by Lari Don
The tsar summoned the rich farmer to bring the foal before him, and told both farmers to make their claim to the foal.
The rich farmer said, “The foal was found on my land, under my cart. It’s obvious the cart gave birth to the foal and therefore the foal belongs to me. My neighbour certainly can’t prove otherwise.”
The poor farmer said, “But… but… but… surely it’s obvious that the mare gave birth to the foal. That’s just common sense.”
The young tsar hid a grin with a stern frown. “Common sense and legal logic are not the same thing. I will set you both a test, to decide who gets the foal. I will ask three riddles, and the farmer who gives the best answers tomorrow morning will have proved his right to this fine long-legged foal.
“You must answer these three questions:
What is the strongest thing in the world?
What is the fattest thing in the world?
And what is the hardest thing to find?”
The two farmers, rich and poor, went home to puzzle over the answers, leaving the disputed foal to be cared for in the tsar’s stables.
The rich farmer discussed the answers over a three-course meal of soup, meat and cake with his wife. The poor farmer discussed the answers over a plate of bread and cheese with his daughter.
“How will I ever answer those riddles?” said the poor farmer. “Whenever I look at the tsar, my knees go weak and I start to stutter.”
“I will give you the answers,” said his daughter. “Speak them loud and clear, and if you feel nervous, just imagine me beside you, holding your hand and giving you courage.”
So, the next day, the young tsar asked both farmers:
“What is the strongest thing in the world?”
The rich farmer said, “My grey stallion, because he can pull a cart with my wife AND both her big sisters in it.”
The poor farmer said, “The wind, because it can knock over the tallest tree.” The tsar raised his eyebrows and smiled.
“What is the fattest thing in the world?”
The rich farmer said, “My spotted pig, because she eats more than me every single day, and she’ll make good eating herself one day.”
The poor farmer said, “The earth, because she feeds all of us, every day.” The tsar looked out at the fields beyond his palace and nodded.
“And what is the hardest thing to find?”
The rich farmer said, “My black cat, because I’m always tripping over her in the dark.”
The poor farmer said, “The hardest thing to find is justice from a foolish judge.”
The tsar breathed in sharply. “Is that your own answer, farmer, or did someone else put you up to that impertinent reply? Did someone else suggest all your smart answers?”
The farmer stuttered, “Yes, but… but… but… she meant no harm…”
“Who? Who gave you these answers?”
“My daughter, sir. She’s still just a girl, sir, and she wants our foal back, and she was only trying to help.”
“Let’s see how smart she really is. I will set another riddle, and unless your daughter can transform herself into the answer, I will give the foal to your neighbour, who does seem to have a clear legal claim.”
The tsar set one more riddle:
“She must visit my palace
Neither on horseback nor on foot
Neither clothed nor naked
Neither bearing a gift nor empty-handed
And greet me neither indoors nor outdoors.”
The poor farmer walked home, almost in tears, and told his daughter that she had to become the answer to another of the young tsar’s riddles.
He repeated the riddle to her and she laughed. “If the tsar wants to play games, I can play games too.”
The next day the girl set off towards the palace, riding on the back of a goat, wrapped firmly in a large fishing net and carrying a dove in her cupped hands. She stopped the goat in the doorway of the palace. When the tsar arrived to meet his guest, she held the dove up as if to present it to him, then let it go. The dove fluttered away.
“I am here,” she said. “On a goat, rather than on horseback or on foot. I’m not wearing clothes, but this net means I’m not naked either. I didn’t come empty-handed, because that would be rude, but I doubt you’ll be able to catch that dove and keep it as a pet. And I greet you, great tsar, from your grand doorway, which is neither indoors nor outdoors. So, I am the answer to your riddle. Now will you give my father his foal?”
The young tsar laughed. “I’ve not yet made my judgement on that complex case. But I’ll be more likely to favour your father’s version of events, if you can take these dozen new-laid eggs home with you today, hatch them out tonight and bring me back the fully fledged geese tomorrow morning.”
She smiled. “I will hatch the eggs, if you promise to feed the geese on fish harvested from the trees of your orchard.”
The tsar frowned. “Fish? Growing on trees? Don’t be foolish!”
“I’m no more foolish than a man who believes a cart can give birth to a foal. And I’m certainly not as foolish as a tsar who wastes time amusing himself with daft riddles while a poor family loses their horse.”
The tsar nodded. “You’re right. I’ve been playing with words when I should have been solving problems, giving out riddles when I should have been giving out justice. I’m sorry. Of course your father has the right to the foal his mare gave birth to.” He turned to his servants. “Give the farmer his foal, and enough money to buy fodder for the rest of the horse’s life.”
He looked back at the girl. “But I do like riddles and I do admire someone who can answer them. Please, would you visit the palace again, so we can ask each other more riddles?”
“Do I have to arrive on a bad-tempered goat, wearing a smelly fishing net, carrying a pecky bird in my hands, then spend the visit in a draughty doorway?”
“No, you may arrive and dress as you please, and you will be my honoured guest.”
So the girl visited the young tsar every week, and as the foal grew, so did she. After they’d solved many riddles together, the tsar asked her one straightforward question. He asked her if she would like to be his tsarina.
I can’t tell you if she said yes, or no, or answered with a riddle.
But I can tell you that the long-legged foal grew up strong and beautiful and lived happily ever after.
The Horse of Fire
Finnish myth
Lemminkäinen, the hero, wanted to marry the daughter of Louhi, the old woman of the forest, so Louhi set him a task to win her daughter’s hand. She ordered Lemminkäinen to find the Fire Horse of Hiisi, the flaming young horse of the meadows, then catch him, tame him and ride him to her gate.
So Lemminkäinen made a silver jewelled bridle and set off to tame the horse of fire.
He walked for days to reach the meadows of Hiisi, then he walked for days through the meadows, searching for the horse. He found burnt hoofprints on the ground, but he couldn’t find the young horse among the rolling hills.
He climbed a nearby mountain and watched the meadows, looking for the burning mane of the Fire Horse of Hiisi.
At last he saw a bright light in the distance. He leapt down the mountain and ran towards it.
He found a chestnut horse with a mane of gold and red flame, little sparks dancing all over his flanks, a long burning tail and smouldering black hooves.
The young horse looked at the hero without fear. Lemminkäinen smiled at the horse and held out his hand. The young horse sniffed him. Lemminkäinen grimaced as the horse’s skin scorched his fingers.
The horse was gorgeous, strong, friendly and curious. But he was also covered in blisteringly hot fire.
While the horse was on fire, Lemminkäinen couldn’t ride him or even touch him.
So the hero raised his hands to the sky and called on the god Ukku for help. “Lord Ukku, please send hail to douse these flames.”
Dark clouds galloped across the sky, covered the s
un and began to throw down hailstones. Tiny specks of hail, to put out the sparks on the young horse’s flanks. Hailstones the size of teeth, to put out the flames on his tail. Hailstones the size of fists, to put out the flames on his mane.
As the icy hailstones neared the horse of fire, they melted and dripped onto the flames. The fire burnt lower, then died. The Fire Horse of Hiisi became a soggy brown horse, standing sad and bedraggled in the hail-crushed flowers of the meadow.
As the hailstorm slowed and ceased, Lemminkäinen whispered, “Beautiful horse, allow me to replace your lost fire with these glittering jewels. Allow me to place this silver bridle around your neck, and I promise I will treat you gently, I will never strike you and we will travel together on many quests.”
The Fire Horse of Hiisi looked at the gems, which sparkled almost as brightly as his lost fire. He listened to the man’s kind and gentle promises. So he put his head in the jewelled bridle, and let Lemminkäinen leap onto his back and guide him towards the house of Louhi.
As they trotted from the meadow, the clouds drifted away and the sun came out.
The horse’s mane and tail began to dry.
The sun shone on the bridle, but the jewels were dull compared to the sparks and flames that started to smoulder along the horse’s mane.
The horse was delighted to have his fire back, so he bucked and reared and danced on his hot hooves.
Lemminkäinen knew he couldn’t sit on this horse for long, now the fire was burning again, so he yelled, “Gallop straight ahead, horse, get me to Louhi’s house!”
But the horse gambolled and pirouetted, letting the fire from his mane trail in circles, burning Lemminkäinen’s hands.
The hero gritted his teeth and ordered, “Horse, gallop to the house of Louhi.”
But the Fire Horse of Hiisi was happy with his returning flames and he ignored the man on his back.
So Lemminkäinen hit the Fire Horse of Hiisi.
The hero struck the horse with a willow stick. He kicked the horse. He shouted harsh words.
The hero had broken his promise. He hadn’t treated the horse of fire gently.
The horse stopped. The horse stood still.
Then the horse of fire took a deep breath, so the flames burned faster and higher all over his body. The silver on the bridle melted. The leather burned. The jewels dropped to the ground. The willow stick turned to ash. And the flames scorched the man on his back.
Lemminkäinen screamed and leapt off the horse of fire.
The Fire Horse of Hiisi galloped back to the meadows, sparks trailing behind him.
Lemminkäinen limped back to the house of Louhi and asked for a different task to win her daughter. This new quest took him to a river, where he hunted for a swan and found his own death instead.
But the Fire Horse of Hiisi still gallops around the meadows, his mane a waterfall of fire, his hoofprints burning into the earth. He is wild and free and happy. And he will never again believe the promises of men.
Flint Feet
Navajo myth
Once there was a time when there were no horses.
When the first horse was created, she couldn’t stand. She had the long legs and the strong back of the horses that would come, but she couldn’t stand on her feet.
The first people found the new horse lying on the ground, gazing at the grass but not able to reach it, gazing at the plains but not able to run on them.
The people lifted the horse onto her feet, but her feet were small and soft and weak and couldn’t hold her weight. The people decided to find better feet for the horse, so she could become the fast-running, beautiful beast that her legs promised.
The first people discussed the best material for strong feet. They decided that hard sharp flint stones would work.
They saw the caterpillar crawling past and called to him, “We want to help this new creature, by giving her the feet she needs to run and jump. Can you go to the hills and fetch four flints?”
The caterpillar said, “I’d like to help, but I won’t get there and back very fast crawling on the ground.” The caterpillar looked longingly from the earth up to the sky. “I’d be more help to you if I had wings.”
So the first people sang a song over the caterpillar and the caterpillar changed into a butterfly, with wings to carry him fast over the grass to the hills.
The butterfly flew away and returned with four grey flints. The people placed the stones gently on the soft ends of the first horse’s legs.
Now the horse had hooves, and she walked and trotted and cantered and galloped, and she reared and bucked and jumped, and she kicked her hooves up in joy. And she let the first people ride her, because they had given her hooves.
And that is why the hoofprint of an unshod horse looks like the wing of a butterfly, so we remember who brought the first horse her hooves.
Bradamante and the Hippogriff
European legend
More than a thousand years ago, the Emperor Charlemagne ruled most of Europe. The emperor chose the fastest riders, the strongest warriors, the most honourable and skilled knights, to be his champions. One of his most valued champions was the Lady Bradamante.
One day Bradamante was galloping through the forest, on a white charger, with a white shield and a white plume on her helmet, on a mission for her emperor.
She met a knight galloping the other way on a mission for his prince.
The two knights circled each other and drew their swords. But the knights’ horses were slowing, their heads hanging.
Bradamante said, “I think our horses are tired.”
The other knight said, “Perhaps they need a rest.”
So both knights agreed they would let their horses rest before duelling. They dismounted, they loosened their horses’ girths, they unbuckled their swords and laid them aside, then they sat down against a wide tree trunk.
The young knight introduced himself as Rogero, and Bradamante introduced herself. They shared bread and wine, and they chatted. And though her emperor and his prince were at war, they both realised they could be friends. Possibly even more than friends. So they decided not to test their blades against each other.
But they had their missions to accomplish, so once their horses were rested, Bradamante and Rogero galloped away from each other.
A few weeks later, Bradamante heard a rumour that an enchanter on a winged horse was kidnapping knights. The next day, she heard a ballad about a magician mounted on a giant eagle, who was stealing noblemen. She didn’t pay much attention, until she heard a squire whisper that a wizard on a flying monster had attacked and captured the Moorish knight Rogero.
That evening, Bradamante asked Charlemagne for a leave of absence to discover whether these rumours of a magician using a winged creature to steal knights were true and, if so, to rescue the knights.
The emperor granted her leave to free these captives in his name.
So Bradamante galloped away from the army on her white horse, towards the source of the stories, the mountainous land where most of the disappearances were reported. She stopped in the nearest town, stabled her horse and listened to the rumours, ballads, gossip and stories in the local marketplace.
Soon she’d heard enough to piece together a few facts:
There was a doorless castle high in the mountains, built on a pinnacle of rock so it wasn’t accessible to anyone except its owner on his winged steed.
No one could agree what the winged steed was. A horse, or a bird, or some kind of monster?
But they did agree that the magician who had built the castle was filling it with captive knights. And he defeated the knights with a magical shield, polished so bright that when he removed its silk wrapper, an uncanny light blinded his opponents and they fell to the ground, helpless.
As she listened to the stories, Bradamante wondered how she could possibly defeat a magician with a magical shield, and how she could rescue Rogero from a castle with no way in.
Then she noticed someone
else listening to the stories. A small man, in a purple silk robe, with a long curling beard.
The small man laughed at the storytellers. “Magic can only be defeated by magic. So I, Brunello, am the only one who can defeat the enchanter. I have been sent on this rescue mission by the Moorish prince himself, and the magic ring I will use to defeat the enchanter was the prince’s gift to me. Every knight I rescue will owe their life to the Moorish prince, so they will give him their loyalty, they will fight for him and bring him victory.
“I will therefore defeat this enchanter and Charlemagne in one act.”
Brunello strode out of the marketplace. Bradamante called after him, “I will accompany you into the mountains and help rescue these brave knights.”
She didn’t really want to help Brunello. She didn’t want a whole castle of knights owing loyalty to her emperor’s enemy. Also, she wanted Rogero to owe loyalty to her and to her emperor, then she and Rogero wouldn’t have to fight on opposite sides.
But it wouldn’t be honourable for a chivalrous knight like Bradamante to attack this small, unarmed man, so she walked beside him, chatting politely.
Suddenly Brunello said, “Look! In that cave down there, at the bottom of this cliff, there’s a damsel in distress!”
Bradamante said, “I don’t see anyone.”
Brunello said, “She was dragged into the cave by some monster or ruffian. Don’t you hear her weeping?”
Bradamante could hear a soft sighing, which might be the trees or might not. She said, “If there may be a girl in trouble, we must help her.”
So Bradamante chopped down a tall slim tree with her sword, dangled it over the edge of the cliff and asked Brunello to hold the end as she climbed down.
When she was halfway down, the man in purple laughed. “I won’t let anyone share my glory when I rescue these knights!”
He let go, and the tree and Bradamante plummeted to the bottom of the cliff. She fell through the air to the hard rocks beneath.
But the branches and twigs broke Bradamante’s fall, she clambered back up the cliff and chased after Brunello. She could quite honourably attack him now, after he’d betrayed her and tried to kill her.