The Copper Sign (36 page)

“You can take one of the helpers’ aprons hanging over there on the hooks. Roll down your sleeves. I’ll be ready in a moment. First I have something here to finish for Pierre, or he’ll be angry. You can just watch me for a moment.”

After finishing the work for Pierre, she took the crude iron bar, handed Jean a heavy pair of tongs, and pointed to the large piece of iron. “You’ve got to put that in the forge.”

Jean stared at her wide-eyed and tapped his chest. “What? You want me to do that?”

“Sure, you said you wanted to help me, and you want to learn something as well, don’t you?” Ellen grinned.

Jean nodded uncertainly, seized the huge pair of tongs, and lifted the iron bar. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that’s heavy!” The iron slipped away from him and fell on the ground.

“Work in a smithy can be very dangerous if you don’t watch out. If that happens to you with the hot iron, there will be trouble!” Ellen raised her hand as if she were about to slap him.

Jean gave her a frightened look, and Ellen laughed. “I’m serious, you really have to hold it tight.” She took a handful of sand and sprinkled it on the bar. “Let’s go, put it in the fire.”

A bit unsure of himself, Jean laid the iron on the coals.

“That’s right—right in the middle,” Ellen said encouragingly. “It’s got to be in the center of the heat, and then you have to blow air on it with the bellows.”

Jean didn’t dare let go of the tongs.

“You can just put it down when you need to use the bellows, but now and then you’ve got to turn the iron to keep it heated evenly all the way around.”

The large wooden bellows, covered in pig’s leather, wheezed when Jean pulled the chain and blew air into the hearth, making the coals glow brightly.

“Turn it now.” Ellen pointed to the piece of iron, and Jean picked up the tongs, as large beads of sweat dripped from his brow. Ellen watched him and added, “When the iron is white hot, you have to take it out of the fire right away or it will burn.”

“It will burn?” Jean looked at her in disbelief.

“Yes, indeed, iron can burn, and that’s not good for it. Don’t forget the air, Jean.” Ellen laughed and pointed to the bellows. “The bar is thick, so it will take a while before it really glows.”

Jean simply nodded, pulled the chain on the bellows, and Ellen was happy he didn’t ask any dumb questions.

Donovan had had the same problems, and she sighed when she thought of him because she missed him.

“Look closely at the color of the glowing iron. Pretty soon you’ll have to take it out and put it on the anvil.”

Jean kept staring into the hearth until his eyes burned. When Ellen suddenly pointed to the piece of iron, Jean grabbed the tongs and pulled it out of the fire.

Ellen already was holding the sledgehammer in both hands, waiting to strike.

“Hold on tight. If you don’t hold it securely, it will go flying all over the room.”

Jean nodded in fright and clutched the tongs tightly.

With careful, even blows Ellen started to hammer out the block of iron. There were no cracks visible on the surface, but a few pieces flew off.

“Come on, you will be a beautiful sword,” she mumbled, and now struck the iron even more carefully so that no more would break off.

“In just a moment I’ll split it, so we can cut it off,” Ellen said, after she had heated it in the forge twice again.

“This here is a blacksmith’s chisel. We’ll use it to cut the piece of iron in two. To do that, you’ll have to hold the tongs with just one hand the next time. You’ll have to get used to that eventually, in any case.”

When Jean put the stack down on the anvil, Ellen took the blacksmith’s chisel and sledgehammer and put a notch in it with several well-placed blows. “Now hold the chisel while I keep hammering.”

Jean closed his eyes because he was afraid Ellen could miss and strike his hand.

“Open your eyes!” Ellen shouted. “I’m trying to pay attention, but you have to keep a lookout anyway.” She kept telling him to move the chisel in closer so she could make a deep cut through the entire length. “You’ve got to tilt over the billet like this, do you see?” Ellen tapped his elbow to remind him to hold it up higher. “Now back in the heat it goes, then we can cut the piece off completely.”

She cut off the larger of the two pieces and put it aside. “We’ll fold that later,” she explained.

Jean wondered about that strange expression. Folding sounded very simple, as with a piece of cloth you folded over, but certainly that wasn’t the meaning here. He thought it over as he stared into the flames.

“You did a really good job, Jean,” she commended him. “While I work on the smaller piece now, you can rest a bit.”

Only now did Jean notice how tired he was, though he had done far less than Ellen, who didn’t look tired at all.

Ellen removed the smaller piece from the fire and hammered it into a long bar that she flattened at one end. Then she took the split billet from the edge of the forge, pounded it into a right angle, and put the flat end of the rod in the middle. Then she closed the stack, hammering it with powerful blows until the bar was anchored. Then she spread a small shovelful of sandstone powder over it and placed it all in the fire. “The sand keeps the iron from burning,” she explained, as it glowed in the forge, crackling softly. “It’s just ordinary, crushed sandstone. Did you ever notice that I sometimes pick up stones?”

Jean nodded.

“So now it’s your turn again.” Ellen pointed to the rod.

What…? I mean, what exactly shall I do now?”

“Just turn it now and then so the billet is heated uniformly. When it’s glowing yellow-white, take it out and put it flat on the anvil, holding it tightly and pushing it back when I tell you to, just like before.”

Jean’s excitement was evident as he took the responsibility for the iron.

Ellen cleaned up the shop and wiped the tinder from the anvil.

Jean kept looking into the fire until his eyes filled with tears.

“It’s better for you not to keep staring into the glowing coals, or your eyes will hurt so much tonight that you won’t be able to sleep.”

Jean did as she said.

“All right, take it out! Now!” Ellen shouted after a while.

Jean jumped up. “But the rod is certainly hot now,” it occurred to him suddenly.

“No, it isn’t, go ahead; otherwise our iron will burn.”

Jean grabbed the stack by the bar and laid it out on the anvil. Ellen was right: the rod was only slightly warm.

“Watch out, now, it’s going to spatter,” Ellen warned him as she swung the heavy sledgehammer down on the packet. After the first blow, molten slag squirted out of the billet, and sparks of all sizes rained down on Jean’s forearm.

Startled, he jumped back and let go of the rod.

Ellen had already started to swing the hammer again, and it came down hard on the billet, but hit in the wrong place because its position on the anvil had shifted. The iron went flying through the air. Ellen’s hammer hit only the anvil, while the glowing stack fell onto the ground right at Jean’s feet. “Damn, you have to hold on tight, I said!”

“But the sparks burned me.”

“Oh, come on. Why didn’t you roll down your sleeves?” Ellen scolded. “Flying sparks are part of a smith’s job. The slag has to come out in forge welding. It’s not really that bad—the little blisters heal quickly.” She frowned unhappily.

“I was surprised and frightened,” Jean said, trying to defend his action, then reached for the rod in order to pick up the iron again.

Jean is right
, Ellen thought, reproaching herself. She should have made sure his arms were completely covered and explained to him what she was going to do.

“May I keep on working just the same?” Jean asked dejectedly when he saw that the rod was bent.

“Sure, just give it to me—I’ll just have to straighten it out.”

After a few more blows from the hammer, the rod was straight again. “Is everything all right otherwise?” she asked, concerned.

Jean nodded and rubbed his nose with embarrassment.

“Well, then we’ve been lucky.” Ellen patted him on the shoulder to cheer him up.

“Is it going to spatter again the next time?” Jean asked cautiously.

“It will, but you mustn’t let go, all right?” she insisted.

“I promise. This time I’ll be sure to hold it tightly.” He nodded again and rolled down his sleeves all the way. He carefully watched the color of the iron without staring into the flames for too long, turned the billet now and then, and took it out without being told when it glowed yellow-white.

With well-aimed, heavy blows, Ellen welded the stack with the rod. This time, as well, molten slag squirted out of the pile with every blow, and sparks flew. They could easily set something on fire, and for this reason neither straw nor other flammable things could be placed close to the anvil.

Jean bravely held the rod tight and didn’t budge even when the sparks landed on his hand, leaving behind little blisters.

“Well done!” Ellen congratulated him when she was done. “It will be easier to work with the handle we have now than with the tongs.” She wiped the tinder from the anvil and poured it into a sack that Pierre had standing there for that purpose. “You can purify and reuse the little flakes of iron that we smiths call tinder or hammer scale,” she explained. “Now watch closely and listen to what I am going to say. When I say ‘forward,’ you’ll shove the billet a bit forward, and when I say ‘turn,’ you’ll turn it over on the other side and at the same time pull it back toward you. The anvil is cold, so the iron won’t stay hot very long and we’ve got to be quick to use every bit of heat. You’re doing fine!” she said, trying to encourage him. “And now, out with the iron!” Ellen took the heavy sledgehammer and started drawing out the iron again. When the billet was about twice as long, she took the hand hammer and chisel in order to split it in the middle and fold it again.

Jean placed the iron in the hearth once more, and took it out when it became hot enough, holding it by the rod while Ellen welded the two layers together with a number of heavy blows with the sledgehammer. She heated the iron again, thus ending the first folding procedure.

“Will you be able to do one more folding? Then tomorrow and the day after we’ll need only to make two and three more before we’ll be finished with that,” Ellen explained.

“Why are we doing that, actually?” Jean inquired.

“It’s sort of a spring cleaning for iron.” Ellen grinned, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. “Iron always has impurities and inclusions. The folding purifies it and prevents defects in the blade. The more folding operations we perform, the better the sword will be, but it also makes the iron softer, and so you can’t do it an unlimited number of times.”

Jean tried to look as if he understood that.

“There’s a lot you understand only after working with it for years,” Ellen reassured him. The smiths always said that in the first ten years the smith was shaped by the iron before the iron was shaped by him. But for herself, Ellen felt it was different— from the very beginning, she and the iron had been a bit like good friends.

It was already dark when they finished the second folding. The night sky was cloudless and the moonlight bright enough so Ellen and Jean could safely find their way to the tent.

When they arrived, Madeleine was already fast asleep. She lay rolled up on her blanket and had cuddled up close to Greybeard. The dog look up wearily for a moment, wagged his tail a few times, and closed his eyes again. He had grown up faster than Ellen had ever dreamed possible and took up as much space in the tent as another person.

“Man, am I hungry!” Jean groaned.

“Sorry, it has gotten much too late.” Suddenly Ellen had a guilty conscience.

“You don’t have to feel sorry. I have learned a lot. You know, if I could, I’d become a smith or a carpenter or something like that. But no one would ever want me as an apprentice. I can’t pay anything, and I have to take care of Madeleine.”

“Oh, Jeannot! Someday you’ll get your chance. You just can’t give up hope.” Ellen pinched his cheek and smiled.

Jean frowned indignantly. He didn’t like it when she treated him as a child. “At work you called me Jean, not Jeannot. Can’t you always do that?” he asked, without looking at her.

“Of course,” Ellen answered, chewing.

The next two evenings she watched the boy more closely at work. He was diligent, willing to learn, and skillful. He would certainly make his way in life. Sadly, Ellen thought back to the day when she had first gone to see Llewyn. How long ago that was! She had been a little younger than Jean. If he spent more time in the smithy and if she explained more things to him, why shouldn’t he be lucky someday, too?

After Ellen had folded the iron for the last time, she marked two pieces of equal size without cutting them off.

“Are you going to fold it again after all?” Jean asked with surprise.

“Just hold on and watch, then you’ll see what I am doing.” Ellen cut a groove first in one half, and then in the other.

Jean didn’t dare ask again and just looked on silently.

Ellen took the square point she had made first, placed it in the notch, and checked the depth. Then she deepened the groove a bit and tested the other half as well. When she was satisfied, she turned one side down, as with the folding earlier, without completely closing the billet, however. “Take a pair of tongs to hold the stack, and in the other hand take the chisel.”

“Why do I have to pick up the tongs again?

“Because now I am going to remove the rod.”

“But didn’t we just attach it?” Jean looked at her, confused.

“We only needed it for the folding, and now we have to cut it off again.”

“But that takes a lot of time. Couldn’t we have just continued using the tongs?” Jean was puzzled.