A great calamity descended upon the city of Kiev—the army of the Tatar Khan Idolishche had laid siege to its walls. The Khan had heard that Ilya Muromets, the mightiest of all bogatyrs, was not in Kiev, and his courage swelled. He summoned his scribe and dictated a letter to Prince Vladimir:
“Pack your belongings and leave your chambers, Prince. I am coming to Kiev. I will take the city, destroy its churches, and send you to the kitchen to cook my meals.”
As he wrote, so he did. Idolishche fell upon Kiev, seized the Prince’s palace, and put Prince Vladimir to work in the kitchen. The Prince wept, but he could not resist—without his bogatyrs, he had no strength to fight.
Meanwhile, Ilya Muromets was living at his parents’ home. From afar, he sensed that disaster had struck Kiev. He saddled his faithful horse and rode to see if his native land needed his aid.
As he approached Kiev, he met a poor beggar—a wandering pilgrim.
“Give me your ragged clothing,” Ilya said, “and take my fine garments in return.”
The beggar was astonished but gladly agreed. Ilya dressed in tatters and walked to the Prince’s palace. He stopped beneath the kitchen window and called out:
“Give me alms, Prince Vladimir!”
The Prince peered out from the kitchen window. He did not recognize Ilya in his rags.
“I cannot give you anything, good pilgrim!” he lamented. “I no longer live as I once did. I serve the foul Idolishche—I cook his meals for him.”
Ilya whispered back softly:
“Wait, Prince—I will rescue you! I am no pilgrim. I am Ilya Muromets!”
The Prince’s heart leaped with joy. Ilya strode into the Khan’s chamber.
“I have come to look upon you, Tsar Idolishche,” he declared, “to see what manner of man you are.”
Idolishche smirked.
“Look all you like. I do not chase you away.”
“I bring you ill tidings, Tsar Idolishche,” Ilya said. “Ilya Muromets is alive and well. He intends to return to Kiev tomorrow.”
“And how tall is this Ilya of yours?” the Khan asked. “How much does he eat? How much does he drink?”
The bogatyr answered:
“He is about my height. He eats one slice of bread at dinner and drinks one glass of beer.”
Idolishche laughed heartily:
“And I eat seven poods of bread! A whole bull for dinner! And I drink a pail and a half of beer in one gulp!”
Ilya Muromets chuckled:
“Well! My late father had a cow that was just as gluttonous. She ate and ate, until her belly burst.”
Idolishche’s face darkened with rage. He hurled his dagger at Ilya—but he missed. Ilya snatched his own cap and threw it at the Khan. The cap struck Idolishche squarely on the crown, knocking him clean out the window and into the street.
Ilya leaped out after him. He fell upon the enemy host, smashing and scattering them. He drove the Tatars out of Kiev and cleared the city of its oppressors.
Prince Vladimir ordered the great bell to ring. The city rejoiced, and a glorious feast was held in honor of Ilya Muromets, who had once again saved Kiev from destruction.