The Copper Sign (8 page)

“Ellenweore?”

Ellen was startled. Aedith put out her hand, but before she could get hold of her, Ellen had spun around and disappeared in the crowd as if chased by the devil. Her heart was pounding. Breathless, she hid behind a cart and from a safe distance watched Aedith struggling to get through the crowd.

Defiant as always but with a little less haughty expression, she disappeared in the Cloth Merchants Street.

Ellen struck her forehead with her fist, furious at herself for what she had done.
Can’t I ever control myself? Why did I have to trip her up? Couldn’t I have just let her go by?
Now, even if Donovan took her on, she would always run the risk of being discovered and betrayed by Aedith. She felt a wave of despair come over her. Would she always be running away? How far could she go, and where could she go without money? For what seemed like an eternity, Ellen just sat and stared into space.
Aedith is my sister—I shouldn’t fear her
, she thought, trying to console herself, but she couldn’t really bring herself to believe it.

After she had commiserated with herself a while, she got up, stretched her shoulders, and jutted her chin out defiantly. First she would go to Donovan to learn of his decision. When she arrived at the forge, she saw a half dozen horses standing in front of Donovan’s workshop. One was without a rider, and the others seemed to be waiting for him. Ellen paid no attention to them but considered leaving again. Perhaps it was good that Donovan obviously was busy. Now she could go over to the house and explain to Glenna that she had offended the daughter of a merchant and had better leave town. Glenna would certainly understand, and Donovan wouldn’t care if she never came back.

Just as she was about to knock, the door swung open and out stepped the Norman who had purchased the fish pasties.

He almost ran into her and grabbed her by the shoulders, laughing. “Well, well, if this isn’t our young pasty taster.”

“My lord,” Ellen replied, lowering her eyes.

“You didn’t tell me you also have an apprentice, Master Donovan,” he said. As he was looking toward the house, Donovan appeared in the doorway.

“How fortunate that he seems to be such a courageous fellow. A coward wouldn’t be of much use to you on a trip like that.”

“But I…” Ellen was trying to explain that she was not an apprentice, but the Norman paid no attention to her and spoke only to Donovan.

“We’re shipping out on the day after Pentecost. You’re not to take too much luggage with you, and no animals: just your tools. They’ll give you everything else you’ll need in Tancarville. Come down to the harbor first thing in the morning and don’t keep us waiting. The harbormaster knows our ships and will show you the way. Between now and then, learn some French,” he said, laughing boisterously.

Donovan grumbled something unintelligible.

Perhaps Ellen should have said something in order to avoid a misunderstanding, but she remained silent. What did it matter? The Norman took her for what she absolutely wanted to be! But only now that the chance had passed did she realize how much she wanted to be Donovan’s apprentice. What could this trip be that the knight spoke of?

Even after the men had left, Donovan simply ignored her.

Ellen stood there as if rooted to the spot and couldn’t figure out what to do. Visibly distraught, Glenna came rushing out of the house.

“Tell me, Don, I just can’t understand. Why is the king angry at you, and why is he sending you away?”

Donovan patted his wife’s cheek tenderly and replied, “The king isn’t angry with me at all, dear, that’s the strange part. William of Tancarville is a close confidant of the king. He has sent FitzHamlin to get me and bring me to Normandy to be his swordsmith, an honor only a really important smith would receive.”

“And so you really mean to go?” Glenna said.

“We
must
go! It would be an offense to the king if I turned down this invitation. I was able to set down a few conditions, but couldn’t do more.” Donovan had first spoken with FitzHamlin alone and only later with Glenna.

“And what are those conditions?” she asked suspiciously.

“I said we needed a comfortable house, of course, and that someone would have to look after our home here in Ipswich until we came back. And I asked that we not be required to stay more than ten years.”

“Ten years?” Glenna shouted, and her face turned white. “Who knows if we will even live that long?”

“It might be only three or four years,” Donovan ventured, trying to calm her down, but it didn’t even sound as if he believed it himself.

“Can we at least take Art along, and the boy?” Glenna asked, gasping.

Donovan nodded without hesitation.

Ellen had no idea what to think of it, but she would have to leave Ipswich in any case. Why not then go to Normandy? Her heart leaped at the thought of such an adventurous journey. On the other hand, once more an important decision regarding her future was being made by someone else. No one had even asked for her opinion.

Ellen watched as Donovan left for the workshop and wanted to follow him.

But Glenna tugged gently at her sleeve. “Give him a little time. Tomorrow is another day!” Glenna sighed and pushed Ellen into the house. “Come, I’ll show you where you will sleep. It will be a hard time, but I’m sure you can make it.”

It seemed to Ellen that Glenna was trying more to boost her own spirits than to convince her, but she nodded.

Ellen would have loved to tell the pasty vendor about the adventure awaiting her but didn’t dare return to the market in Ipswich for fear of meeting Aedith. Nevertheless, the days until her departure were the most exciting she had ever known. On the first day she rose before dawn in order to be in the forge before Donovan arrived. She got dressed quickly and left for the workshop without even having breakfast. She carefully memorized where every tool belonged so she could hand them to Donovan quickly and then put them back where they belonged after the work was done. She filled the water trough and cleaned off the forge, as she would every morning from now on, and was ready then to work with the master.

From the very first morning, Donovan acted as if she had always been his apprentice. He gave her a few instructions for the day’s work and then turned to his task in order to complete all his orders before they left. It was wonderful watching him! Some days he was so absorbed in his work that he forgot to eat. Each of his motions was so carefully executed that no moment was wasted.

Ellen thought she understood now why Llewyn had said he had not been good enough for Donovan. Llewyn was a good blacksmith, but for him forging was a trade; for Donovan, however, it was a calling.

He seldom commented on his work, but Ellen understood each step; she felt, she sensed how and why he did things. She wasn’t even disturbed at having only to watch, for the time being, and not do things. She observed very closely how Donovan worked, and learned more each day than she could have learned anywhere else in weeks. At night her eyes hurt and she fell into bed as tired as if she had been doing hard physical labor all day even though she had not even swung a hammer. Donovan hardly spoke to her, but every day he seemed a bit friendlier.

On the morning of their departure, Ellen got up even earlier than usual. She was so excited that she had hardly slept in any case. Glenna had given her some undergarments, two linen shirts, and a smock that probably once had belonged to Llewyn. Ellen packed them along with the few other belongings she had in the cloth that Aelfgiva had given her. Although it no longer had the old scent on it, it brought tears to Ellen’s eyes whenever she bundled her things in it.

Glenna, too, had risen before dawn. She had been sleeping badly for days and was thus in a bad mood, tormented with questions of what to take along on the trip and what to leave at home. She would have liked to take everything but had to limit herself to things she was especially attached to. The furniture and larger household goods had to be left behind. She kept changing her mind, packing and unpacking the two large trunks they would take along. Finally, everything was stowed away—clothing, sheets, candleholders, blankets, some household goods, and most importantly the document that one of FitzHamlin’s knights had brought to them.

As dawn broke, Donovan and Art arose and sat down quietly for breakfast. Later, neighbors and friends arrived to give their farewells accompanied by good wishes and friendly slaps on the back. Since Ellen barely knew any of them, she retreated behind the forge for a moment, took out the little wooden chaplet that the priest of St. Clement’s had given her after the last Sunday mass, and knelt down, caressing the wooden rosary beads and praying for the people she loved, not knowing if she would ever see them again. Then she was ready for the trip.

“And take care of the goat. You mustn’t slaughter her even if she stops giving milk, do you hear?” Glenna told the neighbors who would be taking care of their house, with tears in her eyes. Her nerves had finally given out.

“Just forget that,” Donovan grumbled, even angrier than usual. “The goat is not important.”

“We’ll forge many fine swords for young knights!” Art said cheerfully. His sunny mood was the only thing one could depend on recently.

Donovan gave him an angry poke in the ribs. “Come now, Art, we’ve got to leave!” Glenna started to sob as they set out, and she kept looking around at the house until they turned a corner and it was no longer visible.

Ellen was all the more excited, as she had never been down by the docks. Even though Orford was an important harbor and Ellen had been aboard a simple fishing boat, she had never before been on a real ship. With great interest, she looked all around the harbor. Barrels, cases, bales, and sacks were piled everywhere. Close by there was a simple wooden shed that looked as if it might collapse at any moment, and outside it a crowd of hungry-looking men standing around in shabby clothing. They were day laborers hoping to find work with the harbormaster. It was miserable, hard work loading and unloading the huge cases, barrels, and bales. The pay was bad, and the work was dangerous. Sometimes men were killed by falling cargo or drowned when they fell into the water and could not be saved in time.

Oxcarts that were used to bring or take away goods were standing on the wharves. The wagoners complained loudly and made a dreadful racket as they maneuvered for position on the docks.

The harbor was swarming with travelers. In one corner pilgrims had gathered and were excitedly discussing the most comfortable and safest ways to travel. Merchants were buzzing around the travelers, trying to sell them various things that might or might not be of any use to them. In front of a beautiful, brightly colored ship some members of the clergy were waiting—papal envoys perhaps, Ellen thought, judging by the sight of their luxurious crimson and purple robes. The monks and priests around them looked like poor little field mice in their simple woolen cowls. Scholars, doctors, and young noblemen were also present and were observing the members of the clergy with great interest.

Merchants were there also, and adventurers—often they were one and the same person—and they lined up to board their ship in Ipswich. People were standing or sitting around on walls, bales of straw, trunks, or cases, waiting. They all wanted to stay on shore as long as possible until the ship was just about to cast off. None of them wanted to spend more time than absolutely necessary on the tossing ship.

After a long search, Donovan and the others finally found the harbormaster in the swirling crowd. He was rude and unfriendly and stank of alcohol and rotten fish but directed them to a rather imposing two-master, the largest vessel in the harbor.

Dockworkers hauled large barrels of food, drinking water, and other goods up a wooden ramp and stowed them inside the ship. Some of the workers were almost invisible beneath the huge bales they carried on their backs.

An older Norman officer seemed to know every corner of the ship and gave exact instructions on where things were to go. The cargo was to be tied down with thick ropes so as not to shift and become dangerous projectiles in a heavy sea. The knights’ horses were also led aboard, along with some sheep and baskets of chicken. The confusion on deck seemed to grow, but the officer was watching everything carefully and remained calm. “Hey, you over there, take the lances below decks! There is still room in the back on the far right. Put them points up and tie them together, is that clear?”

The squire nodded and made haste to do what he was told.

“The cases with the chain mail shirts and those with the shields go over there—hurry up!”

Ellen looked around. Off to one side a few ordinary people were standing—people who, like Donovan and his wife, were neither knights nor foot soldiers. They, too, were watching as the ship’s cargo was taken aboard.

She nudged Glenna and pointed with her chin at the small group. “I wonder whether these are tradesmen, too, traveling to Tancarville?”

“Oh, indeed they are,” Glenna replied, turning to her husband. “Look, that’s Edsel, the goldsmith,” she whispered, “with his wife and their two children!” Cheerfully she went over to the small group, tugging at Ellen’s sleeve to bring her along.

The Normans had gathered many Englishmen of all sorts: Fletcher, the arrow smith, and Ives, the bow maker, were huddled together. They were brothers and had never gone separate ways, Glenna whispered to Ellen, as Edsel came over to her. He held a young boy by the hand who reminded Ellen of Kenny. She smiled and sighed wistfully, but when the boy stuck his tongue out at her, she gasped for air and was furious.

“Over there are the Websters, a couple of weavers from Norwich; they are coming along, too,” Edsel explained. He said nothing about the two prostitutes who were conspicuous with their gaudy yellow scarves and garish makeup on their lips and cheeks.