The Copper Sign (48 page)

“I’ll pay your wages until the end of the week, but you can leave now.” Ellen tried to sound calm even though she was quite angry with Adam. To look at the disorder in the smithy, he didn’t deserve three days’ salary, but he clearly wasn’t guilty of any serious misconduct, so she had no choice.

“You’ll regret this,” Adam spluttered, “bitterly!” He hastily put his things together and left without saying another word.

Ellen was happy that Osmond was not present for this confrontation. Adam’s words would have offended him deeply. She rubbed her hands together, happy this unpleasant conversation was behind her. “So let’s get going,” she mumbled to herself, and began cleaning up the workshop.

“Adam didn’t take care of your tools. The tongs are rusty, the files are dull, and it looks like he stole some things. How many files did you have, Father?” Ellen asked Osmond when he came to the smithy.

“Five, and very good ones! I bought them all over a period of years from Iven in Woodbridge, the best file maker I know,” he answered proudly.

“Five!” Ellen hissed. “Then he took two along with him, that scoundrel!”

Jean looked at her, wide-eyed. “That’s not so bad, is it?”

“Not so bad? A file costs more than a journeyman makes in four months!”

Ellen and Jean spent two days cleaning up the shop, sorting out the tools, scraping off the rust, and finally oiling them.

“Tomorrow we’ll begin with the actual work. We need a few tools that we can make here, and then we’ll try to get some new orders,” Ellen declared with satisfaction.

In the middle of the night, she was suddenly shaken out of her sleep by Rose.

“Ellen, quick! Get up!”

“What’s the matter?”

“The shop is on fire! Jean is over there already.”

Ellen jumped up and ran outside in her nightshirt.

The roof of the smithy was ablaze, and even though they all fought the flames, fetching bucket after bucket of water to put on the fire, there was not much they could do. It was a desperate, senseless struggle.

When the fire was finally out, they stood there dumbfounded, looking at the enormous damage. The entire roof truss was gone. The stone walls of the smithy were black with soot, but fortunately still standing. But building a new roof would be a costly undertaking.

“This was no accident, I’m sure of that. This was Adam,” Ellen said angrily, after she and the others had spent the whole day picking up and carting away the rubble. Looking like a charcoal burner blackened with soot, she sat down at the table, eagerly drinking the cup of goat’s milk that Rose set down in front of her.

“Ellen!” Osmond scolded her. “You shouldn’t say anything like that. Adam was always a decent lad.”

“Decent? Don’t make me laugh, Father! He was deceiving you. As far as I can see, he took along the whole supply of iron, then the two files and various tongs—or did you perhaps never have a pair of wolf’s jaw tongs?”

“But of course I did. Several, in fact.” Osmond frowned.

“Not a single one is still there! And where do you keep your polishing stones for the knives?”

“In the oaken trunk in the storage room.” Osmond looked shocked.

Ellen nodded. “That’s what I thought. All that I found in there was dust. First he plundered the shop, and as a thank-you he set it on fire.”

“How do you know that?” Osmond asked reluctantly.

“I am sure he hoped someday to be the master here. Then we got in the way of those plans.” Ellen snorted briefly. “Now we really have to get some orders, and until the roof has been replaced we’ll have to work outside insofar as the weather allows. First thing tomorrow morning I’ll go to the castle, and then I’ll look for a carpenter who can repair the roof. For the time being, my savings will be enough.”

Ellen was lucky and did in fact return from the castle with an order. Young Henry along with his brothers had declared war on their father. The garrison in Orford was to be strengthened because of an expected attack from the sea.

“For now I have an order for five lances, two short swords, and three simple soldier’s swords. If we can do this to their satisfaction—which should be no problem—we will receive more orders!”

“But what about Adam and the connections he spoke about?” Jean asked.

“That was just a pack of lies. His work was bad, and that’s the reason he had less and less to do. The man I spoke with knew Donovan’s reputation. I told him I was his apprentice and for this reason, and the fact there are no other weaponsmiths in this area, he was ready to overlook the fact I am a woman and give me the job. Naturally, I told him that the master would keep an eye on all the projects in our shop and that there are other men working in our smithy. By that I meant Osmond and the two of you.” She grinned at Jean and Leofric. “Now it’s up to us to convince them to give us more orders.”

Jean took the opportunity to learn everything in the smithy that Ellen showed him and made quick progress, as did Leofric, who was young but likewise willing to learn.

Osmond could no longer work, and he spent the days either sitting in the shop listening to the rhythmic blows of the hammer or in the house with little William, whom he bounced up and down on his knees. After Ellen started working again in the smithy, her milk began to dry up and Osmond gave the boy lukewarm goat’s milk, just as he had with Ellen years before.

At the same time, Rose never let him out of her sight.

Osmond did not complain, but Ellen knew how greatly he suffered from blindness and not being able to make himself useful.

Hardly anyone in Orford remembered Ellen. Many of the old residents were dead, and the young ones were too much occupied with their own affairs. The times were too turbulent for anyone to be concerned about a missing girl. Rumors did still circulate about ghosts wandering on the moors that kidnapped and ate children, but nobody was thinking of the smith’s daughter in that regard.

Most people had also long ago forgotten Sir Miles. Thomas Becket’s men disappeared overnight after their master fell out of favor with the king. In his anger at Becket’s betrayal, Henry II revoked the rights of his former friend and confidant to Orford. The land reverted to the Crown, and very shortly thereafter and with a great expenditure of wealth the king had the castle built there. It was said he intended by that to make a statement about his power and offer a royal counterbalance to the power of Hugh Bigod, who ruled in Framlingham over a large part of East Anglia. Even though the construction of the castle had been extremely costly, the inhabitants of Orford waited in vain for a visit from their king. But since Thomas Becket had been murdered in Canterbury Cathedral only three years earlier and it was assumed, more or less secretly, that the king was responsible, many Englishmen wavered in their feelings toward King Henry. From all over the country pilgrims came streaming to Canterbury Cathedral to pay homage to Thomas Becket, and every time a miracle was reported, more people came to the gravesite. Even thought they had never set eyes on him, the inhabitants of Orford were filled with pride toward their former ruler. Word had gotten around that Becket was even going to be canonized. Since the murder of Becket, the king stood in the crossfire of opinions as a godless tyrant.

Rose and Jean, too, quarreled about the question of the king’s guilt. People all over the country had divided opinions on this question.

Ellen had no opinion either way. She had never met Thomas Becket or the king, and if she didn’t know either of them how could she know who was a better person? The only king she had ever seen was young Henry, the king who had no power, and she had seen him only a few times and from a distance at tournaments in Normandy. William had never said much about him except that he was young, extravagant, and wanted to be a hero. Just like all the noblemen his age, Ellen thought at the time. But she hesitated to make a judgment about his abilities as a ruler because she felt that wasn’t for her to decide. Someday, when the Young King’s father died, he would know how to rule his enormous kingdom—but he wouldn’t have to bear the responsibility all by himself. Men like the Marshal would stand by him and assist him. The Young King would also be older and more mature and would learn how to do this right, just like kings before him.

Ellen knew practically nothing about the times before King Henry II. At her age she had no firsthand experience of the bad times under King Stephen, and the stories old people told of anarchy and unending war between Stephen and Mathilda seemed like ancient legends.

Ellen had one goal: to someday forge a sword for the King of England, and it was of no importance who this king was.

Ellen sat on the banks of the Ore watching the wide river glittering in the sunlight. Along the shore the water washed through the reeds. She placed a hand over her eyes and gazed across a broad meadow alongside the river. In the distance she saw a man whose bouncing gait reminded her of her childhood friend. “Simon,” she whispered, smiling. In recent weeks she had thought of him often but had not found the time to go and look for him. Now she asked herself if perhaps it was more a lack of courage than time that had kept her from doing so. With determination, she stood up. She would do it today. She wiped the water from her feet in the grass and slipped into her shoes.

Memories of the day she had fled came back to her as she crossed the meadow near the smithy. Up on the hill, the grass was as high as back in those days. But now, as a grown woman, it reached only to her hips. Without giving it a thought, Ellen headed not to the tannery but directly to the old cabin. The forest seemed much closer than she had remembered it. When she saw the cabin, she stopped dead in her tracks, and though the weather was warm and beautiful, she suddenly had goose bumps all over her body. The old cabin was in ruin, shoots of a young birch tree were growing through holes in the roof, and the door was off its hinges. Inside, the cabin was covered with grass, stinging nettles, and thistles.

“Recently I have been coming here often,” she heard a deep voice saying behind her, and she wheeled around. For a moment she almost choked with anxiety, fearing it could be Sir Miles. The man who had spoken was somewhat taller than her, slender, and had powerful arms. Ellen hesitated a moment, then ventured, “Simon?” She finally recognized him by the little dimple on his left cheek when he grinned.

“I have been meaning for a long time to come over,” he said, scratching himself nervously behind one ear.

“Same with me. It was a long time ago,” Ellen replied softly.

“It’s still the same flaming red…” Simon said, pointing at her hair. “Looks good.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly in the dirt.

Ellen didn’t know how to answer, so she remained silent.

“Would you like to come with me? My mother would be really happy…” Simon blushed. “I’m sure you won’t recognize my brothers—they’ve all really grown up except for Michael. He was just a little fellow when you went away and is just beginning to get a little fuzz on his lip.”

“Went away…” Ellen whispered. “Chased away would be more accurate.”

Either Simon hadn’t heard, or he pretended he hadn’t. In any case, he didn’t respond.

Silently she followed him along the same path through the woods that they had taken then. Sun was shining through the trees, casting a soft, peaceful light on the path, a gentle, refreshing breeze was blowing, bees were humming as busily as they did back then, and yet it was different. They had nothing more to fear, they were grown up, and nobody was pursuing them.

“I had forgotten how beautiful it is here.”

Simon looked at her and nodded. “Since Sir Miles and his men left, yes, but before that you never knew. For a long time I thought the same thing would happen to me as it did to Aelfgiva. Did you hear about it?” He wiped his nose with the same gesture as before.

Ellen nodded. “Osmond spoke of it, but he didn’t know any of the details. Do you know anything more about it?”

“After you were gone, she took your bloody clothes out to the moor. She told me what really happened, and I promised I would never tell anyone. And I didn’t, I swear!” Simon had stopped and looked Ellen in the eye with great earnestness. “You must believe me, I never revealed anything!”

“It’s all right, Simon,” Ellen reassured him. She had trusted him back then, and she still did.

“When Sir Miles’s men found your clothes, they said you were eaten by the ghosts on the moor. I rubbed my eyes until they were red and acted as if I were crying. They all believed it, even my mother. By the following summer everything had quieted down and no one spoke of you anymore. It was as if you had never existed. That was until the day Aedith came for a visit. She told your mother she had seen you in Ipswich dressed as a boy. Shortly after that they found the badly maimed body of Aelfgiva not far from her cabin. Her lower jaw was completely smashed, and her face had swollen so much that she was hardly recognizable.”

Ellen gasped in horror.

“My father was there when they found her, and he told me about it. For a long time after that I didn’t dare leave the tannery, but I only realized later how foolish that was—there was really nothing Father could have done if Sir Miles had decided to pursue me! Once I met him when I went out with my father to cut trees. You should have seen how Sir Miles looked at us! I almost soiled myself, and quickly lowered my eyes. I think he enjoyed seeing how terrified I was, though I don’t even know if he recognized me. Probably he didn’t even know why I was so afraid of him. God, how I hated that dirty swine!” He spat on the ground to express his contempt. “Only after he had left did I feel free and safe again.”

Ellen had turned pale. “It’s all my fault Aelfgiva is dead!” she whispered despondently.

“Nonsense!” replied Simon. “The fault lies with Sir Miles and your mother, not you!”

“But if I had avoided Aedith back then in Ipswich instead of sticking out my leg to trip her up, nothing would have happened to Aelfgiva!”