Legend of Gheorghelas

Gathered in a circle, we admire the game of fire tongues. Above them, golden and sprinkled with plenty of wine, sizzles the raw meat of the sausage, penetrated by the dogoare. The trivet is slowly, slowly turning. The custom of the outlaws says so: the meat of the lamb or the sausage must be so deep that it melts in the hungry mouth.
Every now and then, with a spark from the chain of flames, we can see on everyone’s face the eagerness to taste at least a little of the Haida goodness. Only the shepherd, who is in charge of turning the jug, under whose moustache the magic liquid, the wine, disappears in long, greedy gulps, keeps his cool and starts talking. It seems to be only to himself, but I caught him carefully to see if he was being followed by the people who had gathered round the wine-glass:
I was like you once. I’ve sat by the fire and helped prepare many of these Haiducean goodies. At that time my grandfather was also alive on my father’s side, who wielded with great skill not the stick or the hanger but, you may laugh … the sewing needle. Yes, yes! Meșterul Cernat – as my father’s father from Varlaam was called – was famous as far as Întorsura Buzăului and even in the Brașov area.
Well, many years ago – because my grandfather knew this story from his grandfather, and it seems that he had heard it from his great-grandfather, who had actually seen this haiduc – the lands of Chiojd and those in the valley up to Cislău were crossed by a famous haiduc, called Negoiță Gheorghelaș. The young captain Gheorghelaș was also proud and proud. Yes, yes! Captain! In Tudor Vladimirescu’s company!
And my good man said that if Gheorghelaș had met the great Hercules, seven days and seven nights of fighting, they still wouldn’t have been able to bring each other down. So strong was our outlaw! Handsome lad, tall and straight as a fir tree, and as handsome as a tree. The Moorish rope hung over his shoulders, as the snow settles and sticks to the branches of the fir tree in winter. And kind-hearted, he always helped those doomed by fate.
But the brave Gheorghelaș was also badly troubled when he was deceived by the cunning Macoveiu. Seven years of work under his word and nothing in return, and more! In return for his honest work, the liar Macoveiu stole his entire fortune, leaving the outlaw only the shelter of the forest and a cruel desire for revenge.
As fate would have it, Gheorghelaș wandered from sheepfold to sheepfold and found Macoveiu’s own sheepfold, guarded by Old Radu Bearded-Sure. Gheorghelaș began to unburden his soul to him, to tell him of the injustice done by Macoveiu. The ballad that my good man used to say said: “But if he caught Macoveiu, he would be taken among the living! Moș Radu was grimacing, his beard was wrinkling, his tongue was curling […] when he saw Macoveiu at the bottom of the stable. He begins to judge him, grabs him by the scruff of his neck, turns him around the sheepfold, hits him with a heavy axe and forces him to return all the wealth taken from him, and then kidnaps his flocks of sheep”.
What a long story… the coward Macoveiu did not last long in the hands of the bully. But cruel fate did not let our outlaw see his home and loved ones again.
Like us, Gheorghelaș stayed and partied with his thieves. But they didn’t have time to taste the food, nor to mess up the wine and brandy pots they had hanging from their belts, because George saw how the pottery brought by his own cousin was slipping through the trees. Yes, yes! The very father of his beloved wife! Great was the hatred between them … and all was extinguished in the scream of the arrow aimed right at the young outlaw’s heart … With his last strength Gheorghelaș brought his arrow to his eyes, leaning against a rock, and tried to send a bullet to the enemy. But death came too quickly, and the outlaw stiffened like that, stalking the enemy. For three days the posse, for fear, did not even approach him. On the fourth day, Ilie Beșeg, a farmer from the village of Bătrâni, cut off the head to take it to Bucharest to prove the death of Gheorghelaș, who had frightened three counties.
The shepherds buried his body near the path up Penteleu. On that spot there is still today a trophy on which passers-by place freshly picked flowers from the surrounding meadows. Also in Penteleu there is a beautiful clearing full of flowers and wild herbs, called La Crucea Fetei. Legend has it that Gheorghelaș’s beloved wife, a beautiful girl from Cătina, was killed there, as she was trying to delay or divert the soldiers who were chasing the outlaw”.

Captivated by the charm of the words of the baci Cernat, the last of his kind with such a profession, gathered around the fire, we run with the imagination of the mind through the forests of Pentele, following the story. The soft voice of a whistle suddenly appearing in the shepherd’s hands awakens us to reality and reminds us that a great dinner awaits us! Still, I keep my eyes on the bushes ahead… lest a bullet pierce the leafy thicket.

Source: www.tinutulbuzaului.ro