Then he took in his hand his battle-sword and taught it to take a walk through the army. Where he turned, it opened out a street, and when he turned round there was a great open space. Ilyá made his way to the three princes, and spoke thus to them: “Come, my three king’s sons! Shall I take you away as prisoners, or shall I cut off your warlike heads? If I take you away as prisoners, I must travel over roads that I know not and must carry bread, but if I take off your heads the kingly race will be destroyed. If you will go home to your own country, you will spread such report of me that it will be known all over Russia, and you will tell it everywhere that in Holy Russia there are strong and mighty heroes.” The Governor of Chérnigov saw Ilyá and said: “This Lord has vanquished our tyrant and cleansed our glorious city of Chérnigov,” and he spoke to his princes and nobles and said: “Go ye and call in this goodly hero to eat bread and salt with me.” And the princes and nobles came forth to greet Ilyá of Múrom and said: “Come now, thou stalwart and goodly hero, and tell us by what honoured name thou art called, and what is thy renowned father’s name?” “They call me by the name of Ilyá, but I am honoured as the son of Iván,” said Ilyá. “Come, Ilyá of Múrom,” said the princes and nobles, “come to our Governor, he sends us to invite thee to eat bread and salt with him.” But Ilyá wished to be on the way to Kiev and answered with little ceremony: “I will not come to your Governor; I wish not to eat bread and salt with him. Show me the straight road to glorious, royal Kiev town.” So they had to let him go on his way, and they showed him the straight road to Kiev across the open plain. Farther, farther upon on the open plain waves the feather grass in the breeze, and there upon the open plain, among old folk, mothers and men, rode the Old Cossack, Ilyá of Múrom, and the horse he rode was like a fierce wild beast and he himself like a bright falcon. Now the old hero carried no money, only seven thousand golden ducats had he with him, and of small money, forty thousand pieces. And the horse the hero rode was priceless. Why was the hero’s horse priceless? Because these was no price for the horse. When he came to a river he looked for no ford. Now the river was a full mile wide, but the good steed leapt from bank to bank. Then Ilyá saw a village near by and the villagers—brigands, as we say in our Russian tongue—rode out after the hero. They swept round him and tried to rob him, tried to part him from his life and soul. Then said Ilyá of Múrom, son of Iván: “Oh come, brother villagers, no reason have ye to kill an old man like me. And ye shall take nothing from the old man.”