XII
Meantime the good and noble princess was not dead, but had lived for many a year in a far country with her son, the prince.
The princess never told anybody how high-born a lady she was, and her son was too young at the time of their flight for him to remember.
And so in that country not a soul knew—not even the prince—that they came of royal blood. But how could anybody tell that she was a princess, when she had neither crown nor Golden Girdle? And though she was good, gentle, and noble, that did not prove that she was a princess.
The princess lived in the house of a worthy peasant, and there she span and wove for his household.
In this way she earned enough to keep herself and her son.
The boy had grown up into a tall and handsome youth of unusual strength and power, and the princess taught him nothing that was not good and right.
But one thing was bad. The prince had a very hasty and fierce temper. So the people called him Rowfoot Relya, because he was so rough and strong—and so poor withal.
One day Rowfoot Relya was mowing his master’s meadow, and lay down at noon in the shade to rest. And a young squire came riding by, and called to Relya:
“Hi, young man! jump up and run back along the road and find me my silver spur; it fell off somewhere on the way.”
When Relya heard that, his princely blood, his hot and hasty blood, was roused to evil within him because the other had disturbed him in his rest and would send him out to find his spur.
“Won’t I, by heaven!” cried Relya, “and you can lie here and rest instead of me!” And with that he sprang at the young squire, pulled him off his horse, and flung him down in the shade, so that he lay there for dead.
But Rowfoot Relya, still furious, rushed home to his mother, and cried out upon her:
“Wretched mother! why was I born a rowfoot churl, for others to send me out to find their spurs for them in the dust?”
Relya’s face was quite distorted with rage as he said this.
The mother looked at her son, and her heart grieved sorely. She saw that there would be no more peace for her and her son, because she would have to tell him what she had so far kept secret.
“You are not a rowfoot churl, my son,” replied the princess, “but an unfortunate prince.” And she told Relya all about herself and him.
Relya listened; his eyes blazed with a strange fire, and he clenched his hands in bitter anger. Then he asked:
“Is there nothing left, then, mother, of our lands?”
“Nothing, my son, save a little Cross on a red ribbon and a Golden Girdle,” answered his mother.
When Relya heard that, he cried:
“I am going, mother, and I shall bring back that Cross and Girdle, wherever they may be! Threefold will the sight of them increase my princely strength!”
And then he asked:
“And where did you leave the Cross and the Girdle, mother? Did you leave them with the chief of your captains for him and your great army to guard?”
“No, my son,” replied the princess, “and it is a good thing that I did not, for my captains and my great army went over to the enemy, and are now feasting and drinking with the enemy and wasting my lands.”
“Did you perhaps leave them in the lowest room of your castle, in the seventh vault, under seven locks?”
“No, my son, and it is a good thing that I did not, because the enemy got into my castle, broke open and ransacked its secret chambers, searched its nine vaults, and fed his horses upon pearls out of my treasure hoards,” replied the princess.
“But where did you leave the Golden Girdle and the Cross on the red ribbon?” asked Relya, with flashing eyes.
“I left them with a young shepherdess in a willow cabin, where there are neither locks nor strong boxes. Go, my son, perchance you will find them there still.”
Relya would not believe that the Girdle and Cross might be safe in a willow cabin when the noble princess’s pearls had not been safe even in the ninth vault under her castle.
But his princely blood, so proud and masterful, was roused yet more to evil in Relya’s veins, and he roughly said to his mother:
“Farewell, then, mother! I shall find the Cross and Girdle wherever they may be, and it shall be no jesting matter for those who would refuse to let me have them! I shall bring you back your Girdle and Cross, by the princely blood in my veins.”
As Prince Relya said this, he took the blade of the scythe, fitted it with a mighty hilt at the forge, and then hurried out into the world to find his heritage. The earth rang beneath his feet; his hair streamed in the wind, so swiftly did he stride; and his murderous blade shone in the sun as though it were plated with flame.