The Copper Sign (14 page)

“Just make a sword, that’s all,” Donovan told her gruffly.

Ellen complied, disappointed. It was much harder to make a really good sword for a stranger than for a person you knew. Some knights preferred a special shape for the pommel, and others didn’t care. In addition, the length of the blade should ideally take into consideration the size of the owner. Ellen considered many options until she really didn’t know what she wanted anymore. Her ideas applied to hundreds of types of swords, and so it was all the harder to decide on any specific design. She went into the forest—the same one where she had practiced with William—to think it over. It was more than two years ago that she had first met him there and had fallen in love with him. Rose was still the only person who knew Ellen’s secret and what she suffered. William had no idea: to him she was just his friend Alan, the young smith. They still met on Sundays to practice when he was in Tancarville, but as he was now a squire he often had to be away with his master for weeks. This time, too, he had been gone for a long time. Ellen could hardly wait to see him again—she wanted so much to tell him about the sword and get his advice. William was so different from the farm boys or the tradesmen, no doubt because he had been trained as a knight. But it wasn’t just that. He was the stubbornest person Ellen had ever met. No one could force him to do anything or keep him from carrying out his plans. In fact, his master had almost sent him back to his father because he had obstinately refused to learn to read and write. But William was firmly convinced that using a pen would soften and weaken his fighting hand. Sometimes Ellen had to laugh at his stubbornness, but on the other hand, it was just this quality that made him predictable.

Rose had very little time for Ellen anymore, and the lonely Sundays without William and his stories of knightly life, as Ellen called them, were terribly monotonous. William always had stories to tell. His excellent memory for details made them so vivid that Ellen often had the impression of being there in person. Spellbound, she hung on his every word, and in the course of time the traditions and values so important to pages, squires, and knights became more comprehensible to her and a little more meaningful and less brutal than they had seemed to be before. The more she learned about the life William led, however, the clearer it became to her that being a nobleman and thinking and acting like a knight was something you had to be born into. Ellen sat down at the side of the little brook where they had always taken a rest and imagined William sitting alongside her. She began to talk, explaining her uncertainties to him and why she couldn’t decide on one design or the other. She sketched swords in the sand and talked and talked, completely forgetting she was all alone.

“
You think too much about it. Just make a sword like the one you would want to have
,” she could almost hear William saying.

“That’s it!” she cried out, and jumped up. Of course! She just had to think of what was most important to her in a sword. It needed a proper balance, that is, the size and weight of the pommel relative to the length of the blade was decisive because that determined the center of gravity of the finished sword. If this was done correctly, the sword would sit firmly in the hand and be easy to wield. In addition the sword had to be sharp, very sharp, and for this the hardening was critical. The iron had to be free of impurities and not become brittle during the quenching process. Since the customer for the sword was not known, it seemed easiest for Ellen just to make it for someone her own size. And since she was rather tall for a woman, there would be enough prospective customers among the knights. On the way back she thought through all the other details and could envision the sword in her mind.

The polishing, too, was extremely important for the quality of the blade. Only rarely did Donovan have this work done by a sword sweeper or sword polisher. Most of them were quite skilled and experienced in their trade, quite capable of polishing used swords, but according to Donovan only the smith who had fashioned the blade was really able to polish it to perfection. For this reason, Ellen had also become an expert in polishing, too. She loved doing it because it helped to perfect the beauty and sharpness of a blade. It was the crowning finish of a well-made sword. The form and size of the cross guard, on the other hand, were only of secondary importance as they were more a matter of taste and aesthetics. Ellen decided to fashion a short, broad cross guard. Then, of course, a sword required a scabbard fitted exactly to the blade. This work was done by a sheather or scabbard maker who could only begin when the weapon was finished. The grip, a wooden shaft for the tang, was wrapped with twisted or braided wire, leather, or cord, and was done by another specialist. Ellen would have to discuss her ideas for decorations on the blade and perhaps also on the pommel with a silversmith or goldsmith. She knew it was advisable to meet soon with all the tradesmen involved and let them know when their help would be needed in order to deliver her work on time. Donovan had given her four months, but she couldn’t work on her sword all day, as there was other work in the forge to do.

Ellen fashioned the sword step by step just as the master had taught her. When she had to prepare the cutting edge of the blade, she considered asking Donovan for advice but decided not to.

To ask Art for his opinion would have been a waste of time. He worked carefully but was not able to develop his own ideas or make suggestions on improvements to a process.

So Ellen relied on her own abilities and finally completed it by herself. She had the pommel gilded after discussing the cost with Donovan. The goldsmith decorated the finished blade, with silver wire inlays forming the words IN NOMINE DOMINI— in the name of the Lord—the saying preceded and followed by a little cross. Ellen could neither read nor write, though unlike William she had no objection to learning it. It was just that she hadn’t had the opportunity, and so she had to rely on the goldsmith’s advice for the choice of words. He couldn’t read, either, but had templates with a number of sayings that a scholar had prepared for him. The goldsmith had learned their meanings by heart and then could recommend them to his customers. He well knew which sayings were in demand by the knights. When after almost exactly four months the grip and the wrapping as well as the sword belt together with the scabbard were finished, Ellen would be ready to hand over the completed sword.

Ellen trembled inwardly with pride because the sword had turned out so well. She had tested it more than once for flexibility, sharpness, and stability. Yet she was still very nervous.

“Bad use of the fire, substandard iron, or a bad weld are not the worst enemies a smith has, but his own vanity,” Donovan had warned her again and again.

She tried to be humble and patient and waited all day for the right moment to ask Donovan to look at the sword. She was so eager to hear her master’s judgment that the day seemed never to end. When evening came and Donovan sent Vincent and Arnaud home, she stayed behind in the forge. “Master!” she said with a pounding heart, bowing reverently and handing him her treasure.

Donovan took the sword in both hands and tested its weight. Then he seized it by the grip and weighed it in one hand.

Ellen scrutinized his face, trying to figure out whether he was happy. Nervously she bit her lower lip.

Donovan slowly pulled the sword out of the scabbard.

Ellen held her breath.

The smith held up the grip close to his eyes and studied it closely, the tip of the sword pointing toward his right foot. He scrutinized the blade to see if it was straight. Then he shook the pommel and the grip to see if they were fixed securely. If they were loose, the sword was worthless. He passed his thumb over the riveting in the pommel and nodded slightly. Ellen’s work was well done, but she scarcely dared to breathe. Donovan took a rag in order not to soil the blade with the oil in his hands and bent it into a half circle. Ellen knew that it would easily withstand the bending but was glad just the same when he released it and the blade was straight again. Finally, the master took a piece of cloth, folded it once around the blade, and pressed the blade through the cloth. It was a clean cut, and not a fiber was torn. Donovan repeated the test with the other side of the blade, and the result was the same.

Ellen breathed a scarcely audible sigh of relief. She had spent much time sharpening the blades, and nothing would be worse than a mediocre result. But for all that she felt more and more anxious—every twitch in Donovan’s face seemed to suggest disappointment, and when he cleared his throat she felt sure it meant he was displeased. How could she ever have believed that Donovan would be happy with her? He had been friendlier to her recently and had acknowledged her talent, but was that any reason to think he would approve of her sword?
Surely he thinks the pommel is too gaudy and the silver inlays are inappropriate
, she thought, and suddenly doubted that they would ever be able to sell the sword. She completely forgot the high words of praise from the sheather and the goldsmith. Their opinions were meaningless in comparison to what Donovan had to say. Although it wasn’t especially warm in the workshop, Ellen could feel the sweat on her brow.

As Donovan put the sword back in its scabbard, Ellen thought she noticed a slight nod. She watched in disappointment as he turned around, laid the sword down, and without saying a word walked over to the large box in which they kept seldom-used tools and a few other things. On top of this box there was a long, ordinary-looking chest that he picked up with both hands. He turned around, walked toward her, and looked her straight in the eye. “Your work is excellent,” he said. “The sword is sharp and easy to hold, the blade is flexible, and the shape is well balanced. Your work is good and I am proud of you, but…” Donovan paused for a long time.

What’s coming now?
Ellen wondered impatiently. Couldn’t he ever praise her without reservation?

“…but I expected nothing less of you,” he said, and a smile darted across his face. “From now on you can call yourself a smith. The sword was your journeyman’s piece.” He handed her the chest.

It was so heavy that Ellen had to set it down before opening it. “Master!” she gasped in astonishment when she saw what was in it. Awestruck, she took out the new leather apron and tied it around her waist. It was exactly the right size. She could see from the symbol that was punched along one edge that the leather was from the best tanner in Tancarville. In addition to the apron there was a cap for her in the chest, which looked just like the one the master wore, and furthermore two tongs and a sledgehammer. These were the first tools she’d ever owned, if you didn’t count Llewyn’s hammer. Ellen had made the tongs and the sledgehammer herself but didn’t know they would someday be her own.

“There’s still something in the chest,” Donovan said, again in his usual grumpy voice.

Only now did Ellen see that there was indeed something else at the bottom of the wooden box. It was wrapped in a dark woolen cloth and was heavy and long. It looked like a tool, only narrower. Ellen gasped in amazement when she discovered what was wrapped in the cloth. “A file! Master, you must be out of your mind!”

That was not exactly what she intended to say, but Donovan did not respond with a reprimand, but with a broad smile.

A file was an unusually expensive gift for a young smith. It must have taken a lot to bring him to part with so much money, but he seemed pleased that she appreciated it. Ellen struggled with tears, and if Donovan noticed the glint in her eyes he didn’t say so. After all, a smith didn’t cry, not even when deeply moved.

“You are a good lad, Alan, and I would be happy if you remained here with me.”

“I thank you, master, and I’ll be very happy to do so,” Ellen said with a firm voice.

“We’ll put the sword up for sale, and I think you will get a good price for it. You can pay me the cost of the materials and keep the rest for yourself.”

Donovan must really be in a good mood to make such a generous offer
, Ellen thought with surprise. How she would have loved to run to William to tell him about the sword, but he was still not back. She knew from Rose, though, that the Lord of Tancarville and his knights would be coming back soon.

In fact, William returned the very next Sunday to their meeting place in the forest. The autumn sun bathed the practice ground in a warm, friendly light.

Ellen should have noticed there was something different about William, but her joy in seeing him again and her desire to show him the sword and tell him all about it made her blind to everything else. William listened patiently.

“To make a sword all by myself…I thought I couldn’t do that. There were so many things to decide on, do you understand?” Without waiting for an answer, Ellen continued. “The scariest moment was when I put the blade in the water to quench it. You can’t imagine what a feeling that is. It’s the moment that decides whether all those weeks of work paid off or whether it was all in vain. I thought I’d die from fear! To tell you the truth, I was listening so hard to hear whether there was even the slightest crackling sound that my ears, even my whole head ached. But all I heard was the hissing of the water. Good heavens, I was so relieved. The blade is sharp and flexible, just as it should be,” she related excitedly.

“Good Lord, Alan, what a blabbermouth you are!” William interrupted her rather harshly.

Ellen was taken aback and looked at him with embarrassment. With the exception of Donovan, William was the only one with whom she could discuss swords, and she had waited so long for him to return.

“Sorry, Alan, I didn’t mean it that way. Can I stop by the workshop sometime and have a look?” William hadn’t yet seen the bundle lying in the grass next to Ellen.

“I brought it along,” she whispered before breaking out in a wide smile and carefully unwrapping it.