The rescue and release of captives from the Tartar hordes was a popular theme in medieval Russian folk songs, ballads and within the Bogatyr circles. The name of "Kazarin" was mentioned in a chronicle in 1106 A.D., meaning that the below story is based on a historical event. Translation. Of a most unique tale. This story is written in the same medieval format as it was originally so many adventurous years ago.
From the far and beyond, out of the land of Galich,
out of Liberty City.
As a bright falcon ascended,
wings spread as the presentation of angelic flight,
out rode the exuberant knight.
The young Mikhailo Kazarin!
The steed underneath him,
a vicious beast.
just as striking as the falcon overhead.
Strong armor on his mighty shoulders,
scaled and plated armor of the purest silver.
The chain mail made of fiery red gold,
the price for such attire is in the hundred thousands.
His strong willed head is crowned with a helmet.
This helmet is worth a hefty price as well.
A Murzavet. The Tartar's spear is in his hand.
It glows like a candle.
On his left thigh a sharp saber is belted.
Its length is sealed, official in overall span.
Eight digits in width.
The bow that he carries is tight, heavy.
Its worth is in the young thousands, for a reason.
Made of Damascus steel, the tendon as tough as a plowing elephant.
Shafts of pure gold, bowstring of woven silk.
White, Shemakha silk it was.
A quiver of forged, bolted arrows is with him.
The quiver holds one hundred and fifty arrows,
each a price of five rubles.
That steed underneath him, the vicious beast.
This steed cannot be priced.
Why can't this steed be priced?
While crossing the stream, he asks not for the shallow.
Instead, he jumps from shore to shore.
Fifteen miles wide, a possible.
He rides toward the city of Kiev.
Here, he will pay homage to Prince Vladimir.
He'll serve him truthfully with trust.
In fair sight serve the prince,
not with treason.
Soon, he reaches the city of Kiev after meeting with the miracle makers.
Into the royal court he goes.
Kazarin dismounts the steed,
ties him to an oak pole,
to an oak pole with a forged ring.
He finds his way into the bright royal meeting room.
He'll meet the great Prince Vladimir and pray to the icons of the Savior.
He bows to the Prince and Princess,
here and there, to all four sides of the room.
The tender Prince talks to the Bogatyr:
"Of our blood you are. Our kindred. Luck bringer, good lad."
"Where did you arrive from? Where did God bring you from?"
"And what name, good man, carry you?"
"Based on your name, a place will be provided for you at the table."
"Upon your family name, you'll be greeted."
And the young bogatyr replied:
"My name is Mikhailo Kazarin. My soul is Petrovich."
In those days the capital Prince Vladimir had no help,
no help to pour the drink or serve the food.
He poured a grail of green wine himself.
No big measure, one and a half bucket.
Testing the mighty bogatyr.
Would he drink the full measure of wine?
This was followed,
followed by half of a bucket in a bull's horn of honey beer.
Kazarin takes the drink with one hand,
finishing it all with one gulp.
And the bull's horn full of honey beer.
The tender Prince Vladimir says to him:
"Of our blood you are, young Mikhailo Kazarin!
A task I ask for you to perform in my absence.
Ride to the blue sea.
Shoot us some geese and white swans.
And some small ones marked by migration.
These, for my royal table.
I will grant you great riches with love!"
The young Mikhailo Kazarin would not disobey the great Prince.
Praying to the Lord, venture out he did.
He sat upon his good steed.
He journeyed back to the blue sea.
To the warmth of the marsh lands.
Here, at the edge of the sea,
to his great luck,
birds flocked to the shore.
He shot plenty of geese, swans and migrating duck.
The royal table would be a satisfied one.
He tied his game to the steed.
It laid from it's mighty shoulders to the wet ground.
He traveled back from the blue sea,
back to the capital city of Kiev.
To the tender Prince Vladimir he would go.
In a field, he came upon a damp, gnarled Oak.
A black crow sat upon one of the branches.
It moved one foot and then another,
adjusting the feathers on it's body.
It's beak appeared as if it were on fire!
Kazarin took this as a bad omen.
He became greatly annoyed by this.
Kazarin murmured under his breath:
"As long as I've ridden about the fields,
that belong to the Prince,
this I have not yet seen.
This, black crow."
Kazarin then took out his tight bow.
From his quiver he took a forged, bolted arrow.
He is about to shoot the crow?
He pulls tight on his bow,
aiming the arrow.
He pulls the string behind his ear,
the arrow is pointed through the crow.
The head of the arrow begins to whine.
The threads of the Damascus steel begin to squeak.
Kazarin almost lets the arrow go!
When the crow spoke these words:
"Of our blood you are king bogatyr!
Do not shoot me, the black crow.
You will not drink of my blood.
You will not eat of my meat.
You will not even mourn me.
I will tell you of a gain for a bogatyr.
Drive you should, on top of a great hill.
Look around the great wastelands.
You will see three white tents in a field.
There stands a pavilion, like an expensive fish tooth.
At the pavilion, three Tartars sit,
like three hounds, horse riders all.
In front of them walks a beautiful maiden.
A Russian-Polish maiden.
The youthful, Martha Petrovichna."
Kazarin listened to the black crow.
He refused to shoot the bird.
He went to the top of the great hill.
He looked upon the wide lands.
And there he saw the three tents.
The pavilion stood like an expensive fish tooth.
And yes, the Russian-Polish maiden.
In tears she is,
unable to speak.
She mumbles shamefully, a lamentation.
"O treacherous strong willed head of mine.
Bitter sorrow my Russian braid.
Just last night my mother was combing it, braiding it.
I being a maiden know,
Undoing the braid, will the Tartar riders be."
The Tartars speak their tongue.
The first one says:
"Do not cry you beautiful maiden,
do not mourn your white face with sorrow.
Azdela the Tartar will have you.
I will not sell you cheap maiden.
I will give you to my beloved son.
A peaceful son, in the Golden Horde.
From the high mountain,
Like a fair falcon descends.
On the blue sea geese and swans.
On a clear field descends,
The young Mikhailo Kazarin."
The young bogatyr does the following:
He directs his good steed,
giving him a bogatyr's whip.
He carries the spear of Murzavets.
The first Tartar he nails with the spear.
The other dog runs over with his steed.
The third he lifts up and throws hard on the ground.
He dismounts the steed.
He takes the maiden by her delicate hand.
This Russian-Polish maiden.
He takes her to the white tent.
He is about to sin with her.
The beautiful maiden cries:
"It is not of your good honor, bogatyr.
Have you asked of whom or where I am from?
Am I a Princess daughter or of a boyar?
Have I been the daughter, a guest from a far?
From the Liberty City, from Galich.
I am the young Martha Petrovichna."
Kazarin listened to the young maiden, and said:
"Of my blood you are beautiful maiden,
The young Martha Petrovichna."
"You are a sister of mine.
How did the Tartars acquire you?"
His sister spoke:
"I was walking at night in the garden,
with the Queen mother.
Then, from a far field,
As if black crows descended,
We were run over by three Tartar riders!
Took me, the maiden, hostage.
Took me out to the far fields,
This is how the Tartars got me.
The three, dog-like riders."
The young Mikhailo Kazarin,
he gathered all the gold and silver from the tents.
He placed into bags.
Leather bags, with handles.
And takes also, the pavilion-an expensive fish tooth.
Places the maiden on the steed,
On the Russian bogatyr's steed.
Himself climbs upon a Tartar's horse.
Takes the other two horses by the leash,
Ventures out to Kiev city.
The Royal Sotnik, this colonel, and the gatekeepers,
Reported this arrival to Prince Vladimir.
That Mikhailo Kazarin has arrived!
While Mikhail was taking his beloved sister from the steed,
Ambassadors of Prince Vladimir greeted him.
They lead him to the bright meeting chamber.
Kazarin and his sister bowed before the Prince and Queen Apraksavna:
"Greetings to you, tender Prince Vladimir.
Along with soul Queen Apraksavna.
Wherever you sent me I did my part.
I shot geese and white swans.
And the migrating gray ducks.
And a great bogatyr gain I received.
I killed three Tartars in a field.
The three, dog-like, horse riders!
And saved my fair sister.
The young Martha Petrovichna!"
Vladimir, Prince of the capital Kiev.
Became joyful and delighted about the story.
He poured a goblet of green wine, of half a bucket.
And a bull's horn of sweet honey beer.
He gave it to Mikhailo Kazarin.
He drank it with one gulp!
Then they went out to the wide court.
Out came the Prince with his Queen.
They saw the beautiful steeds.
Fine Tartar steeds.
The Prince orders the bridles to be taken off.
The bags to be taken off!
To be taken to the bright meeting rooms.
Take the pavilion-the expensive fish tooth,
He orders the steeds to be taken to the royal stable.
"Of our blood you are lucky bogatyr!
Young Mikhailo Kazarin.
Soul Petrovich, young Kazarin!
I have three hundred steeds in my stable.
And three that I love most.
Not one of them is as good as these.
Your duty has been served!
You served your Prince with truth and faith."