The Copper Sign (16 page)

Ellen gasped for air, and suddenly the earth seemed to be spinning beneath her. All she could do was to shake her head violently, then run from the workshop without having any idea where she was going.

Aelfgiva’s explanation that she was the illegitimate child of a Norman knight had caused her great pain, but it seemed less a story about her than of someone else. Never could she have imagined that she would ever meet this Norman libertine. Wasn’t this an impossible coincidence? Why did they meet here? Why did she have to find him so nice that she almost wished she was his child? And why, at the same time, did he have to be the father of Thibault? She sat down on a tree stump and cried. What would happen when the truth came out? Ellen thought she would suffocate. The thought flashed through her mind that it would be best for her never to return to the blacksmith shop. But the more she turned it over in her mind, the angrier she got. The shop, Donovan, and Glenna—they were all she had. Who gave this Béranger de Tournai the right to drive her away? She didn’t want to flee again.
After all
, she thought,
it’s not my fault
. She would go back to the smithy, but she would never allow Thibault to possess her sword. Ellen turned back and ran right into Sir Béranger again.

“If you think I am your son, you are wrong, I can assure you of that,” Ellen said, puffing out her chest. Her confidence in confronting Sir Béranger seemed to give him doubt, after all.

“What makes you so sure, Alan?” He looked at her sadly, and with disappointment.

Ellen couldn’t answer at first and looked down at her feet. “Many girls in East Anglia are blond, and Leofrun is a common name. You are mistaken, sire, believe me. My mother is a respectable woman,” she whispered finally, half to herself. Ever since she had known William she knew what love could do to you. Béranger was still a good-looking man; he was certainly chivalrous and had turned Leofrun’s head using all the tricks of seduction. But this one time Ellen had understanding for her mother. Hadn’t Béranger as a man known how impossible the situation would be for her, or was he just as dumb as his son? Ellen was still terribly angry.

“I’ll come back in a few days,” Béranger said calmly, and smiled.

“If you come as a customer, I welcome you,” Ellen told him coolly and nodded as he left.

Two days later Béranger de Tournai returned to the smithy with his son, but by then Ellen’s anger had vanished. Sir Béranger was certainly not a bad man, she could sense that. And somehow it felt good to know who her father was.

Tournai greeted her warmly while Thibault ignored her completely.

His father had clearly not told him anything, and Ellen was relieved about that.

“I want a sword from Master Donovan, not a journeyman’s piece from Alan that’s not worth anything,” Thibault grumbled. Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. Thibault would obviously do everything possible to change his father’s mind.

“I’ll be glad to show you two other swords that Master Donovan made just recently,” Ellen suggested eagerly. “If one of those pleases you…”

Thibault examined the swords without dignifying Ellen with even a glance. “I like that one,” he decided quickly.

Ellen was not surprised by his choice. The sword had been commissioned by a young, arrogant baron. Shortly before he was to pick it up, he died from a minor wound that led to blood poisoning. Ellen thought the sword was far too heavy and showy, and therefore suited Thibault perfectly.

Béranger tried again to direct his son’s attention to Ellen’s sword: “Don’t you want to try this one again?” he asked.

“No,” Thibault answered coldly, and his father understood there was no point in trying to change his mind.

“Well, then I’ll take it. I really like it very much,” Béranger de Tournai said, looking Ellen right in the eye.

She understood how proud he was of her, and suddenly she was overcome by a feeling of embarrassment and turned her eyes down.

“And how about me, Father?” Thibault sounded annoyed.

“Yes, yes, you’ll get the other one, my son.”

Ellen was glad to see that the two obviously did not have a very close relationship.

“You had better speak with Master Donovan about the price. I’ll go and get him,” she said, and left without saying good-bye.

“I don’t like Alan—he has no manners,” Thibault said to his father so loudly that Ellen still heard it as she was leaving.

When the father and son had left, Donovan grinned at Ellen with satisfaction. “Just like that, the little fellow sells two swords!”

Ellen knew that Donovan didn’t mean this disparagingly, it was more a term of endearment, and it was a rare occurrence when Donovan was in such an exuberant mood.

“Did he pay a good price?” Ellen was curious what her sword had fetched.

“Sir Béranger was really excited about your journeyman’s piece. He tried to grill me about you, how I know you, how long you have been here with me, and so on. I asked a high price for your sword and he paid, without grumbling. He talked me down on the sword for his son though. After all, it’s an ugly piece, so I’m nevertheless quite happy about it. Nasty fellow, by the way, this Thibault.”

“Isn’t that the truth, master!”

“But Sir Béranger is such a nice fellow, an entirely different kind of person. The boy no doubt takes after his mother.” Donovan scowled.

Ellen was surprised at her master, who was so seldom talkative. He was no doubt really happy with the price he had gotten for her sword. “So is there something left for me?”

“After deducting expenses, there are ten
solidi
left for you.”

Ellen opened her mouth in astonishment. That was more money than she had been able to save in all those years.

Two days later Béranger de Tournai returned to the smithy. “Master Donovan, I would like very much to borrow your journeyman. Could you do without him for a while?”

Donovan looked questioningly at Ellen, but she only shrugged indifferently. “As you wish, Sir Béranger. Alan, you may leave with the sire wherever he wants to go.”

Ellen didn’t know what to think of it, but her curiosity about her father gained the upper hand for the present. Everything would be fine as long as he didn’t tell Thibault. She followed him without saying a word.

“Is your mother well?” he asked when they were alone, and suddenly Ellen lost control.

“How couldn’t everything be well with her? Her engagement with the soap merchant was annulled, thanks to you, because she was expecting a child. All she dreamed of and all she ever wanted to be was the wife of a simple blacksmith. Of course! What woman would ever want to lead a carefree life as wife of a merchant or a knight? Not my mother. You got to know her and must be aware how much she likes the simple life.” Ellen was not ready to forgive him so easily.

“I understand that she hated me after everything…” Sir Béranger interjected sadly.

“Hated you?” Now Ellen was really worked up. “It was me she hated, not you. I had nothing to do with your affair, and yet she made me the scapegoat. But it never took away her inclination for something higher. She went and shacked up with another knight like a cat in heat.”

“How can you speak so disrespectfully of your mother?” Sir Béranger shouted at her, enraged.

“I caught the two of them together and her lover threatened to kill me, so I had to leave home. I hate her, and I hate you.” Ellen collapsed in tears. Béranger put his arm around her, then took her by the shoulder.

“The son of Béranger de Tournai does not cry. Pull yourself together.”

“I am not your son!” Ellen looked at him defiantly.

“But you are—I can see it and feel it.”

“You don’t see anything, and you don’t feel anything either,” she said bitterly. Not even her own father noticed that she was a girl! Were they all blind? Could they all just see what they wanted to? She looked him directly in the face, her eyes flashing with disdain.

“I will acknowledge you as my child, and you will be able to become a page and later a knight, just like your brother Thibault.”

“Thibault!” Ellen sounded so scornful that he looked at her in astonishment. “He is a two-faced braggart, without any sense of honor!”

Every word was like a stab in the heart to Béranger because it sounded as if she were talking about him as well. “I know it’s not simple, but…his mother…” he started to explain.

“Naturally you now say he is his mother’s son, but no, Sir Béranger, he is just like you! Where was your sense of honor when you impregnated my mother?”

Béranger looked crestfallen, and Ellen almost felt a bit of compassion for him. But she continued: “He is your son in every way—he just recently got a young Anglo-Saxon girl in trouble!”

Béranger jumped up. “That’s enough! I won’t hear any more of that.” Then he marched off without even looking back.

“Just ask him! Her name is Rose,” Ellen called after him, though she wasn’t sure he could still hear her.

Not until two weeks later when she spoke with Rose did she learn that Sir Béranger had indeed heard and understood.

“Thibault, this stupid fellow, must have gone around bragging to everyone that he knocked me up and his father learned of it. ‘Make sure you take care of it,’ he told Thibault.” Rose didn’t attach much importance to the fact that she hadn’t told Ellen anything about her flirtation with the young squire, and at first Ellen didn’t want to mention it.

“What did he mean by that?”

Rose shrugged. “I have no idea, but Thibault says I have to get rid of it. There’s a woman who knows something about how that’s done. I think he’s right. What kind of life would it be for me being saddled with a bastard child?”

“Couldn’t he take you to his father’s castle and care for you there?” Ellen knew that her idea was childish, but she was furious at how quickly Thibault and his father found a solution that was so easy on them.

Rose shook her head. “You know that’s nonsense.”

“How about getting married?”

“But who? Some day laborer? A widower with a lot of children who will only take me so he has someone to beat and to work hard for him?” Rose sighed. “No, I don’t think so. I’d rather go to the herb woman. Please, Ellen, can’t you come along?” Just a moment ago she had seemed so sure of herself, but now she looked pleadingly at Ellen.

“Surely, if you wish.”

Rose nodded gratefully. “I don’t have the courage to do it alone.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that the two of you…?” Ellen’s voice sounded soft and not at all reproachful.

“Can’t you imagine why?” Rose smiled wanly. “You are my only friend, and Thibault and you hate each other. You certainly would have tried to talk me out of it, but I love him—it’s as simple as that.”

“I’m happy that now there are no more secrets between us. Of course I will help you and go to the herb woman with you. It would be best for us not to wait but to go tomorrow.”

Rose and Ellen met in the front of the castle gate just after sunrise. The meadows were still enshrouded in damp and impenetrable fog. They had to grope their way along until the mist lifted, and before long they had reached the house of the herb woman.

The entire way Rose had been restless, nervously tugging on her cape and drawing it closer and closer around her shoulders.

Ellen placed her arm around her and held her close. “Everything will be all right, you’ll make it,” she said, trying to cheer her up.

When they arrived at the little cottage, Ellen knocked on the door. The herb woman listened to Rose’s concern, looked at Ellen crossly, and asked, “Why don’t you marry her?”

“Me? I’m not the father,” Ellen stammered, blushing.

“Alan is just coming along with me. The father of the child is a squire from Tancarville,” Rose said, endeavoring to smile.

The old woman looked at the two condescendingly. “Doesn’t really concern me—it’s your business,” she grumbled. “We’ll do it with parsley. You’ll have to stay here a few days.”

Rose looked at Ellen helplessly.

“That will be all right, Rose. I’ll tell them you’re sick. They value your work and will be happy when you’re better.”

“It will take around five days if I care for her. That won’t be cheap.”

Rose fetched out a few coins, and the old woman took the money.

“That won’t be enough,” she snapped, and named her price. Rose was visibly shaken. “The child’s father will pay—he promised me that,” she said under her breath.

“I can assure you that you will get the money,” Ellen interrupted. “Please, dear woman,” she begged, “take care of her and see that everything goes well.”

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best, young man. Just don’t forget to bring me my money tomorrow.”

On the way back to Tancarville, Ellen thought about how she could manage to get the money from Thibault. She could send a maid to him, but maids were too curious and talked too much. Even if many women did it, getting rid of an unborn child was strictly forbidden by the Church and severely punished. And so, with a heavy heart, she decided to go to Thibault herself, after work.

“You?” Thibault snorted, with contempt in his voice when she stood in front of him.

“Rose sent me.”

Thibault looked Ellen over from head to toe without saying a word.

“She is getting rid of it, just as you wanted, and I’ll take her the money for the herb woman.” Ellen tried to stay calm though she was trembling with rage. When Thibault heard how much it would cost, he laughed scornfully.

“And do you really think I’ll entrust all that money to you, of all people?”

“Feel free to take it yourself to the herb woman. After all, you told everyone it was your child,” Ellen snapped at him, but she regretted saying so even before she finished the sentence.