a grant of Tukholian land! ‘Go,’ he said to me, ‘so that I might never see you here again! Go and fight out your miserable claims with the “smerdi”, as long as you don’t come back here to me again!’ Well then, should we go to him to complain against those Tukholians and ask him to aid us?”
“No, father!” said Peace-Renown. “The king’s assistance won’t redress the wrong already done, but may make matters worse.”
“You see,” replied the boyar without heeding the implication in his daughter’s last words. “Or perhaps we should return to Tukhlia, to those execrative peasants, to that devil Berkut and ask their forgiveness, submit to their court’s punishment, give up our boyarism and beg them to admit us into their community as equals among equals, to live with them as they live, together with their sheep among the oats and manure?”
Peace-Renown’s whole sturdy body straightened itself involuntarily and her face began to light up at these words. “What do you think, father, is there a chance that they might take us back?” she asked eagerly.
“Who knows!” replied the boyar cynically. “It all depends upon the gracious goodwill of their reverend boors, the elders, and particularly of the oldest and greatest boor of them all, Zakhar Berkut!”
“Father, why can’t we give it a try? The Tukholians dislike to be unjust. Even though they have condemned us, they have done so according to their laws. And perhaps . . . perhaps you father, with some . . . your quick-tempered ways have added on to it all? But if we were to approach them nicely, speak to them gently . . .”
“What in the name of heaven is that?” cried Peace-Renown, suddenly breaking off her train of thought.
Their horses stopped at the summit of the range and before them as if by magic spread the extensive Strey valley, a sea of fire, the sky reflecting its flaming glow. As if up from hell,
90
