Told by the death's head

by Mór Jókai

My comrades received me with gratulatory shouts when they saw me walking on two healthy legs. I told them I had been healed by magic—by the incantations of a witch, and they believed me! Had I told the truth, and that I had received the blessing of the prior, it would have made them suspicious.

We now held a council of war, at which I delivered my report. I knew from experience that, to gain credence for a lie, one must invest it with a modicum of truth. Therefore, I described, without deviating one iota from the truth, the treasures I had seen, and even added to them—as, for instance: I said there were barrels filled with gold and silver, which made the robbers' mouths water. Nyedzviedz was full of ambitious plans. He intended, so soon as he got money enough, to combine under his leadership all the predatory bands in the Carpathian region, and with them invade and plunder the wealthy Galician cities, castles, and monasteries. He felt confident that the common people would be glad to aid in plundering the prelates and nobles.

I described the fortifications of Berdiczov monastery as almost impregnable, when the truth was, that I could, with the culverin, have battered down the walls the first day while the rusty old mortars would do little damage among the beleaguerers. I ascribed to the prior the strategic talents of a field-marshall. My description of the moat, with the formidable palisades concealed under the water, quite discouraged the robbers from the plan they had made to swim across it, and storm the walls.

Indeed, I told such astounding tales about the powder mines under the walls and moat, that their confidence in me became absolute when I sketched my plan of assault. I proposed to batter the fortifications in such a manner, that the debris would fall into and fill up the moat, which would enable us to cross it without injury, and enter through the breaches I had made in the walls. I won the leader's favor and approval to such an extent that he committed the entire conduct of the important expedition into my hands.

At the conclusion of the council, I asked as a special favor to be allowed to spend a day with my beloved Madus before we set out on the expedition.

Nyedzviedz at first was unwilling to consent. "I know," he said, "just how women-folk are. It is best for a soldier to have nothing to do with them. Their tears are sure to melt a soft heart."

But I persisted in my request, and at last received permission to visit the Viszpa Ogrod.

It was a beautiful autumn afternoon when I descended the steep path to the secluded valley. While yet some distance from our little cottage, I heard my Madus singing sweetly—I can hear her now, and see her as she came joyfully to meet me.

How happy she was!

The poor child believed I had come to stop, and as I did not want to cloud her joy, I put off until the moment of my departure, telling her that I was again to accompany her father on a distant expedition.