"The three arrows which I have lost," he said to himself, "are of priceless value. They were made of the graceful reeds and were covered with gold beaten finer than the parchment of the holy monks, and set with precious stones so that in their flight they shone like the rays of the sun at early dawn. The feathers were those of the blue-grey eagle, which is swifter in its flight than all the birds of the air, and flies across the deep blue sea to visit its eyrie on the tall burning white stone which flashes for a thousand miles. Its feathers are hard to come by, being more precious than satin or cut velvet, or silk from Samarcand." Thinking deeply and somewhat depressed at his heavy loss, Diuk once more mounted Rough-Coat and gave him the rein for home. As he sped onward he overtook a company of one and thirty wandering pilgrims, and reining in his horse demanded: "Ho, there, you greybeards, are you thieves or robbers or travellers, midnight prowlers or plunderers of churches?" Then the psalm-singers replied: "Young Diuk, we are neither thieves, nor robbers, prowlers nor plunderers of churches, but pilgrims on the long journey from Kiev town to India the Glorious." "Is the journey long?" asked Diuk in a more respectful tone. "We have indeed come a long way from Kiev town," was the quiet answer. "It is a journey of a year on foot and then three months on the bosom of the deep blue sea." With a low reverence to the holy pilgrims, Diuk rode to his home, which he reached in a short space of time; and on the next day after having been to vespers he sought out his lady mother. "Mother mine," he said, "must I stay always at home engaged in childish pursuits while my manhood calls me, calls me ever and ever more loudly across the boundless plain? I ought to ride with head aloft and shoulders squared upon my dapple bay steed Rough-Coat, and prove my manhood by my fearless deeds. I have seen some fair cities, but never have I seen Kiev the Great nor beheld with my own eyes the beauty of the Princess Apraxia whom all men praise. Give me leave, lady mother, leave and your good blessing, and let me go to Kiev town at once and now." Then the mother's heart grew tender, and in her eagerness to keep him by her side she magnified the dangers of the way and thus, all unknowing, added to his eagerness to go. "Alas, my dear son," she said, "you have not yet ridden far across the boundless plain nor heard the roar of the wild beast and the fierce cry of the accursed Tatar. Never will you return in safety from the dangers of the open steppe. As for Kiev, the city of Vladimir, the people of that place are not worthy to keep company with such as you. They will look upon you as a purse to be picked, for they are traders, sons of merchants, traffickers in goods which your forefathers would win with sword and mace and lance. I will not give you leave and blessing to go to the Court of Vladimir, that ruler of shop-keepers."