“It is well. I will give you the hand of my daughter Lovely in honourable marriage.”
Then, after due notice had been given, he went in state to his daughter’s apartment to tell her with all the solemnity which the occasion demanded, that he had chosen for her a goodly husband whose claim upon her love was supported by a strong body-guard of forty good youths.
But Lovely looked with a smile at her royal father, and then looked again with a laugh. “Why, father,” she said, “this is no bold ambassador from the Island of Kodol or elsewhere; from King Yetmanuila Yetmanuilovich or any other stern-eyed monarch. It is a woman. Why, when he walks in the courtyard I think of a duck in the pond. When he speaks I think of the note of a flute. When he walks in the palace I think of the dance, and when he sits on the bench of white oak he presses his feet close together. His hands are lily white with taper fingers, and upon them the marks of rings are plainly to be discovered.” Then Lovely laughed and laughed again, and the sound was not pleasant to Prince Vladimir, the Fair Sun of Kiev, who walked away to the window.
“I will prove her,” he said, after pondering for a time. Then he left the apartment and came to the ambassador. “Will it please you,” he said courteously, “to accept the challenge of my heroes to a shooting match?”
“I have longed for many things,” was the quick reply, “but for none so much as to receive such a challenge.” Then without further delay they went out upon the open plain and began to shoot at an oak tree standing at a distance of about a mile. One shot and another shot, one struck and another missed, the shooting was good and not so good, and the old oak merely shook its smaller boughs as if a summer breeze were blowing.
Then it came to the turn of the ambassador from the stern King Yetmanuila Yetmanuilovich, and stepping forward the envoy said, “I will not shoot with one of the heroic bows of Kiev. I have within the fair white linen pavilion in which I have lodged my brave body-guard a little bow which I always carry with me when my royal master sends me upon an embassy across the open steppe.” Then at a hail from the envoy the brave body-guard brought out the bow. Five of them carried it at one end and five at the other, while the remaining thirty bold youths dragged along the quiver filled full of flaming arrows. Then the ambassador took the little travelling bow in her hand and fitted to the bow-string a flaming shaft of steel.
The cord twanged, Prince Vladimir stepped quickly aside, the arrow sang a journeying song and shivered the trunk of the ancient oak, so that the sun streamed through it.
“I will prove this ambassador once again,” murmured Prince Vladimir in his royal beard. “If he (she) be a woman he (she) will have no taste for a wrestling match.”
Then he got together his strong wrestlers and assembled them in a brave company. “Will it please you,” he said courteously, “bold ambassador of the stern King Yetmanuila Yetmanuilovich, to try a bout of wrestling.”
“Have you then bold wrestlers, as well as expert bowmen?” asked the envoy. “I have often wrestled with children during my childhood, and I can but make a bold man’s effort.” Then the ambassador grasped two brave wrestlers in one heroic arm and three brave wrestlers in the other heroic arm, and cracked their skulls together until the Prince begged the wrestler with children to spare his brave heroes. Then said the ambassador: