The Copper Sign (25 page)

Ellen couldn’t help but think of little Baudouin, and laughed.

“Nonsense, Jacques! You’ll marry a pretty young girl someday, not an old hag like me.”

“You’re not old at all,” Jacques objected and looked at her as if he were offended. “Then I’ll wait until I’m old, too,” he replied, and left.

On the last day, it was hard for everyone to act as if it were just a day like any other, and as night fell, Claire finally turned to Ellen.

“I am certain that God sent you to us. You have done so much for me!” She squeezed Ellen’s hand.

“Oh, no, Claire, you are the one who helped me! Without you I never would have found my way here, and because of you I have learned to believe in and have confidence in myself even if I wear a gown instead of braies and a shirt. I will always be indebted to you.” Ellen overcame her shyness and for the first time of her own accord took Claire in her arms.

“Not at all! You don’t owe me anything.” Claire took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “I owe all of my happiness to you.”

“I agree with that,” Guiot interjected, though he had heard only the last part of the conversation. He grinned and passed a pitcher to them. “Wine!” he said proudly. “I bought it so you would have pleasant memories of us.” He smiled broadly.

Ellen relaxed a bit. “I see, I see, and you think that if I wake up tomorrow morning with a hangover,” she teased, “I’ll have pleasant memories of this evening.”

“Sit down, you two beautiful people, and eat and drink with me.” Guiot laughed and poured the red wine into the clay mugs on the table. To celebrate the day, Jacques also got a swallow. Guiot raised his mug in order to drink a toast with them.

“To you, Ellenweore!” he said warmly.

“To your future together and the child!” Ellen replied, nodding toward Claire.

She blushed, and Guiot took her proudly in his arms. “To your ambitious plans, Ellen! May you succeed in everything you do in life, and may you also find love!” he proclaimed, and clinked mugs with her.

Claire started to sob, placed the mug back on the table so hastily that the wine spilled out, and then went running from the room.

“Just let her go.” Ellen started to follow Claire, but Guiot held her back and motioned for her to have a seat again. “She’ll get hold of herself in a moment. If you go and join her now, you’ll both start crying, and it will just be worse.”

Ellen nodded. Guiot was right—it didn’t take long before Claire returned. Her eyes were red, but she sat down with them at the table and tried to smile.

To celebrate the day, they had roasted chicken with salsify roots and some heavy bread along with generous portions of wine, and for the rest of the evening they indulged in their reminiscences. When they finally went to bed, giggling and in high spirits, the wineskin was empty right down to the last drop.

The next morning, Ellen got up just as early as always. Her head was pounding, and she couldn’t stand either light, loud noises, or fast movements. If you drank too much, you just had to put up with the headache later until it was past. Ellen washed as always and got dressed. But her arms felt heavy, and every movement was difficult. Despite her splitting headache, she tied up the bundle with her belongings, neatly folding the beautiful green dress given to her by the Lady of Béthune that brought out the green sparkle in her eyes. As always, she had packed a supply of linens, a little torch, a flint stone, tinder, and a striker as well as some provisions. Ellen took the cloth that Aelfgiva had given her and that she guarded like the apple of her eye, snuggled her face in it, and thought longingly of the old herb woman. She also packed all the other things that brought back memories: the comb Claire had given her, the little Christophorus figure that Jacques had carved for her, the ribbons for her hair that she had never worn despite Claire’s urging, and the shiny stone from Tancarville. Rose had found it as soon as they arrived and gave it to Ellen as a sign of her friendship. Even though Rose had betrayed her, Ellen always carried it with her. A tear rolled down her cheek, which she wiped away quickly with her sleeve, and then she put on the belt which held the knife from Osmond, the water skin, and a purse with just enough coins for the coming days. Most of her money she kept underneath her clothing. In case she was attacked by thieves, they would hopefully assume she was carrying all her money on her belt.

In Tancarville she had always cut her bright red hair at the ears, but since then it had grown and reached down below her shoulders. It was firm and curly, almost wiry, and just as rebellious as she was. At work, it would fall into her face, so she tied it with an ordinary piece of string into a short bun. A shock of hair curled above her high forehead, and the few spots she had on her nose when she was a child had grown into regular patches of freckles that gave a fresher look to her complexion and a warmer, more tender look to her otherwise plain face. Beneath her downy red eyebrows, her green eyes peered forth like emeralds in a copper setting.

Ellen sighed. Though she had for months thought of almost nothing else but leaving, it was difficult for her to go.

“You can still reconsider,” Claire said, as she said her goodbyes.

Ellen shook her head bravely. “I must leave now and go my own way!”

She had remained in Béthune for three years. After the wedding, Claire and Guiot had convinced her to stay the winter with them, but now it was definitely time to leave.

“Of course.” Claire nodded.

Ellen embraced Guiot. “Take good care of her, do you hear?”

“You can depend on me—I will provide for her,” Guiot replied solemnly.

Ellen swallowed hard.

“God, that makes it sound like she’s my mother and not my friend.” Claire sighed.

Ellen brightened when she saw Jean coming down the road. “Look, Guiot, here comes your father!” She liked the old man because he reminded her of Osmond.

He came up to her, embraced her, and whispered in her ear, “I would be proud to have had a daughter like you,” and at that point Ellen completely lost what remained of her composure. Jean patted her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

“Look, there are some horses coming. I think it’s Adelise de Béthune,” Claire exclaimed a bit too loudly as she waved.

Ellen blinked to hold back her tears and saw that Claire was right.

The Lady of Béthune dismounted, took Ellen in her arms, and looked her straight in the eye. “Take care of yourself, Ellen!” Then she turned to her attendant and said, “Gauthier, the pony!”

Sir Gauthier handed Ellen the reins of a beautiful little pony. “Riding is more comfortable, faster, and above all safer! He answers to the name of Nestor and is as gentle as a little lamb, well suited for an inexperienced rider,” he said, smiling.

“It’s yours,” Adelise de Béthune confirmed, her bright eyes twinkling conspiratorially as if saying,
We women have to stick together
.

“Thank you,
madame
, many thanks!”

“Oh yes, I almost forgot. My son gave me this, and he wants me to let you know he will never forget you. He wants you to keep this little remembrance so you will feel the same way!” Adelise de Béthune fetched out a silken cloth and unfolded it. Inside, tied together with a little ribbon, was a lock of her son’s dark reddish-brown hair.

Ellen was moved, and smiled.

“I wish you a safe journey, Ellen!” said Adelise de Béthune as she mounted her horse, bade everyone farewell with a graceful nod, and rode off.

Claire embraced Ellen one last time, reluctant to let her go.

“Come back to us whenever you want. You will always find open arms to receive you!” she said with emotion, and Guiot nodded in agreement.

“Thank you—for everything,” Ellen whispered with a heavy heart.

“Well, let’s see how to get you up on that horse,” Guiot teased her as he helped Ellen mount it, although she could have easily done it herself. Nestor just stood there calmly, and only when Ellen clicked her tongue and pressed her heels into the horse’s flanks did it trot away at a leisurely pace. She probably wouldn’t make much faster progress with this horse than if she were on foot, but the pony would keep her warm and be a companion along the way. Suddenly she was happy not to be alone on her journey. Wasn’t loneliness the worst of all suffering, next to sickness and hunger?

For a while, Jacques ran along beside her until they were beyond the village.

Then Ellen lowered the reins. Straight ahead, somewhere out there, lay her future.

In every village she passed through she asked for work, but the people only shook their heads at the strange woman who claimed she was a blacksmith and sent her away. She had been traveling for a month now, and her savings were almost gone. March was colder than usual—it had even snowed—and April hadn’t started out much better either. But she didn’t give up and kept asking for work. Often people advised her to try her luck in Beauvais, and since she didn’t have any other goal in mind, she decided to follow this advice. It took her two days to reach the city.

The fortress-like city walls of Beauvais could be seen far and wide and gave the city a look of importance and greatness. Many roads and lanes with their houses of all sizes wound around the imposing Episcopal residence. Ellen looked around with great curiosity and quickly understood that the source of the city’s wealth was the cloth trade. Everywhere spinners, weavers, and dyers were at work making fine cloth from all sorts of wool. They even imported fine English sheep’s wool especially from London. The city was pulsing with prosperity and commerce.

Ellen intended to inquire first at the bishop’s palace about a job as swordsmith. Maybe her luck would finally change! But the palace guards waved her away brusquely and just laughed at her when she explained what she wanted.

Hungry, tired, and freezing, Ellen asked a thread-maker for directions to the blacksmith shops in town.

The woman showed not even a trace of a smile but with a pinched mouth and a terse explanation pointed the way. Although the local citizenry seemed to be well off, they didn’t look like particularly happy people.

Her hopes fading, she arrived at a shop, knocked, and entered. The forge was small and untidy, but Ellen was not in a position to be choosy. In the last few weeks she had been turned away too many times, and now she absolutely had to find work and a place to stay. Dejectedly she started to reel off her little presentation. “Greetings, master, and I beg you to hear me out. I am looking for work as a blacksmith’s helper or striker…” But she got no further than that.

“You’ve come at just the right moment!” the smith shouted with delight. Then he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her with him over to the house.

“See, Marie, your prayers were answered!” The smith pushed Ellen into the room.

His wife was as round as a barrel, and it was clear she would be having a child soon. She wiped her hand on her soiled apron and reached out to welcome Ellen. On the floor in front of them, a young boy about two years of age was playing with a girl perhaps three or four years old.

“You can sleep in the smithy and get the same thing to eat as the rest of us. I can’t pay much, but it would be all right with me if you wanted to look for a second job somewhere else. In any case, you could sleep and eat here,” the smith hastily added.

Though the terms were not at all attractive, Ellen decided to remain for the time being. She could always look around later for something better. “I accept,” she began, but looking around at the children and at his wife’s big belly, she added, “I don’t wish to work in the house, but in the smithy. I am skilled as a smith and am a good striker.”

The smith looked at her in surprise, thought a moment, and then reached out to shake her hand, saying, “Then we have an agreement!”

He must be having trouble if he would hire her without further inquiries.

“My name is Michel, by the way.”

“Ellenweore!” She shook his hand to seal the contract.

“Have a seat with us at the table and eat!” Marie said in a friendly tone as she served the wooden bowls of soup for the family, adding another place at the table for Ellen.

The portion was skimpy and the soup a bit thin, but it tasted good. Ellen hoped that in the future Marie would make more! Once Ellen started working again as a blacksmith in the shop, her appetite would grow. Wistfully she thought back to the time with Donovan and Glenna. They had always given her plenty to eat and a real home. How were they? That evening Ellen fell asleep still hungry, freezing, and anything but happy. She had hoped for a better life in Beauvais and that she would be something more than an assistant in a third-class smithy.

The first night she dreamed of Osmond. She could almost smell the odor of warm goat’s milk when she awoke at dawn in the workshop that still felt strange to her. With a heavy heart, she set to work. She hadn’t been back to a smithy ever since she fled from Tancarville, but she hadn’t forgotten her trade. By noontime of her first day it seemed to her as if she had never stopped. She had less strength and endurance than before, but she loved the strenuous work. Nevertheless, in the next few days she paid for her years of not working in her trade with severe muscle pain. Her hands, too, were not accustomed to the hard work anymore, and she again could feel the painful blisters and calluses.

“I admire you,” Marie said one evening, glancing at Ellen’s worn hands. “It’s exactly because of these terrible blisters that I have always hated Michel’s work here in the shop.”

“Yes, indeed, that’s why she’s having one kid after the other and always saying that a hammer is too heavy for a woman in her condition,” Michel interrupted.

“There you are again, you have no idea,” Maria retorted, offended. “Hasn’t the Lord made life hard enough for us women having to bear children? Living with a big belly is anything but easy, to say nothing of bearing children. I’d all too gladly leave that job to you and put up with the calluses on my hands.” She seemed to be really angry at her husband, but just a moment later they kissed like a young couple in love, and everything was all right again.