The Copper Sign (42 page)

“First I’d like to walk a bit. I probably don’t have enough strength to go very far, but I must gradually get used to it.”

“When you notice she is getting tired, you’ll insist she gets back on the horse, do you hear?” Ruth admonished them, and looked Ellen in the eye. “Don’t overexert yourself so soon, all right?”

“I promise!” Ellen took Ruth’s hand and added, “I wish my mother had been like you.”

“Now you must go, or you’ll never get started!” Ruth said, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand.

It took them nine days on foot, and every day Ellen was able to do a few miles more. By the end of the trip she felt as strong as ever. It was already late in the afternoon as they approached Chartres, where the tournament was to be held. There were many tradespeople on the site already, building their stalls and putting up tents, but Pierre had not yet arrived. Ellen and Jean hurried to find a good place for their tent and quickly set it up.

While Madeleine got her things in order and prepared the meal, Ellen and Jean strolled around.

“There’s the shield maker’s stand!” Jean called out, and ran ahead.

Ellen followed behind and roamed around the stall as Jean talked with the master.

“I told her that your glue is the best.”

“So, you are bringing me a new customer, that’s very nice. I made the glue this morning,” the shield maker replied, but he didn’t pay any attention to Ellen.

“Then let’s have a look,” Ellen spoke up, smiling broadly. She knew men liked her smile, and it was always a good idea to gain favor with someone you wanted to buy something from.

“So you’re the smith?”

“That’s right,” Ellen replied cordially.

“And why does a smith need glue? Do you have problems getting your iron to stick together?” He slapped his thigh and laughed so hard he almost lost his breath.

Ellen didn’t show her annoyance. “May I?” she asked, going over to the pot and stirring the sticky liquid. The glue was obviously of good quality and would be clear and firm when it dried, as she could see at the edge of the pot. Ellen smelled it, poked it with her finger that was accustomed to heat, and licked it. Then she nodded to Jean, and he negotiated a good price.

“You’re a fine fellow,” the shield maker said. “Would you like to work for me again? Sylvain, my son, gets along well with him,” he told Ellen in an aside, and the two reached an agreement. “Here, this rabbit foot is for you, it will bring you luck!” he said to Jean and then turned to Ellen: “Excuse me, no offense, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just unusual—a pretty, young girl who would rather make swords than marry and have children.”

Ellen nodded almost imperceptibly.

As they walked back to the tent, Jean stroked the soft fur of the rabbit’s foot.

“I like to work for him. He is always friendly and jokes around a lot, even if he was a little out of order this time. He certainly didn’t mean to offend,” Jean tried to tell her as he hopped along beside her.

Just before they got back to the tent, they saw Pierre and Armelle with their heavily laden wagon.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. Remember that Ruth said you shouldn’t get excited as long as you are sick.”

“What didn’t you tell me?”

“Pierre was terribly angry that you didn’t come to work. He said he didn’t know if he wanted to have you back.” Jean didn’t dare to look at Ellen. He had been worrying for the last few days but didn’t have the courage to bring it up.

“Oh, him! He’s certainly long gotten over that.” She waved her hand dismissively.

“But he was really furious!”

“Well, we’ll see.” Ellen felt strong enough to confront him and walked over to Pierre confidently. In the meanwhile, Armelle had disappeared behind the wagon.

“Pierre!” Ellen nodded slightly. “I’m back.”

At first, Pierre looked bewildered. “You don’t exactly look deathly sick!” he grumbled.

“I’m feeling better, thank you,” Ellen answered calmly. She knew Pierre well enough to be sure his anger had long since passed. “Is everything else all right?”

“There was lots to do,” he retorted, with a touch of reproach in his voice.

“Then I’ll help you set up your things so we can get a bit ahead on the work. What do you think, master?” She started to unload the wagon.

“That’s surely not a bad idea.” Pierre seemed to be happy that Ellen didn’t breathe a word about his argument with Jean.

“How is your sword coming along?” he asked, making clear that their quarrel was settled. It was the first time he had ever shown an interest in Athanor.

“I’d like to begin soon with the pommel. The sheath and the scabbard are practically finished, but there is still a little work to be done.”

“Will you show it to me when you are finished?”

“Of course, master.”

It was already pitch dark outside when Ellen and Pierre had finally unloaded everything and set up the smithy. Jean wasn’t set to begin working for the shield maker until the following day, so he helped them and received a few coins from Pierre for his work.

“You’re a clever fellow,” he complimented him, patting him on the shoulder. Ellen noticed that Jean must have grown, for when he was standing next to the smith, he reached up to the smith’s chin.

The very next day Ellen made two little metal caps to protect the wooden halves she would glue together to cover the tang. The caps were to help the glue holding the wood and to protect the hilt so it would not crack at its most sensitive places. After she had applied the glue, she carefully pressed the wood together until it had partially dried and wrapped it all securely with a cord that held the hilt together until the glue had dried completely. The very next day she was able to polish the edges, smooth it, and finally rub the hilt with linseed oil so that the joints where the parts were glued together were scarcely visible.

Ellen looked at the handle with satisfaction. The cross guard was secure, and the tang projected far enough out of the handle to accommodate the pommel and be riveted. Her heart was pounding with pride. She would still wrap the handle with the dark red silk cord. Once the pommel was secure, she would balance the sword on her outstretched index finger and be able to determine the weapon’s center of gravity, for that was the right place for the gold-wire inlay.

She had been wondering for a long time what would be the right symbol and finally decided on a small heart. It stood for the knight’s courage and boldness, and for his life. Only recently had Ellen heard for the first time that in some places people thought of the heart as a symbol for love, too. William, though, would surely not think of it like that.

First she would have to make the pommel and be sure it was the proper size as a counterweight to the blade. From the remainder piece she fashioned a slightly oval disk about two fingers thick and, using a drift, just as she had for the cross guard, made a slit for the tang in the pommel disk, which had become almost round due to the hard blows from the hammer. To get a really circular disk, Ellen forged the pommel a little more, then used a file and the whetstone until the circle was perfect. She rubbed and polished the pommel until it shone just like the cross guard and then slid it over the tang. Finally she compressed the protruding part of the tang with a few well-aimed blows to fix the pommel in place.

The next morning as she entered the workshop, Ellen had the feeling of being watched. Was William nearby? Her thoughts kept wandering to him, and nothing seemed to be going right for her. First, she had trouble getting the fire started; then she burned the iron so that the sparks flew in all directions.

“Good Lord, pull yourself together,” Pierre shouted at her. “What in the world is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I really am. I have a feeling something bad is going to happen today.”

“Silly women’s talk,” Pierre scolded her impatiently. “Do your work and do it right.”

Not until after noon was she able to concentrate better. She still had to finish the tip of a spear, and she finally got started on it now. While she was standing at the anvil with her back turned, someone came to the stand. It wasn’t William—she would have recognized the sound of his footsteps at once. They had something commanding, something that instilled respect. The man who had just approached the smithy sounded like a sneaky, perhaps underhanded person, and she didn’t turn around when she saw out of the corner of her eye that Pierre was waiting on him.

But the hair on the back of her neck stood up as soon as she heard the man speak. Never would she forget that voice. It was Thibault, and he was standing just a few steps behind her. Ellen prayed Pierre wouldn’t ask for her help, as Thibault would recognize her at once. It had happened six years ago, but it suddenly seemed to her as if it were just yesterday. Ellen took a cloth and nervously wiped the iron she happened to have in her hand. The two men were talking about repairs to a weapon that Thibault had brought along, and neither of them paid any attention to her. Only after Thibault had left did Ellen dare to turn around. What in heaven’s name should she do? She couldn’t possibly be on her guard all the time and hide from him. She turned back to the anvil, lost in thought, when someone stepped up to her from behind and whispered in her ear.

“You are more beautiful than ever!”

Ellen turned around, shocked. She thought he had left! “What do you want?” she snapped at Thibault. She didn’t allow the fear she still had of him to show.

“A night with you, my beautiful songbird.”

“Are you crazy?” Ellen was so angry she had to gasp for air. “Now don’t act so prudish. I’m aware of what has been going on between you and William. It was very exciting to watch you.”

She was overcome with both shame and rage, and couldn’t help but blush.

“I want you, in my bed, in the forest, in a meadow, anywhere.”

“You are crazy! Thibault, it would be a sin—you are my brother!” she blurted out in panic.

Thibault merely snorted.

“Before he married your mother, your father got my mother in trouble, just as you did with Rose back then.”

Thibault burst out laughing. “You? An illegitimate de Tournai? Wouldn’t you like that! So you have heard that my father is dead, have you? He can’t tell anymore, so I’ll just have to believe you, is that right? But I don’t, and I don’t care what you think. I want you still, and I’ll get you yet!”

Ellen didn’t let her fear show. “You had better go now!” She raised the hammer in her right hand threateningly.

“Our friend William is here, too, by the way. I can hardly believe he’ll be pleased to learn that Ellen and Alan are the same person. But don’t worry, if you come to me on your own, my lips will be sealed.” He put his fingers to his mouth. “Incidentally, I can also be very tender.”

Ellen felt sick. His disgusting smirk brought back to mind the day he had violated her.

“I’ll give you three days to think it over. If you don’t come, I’ll tell him. He won’t be happy to hear you lied to him—he can’t stand liars, the good fellow!” Thibault laughed maliciously. “I warn you, think carefully what you do. You’ll be mine one way or the other.”

He turned around and left the smithy with long strides.

Jean almost bumped into him, and watched with surprise as he left. “Who was that, anyway?” he asked and turned around to look at Thibault again. Then he noticed the bewilderment in Ellen’s eyes. “Good heavens, what did he do to you? You look upset!”

Ellen just stood there trembling and shaking her head.

“I’ve got to get out of here, immediately. Pierre!” she shouted. “I have to go. I’ll be back tomorrow,” she apologized as she bumped into him on her way out.

“What’s wrong this time?” the smith grumbled. Only when he noticed how confused and upset Ellen looked did he realize something was seriously wrong.

“I’ll deduct a half day’s wages,” he grumbled and waved her off forgivingly.

“Let’s go!” Ellen pulled at Jean’s sleeve. They pushed their way through the crowd, and not until they were alone did Ellen begin to explain.

“The knight you saw is my brother.”

“What’s that?”

“His father when he was in England…and my mother…she was a foolish woman and he…well…I know Thibault from Tancarville, where I also met William.” Ellen told him as best she could why she had fled from Tancarville.

“Some friend that was who snitched on you,” Jean said.

“That’s what I thought at first, too, but she had no idea how it would hurt me.” Ellen told him about being beaten and violated by Thibault—after everything he had told her about Madeleine, he would surely understand without condemning her. As she talked about Thibault, she clenched her fists involuntarily and noted that Jean did the same.

“I’ll kill the guy!” he snorted, and beat the air with his fists.

“You’re my hero!” Ellen said gratefully. But couldn’t it be William standing beside her and supporting her? She would have much preferred him as the protector of her honor, but it was likely he would condemn her and possibly even try to defend Thibault. She choked back tears of grief and bitterness.

“If he tells William, I’ll never see him again.”

“You don’t have a future in common anyway. You should just tell William everything yourself, before Thibault does. Then he’ll have the choice whether to be angry at you for your deception or happy that you told him the truth. If he doesn’t stand by you because he feels duped, that’s his bad luck.”

“Oh, Jean, I can’t do that.” Ellen let out a deep sigh.

“What are you more afraid of, Thibault and his lust for you, or William’s disappointment?”

Ellen shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

Almost three months had passed since the day she lay on the meadow with William and enjoyed the passions of physical love, and since then she had not bled. One time it seemed it was about to happen, but then the bleeding lasted only half a day. Until that point she had attempted to suppress the thought, but now she suspected she was with child.