The people gathered, full of wonder and curiosity. They chose an embassy from the bravest men to fulfill the princess’s word. Libuše, however, gave them not only instructions but also her faithful white horse, a horse that had never known reins or whip. “Let him go where his heart leads him,” she said, “he himself will lead you to the man whom fate has chosen for me.” And so the embassy set out from Vyšehrad, followed by Libuše’s white horse, which walked forward with certainty, without anyone leading it.
The white horse indeed led the messengers along old paths, across fords and forests, until one sunny day it stopped in a field near Stadice. There, in the sweat of his brow, with hands firmly clasped around a wooden plow, a simple man was plowing the earth. It was Přemysl. When the embassy saw the plowman, tired from work, sit down for breakfast, they noticed a strange thing: instead of a table, he placed his iron plow for his meal. It was a clear sign that his rule would be firm and unyielding like iron.
The messengers approached him and respectfully told him that Princess Libuše summoned him to Vyšehrad to become her husband and the prince of the land. Přemysl, though surprised, accepted his destiny. But before he left, he plunged his plow into the ground and called to the oxen to release them. Then he took three young shoots from a hazel tree, which he placed on the plow to rest on them. However, when the messengers approached him, they noticed that two shoots had withered and the third had sprouted.