Lazer Beams

Serving the same G-d

On Shabbat, the Melitzer Rebbe shlit'a told me the following beautiful story, passed down from father to son from his great great grandfather Rebbe Meir'l of Promiszlan; Keep it in mind before allowing yourself the "luxury" of feuding with a fellow Jew:

Serving the same G-d

Rebbe Meir'l of Promiszlan and Rebbe Yitzchok of Strettin were engaged in a long, drawn-out feud. Knowing that dissension serves no purpose, Rebbe Meir'l approached Rebbe Yitzchok and attempted to make peace. The latter only turned his face to the wall. "Please, Strettinner Rebbe, allow me to tell you a tale," said Rebbe Meir'l, and told him the following story:

During the time of the Spanish Inquisition, a Marrano* suspected of secretly being Jewish became deathly ill. The Inquisitors called the local priest, and told him to go see if the dying man would make last confession, proving that he's a Catholic, or else otherwise be burned at the stake as a Jew. The Priest and the Henchman entered the sick man's room, and the sick man turned his face to the wall, refusing to reject his true faith in Hashem during his last minutes on earth.

The Inquisitors said, "Ahah, he's a secret Jew!" The priest said no, he's embarrassed to confess in front of others. Everyone must leave the room!

Only the dying man and the Priest remained in the room. The priest, a Marranno himself, whispered in the man's ear, "You can say Shma Yisrael now, and express your belief in Hashem before you die. You no longer need to turn your back on me, because we both serve the same G-d." With his dying breath, the Marrano utterred, "Hear O Israel, the Lord our G-d, the Lord is one!"

"So you see, Strettinner Rebbe," said Rebbe Meir'l, "You no longer have to turn your back on me, because we serve the same G-d!" The feud ended on the spot.

*Marranos - the Spanish Jews who posed as Catholics on the outside, and secretly continued to practice their Judaism behind closed doors

The Modzitzer's roar

My good buddy Yitz from Heichal Hanegina sent me the following note & story:

Hi Reb Lazer!  Regarding your tobacco/Shabbos post, I'd like to share an incident which I heard from the brother of the one who heard it first-hand.

As you know, I have a connection to Chassidus Modzitz. One of the Modzitzer Chassidim lives in the Lower Galil, on Kfar Gideon, just outside of Afula. As you can imagine, someone dressed in Chassidic garb is a bit unusual to find on the Egged buses in this part of the country. So my friend's brother, R. Avraham, is travelling on the bus; a man spots him and asks him if he's a Gerer Chassid. Avraham says, No, I'm a Modzitzer. So the man says, "nuch besser" - even better - I have a story to tell you about your Rebbe.

Of course by now Avraham's curiosity was piqued, and he was "all ears."
 
  When Rebbe Shaul of Modzitz ZT"L [grandfather of the present Rebbe Shlita] was still in Europe, a young man was seen in his Beis Medrash, smoking on Shabbos! The Chassidim didn't know what to do with this, so they went & told the Rebbe. When the Rebbe, who was a big man - tall and broad - heard this, he began to run towards the man who was smoking. But the man just continued, undaunted, to puff away. When Rebbe Shaul approached him, he said to him, "B'farhesia - in public - you dare to do this?"

Reb Lazer, I've been told that Reb Shaul had a voice like thunder! You can be sure that these words penetrated the very being of this man! How do I know? Read on...

From that day on, the man never smoked on Shabbos. All week long he would smoke, but not on Shabbos. Other than that, he was completely non-observant. He came to live in Eretz Yisrael, and raised his family in one of the secular Kibbutzim in the Lower Galil.

His children couldn't figure it out - this man didn't keep Shabbos, he smoked all week long, yet on Shabbos, Abba never lit up! It got to them so much that they decided to investigate what Shabbos is all about. I probably don't have to tell you that they are fully observant Jews by now - just from that "B'farhesia?" statement of Rebbe Shaul of Modzitz! And yes, the one who told the story was one of these children!

As Reb Shlomo Carlebach used to say, "You never know!"

best regards, yitz

Count Olivier's Hound

Images on this post copyright (c) 2002 by Anzovin Studio. All rights reserved.

Jewish folklore tells a story about King Charles VII of France. The king had two close ministers, Count Olivier and the Duke of Tremoille. The cunning and corrupt duke was insanely jealous of Count Olivier, and plotted to kill him.

One day, Count Olivier went for a walk in the woods with his trusty hound Denise. The Duke of Tremoille, mounted on a swift steed, staged a perfect ambush; without dismounting, he rode straight toward the startled Olivier and slew him with one fell swoop of his deadly sword.

Denise, forever loyal to his master, remained by his lifeless side day and night. After three days, the hound could no longer bear the hunger. He returned to Paris, to Count Olivier's old neighborhood, and scavenged food and drink. When satiated, he returned to the forest to his master's side. This pattern recurred several times, until a neighbor - Captain DuMont, one of the King's officers and a friend of Olivier - sensed something unusual. DuMont followed the dog back to the forest, and found the decaying corpse of Count Olivier.

Count Olivier received a state funeral. King Charles, the palace honor guard, the ministers, and all of Paris high society came to pay their respects. In the middle of the procession, a wolf-like growl alarmed nearly everyone, followed by a blood-curdling snarl; Denise, walking next to Captain DuMont, spotted the Duke of Tremoille and pounced on him, sinking its jaws into the Duke's ankle.

The Duke yelled and screamed. A host of people pounced on Denise, swatting the poor hound with their silver-tipped canes or with whatever came to hand. Ultimately, the dog let go and was seized by DuMont, who petted the hound and calmed it down.

King Charles, an astute judge of character, witnessed the whole spectacle. "Isn't that Olivier's hound?", asked the monarch. Captain DuMont replied in the affirmative. The King made a quick mental calculation and turned to the smarting Tremoille. "Duke, do you have something you'd like to confess? Possibly an evil deed such as a murder?"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about, Your Majesty," lied the terrified Duke.

"My impression, as well as the hound's, is that you are hiding something from me. So, I will place your word against that of the hound. Your soul shall be tried by the hound's soul. I shall give you ten days to heal, and then, you shall appear in the royal arena for a fight to the death with the hound!

10 days later

The Duke of Tremoille was dressed in armor from head to toe. With sword and bullwhip in hand, he expected to dispose of the hound in a matter of seconds.

The perplexed Denise encircled the armor-clad duke, in search of a tiny area of vulnerability.

A tiny chink between the duke's helmet and his suit - designed to enable neck mobility - revealed itself to Denise. Like a shooting star, he pounced on the duke, knocking him to the ground, and sinking his incisors deep in the jugular of his master's murderer, measure for measure, until the duke gasped for the very last time. The King's justice had been done that unforgettable day.

***********

The above tale is symbolic of a Talmudic passage (see tractate Sota 3b), which teaches that a transgression in this world is forever bound to a person's soul just like an avenging dog. Just as Denise the hound frenzily pursued Tremoille, a transgression produces an accusing angel that demands punishment.

The corrupt Tremoille failed to rid himself from the dog. But, we can rid ourselves of those nasty accusing angels that call for severe judgments against us. How? The process is simple; it's called Tshuva, and requires 4 main steps to neutralize a wrongdoing and to destroy the accusing angel that was created by the wrongdoing, as follows:

1. Vidui - we confess our sin to Hashem;

2. Charata - we express our remorse about what we did, and beg Hashem's forgiveness;

3. Azivas ha'chet - we promise to do our best to avoid repeating the old wrongdoing;

4. Kabala l'atid - we decide to strengthen our observance of Hashem's commandments, especially in the area where we went astray.

Our urgent task before the High Holidays is to devote as much time and effort as possible to soul-searching; Tshuva destroys accusing angels, and invokes Divine compassion so that we all shall be inscribed in the Book of Long and Healthy Life, amen.

The King and the Woodsman: Part 5

 An eerie silence pervaded the King's palace. At 3 a.m., only six short hours before the execution, the unnerved King tossed and turned in his bed, distressed to the core of his soul. He refused to believe that Vassily would betray him and the motherland, but what could he do about the evidence? Royal law required that the King approve and sign the final verdict ordering the implementation of capital punishment against a minister. King Gustav smelled foul play, but lacked proof; his conscience berated him not to sign the verdict.

Worse than the turmoil of the King's indecision and insomnia, was the mystery of Vassily's last request, which both the court and the King approved: Vassily requested nothing other than the privilege of being allowed to address the King in public - in the presence of the Palace Guard, the ministers, and the throngs of onlookers - for five minutes while dressed in his old woodman's clothes before being executed. Why the old clothes? What was Vassily going to say? The King continued to toss and turn, until the first light of dawn penetrated his window.

A steady stream of people were arriving at the royal city from the four corners of the kingdom. For many, Vassily was a shining light in a sea of darkness. During his short-lived term as Minister of the Interior, he had helped more underprivileged and disenfranchised citizens than all of his corrupt predecessors combined. As opposed to the peasants, poor, and plain citizens who comprised Vassily's admirers and sympathizers, the carriage-chauffered nobleman were more than pleased to see the common "upstart" executed.

**********

8:30 a.m: A prison guard opened Vassily's oak and iron-reinforced cell door, and perfunctorily threw inside a rucksack with boots, cap, and old sheepskin clothes. "Prepare yourself," barked the guard, "we leave in ten minutes."

8:42 a.m: The guards remove Vassily from his cell, and excort him across across the main square of the royal city, to the gallows, erected in the center of the square. Tens of thousands of people have arrived to witness the final execution.

8:49 a.m: Vassily, hands and feet bound, is raised to the gallows platform.

8:50 a.m: With the royal executioner waiting in the holds, the chief prosecutor reads the court verdict, and passes it to the King for final signature.

8:51 a.m: The crowd of thousands hushes; the King declares: "Vassily Avramovich Zlotnick, I hereby grant you your final request..."; the King glances at Vassily, dressed in his woodman's garb, and nearly faints. Two officers of the Royal Palace Guard hurry to support the King from falling. The palace physician grabs the King's wrist, but the King reassures everyone that his composure has returned. The monarch inhales deeply and declares, "You are granted five minutes to speak your final peace."

Vassily looks the King directly in the eyes. "Not long ago, Your Majesty, you were lost in the forest, at the mercy of the elements and predators, both of a two-legged and four-legged variety. In the back woods, you were no king, only an object of ridicule and contempt that would soon meet a certain death at the hands of barbarians. Only I, Vassily Avramovich Zlotnick, recognized you. I risked my own life to save yours, yet requested nothing in return. I acted in your behalf before you offered me any reward and remuneration. You, Your Majesty, demanded that I return to the palace with you. Had I been a traitor and an embezzler like Puzhnikov and his patsies say (the crowd gasps), I would have slit your throat, taken your hundred gold rubles, and let your body rot in the woods. No one would have ever found you. But no, Your Majesty; when no one else recognized you or came to your aid, I did. I acted first, with no expectation of personal gain; only afterward, did I hear your promises. Just as I arrived here penniless, I now depart penniless, except for the tens of thousands whom I was able to help during my term of service to the Kingdom, as the masses here gathered can surely attest. No one can rob me of the merit of my selfless service to you and the Kingdom. I go now to my death with a clear and innocent heart, for I believe that truth and justice shall prevail forever, while the real tyrants shall taste their own bitter medicine!"

The crowd erupted like a volcano. Thousands chanted, "Vassily, Vassily, long live Vassily!" or "save him, save him!" Tears streamed down King Gustav's cheeks - there was no denying words of truth. The puzzle came together in his mind; surely, he had been forewarned on several occasions about Puzhnikov's treachery. An attack on Vassily was an attack on the King. Whispering something to the Palace Guard commander, the King raised the court verdict writ high above his head, and ripped it into shreds.

**********

Vassily was released and restored to his former position with full honors. Puzhnikov, Samenkin, Constantinov, and a score of others were detained by the army, ultimately tried, and convicted.

To this day, if you walk through the woods of Southwestern Russia, you can hear the wind from the northwest blowing through the pine trees and calling softly, "Vassily, Vassily!"

The end

G-d willing, tomorrow's post will be an interpretation of the Elul imagery in "The King and the Woodsman"; if you have your own thoughts, write Lazer at lazer(at)lazerbrody.net, and we'll try to include selected readers' interpretations in the post.

The King and the Woodsman: Part 4

Samenkin executed his duties with surgical precision. He was steel-cold and heartless, a perfect functionary for his superior; neither would have any difficulty disposing of their next of kin for a suitable pricetag. Withing the designated time period, Samenkin had gathered a giant dossier that incriminated Vassily in a score of major crimes, ranging from embezzling funds from the King's coffers and channeling them over the borders to conspiracy and high treason. A master of evil, Samenkin utilized factual circumstantial evidence, including actual times and dates of Vassily's visits to the border villages. On the foundation of several truthful facts, he built a mountain of lies with hermetically-sealed testimony: A host of witnesses were tutored, threatened, and purchased for the task. No one says no to Samenkin.

**********

The King read the writ of accusation from the Head Prosecutor's office. He felt dizzy and nauseous. This can't be true, he thought, reading about Vassily's alleged treachery against the kingdom. But law is law, and justice must run its course.

Cases of ministerial status were tried directly in the High Court. The sinister Pozhnikov bribed, threatened, and maneuvered the judges until his nephew, the pampered Count Constantinov, was named Head Justice of the tribunal that was designated to hear the case. Constantinov was also a carryover of aristocratic spoils; a brilliant thinker and an eloquent orator, he could have been a remarkable judge, had he not fallen into the influence of his uncle. Constantinov though, was perfect for the role at hand. Periodically during the trial, he strategically interrupted the prosecution, stressing salient points and rehashing the false charges and evidence, as if he was only seeking clarification of the facts. Ultimately, he delivered the lies even more eloquently than the prosecution itself.

Refusing to accept the aid of a barrister, Vassily sat alone on the bench of the accused. He listened to lie after lie, yet showed no emotion; only a telltale vein twitched from time to time on his forehead. His jaw was fixed like a block of granite.

The prosecution presented its case for two whole days. Meanwhile, Vassily was placed under house arrest until the termination of the proceedings. On the morning of the third day, High Justice Count Constantinov turned to Vassily and said with pomp formality, "The defense may present its case."

The entire kingdom occupied itself with nothing other than the sensational trial of the woodsman-turned-minister. The courtroom was packed with hundreds of people, yet a tense silence filled the air. All eyes turned to Vassily. Could he pierce the iron bulwarks of the prosecutor's case?

Vassily rose to his full height and looked directly at the supercilious Constantinov. "I shall not waste my breath on unravelling the inconsistencies of the prosecution's case, for it is all lies. You, High Justice, have broken every rule of jurisprudence; truth and justice have alluded this courtroom. It is surely a shameful day for the kingdom when the High Justice argues the prosecution's case for them. You, sir, have obviously swayed your two colleagues. Words of truth are divine; I shan't grace this odious room of lies and distortion with words of truth."

Pozhnikov went beserk, jumping out of his seat next to the Chief of Prosecution. "What insolence! Contempt of court! This is an outrage!"

Constantinov's faced became a flush pink then an ashen white. Vassily's admonition pierced his heart like a saber. He gulped, cleared his throat, and reassumed his peremptory High Justice's manner, and addressed his uncle with an ersatz calm, "Please, calm down Mr. Minister of Internal Security, any contempt of court is dwarfed by the charges at hand. We shall recess for two hours, and then state our verdict.

**********

Two hours later, to no one's surprise, the court reconvened to announce the verdict of guilty on all counts; the sentence - "Vassily Avramovich Zlotnick shall hang by the neck until dead, ten days from today. The accused has the right to issue one request before the execution of sentence."

Part 5, the conclusion of "The King and the Woodsman", will appear in this coming Sunday's Lazer Beams, G-d willing.

The King and the Woodsman: Part 3

Within a few short weeks, Vassily had nothing left to learn from his tutors. The mathematics tutor wrote in his report to the King, "...he has mastered algebra in a fortnight, geometry in three days, trigonometry in a week. He is now solving differential equations. Please accept my humble apologies, Your Majesty - the tutor can no longer keep pace with the pupil." The King received updates of a similar vein from the other tutors as well. But, greater than Vassily's phenominal intelligence and acumen, was a practical, organized, and disciplined mind capable of applying and implementing everything that he learned.

The King's favorite part of the day was his nightly repast with Vassily. All day long, he looked forward to the invigorating two hours when he'd dine, exchange ideas, and converse with the former woodsman, now royal protege. Vassily quickly became the King's trusty confidant and sounding board. The monarch was repeatedly overwhelmed by the young man's uncanny ability to recognize truth, thus discerning between good advice and bad advice. Eventually, the King refused to accept a single ministerial request or suggestion without first consulting Vassily. Soon, after outgrowing all of his tutors, Vassily was spending the bulk of his day at his Majesty's side.

One short year after arriving at the palace, Vassily was officially declared Minister of the Interior. The populace was enamored with the straightforward, honest, and good-hearted minister, who did more for both villagers and townsmen alike than any other minister before him. The King was flooded with praise from the four corners of the kingdom for the young minister's performance.

**********

Puzhnikov inherited his ministerial post from his father, a blue blood whose ancestors were related to the first kings of Russia. A petty, jealous, and spiteful individual, Puzhnikov loved money, vodka, and licentiousness - in that order. As minister of internal security, he ran a crooked reign of internal terror based on bribery, corruption, and protection. Puzhnikov was extremely paranoid; he would swiftly dispose of anyone who failed to flatter his disgusting ego.

More than anything, Puzhnikov hated Vassily with a poisonous passion.

Whenever someone mentioned Vassily's name, Puzhnikov would spit, curse, and blurt, "That cursed mongrel! He hasn't yet removed the burrs from his beard, and yet dines with the King?! Who ever heard of such a disgrace! Never in the history of Russia has there been such a scam, where a lowly dog from the backwoods dons the gown of a minister!"

For days on end, Puzhnikov would drink himself to a stupor, or pace back and forth in his lavish ministerial office like a frenzied bear in a cage. No matter how much he drank, sleep eluded his eyes. With a growl that disturbed the dead, he summoned Samenkin, the head of secret police. "I don't care how you do it, Samenkin," threatened Pozhnikov, with his bloodshot eyes protuding from their sockets in a frenzy. Her slammed his matchlock pistol on his highly polished ministerial oak desk. "Within three weeks, I want an air-tight case against the country bumpkin, including charges of embezzlement and treason, complete with dates, times, places, and witnesses. Ten thousand rubles awaits you when the high court grants the dealth penalty, or a slit throat if you fail. Now hurry!"

To be continued tomorrow, G-d willing.

The King and the Woodsman: Part 2

The King dared not move a muscle. Only the fear of the ominous blade that hovered over his throat outdid the excruciating pain in his shoulder, for the merciless bandit had nearly yanked the King's right arm from its socket. The end seemed imminent.

For no apparent reason, Vassily lowered the knife and replaced it in its sheath. "Release the nobleman, Ivan; take the others, and go fetch the horses."

"But Vassily..."

"Do as I say, you daft ox, or I'll slit your wretched throat," hissed the leader. "I shall dispose of the nobleman personally." Ivan, like a reprimanded puppy with its tail between its legs, took the other bandsmen and disappeared into the woods.

Vassily's eyes softened as he focused through the darkness on the King's bewildered countenance. "We have no time, Your Majesty," he whispered; "let us hasten, for shortly, every villain in the forest will be in hot pursuit of us."

"What on earth...," gasped the King.

"Forgive my disrespect, Your Majesty, but let us belay the needless banter for the time being; we must move swiftly and silently."

The King was amazed, though immensely pleased, that the woodsman recognized him. He strained to keep pace with the sinewy, red-bearded woodsman, who traversed the forest with the agility of a gazelle. Whenever the King faltered, Vassily both encouraged and prodded.

An hour later, they forded a river. "Rest here for a moment, Your Majesty, and drink. Thank heavens, I can safely say that the danger has passed. In two hours, we shall reach the palace grounds."

The King was astounded; he didn't remember crossing a river, but the entire previous day felt like nothing more than a hazy memory. He washed his face in the cooling waters of the river, and drank to satiation. Water never tasted better. Refreshed, he looked up and saw the first signs of dawn, a thin line of reddish gold on the eastern horizon. "Bolshoi sposiba, Vassily; thank you for saving my life."

"It is my honor, my duty, and my privilege, Your Majesty."

For the next two hours, the walked and talked on their way to the palace. The King marveled at the striking contrast between the woodsman's crass appearance and his refined manner. The King was enchanted with the woodsman's candor, native intelligence, and straightforward logic. He felt an inexplicable affinity for Vassily, a self-educated orphan who grew up in the outback of the Eastern Ukraine.

The palace spires were visible in the distance. "I trust you can reach the palace from here, Your Majesty. I must take leave..."

"Please don't, Vassily; you can't return to the woods. You ruined the gang's expectations of a hundred gilden rubles. They'll murder you. Please, I want you to come live in the palace."

"The Palace?"

"Yes. With your aptitudes, the sky is the limit. I anticipate a brilliant future for you. I shall have you tutored in the sciences and educated in the affairs of state. You shall be like a son to me, and shall dine on my table."

**********

Back at the palace, the atmosphere of grief at the sudden disappearance of the King turned into rejoicing. Even before the King attended to his own needs, he assigned a personal valet to care for Vassily's every need. The King ordered his best servants to bathe and barber the woodsman, prepare proper chambers, and to dress him in princely garb. With no delay, the King assigned his wisest advisors to begin tutoring Vassily in mathematics, linguistics, economics, and political science. He ordered that Vassily eat his evening meal on the King's table. Only then, did the King retire to his chambers to recover from the previous day and all-night ordeal.

Vassily, bathed, shaved, and dressed in new princely clothes, looked like a blue-blood from birth. "May I do anything else for you, sir?" asked the valet.

"Yes," responded Vassily. "Please don't discard my old clothes, hat, and boots. Wrap them in a rucksack, and store them in a safe place." One never knows what the future holds, thought Vassily; some day, I may need those clothes again.

To be continued tomorrow, G-d willing.

The King and the Woodsman: Part 1

This is Lazer's adaptation of a parable by the famed Rebbe Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev of saintly and blessed memory, as told recently by the Melitzer Rebbe shlit'a in Yiddish. Hidden within the parable are the secrets of the month of Elul.

The King longed for a breath of fresh air. Oftentimes, he felt like a bird in a gilden cage. The matters of state pressed on his brain, and from morning until night he received a never-ending stream of functionaries - each with his own urgent reason for deserving a royal audience. "Enough," said the King to himself, "I must go for an unescorted excursion along the palacial garden trail. The lake, the flora, and the fauna will surely revive my soul."

Shedding his crown and his roral robes, the king dressed in a simple equestrian's costume and exited the palace as unobtruvisely as possible. The moment his feet left the highly-polished marble walkway and trod on the rich green grass, the King's heart soared. The golden sun of late afternoon shimmered on the lake, while the swans effortlessly glided along the water in the soft, refreshing breeze of the Russian summer's last days. The more the King walked, the more elated he felt. His mind sprouted wings, while his thoughts seemed to cruise alongside the fluffy clouds. Losing all sense of time and direction, the King wandered far beyond the confines of the palce grounds.

Before he knew it, the sun made its hasty descent in the western horizon, and a cool evening wind chased away the warm breeze of daytime. The Lake and the lush lawns gave way to thick stands of oak and white poplar. By the time the King reached a clearing, it was nearly dark. He had been walking for nearly four hours; bewildered, he looked from side to side, unable to fathom the way back to the palace.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of hooves. A band of ruthless woodsmen entered the clearing. "Please," the King pleaded, as he approached the woodsman on the lead horse, "help me find my way back to the palace. I am the King and you gentlemen shall be well rewarded."

"The King!" guffawed the scarfaced leader. "If you're the King, then I must be the Bishop," scoffed the leader, to the delight of his henchmen, while brandishing his sword.

The King fled deep into the woods, temporarily safe from the band on horseback. An hour later, he encounted a lone shack deep in the woods; to the King's misfortune, this was none other than the hideout of another gang of thieves. Again, the King begged for assistance. Again, he was insulted, ridiculed, and threatened. Luckily, the thieves were sluggish from their daily excess of vodka, so the King was able to escape from them as well.

An owl hooted its haunting chant, and a wolf howled at the moon. The night's temperatures were dropping fast. A growing fear entered the King's heart. If the woodmen bandits wouldn't kill him, then the wild animals and the perils of the forest would. The King had no idea what to do or where to turn. He leaned against a tree, caught his breath, and tried valiently to prevent despair from subjugating him. "I must maintain my clarity," said the King to himself.

A hand come from nowhere and grabbed the King from behind. A massive forearm choked him, while another iron hand twisted his arm, nearly tearing it from its socket. "Vassily, look at his prize," yelled a burly voice in South Russian vernacular, "a regular nobleman; wait 'til you see his black leather boots!"

"Ach," moaned the King, his arm wrenching in pain and his chest struggling to inhale. "Please," he gasped, "have pity on me! I-I am King Gustav. I-I've lost may way. I beg of you, shelter me for the night and help me return to the palace and you will be rewarded for life. I have 100 gold rubles with me. I can give you much more..."

The burly, bearded sheepskin-clathed leader approached the King, still painfully restrained in the clutches of one of the woodsmen, and produced a menacing hunting knife from its sheath. The sharp cold steel touched the King's neck, sending a shiver of terror up his spine. "Not only will you relinquish the hundred rubles, nobleman, but you shall relinquish your life. No one discovers our hideout and lives to see another sunrise."

To be continued tomorrow, G-d willing.