“‘Why, in order that the bride and bridegroom might die. To-morrow morning no one will be able to wake them. I alone know how to bring them back to life.’
“‘How’s that managed?’
“‘The bride and bridegroom must have cuts made in their heels, and some of their blood must then be poured back into these wounds. I’ve got the bridegroom’s blood stowed away in my right-hand pocket, and the bride’s in my left.’
“The soldier listened to this without letting a single word escape him. Then the warlock began boasting again.
“‘Whatever I wish,’ says he, ‘that I can do.’
“‘I suppose it’s quite impossible to get the better of you,’ says the soldier.
“‘Impossible? If anyone were to make a pyre of aspen boughs, a hundred loads of them, and were to burn me on that pyre, then he’d be able to get the better of me. Only he’d have to look sharp in burning me, for snakes and worms and different kinds of reptiles would creep out of my inside, and crows and magpies and jackdaws would come flying up. All these must be caught and flung on the pyre. If so much as a single maggot were to escape, then there’d be no help for it. In that maggot I should slip away.’
“The soldier listened to all this and did not forget it. He and the warlock talked and talked, and at last they arrived at the grave.
“‘Well, brother,’ said the warlock, ‘now I’ll tear you to pieces, otherwise you’ll be telling all this.’