The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

It lasted much longer. Many minutes passed, if he could reckon time by the beating of his heart. In the meanwhile he tried to fathom the darkness from whence the slight sound had come. Not being able to see or hear anything, he went off, walking on tip-toe; but he listened intently as he went. All at once there was again a slight rustling sound. Uros walked on for a while, then, stepping on the grass and crouching between the bushes, slowly and stealthily he came back near the house and waited. Not many minutes had elapsed when he heard the noise of footsteps once more, but he saw nobody.

Oh! how his heart did beat just then! The sound of steps was distinctly heard upon the shingle, and yet no human being, no living creature, was to be seen. What could this be?

"Bogme ovari!– God protect me" – he said to himself, "it is, perhaps, a ghost, a vampire!"

Darkness in itself is repellent to our nature; therefore, to be assaulted at night, by any unseen foe, must daunt the bravest amongst the brave.

It is, then, not to be wondered that Uros was appalled at the idea of having to become the prey of an invisible, intangible ghost, against which it was impossible to struggle. He waited for a while, motionless, breathless. There was not the slightest noise, nothing was stirring any more; but in the dusky twilight everything seemed to assume strange and weird shapes – the gnarled branches of the olive trees looked like stunted and distorted limbs, whilst the bushes seemed to stretch forth long waving tentacles, with which to grasp the passer-by. As he looked about, he saw a light appear at a distance, flit about for a while, extinguish itself, reappear again after some time, then go out as before. Then he heard the barking of a dog; the sound came nearer, then it lost itself in the stillness of the night.

Uros, horror-stricken, was about to take to his heels, when again he heard the footsteps on the shingle. He, therefore, stood stock-still and waited, with a heart ready to burst. He could not leave Milena to the danger that threatened her, so he chose to remain and fall into the clutches of a vampire. He listened; the steps, though muffled, were those of a rather heavy man. The sound continued, slowly, stealthily, distinctly. Uros looked towards the place from whence the noise came, and thereupon he saw a man creep out from within the darkness of the bushes and go up towards Radonic's house.

Uros, seeing a human figure, felt all his superstitious fears vanish; he looked well at it to convince himself that it was not some deceptive vision, some skin all bloated with blood, as vampires are. No, it was a man. Still, who could it be, he was too short and puny to be Radonic?

Who could this man be, going to Milena's in the middle of the night?

A bitter feeling of jealousy came over him, a steel hand seemed to grasp his heart. Milena had just been flirting with him, could she not do the same with another man. She had listened to his vows of love, he had been a fool to go off when she begged him to remember that she was another man's wife. At that moment he hated her, and he was vexed with himself.

There are moments in life when we repent having been too good, for goodness sometimes is but a sign of weakness and inexperience; it only shows our unfitness for the great struggle of life, where the weak go to the wall.

During the time that Radonic had been at home he had never felt the bitter pangs of jealousy as much as he did now. It humbled him to think that he had left his place to another more fortunate rival, apparently an older man.

Then he asked himself how he could have been so foolish as to love a married woman.

"After all," said he to himself, "it is but right that I should suffer, why have I lifted up my eyes upon a woman who has sworn to love another man?"

He had sinned, and he was now punished for his crime.

When flushed with success the voice of conscience had ever been mute, but now, when disappointment was sinking his heart, that voice cried out loudly to him. Conscience is but a coward at best, a sneak in prosperity, a bully in our misfortune.

There in the darkness of the night, lifting his eyes up towards heaven, he called upon the blessed Virgin to come to his help.

"Oh! immaculate mother of Christ our Saviour, grant me the favour of seeing that this man is no fortunate rival, that he is not Milena's lover, and henceforth I shall never lift up my eyes towards her, even if I should have to crush my heart, I shall never harbour in it any other feeling for her except that of a brother or a friend."

During this time the man had gone up to the cottage door. Almost unthinkingly and with the words of the prayer upon his lips, Uros stood up, went a step onwards, and then he stopped. The man now tapped at the door. A pause followed. The man knocked again a little louder. Thereupon Milena's voice was heard from within. Though Uros was much too far to hear what she had said, he evidently understood that she was asking who was outside; the young man, treading on the grass as much as he could, stole on tip-toe a little nearer the house.

He could not catch the answer the man had given, for it was in a low muffled undertone.

"Who are you?" repeated Milena from inside, "and what do you want?"

"It is I, Uros," said the man in a muffled tone; "open your door, my love."

"Liar," shouted Uros from behind, and with a bound he had jumped upon the man and, gripping him by the nape of the neck and by the collar of his jacerma, he tugged at him and dragged him away from the door.

As the man struggled to free himself, Uros recognised him to be Vranic – Vranic the ghost-seer, Vranic the spy.

"How dare you come here in my name, you scoundrel," said the young man, and giving him a mighty shake, that tore the strong cloth of the jacket, he cast him away.

"And pray what are you doing here at this time of the night?" asked Vranic, his hand on the haft of his knife.

"And what is that to you – are you her husband or her kinsman? But as you wish to know, I'll tell you; I came to protect her from a dastardly coward like yourself."

"I doubt whether Radonic will be glad to hear that you go sneaking into his house at the dead of night, just to keep his wife from any harm; that is really good of you." And Vranic, standing aloof, burst out laughing. Then he added, "Anyhow, he'll be most grateful to you when he knows it."

"And who'll tell him?"

"I shall."

"If I let you, you spy."

Thereupon Uros rushed upon Vranic so unexpectedly, that the latter lost his balance, slipped and fell. The younger man held him down with one hand, and with the other he lifted up his dagger. Seeing himself thus overpowered:

"What, are you going to murder me like that?" he gasped out, "do you not see that I was joking? If you'll but let me go I'll swear not to say a word about the matter to anyone."

"On what will you swear?"

"On anything you like, on the holy medals round my neck."

With a jerk that almost choked the man, Uros broke the string and snatched the amulets from Vranic's neck, and presented them to him, saying:

"Now, man, swear."

Vranic took his oath.

"Now," said Uros, "swear not to harm Milena while I am away, swear not to worry her by your threats, or in any other way soever."

Vranic having sworn again, was left free to get up and go off.

When he was at a few paces from Uros he stopped, and with a scowl upon his face he muttered:

"Those medals were not blessed, so you can use your dagger now, if you like, and I shall use my tongue, we shall see which of us two will suffer most; anyhow, remember the proverb, 'Where the goat breathes, even the vine withers.'"

Then, stooping down, he gathered a handful of stones and flung them with all his might at Uros, after which he took to his heels and ran off with all his might.

The stones went hissing by Uros, but one of them caught him on his brow, grazing off the skin and covering his eyes with blood. Uros, blinded by the stone, remained standing for a while, and then, seeing that Vranic had run off, he went up to Milena's door and tapped lightly.

"Milena," said he, "have you heard the quarrel I have had with Vranic?"

"Yes, did he hurt you?"

"Only a mere scratch."

"Nothing more?"

"No."

"Surely?"

"No, indeed!"

Milena would willingly have opened the door to see if Uros was only scratched, but she was in too great a trepidation to do so.

"Well," added she, "if you are not hurt, please go away."

"But are you not afraid Vranic might come back?"

"Well, and if he does? He'll find the door shut as before. Moreover, I'm by no means afraid of him, he is the greatest coward, or at least the only coward, of the town; therefore do not stay here on my account, you can do me no good."

"Then you do not want me?" said Uros, in a lingering way, and with a sigh.

"No; go," quoth she. "If you love me, go."

Uros turned his back on the cottage and wended his steps homewards. The moon was now rising above the hills in the distance. Milena went to the window and looked at the young man going off. Her heart yearned after him as he went, and she fain would have called him back.

Poor fellow, he had fought for her, he was wounded, and now she let him go off like that. It was not right. Was his wound but a scratch? She ought to have seen after it. It was very ungrateful of her not to have looked after it.

All at once Uros stopped. Her heart began to beat. He turned round and came back on his steps. At first she was delighted, then she was disappointed. She wished he had not turned back.

He walked back slowly and stealthily, trying to muffle his steps.

What was he going to do?

Milena ran to the door and put her ear close to the key-hole.

She heard Uros come up to the very sill and then it seemed to her that he had sat or crouched upon the step.

Was he hurt? Was he going to stay there and watch over the house like a faithful dog?

She waited a while; not the slightest sound was heard; she could hardly keep still. At last, unable to bear it any longer:

"Uros," said she, "is that you?"

"Yes."

"And what are you doing there?"

"I was going to watch over you."

Overcome by this proof of the young man's love, Milena slowly opened the door, and taking Uros by both his hands she made him come in.

The wind did not rise and the brigantine rode still at anchor in the bay. The days passed, and at last merry Christmas was drawing near. The pobratim– though anxious to be off – hoped that the calm weather would last for a week longer, that they might pass thebadnji-vecer– or the evening of the log – and Christmas Day with their parents.

Their wishes were granted; one day passed after the other and the weather was always most beautiful. Not the slightest cloud came either to dim or enhance the limpid blue sky, and though the mornings were now rather fresh, the days were, as yet, delightfully warm and radiant with sunshine. In the gardens the oleanders were all in full bloom, so were also the roses, the geraniums and the China asters; whilst in the field many a daisy was seen glinting at the modest speedwell, and the Dalmatian convolvulus entwined itself lovingly around the haughty acanthus, which spread out their fretted leaves to the sun, taking up as much space as well they could, while in damp places the tall, feathery grasses grew amidst the sedges, the reeds, and the rushes and all kinds of rank weeds of glowing hues. Not a breath of wind came to ripple the surface of the shining blue waters.

On the 24th a little cloud was seen far off, the colour of the waters grew by degrees of a dull leaden tint, and the wind began to moan. In the meanwhile the cloudlet that had been the size of a weasel grew to be as big as a camel, then it swelled out into the likeness of some huge megatherium, it rolled out its massy coils and overspread the whole space of the sky. Then the clouds began to lower, and seemed to cover the earth with a ponderous lid. The wind and the cold having increased, the summer all at once passed away into dreary and bleak winter.

Christmas was to be kept at Milos Bellacic's house, for though the two families had always been on the most friendly terms, they, since the day upon which the two young men had become pobratim, got to be almost one family. Some other friends had been asked to come and make merry with them on that evening. Amongst other guests Zwillievic, Milena's father, who was a cousin of Bellacic's, having come with his wife to spend the Christmas holidays at Budua, had accepted his kinsman's hospitality. Milena had also been asked to come and pass those days merrily with her parents.

At nightfall, all the guests being already assembled, the yule-log, the huge bole of an olive tree, was, with great ado, brought to the house. Bellacic, standing on the threshold with his cap in his hand, said to it:

"Welcome log, and may God watch over you."

Then, taking the bucara or wooden bottle, he began to sprinkle it with wine, forming a cross as he did so, then he threw some wheat upon it, calling a blessing upon his house, and upon all his guests, who stood grouped behind him, after which all the guests answered in chorus, "And so be it." Thereupon all the men standing outside the house fired off their guns and pistols to show their joy, shouting: "May Christmas be welcome to you."

After this Uros brought in his own log and the same ceremony had once more to be gone through.

The logs were then festively placed upon the hearth, where they had to burn the whole night, and even till the next morning.

In the meantime a copious supper was prepared and set upon the table. In the very midst, taking the place of an epergne, there was a large loaf, all trimmed up with ivy and evergreens, and in the centre of this loaf there were thrust three wax candles carefully twisted into one, so as to form a taper, which was lit in honour of the Holy Trinity. Christmas Eve being a fast day, the meal consisted of fish cooked in different ways.

First, there was a pillau with scallops, then cod – which is always looked upon as the staple fare of evening – after which followed pickled tunny, eels, and so forth. The starescina, taking a mouthful of every dish that was brought upon the table, went to throw it upon the burning log, so that it might bring him a prosperous year; his son then followed his example.

After all had eaten and were filled, they gathered around the hearth and squatted down upon the straw with which the floor was strewn – for, in honour of Christ, the room had been made to look as much as possible like a manger, or a stable. They again greeted each other with the usual compliments, "for many years," and so forth, and black coffee was served in Turkish fashion, that is, in tiny cups, held by a kind of silver, or silvered metal, egg-cup instead of a saucer. Most everyone loosened his girdle, some took off their shoes, and all made themselves comfortable for the night. Thereupon Milenko, who was somewhat of a bard and who had studied an epic song for the occasion, one of those heroic and wild junaske, took his guzla, and gave the company the story of "Marko Kraglievic and the Moor of Primoryé," as follows: —

KRAGLIEVIC MARKO I CRNI ARAPINAn Arab lord had once in Primoryé,    A mighty castle by the spray-swept shore;  Its many lofty halls were bright and gay,    And Moorish lads stood watching at each door.  Albeit its wealth, mirth never echoed there;    Its lord was prone to be of pensive mood,  And oft his frown would freeze the very air;    On secret sorrow he e'er seemed to brood.  At times to all his svati would he say:   "What do I care for all this wide domain,  Or for my guards on steeds in bright array?    Much more than dazzling pomp my heart would fain  Have some fond tie so that the time might seem    Less tedious in its flight. I am alone.  A mother's heart, a sister's, or, I deem,    A bride's would be far more than all I own."  Thus unto him his liegemen made reply:    "O, mighty lord! they say that Russia's Czar  Has for his heir, a daughter meek and shy,    Of beauty rare, just like the sparkling star  That gleams at dawn and shines at eventide.    Now, master, we do wait for thy behest.  Does thy heart crave to have this maid for bride?    Say, shall we sally forth unto her quest?"  The master mused a while, then answered: "Aye,    By Allah! fetch this Russian for my mate!  Tell her she'll be the dame of Primoryé,    The mistress of my heart and my estate.  But stop. – If Russia should not grant his child,    Then tell him I shall kill his puny knights,  And waste his lands. Say that my love is wild,    Hot as the Lybian sun, deep as the night!"  Now, after riding twenty days and more,    The svati reached at last their journey's end,  Then straightway to the Russian King they bore    Such letters as their lord himself had penned.  The great Czar having read the Moor's demand,    And made it known to all his lords at Court,  Could, for a while, but hardly understand    This strange request; he deemed it was in sport.  A blackamoor to wed his daughter fair!    "I had as lief," said he, "the meanest lad  Of my domains as son-in-law and heir,    Than this grim Moor, who must in sooth be mad."  But soon his wrath was all changed into grief,    On learning to his dread and his dismay,  That not a knight would stir to his relief,    No one would fight the Moor of Primoryé!  Howe'er the Queen upon that very night    Did dream a dream. Within Prilipù town,  Beyond the Balkan mounts, she saw a knight,    Whose mighty deeds had won him great renown.  (Kraglievic Marko was the hero's name);    His flashing sword was always seen with awe  By faithless Turks, who dreaded his great fame;    And in her dream that night the Queen then saw  This mighty Serb come forth to save her child.    Then did the Czarin to her lord relate  The vision which her senses had beguiled,    And both upon it long did meditate.  Upon the morrow, then, the Czar did write    To Marko, asking him to come and slay  This haughty Moor, as not a Russian knight    Would deign to fight the lord of Primoryé.  As meed he promised him three asses stout,    Each laden with a sack of coins of gold.  As soon as Marko read this note throughout,    These words alone the messenger he told:  "What if this Arab killed me in the strife,    And from my shoulders he do smite my head.  Will golden ducats bring me back to life?    What do I care for gold when I am dead?"  The herald to the King this answer bore.    Thereon the Queen wrote for her daughter's sake:  "Great Marko, I will give thee three bags more,    Six bags in all, if you but undertake  To free my daughter from such heinous fate,    As that of having to become the bride  Of such a man as that vile renegade."    To Prilipù the messenger did ride,  But Marko gave again the same reply.    The Czar then summoned forth his child to him:  "Now 'tis thy turn," said he; "just write and try    To get the Serb to kill this man whose whim  Is to have thee for wife." The maid thus wrote:    "O Marko, brother mine, do come at once.  I beg you for the love that you devote    To God and to St. John, come for the nonce  To free me from the Moor of Primoryé.    Seven sacks of gold I'll give you for this deed,  And, if I can this debt of mine repay,    A shirt all wrought in gold will be your meed.  Moreover, you shall have my father's sword;    And as a pledge thereon the King's great seal,  Which doth convey to all that Russia's lord    Doth order and decree that none shall deal  Its bearer harm; no man shall ever slay    You in his wide domains. Come, then, with speed  To free me from the lord of Primoryé."    To Prilipù the herald did proceed  With all due haste; he rode by day and night,    Through streams and meads, through many a bushy dell;  At last at Marko's door he did alight.    When Marko read the note, he answered: "Well – "  Then mused a while, then bade the young page go.    But said the youth: "What answer shall I give?"  "Just say I answered neither yes nor no."    The Princess saw that she would ne'er outlive  Her dreadful doom, and walking on the strand,    There, 'midst her sobs, she said: "O thou deep sea,  Receive me in thy womb, lest the curst brand    Of being this man's wife be stamped on me."  Just when about to plunge she lifts her eyes,    And lo! far off, a knight upon a steed,  Armed cap-à-pie, advancing on, she spies.    "Why weepest thou, O maid? tell me thy need,  And if my sword can be of any use."    "Thanks, gentle sir. Alas! one knight alone  Can wield his brand for me; but he eschews     To fight."                "A coward, then, is he."                                         "'Tis known  That he is brave."                      "His name?"                                    "He did enrich    The soil with Turkish blood at Cossovo.  You sure have heard of Marko Kraglievic."    Thereon he kissed her hand and answered low:  "Well, I am he; and I come for your sake.    Go, tell the Czar to give thee as a bride  Unto the Moor; then merry shall we make    In some mehan, and there I shall abide  The coming of the lord of Primoryé."    The Princess straightway told the Czar, and he  At once gave orders that they should obey    All that the Serb might bid, whate'er it be.  That night with all his men the Arab came —    Five hundred liegemen, all on prancing steeds;  The Czar did welcome them as it became    Men high in rank, and of exalted deeds.  Then, after that, they all went to the inn.    "Ah!" said the Moor, as they were on their way,  "How all are scared, and shut themselves within    Their homes; all fear the men of Primoryé."  But, as they reached the door of the mehan,    The Arab, on his horse, would cross the gate,  When, on the very sill, he saw a man    Upon a steed. This sight seemed to amate  The Arab lord. But still he said: "Stand off!    And let me pass."                     "For you, this is no place,  Miscreant heathen dog!"                                 At such a scoff  Each angry liegeman lifted up his mace.    Thereon 'twixt them and him ensued a fight,  Where Marko dealt such blows that all around    The din was heard, like thunder in the night.  He hacked and hewed them down, until a mound    Of corpses lay amid a pool of blood,  For trickling from each fearful gash it streamed,    And wet the grass, and turned the earth in mud  Of gore; whilst all this time each falchion gleamed,    For Marko's sword was ruthless in the fray,  And when it fell, there all was cleaved in twain;    No coat of mail such strokes as his could stay,  Nor either did he stop to ascertain    If all the blood that trickled down each limb  Was but that of the foe and not his own.    And thus he fought, until the day grew dim,  And thus he fought, and thus he stood alone    Against them all; till one by one they fell,  As doth the corn before the reaper's scythe,    Whilst their own curses were their only knell!  The Serb, howe'er, was still both strong and lithe,    When all the swarthy Arabs round him lay.  "Now 'tis thy time to die, miscreant knight!"    He called unto the Moor of Primoryé.  With golden daggers they began to fight;    They thrust and parried both with might and main;  But soon the Arab sank to writhe in pain.    Then Marko forthwith over him did bend  To stab him through the heart. Then off he took    His head, on which he threw a light cymar  (For 'twas, indeed, a sight that few could brook):    Thus covered up, he took it to the Czar.  Then Marko got the Princess for his wife —    Besides the gold that was to be his meed,  And from that day most happy was his life,    Known far and wide for many a knightly deed.

The merry evening came to an end; in the meanwhile the weather had undergone another transformation. The cold having set in, the thin sleet had all at once changed into snow. The tiny patches of ice and the little droplets of rain had swelled out into large fleecy flakes, which kept fluttering about hither and thither, helter-skelter, before they came down to the ground; they seemed, indeed, to be chasing one another all the time, with the grace of spring butterflies. Even when the flakes did fall it was not always for long, for the wind, creeping slily along the earth, often lifted them up and drove them far away, whirling them into eddies, till at last they were allowed to settle down in heaps, blocking up doors and windows; or else, flying away, they ensconced themselves in every nook and corner, in every chink and cranny.