"Good youth," said Prince Vladimir, "you are fair to look upon, but none the less you must be a son of the Father of Lies. Why, the straight way has been lost for thirty years, and all men know of it is that athwart it lie great barriers. There are in the plains great hordes of accursed Tatars, the enemies of Holy Russia; then there is a broad rushing river bordered by the Black Morass; and, last of all, among the shining birches, on the top of seven great oaks which saw the dawn of history, is raised the nest of Nightingale the Robber. Moreover, that Magic Bird hath nine strong sons and eight ugly daughters, of whom one has only a single eye, and is therefore a witch. Now Nightingale the Robber hath permitted neither horse nor man to pass by him for thirty years." "Nay, sire," said Ilya with perfect calm, "I did indeed come by the straight way, and Nightingale the Robber now sitteth as a prisoner securely bound within the sacred court of the holy temple, where all who thieve must be bound hand and foot." Now the astonishment and curiosity which fell upon the company at this announcement was so great that it overcame the hunger of the lords and ladies, who forgot also their courtly dignity as they scrambled out from the palace to see the wonder, or at least to test the truth of Ilya's words. But Prince Vladimir and Princess Apraxia went out slowly upon the railed balcony. And there they saw the wonder for themselves--Nightingale the Robber sitting securely bound to the steel stirrup of Cloudfall, the shaggy bay steed, with one eye fixed on Kiev city and the other on far-distant Chernigof, according to the habit he had acquired when awaiting the sallies of champions from those two cities within the security of his lofty nest. Then said Prince Vladimir, full of wonder mixed with curiosity, "Whistle, Nightingale the Robber, roar like a lion, and hiss like a serpent." But the Magic Bird replied with a strange smile which had a long way to travel across his face from eye to eye. "I am not your prisoner, Prince Vladimir, and do not eat from your bountiful hand. However, bring me a bowl of wine, for I am plaguily thirsty, and then we shall see what will happen." "Give him a bowl of green wine," said Ilya to the waiting attendants, "a large bowl, capable of accommodating a bucket and a half. And bring a large cake of fine wheat flour, for the mouth of the Magic Bird is parched, and his whistle, roar, and hiss will not be worth hearing if he is not refreshed."