Story of Bulat the Brave Companion

And when Ivan had drunk enough, he told the squire to draw him up; but the squire answered: “Nay, I will not draw you out until you give me your word in writing that you are my servant and I am your master, and that my name is Ivan Tsarevich; if you refuse this I will drown you in the well.”

“My dear squire,” cried Ivan, “do not drown me, but draw me up, and I will do all you desire.” “No, I don’t believe you,” said the squire; “swear me an oath.” So Ivan swore that he would be true.

Thereupon the squire drew him out, and Ivan Tsarevich took a piece of paper, wrote the writing, and gave it to the squire. Then he took off his own cloak, and exchanged it for the squire’s, and they went on their way. After some days they came to the kingdom of the Tsar Panthui. And when the Tsar heard of the arrival of Ivan Tsarevich he went out to meet him; and, greeting the false Tsarevich, he took him by the white hands, conducted him into his marble halls, seated him at his oaken table, and they feasted and made merry. Then Tsar Panthui asked the false Tsarevich what had brought him to his kingdom, and he answered: “My gracious lord, I am come to sue for the hand of your daughter, the fair Princess Tseria.”

“Gladly will I give you my daughter to wife,” replied Panthui.

In the course of their talk the false Ivan said to the Tsar Panthui: “Let my servant, I pray, do the lowest work in the kitchen, for he has greatly annoyed me on my journey.” So the Tsar immediately commanded Ivan to be set to do the most menial work, whilst his squire feasted and made merry with the Tsar.

A few days after this an army was seen marching against the kingdom of Panthui, threatening to lay it waste and take the Tsar prisoner. Thereupon Panthui called the false Ivan and said: “My dear future son-in-law, a hostile army has come to attack my dominions: drive the enemy back and I will give you my daughter, but only on this condition.” And the squire answered; “Well and good, I will do as you desire; but only by night—in the day I have no luck in fight.