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: