The Copper Sign (13 page)

“They’re just jealous! If you had ever seen him fight…” Ellen gushed.

“That wouldn’t have done any good because I can’t tell how well anyone fights. You should hurry up and learn some more curses and dumb jokes or he’ll notice for sure the next time that you are a girl and have fallen in love with him!”

“Rose!” Ellen looked at her in dismay. “What are you saying?”

“I see what I see. If you blush as much when you’re with him as you do now in talking about him…” Rose clicked her tongue.

“Oh, you old shrew!” Ellen cried out, rushing at her in feigned anger and tugging gently at her hair.

“Enough, enough, my child,” Rose said somewhat patronizingly, trying to calm her down.

Ellen was annoyed at her behavior and couldn’t help noticing how much Rose had changed recently. Ellen had suspected for some time that Rose had a boyfriend, and it hurt her that Rose hadn’t told her anything about it.

For the rest of the week Ellen was distracted, and her work suffered for it. She made the kinds of errors she never had before.

Donovan was exasperated when she had another accident on Saturday. “If you don’t care for this work anymore, you might want to look around for something else!” he shouted.

“Everything always has to be done your way,” she replied defiantly. “Why can’t I ever try anything new?” Ellen knew how foolish it was to criticize his stubbornness especially at that moment. Her accident had nothing to do with it. Her attack on him was just stupid and impertinent, and it offended Donovan much more than she suspected.

“Get out of here, get out of my workshop!” he yelled.

Ellen left the hammer on the anvil, rushed out of the workshop, and slammed the door behind her. She marched into the house, climbed the stairs two at a time, and lay down on her bed. The room was so small that her mattress and Art’s were only a few feet apart. His snoring never disturbed her, but she was disgusted with whatever else he was doing in the dark. At first she had no idea what it was, but then she saw how he rubbed his male organ until he was relieved and collected the semen in a dirty rag. The fact that he almost never washed it was especially disgusting to her. That day, however, Art was still in the forge with Donovan, and she was alone in the room. She wrapped herself up in her wool blanket and, thinking of William, fell asleep.

It was already light when she awoke the next morning. For once Art had gotten up before she did, and neither Glenna nor Donovan were in the house. Ellen took a piece of bread and drank a few sips of cider. The sweet, sparkling drink was consumed everywhere in Normandy and at all times of day. Beer was less common. Sometimes on holidays Glenna would make ale, and then the English tradesmen would come over and drink with them until everyone was in a jolly mood. Ellen was happy she hadn’t seen the master that morning and started out on her way to church.

She stood far back in the crowd, and all she could think of during the mass was William. Would he really show up at the clearing? Why didn’t he report her? When she thought of him she felt a tingling through her whole body as if cider instead of blood were flowing through her veins. Suddenly she felt someone staring at her and turned around to look.

Glenna was standing in front off to one side. Her look was both reproachful and questioning. Donovan must have told her about Ellen’s insolent behavior.

Of course she had been wrong, it was her mistake, but she couldn’t bring herself to lower her eyes. It was the wrong moment to complain, but she still felt she had done the right thing. She straightened her shoulders, but when she noticed the sad expression in Glenna’s eyes, she turned her head away.
If I really were a man, then
…Ellen didn’t think it through to the end. She looked at Glenna again, but now her head was bowed in prayer. Ellen imagined how disappointed Glenna must be in her and suddenly felt small and vulnerable. Donovan could simply throw her out, and William could betray her at any time. Thibault hated her, and Ours would have gladly thrown her to the dogs. Recently, even Rose didn’t seem to care too much for her company. Ellen wondered why she had looked forward so much to Sunday. Why had her work in the forge, once the most important thing in the world to her, suddenly become only of secondary importance in recent days? Maybe it would be better for her not to go to the forest, but if William was really waiting for her there, wouldn’t it look as if she were a coward?
I’ll go
, she decided, even though she was quite certain he wouldn’t come. Right after church she fetched the sword from the workshop, being careful to avoid Donovan or Glenna, and ran into the forest.

When she got to the clearing she saw that William was already waiting. Her heart pounded, and she had butterflies in her stomach.

“Here,” he said, “I brought two wooden swords along for us. There are so many in the armory that no one will notice if one is missing. In any case, I’ll bring them back.”

Ellen stared wide-eyed at William and nodded.
There’s no understanding men
, she thought.

“May I have your sword for a moment?” he asked politely, and Ellen handed it to him. It was wrapped in a cloth, which he carefully unwound.

“It didn’t survive the quenching. The blade is too brittle for a real battle,” she explained.

William looked at it and frowned. “It looks perfectly all right to me.”

“To harden the blade, you heat it and then chill it in water. That’s a very difficult step, and sometimes a blade becomes brittle in the process and is unusable. But you have to quench the blade, and no matter how good the smith is, sooner or later something like that will happen. I’ll use this sword only for practice and can never use it in a real fight. That would be much too dangerous, do you see?”

“Hm, I think so.”

They practiced enthusiastically all morning, and Ellen’s fear of William gave way to genuine esteem for his abilities and simple way of teaching her the essentials.

“Why are you doing this, anyway? You’ll never be allowed to carry a sword,” he said, out of breath when they stopped for a break.

“Do you think a shoemaker who always runs around barefoot can make good shoes?”

Ellen’s answer surprised William, and he broke out laughing.

“You are no doubt right. And considering how good you are in wielding a sword, you will certainly someday be a damned good swordsmith.” William patted her cordially on the shoulder.

“You may be right. That’s my plan, in any case. Someday I will forge a sword for the king!” Ellen was surprised at how confidently she spoke, but she knew that was exactly what she wanted to do. And that was probably the reason she dreamed about it all the time.

“I’m impressed,” said William, bowing somewhat teasingly. “But I have set my goals just as high as you have—I wish to be a knight in the king’s household. It’s true I am only the fourth son of the Marshal and as such have no claim to a high position, land, or money, in fact not even a chance of marrying well, but I am sure the Lord will show me the right way and someday I will receive what I dream of: fame, honor, and the favor of my king!” William’s eyes sparkled; then he suddenly grinned impishly. “But now let’s eat. I’m dying of hunger, and that would be too bad because nothing would come of my plans.”

They sat down alongside a spring they had discovered in the forest and hungrily pounced upon the food William had brought along.

Ellen had completely forgotten her impudent behavior toward Donovan and headed home in a cheerful mood. She only thought about it again when Glenna met her at the door with a reproachful expression. Ashamed of herself, she lowered her gaze. It was inexcusable that she hadn’t gone to Donovan right after church to ask his forgiveness.

Ellen sensed that someone was looking at her and turned around. “Is something wrong?” she growled at Arnaud.

“It seems you had a problem with the old man.” His mouth was twisted in a triumphant smirk. “Today for once I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

In his first year at the smithy Arnaud had tried, first secretly and then more and more openly, to get her in trouble with the master. Only after Donovan had strongly reprimanded him and threatened to throw him out of the forge had he become a little more prudent. Now he seemed to be in a better position.

“Ah, yes, and before I forget it, the master wishes to see you in the workshop at once!” he told her, pointing over his shoulder with a broad sneer.

Ellen tried to squeeze past Arnaud and jostled him when he didn’t get out of the way. Her pride melted quickly as she approached the workshop. She entered the forge with hunched shoulders and bowed head. “You wish to speak with me, master?” she asked sheepishly.

Donovan stood with his back to her and did not turn around. “I should never have taken you on as an apprentice,” he said bitterly. “I knew from the start that it wouldn’t work out. On the first day you showed me you wouldn’t accept a subordinate role. You have no respect. Glenna wouldn’t listen to me and said I absolutely had to take you. Now she knows better, too.”

Ellen swallowed deeply. If she had lost Glenna’s affection as well, she was really in trouble. She stared at the ground quietly as Donovan continued.

Only now did he turn around to look at her, furiously cleaning a knife blade that was already highly polished. “You always think you have to have it your own way and try things that won’t work.”

“But…” Ellen wanted to answer, but his furious expression deterred her.

“You won’t respect the experience of an older person, and that is the most important requirement for an apprentice.”

“You’re wrong!” Ellen protested. There was no one she admired more than Donovan. She respected him for his knowledge and his skill even if she was not able to express those feelings in words.

“Now you are contradicting me again!” he growled at her.

“Please excuse me, I didn’t mean it that way,” she replied, contritely.

“I should just throw you out—after all, I never promised you anything. You know yourself that you were able to weasel your way into my forge through a misunderstanding.”

Ellen looked at him, deeply disappointed. After all, she had taken the test. Donovan walked around to the other side of the anvil and looked her directly in the eye.

His gaze was so cold it made Ellen shiver.

“You’re neither particularly strong nor persevering. The only thing you have is your talent,” he scolded her. “You understand iron better than anyone else I know. At your age I only knew half as much as you do, and I didn’t have a quarter as much intuition. You have what it takes to do something special, Alan, and that is the only reason I am not throwing you out.” Donovan was so angry he had to stop and catch his breath. “If you work hard, you can be one of the best someday. And if anyone asks you then who your master was, you will have to say it was Donovan from Ipswich. And I will be proud of you.” Donovan stared at her, took a few steps forward, and reached for her shirt. “This is your last chance, do you understand? Don’t throw it away.”

Ellen nodded, relieved.

“I don’t know why you have been so distracted in the last few weeks. Glenna thinks it may be because of the English girl you are going with. I was young at one time, too, and know what love can do to us men. Therefore, this one time, I’ll excuse you, but there will be no second chance.”

Two years had passed since their big confrontation, and there were no further incidents. Ellen worked even harder and Donovan demanded even more of her, but their talk had led to a new closeness.

Glenna thought it was almost as if Donovan had a son again. She found her husband happier, and that also made her happy.

Donovan now always included Ellen in his plans when he had an order for a new sword. He discussed the design and materials with her as well as the cost and time required and left more and more important details in her hands. The confidence he placed in her relieved her of the feeling that she had to always prove herself to him and gave her more confidence in her own ability.

Although the smith often made her work longer than Arnaud and gave her the hardest jobs, which he monitored very closely, Ellen was surprised when one day he asked her to make a sword all by herself, and to begin at once.

Donovan gave her a pile of bloom iron and offered to assist her if she needed his help, though he didn’t expect she would. He looked a bit more sullen than usual when he said that, but nonetheless amiable. He had prepared Ellen well for this great assignment.

She knew she could do it but nevertheless was so excited she got stomach cramps.

“Why Alan and not me?” Arnaud asked angrily. He was older and had two more years of experience than she, but Donovan figured he needed more time and put him off until later. Arnaud was too error prone to be able to make a sword on his own. He was an extremely proud young man and quite skillful but didn’t have the same talent as Ellen.

“Thickheaded Norman kid,” Donovan grumbled in English when he saw how offended Arnaud looked.

Ellen and Art grinned while Arnaud and Vincent just scowled vacantly. From the very start they had refused to learn even a word of English, though Donovan had urged them to do so.

“Why are you grinning like that?” Arnaud snapped at Art.

“Yes, that’s just the question,” Vincent said, agreeing as always with Arnaud.

Ellen refrained from any further comments. Arnaud was devious and quite able to harm her if he ever got the opportunity. He was jealous enough already, and there was no need to pour oil on the fire.

Making a sword without Donovan’s help was a real challenge that Ellen was glad to take on. By now she had learned a number of fighting moves and knew exactly what was required of a weapon. A sword had to be comfortable to hold, sharp, and flexible at the same time, well balanced, and easy to use. All day she thought about the sword she was supposed to make, and the same evening she asked Donovan whom it was for. It was not a trivial question—was it for a younger man or an experienced knight, would the owner be left-handed or right-handed? She herself could work equally well with both hands. If her right arm became tired, she could change hands and swing her hammer with the other arm, and thus could often work on a piece longer than if she was using just one hand. Of course, she had tried using her left arm while practicing with William and learned there were different ways of holding the weapon, especially if the opponent was fighting with his right arm because then both swords would be on the same side.