Katomá at once went, took the pillar in his two hands, brought it into the kitchen and split it up. But he kept back four iron shafts and put them into his pocket, for he thought: “Later I may make use of them!”
Next day the Tsarévna said, “Dear Tsarévich, my chosen husband, tomorrow we shall marry. I shall go in a carriage to church, and you will have a fine prancing steed given you. You must get him ready yourself.”
“I must get the horse ready! Oh, my servant can do that!”
So Iván Tsarévich called Katomá, and said: “Come into the stable and command the grooms to bring the horse out; ride it, and tomorrow I will go to church on it.”
But Katomá could see the guile in the Tsarévna’s heart, and instantly went into the stable and ordered them to bring the horse out. Twelve grooms opened the twelve locks, undid twelve doors, and led the magical horse out by twelve chains. Katomá went up to him, and as soon as ever he had swung himself on to the horse’s back the steed rose high into the air, higher than the treetops in the forest, lower than the clouds in heaven. But Katomá had a firm seat, and with one hand he held the mane, and with the other he fetched an iron sheet out of his pocket and struck the palfrey between the ears.
One sheet broke, then he took a second and a third; and after the third broke he was taking the fourth. The horse was so tired that it could not resist him any more, but spoke in a human voice: “Father Katomá, leave me some life, and I will come down to earth and whatever you will I will do.”
“Listen then, wretched animal!” Katomá answered. “Tomorrow Iván Tsarévich will ride you to his wedding. Listen! When the servants take you into the broad courtyard, and he comes up to you and lays his hand on you, stand still: do not prick your ear. When he mounts, kneel down with your hoofs on the ground, and step under him with a heavy tread as if you were bearing a burdensome load.” So the horse sank half-dead on to the earth. Katomá, seated by the tail, hailed the grooms and said, “Ho, you there! grooms and coachmen, take this carrion into the stable.”
Next day came, and the hour for going to church. The Tsarévna had a carriage ready, and the Tsarévich was given the magical horse. And from all parts of the country the people had assembled in multitudes, countless multitudes, to see the bride and bridegroom leave the white stone palace. And the Tsarévna went into the carriage and was waiting to see what would happen to Iván Tsarévich. She thought to herself that the horse would prance him up against the winds, and that she could already see his bones scattered in the open fields.
Iván Tsarévich went up to the horse, laid his hand on its back, put his foot into the stirrup, and the magical horse stood there as though he were made of stone, and never pricked an ear. The Tsarévich mounted it, and the horse bowed deep to the earth. Then his twelve chains were taken off. And he stood with a heavy even tread, whilst the sweat ran down his back in streams.
“What a hero he is! What enormous strength!” all the people said as Iván Tsarévich paced by.
So the bride and the bridegroom were betrothed, and went hand-in-hand out of the church.
The Tsarévna still wanted to test her husband’s strength, and squeezed his hand, but she squeezed so hard that he could not stand it, and his blood mounted to his head, and his eyes almost fell out of their sockets. “That’s the manner of hero you are!” she thought. “Your man, Katomá Oaken-cap, has deceived me finely. But I shall soon be even with him.”
Ánna Tsarévna the Fair lived with her God-sent husband as a good wife should, and always listened to his words. But she was ever thinking how she might destroy Katomá. If she knew that, she could very easily dispose of the Tsarévich. But, however many slanders she might think of to tell him, Iván Tsarévich never believed her, but held Katomá fast.
One year later he said to his wife: “Dear wife, beautiful Tsarévna, I should like to go home with you.”
“Yes, we will go together. I have long wished to see your kingdom.”
So they set out, and Katomá sat behind the coachman. As they drove out Iván Tsarévich dozed off.
Then Ánna the Fair suddenly roused him from his sleep and complained. “Listen, Iván Tsarévich: you are always asleep and notice nothing. Katomá will not obey me, but is purposely taking the horses over all the cobbles and into all the ditches, as if he wanted to destroy us. I spoke to him very gently, but he only laughs at me. I will not go on living if you do not punish him!”
Iván Tsarévich was drowsy, and very angry with Katomá, and said to the king’s daughter: “Do with him as you will.”
So the king’s daughter at once made her servants cut off Katomá’s legs. He submitted to his torturers and thought: “If I must suffer, still the Tsarévich will soon learn something of what trouble is.”
His two legs were cut off: the Tsarévna looked round and noticed a lofty stump at the edge of the road. She bade her servants set Katomá on it. And as to the Tsarévich, she tied him to a rope behind the carriage, and so returned to her own kingdom. Katomá sat on his tree stem and wept bitter tears.
“Farewell, Iván Tsarévich: forget me not!”
Iván Tsarévich had to leap behind the carriage, and knew very well that he had made a mistake, but it could not be cured.
When Ánna the Fair had again reached her kingdom the Tsarévich had to mind
