On Dapple’s back he rode the track to Kósovo that day.
And when he came to the king’s tent Vukáshin stood thereby:
 “Here is my good son Marko, and fortunate am I!
For he will say, I trow, this day, the realm of the tsars is mine.
Then from the father to the son shall the realm stand in our line.”
 Marko heard, but said naught; from the tent he turned away.

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Voývoda Úglyesha saw him, and aloud his thought did he say:
 “Here is my nephew Marko, and a lucky man am I!
For I trow he will say to me this day that mine is the empery.
Say, Marko, that the realm is mine. We will share the government.”
 But Marko the Prince said nothing, nor turned unto the tent.
Goyko, the voývoda, saw him, what time he went thereby:
 “Here is my nephew Marko, and a lucky man am I!
He will say that unto me, Goyko, the empire doth belong,
Because I erstwhile loved him, when he was weak and young.
For I loved him very dearly, and in the bosom fold
Of my mantle did I keep him like an apple of red gold;
Where’er I went upon my steed was Marko wont to ride.
Say then, Prince Marko, in this wise, what time thou shalt decide,
That all the empire of the tsars is given unto me,
And thou shalt be the overlord, and I the tsar at thy knee.”
 But Marko aye kept silence, and turned not to the tent.
To Urosh’ white pavilion upon his way he went;

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Unto the tsar’s fair tent he rode. Urosh leaped up awake
From the fair silken cushions, and to the prince he spake:
 “A lucky man am I to-day; my godfather I see!
Marko the Prince will say to whom the Servian realms shall be.”
 Then they embraced each other, and wished each other well;
And sate upon the cushions until the evening fell.
When the dark night was over, and the white morning shone,
They rang the bells for matins, and to church the lords are gone.
They came forth from the service before the church to dine,
And then they ate the sugar, and drank the brandy-wine.
Marko looks on the ancient books, and a great word saith he:
 “O thou, my sire, Vukáshin, is thy realm too small for thee?
May a curse go out and through it, for ye seize another’s reign!
And Úglyesha, my uncle, too small is thy domain?
May a curse go out and through it, for another’s realm would ye seize!
And thou, my uncle, Goyko, to a strait are thy provinces?
May a curse go out and through them, for an other’s realm would ye steal!

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See—and may God forget you!—what the book doth reveal!
For the realm belongeth to Urosh, from the father to the son;
The child is of the tsar his house, and in him the line goes on,
And the tsar left it to him at the season when he died.”
 Vukáshin, when he heard it, drew the dagger from his side;
On his son leaped Vukáshin, to stab him in that hour,
And Marko fled before him, for he had not will nor power
In arms against his father to lift the hand and fight.
Marko ran round about the church, Samodrezha the white;
Three times round white Samodrezha the circle did they make;
The king well-nigh had caught him, when a voice to Marko spake:
 “Into the church, Prince Marko!” the voice from the church did say,
“For the sake of truth thou wilt perish at thy father’s hand this day.”
 Marko ran hard into the church as the doors wide open drew;
Vukáshin fell against them as again the doors shut to,
And smote the beam with his dagger. Therefrom did the red blood drain.

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The king repented: “By the one God, I dread my son have I slain.”
 A voice spoke to him from the church: “Dost hear where thou dost stand?
Thou smot’st not thy son, but an angel, with the dagger in thy hand.”
 The king was wroth at Marko, and cursed him thereupon:
 “My son, God slay thee! Mayst thou have nor sepulcher nor son!
May the soul go not from thee till thou servest the Turk in war!”
 His father cursed him, but he won the blessing of the tsar:
 “O my godfather Marko, may God thee ever shield!
May thy face shine in the council; thy saber slash in the field!
May none excel thee in battle, and thy name far and wide
Be everywhere remembered while the sun and moon abide!”
 So spake Vukáshin and the tsar, and so did it betide.