In the morning, as the young man went to his bath, a great company of princes and nobles met him in the passage:
“Hail, Nikitich,” they cried courteously. “How is it with your bride?”
“Hail, princes and nobles, heroes and courtiers of Vladimir,” said the young man with a jolly laugh. “Last night I was wedded and no longer alone. This morning I am alone and no longer wedded, for I have cut off the head of my troublesome bride, who had brought to their death many heroes and princes of Holy Russia.”
Then he went to his bath, and returning to the court of Vladimir was given a seat in the great corner while he told his wonderful adventure. “There is no need,” said the Prince, “to cross the boundless plain for strange happenings, for to the adventurous the adventure may come in a narrow lane.”
But in spite of the words of his Prince, Nikitich now longed to roam the open plain to seek fresh adventures. So he set out on the very next day and wandered on and on until he came to a wide-spreading oak on which a pied raven, half of whose wings were white, sat croaking, croaking, croaking. So harsh was its voice that Nikitich strung his bow, fitted a flaming arrow to the cord and prepared to shoot the croaking bird. But as he did so the raven put its head on one side and spoke to him in the speech of Holy Russia.
“Hail now, little Nikitich, the adventurer. Do not kill me and I will make known to you all kinds of secrets. Do not the little ones of the lanes and streets say to one another, ‘There is no wisdom in killing an old man, and he who shoots a raven makes no broth.’ Now that I see your bow unstrung I will tell you something worth knowing in return for your forbearance. By the lofty mountain across the steppe there are three wonders, even three marvellous damsels. The first is a lily for whiteness, the second is a rose for redness, and the third is a violet for darkness. More beautiful are they than the spring flowers on the steppe. How is this for an adventure on a fine morning for Nikitich the slayer of dragon brides?”
Now Nikitich had succeeded so well in his first adventure that he was burning to try a second. So he lowered his bow and reflected a little before he spoke. Then he said:
“What you have quoted of the children’s wisdom must be true and I will try the adventure. It is better to go to the lofty mountain and see with my own eyes the lily, the rose, and the violet, those three marvels of beauty, than that I should prove my valour by shooting a raven.” Then the pied bird flew away, croaking, croaking, croaking.
Nikitich turned his horse and rode, quickly, very quickly, very, very quickly, and with heroic speed, towards the lofty mountain far away across the open steppe, and at the foot of this mountain he found a pavilion of fair white linen embroidered with gold. “This is a fitting dwelling for three marvellous damsels,” said the young man to himself, “the first a lily for whiteness, the second a rose for redness, and the third a violet for darkness. But it seems to me that either they are not at home or they have locked up their beauty very securely;” for the entrance to the pavilion was secured by a stout bar on which was a lock of damascened steel. The young man alighted, spread fine wheat for his horse near the entrance of the pavilion, planted his spear in the bosom of moist Mother Earth, and went forward to look more closely at the lock, upon which he found this inscription:
“Whoso enters this pavilion shall not come thence alive.”