The Copper Sign (11 page)

“Gosh, he must have a bladder as big as a cow’s udder,” said a young, red-cheeked squire whose own test had taken place not so long ago.

The others nodded and laughed with relief because they didn’t have to stand up there.

Ellen was thinking about the point of such a test and what could lead the young page to hold out for so long—he had passed the test and no one could have criticized him if he got down now. What on earth drove him to go on?

“When William has decided to do something, then he will do it, come what may. If he said he would stay there until sunset, then that’s exactly what he’ll do,” said one of the young pages to the others. He seemed to have chosen William, who was a few years older than himself, as his own personal hero.

Ellen shook her head.
Such heroic deeds are just wastes of time and energy
, she thought as she headed off to her meeting— and something she couldn’t possibly appreciate.

Rose was waiting impatiently for her at the agreed spot. “Here you are finally! Just look at the shadows under your eyes. Did you have more bad dreams?” Rose certainly didn’t waste any time getting right to the heart of things.

“Yes, I dreamed, but bad dreams? No.”

Rose raised her eyebrows and looked at her curiously. “Then you dreamed of a lover! It’s no wonder you look like you haven’t had any sleep,” she added with a mischievous wink.

“A lover? What nonsense. In my dream I was working,” Ellen replied gruffly.

“Well, excuse me!” said Rose, looking off to the side so Ellen didn’t notice she was rolling her eyes.

“For several nights now I have had the same dream,” Ellen began. “Sometimes I’m so happy I don’t even want to wake up. In my dream I’m a famous blade smith! Even Donovan is proud of me because knights come from far away to buy my swords. And then trumpets sound! It’s the king! And he’s coming to order a sword from me! And just at that moment, when I am happiest, I wake up. For a moment I want to believe everything is true, just as in my dream, but then I begin to realize who I am, stand up, and secretly put the wrap around my chest.”

Rose didn’t know how to console her friend. “You can’t always pretend to be a man—sooner or later you’ll have to stop.” She patted Ellen’s cheek in an almost maternal way. “Wait, I have an idea!” Her face brightened. “As a woman you can’t be a smith, is that right?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well then, you can just marry a smith. You can work with him as his wife!” Rose looked at her friend expectantly, but Ellen just shook her head.

“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that? But it’s not the solution. I want to be a smith in my own workshop and make my own decisions, not just be a smith’s assistant. If I wanted to do that, I wouldn’t have to slave away working for Donovan. I’ve long ago mastered everything a simple assistant needs to know. Do you think a man would permit his wife to be something better than he is?”

Rose shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“But you see, that’s just what I want—to be better than the others. I know I can become a great smith someday, I can feel it!” Ellen sounded determined and a bit defiant.

“I’ll not make it so hard on myself. I’ll marry a miller, and from his flour I’ll make the best cakes and pastries.” Rose laughed, shaking her head from side to side, and pulled Ellen away with her. “Come on, we’ll go to the drill grounds, then you’ll feel better.”

“Since when have you been interested in war games?” said Ellen, incredulous.

“Not in war games, but in squires!” Rose laughed and blushed a little.

“It will be dark soon, and then they’ll stop because they can’t see well enough. And neither can you!” Ellen joked, already in a better mood.

On their way to the drill grounds they passed through the castle gate once more.

“He’s still there,” Ellen whispered admiringly when she saw how William was still standing proudly on the block of wood.

“That’s not my taste, too rough. I prefer the elegant boys, like that one over there.” Rose pointed to a handsome lad who was about her age, and blushed.

“I think his name is Thibault,” Ellen said in a conspiratorial whisper.

“I’ll remember the name,” Rose said, smiling.

It was too cool for that time of year. The sky had been grey for days, and it was drizzling constantly. The dreary, sunless month of June made Ellen depressed, and on top of that Rose was busy with work because company was expected at the castle. Ellen was bored, and she wandered wearily down to the drill grounds, but since it was Sunday the squires were not there. As she turned around and was about to go back to the forge, she overheard the conversation of two squires walking by. One of the sword masters was looking for a farm boy who would serve as an opponent and do battle with them using a long stick. The squires laughed and joked at how they would take great pleasure in beating the stuffing out of such a farm kid. Ellen wasn’t listening anymore, but ran off. She had been working for Donovan for over a year now and realized that he was not unreasonable. He would have to let her try! Ellen had never fought with a stick, and it wasn’t so much a matter of wanting to fight or of the penny that would be paid for doing it. She just wanted to gain access to the drill field in order to observe sword-fighting technique from close up. Secretly she hoped that if she could show her skill she would be allowed to learn sword fighting with the squires. This would certainly enable her to produce better weapons later on.

Ellen pleaded with Donovan and assured him it was completely safe to compete against the squires because the boys practiced only with wooden swords. The smith did not seem especially enthused at her idea and only reluctantly gave his permission. The very next day Ellen went to the drill grounds.

The training instructor for Sir Ansgar’s squires was named Ours, that is,
bear
in French. Ellen wondered whether his parents had given him the name because they knew how strong he would become or whether Ours became strong in order to live up to his name. It did not even occur to her that it might be just a nickname. Ours was big and strong like all sword masters, but he seemed a bit clumsier, and it was for that reason perhaps that he was easily underestimated. Ours was sly, cruel, and contrary to all expectations could be amazingly fast. He enjoyed driving the young squires until they were totally exhausted, and he reveled in their fear of him. He was a cold and calculating soldier and an astonishingly good tactician. Since the squires were deathly afraid of him, they listened carefully and did everything they could to please him. In this way they made quick progress. Ellen, too, was afraid of Ours: after all, this was her first time fighting with the squires, and she had no experience at all with the stick.

“You’re poking that thing around as if you were trying to herd pigs. You’ve got to keep an eye out all around you,” Ours fumed, attacking her from the side. His sword was not made of wood, and with a few blows he hacked her stick into little pieces.

The squires enjoyed it immensely because this time they were not the targets of his attacks.

“This isn’t a ladies’ club. We’re not here to do our embroidery!” Ours thundered.

Ellen winced. Had she betrayed herself? For a moment, she was seized with panic.

Ours tore the rest of the stick from her hand so violently she started to tremble. “You have to try harder and stop standing around dreaming, or give it up. For a penny I can also find a better fellow.”

Ellen put on her fiercest face. “Yes, sire, I’ll try harder,” she replied confidently.

Ours ordered the boys, one after the other, to do battle with Ellen, and that was too much for her. Tears of anger and pain welled up in her eyes as she fell to the ground again. Her last opponent was the only one to politely reach out to her and help her up at the end. It was Thibault, the boy Rose liked so much. He had brown eyes and golden freckles, and his sand-colored hair was cut off above the ears in the Norman fashion. He looked at her in a kindly way and must have noticed the telltale gleam of tears in her eyes, because he whispered, “Ours made us all cry. Chin up! Don’t give him the pleasure of seeing you break down.”

Ellen nodded gratefully and tried hard to control herself, but she couldn’t help blinking. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it off on her sleeve so no one would see it.

After she had gotten up, Thibault let go of her hand and looked at her, somewhat annoyed. Then he turned and left.

When on the next day Ellen was beaten again, Thibault’s voice could be clearly heard over the taunts of the others.

“Why are you laughing at me even louder than the rest? I thought we could be friends,” she whispered as again she faced him as an opponent.

“Friends?” Thibault spat the words out like a rotten cherry. “We can’t be friends. You don’t belong here. It would be best for you to leave.” He started beating her with his wooden sword even before they were separated at the prescribed distance. That was a violation of the rules, of course, and Ours should have called his pupil to order, but he didn’t. Thibault thrashed at her so furiously that she had to step back, and fell. Thibault pounced, and their faces came close together. His eyes were wide open and his pupils huge and black. Then he jumped away and ran off, leaving her lying in the dirt. Ellen got up, gave Ours a furious glance for not disciplining Thibault, and left the drill field without a word.

Thibault, too, stomped away angrily, marching with great strides through the gate and across the adjacent hayfield. The sky was filled with dark grey clouds, and the air was hot and heavy. Surely a thunderstorm was brewing. Thibault’s pace slackened considerably—he started wandering about aimlessly to and fro, but finally took a seat on a tree stump. His heart was still pounding, and his feelings alternated between fury and fear. There was something remarkable about this Alan. He was so… terribly attractive! Thibault couldn’t believe it. His blood had been seething as he lay on top of Alan and smelled his sweet, honey-scented breath!

“How stupid! I’m not in love!” he exclaimed, and shuddered at the harsh sound of his own voice.
Alan is a boy, just like me
, he told himself, trying to calm down a bit.
But men are attracted to women, that’s the way nature intended it.
Thibault could feel sweat pouring down his temples. Of course he had heard of such aberrations, but…why couldn’t this simpleton have remained in England?

Thibault caught sight of two black bugs with yellow stripes running around in circles and copulating in the dust by his feet, their backsides linked together. He watched them for a while, then mercilessly crushed them with his foot.

“This is against nature, good Lord, against nature!” he cursed under his breath, and he was not thinking of the two bugs.

All this is such nonsense
, he thought, greatly troubled. After all, he knew everything about girls and had already made love to two of them. They had blushed and giggled when he smiled at them and turned around to watch him when he walked by. One was a little older than he and easy to have. With the second he had to make more of an effort, but he got an even bigger thrill and feeling of power when he succeeded in robbing her of her virginity. Of course, it had meant less to him, but that was only natural—he was a man! And as such, he had the reins of power in his hand.

But why was his heart beating like this? Thibault tried to think if any girl had ever awakened such feelings in him, but aside from the physical satisfaction, he had never really cared for girls. With reluctance, but with determination, he examined himself, going over in his mind all the pages and squires in the castle to see whether thinking of any of them aroused abnormal feelings in him. He was relieved to learn that was not so. But then he thought of Alan and how he had lain on the ground, his green—oh, so green!—eyes sparkling with tears. And again his heart started pounding wildly. His mouth turned dry, and his stomach felt like it was filled with butterflies, all beating their wings. “A crying boy!” he spluttered disapprovingly. “You’ll pay for this, Alan,” he swore, clenching his fists. “I’ll fight you, humiliate, and harass you until I drive you away!”

From that day forward Thibault sneaked out of the large bedroom he shared with the other squires almost every night to thrash himself with a freshly cut willow switch in order to drive away the abnormal thoughts. Sometimes his mind dwelled on Alan’s innocent smile and then he whipped himself even harder and longer. When he thought of Alan, his male organ became stiff and twitched ecstatically. Only after he had bloodied his back with the switch did he surrender to exhaustion and pain and go back to bed, but his guilty conscience concerning the lustful thoughts still plagued him. His lacerated back became a constant reminder, both terrible and titillating. Sometimes he feared his longing for Alan would drive him mad, and for that reason he hated him even more.

When Ellen did not show up for dinner that evening, Donovan went out to search for her. She was standing in the courtyard and with dogged determination was practicing combat with the stick. Donovan stepped closer.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so full of anger, Alan?”

She beat the ground with her stick. “One of the squires who was friendly at first is now especially mean to me. Practically overnight he became my worst enemy. He incites the others against me and fights so unfairly.” Ellen had to get hold of herself in order not to break down and cry.

“A stick is the weapon of common people. The squires compete with you so that someday as knights they will be able to defeat people like us. Think about whether you really want to do that. The better you fight against them now, the more they will learn. They are soon to be barons and knights, and you are a smith. Don’t forget that.”

Ellen shivered with happiness. Donovan had referred to her as a smith, not as a smith’s apprentice. She knew that he valued her work, but until now she had waited in vain for a word of praise. This single word, possibly spoken in error, was worth more than anything else he could have said.