The Copper Sign (61 page)

Isaac was stunned by Jean’s words, but as he started to express his anger and denial that he desired Ellen for her beauty, Jean had already left.

The next morning, Isaac was the last one to enter the smithy in order not to anger Ellen. He didn’t want her to think he would contest her position as master of the smithy. He had thought about Jean’s words all night and decided not to challenge her.

Jean started a fire in the hearth while Ellen planned the projects for the day and Peter oiled a few tools.

“That was all just empty talk—he won’t come. No doubt he quickly got over his desire to work,” Ellen said, as Isaac had not shown up.

Jean gave her a disapproving look. “Give him a chance, Ellen, please!”

“Very well!” Ellen raised her hands to try to calm things down.

“Peter, you’ll work with Isaac today to prepare a few blanks. Remember he can use only one hand. You must either strike while he holds or you could hold while he works with the hand hammer. It won’t be easy, but you can do it!” Jean said, nodding encouragement to the young journeyman.

Peter looked over at Ellen somewhat uncertainly. “Jean is right,” she said, “you have learned a lot since the last time Isaac worked with you. He’ll be amazed!”

Isaac came into the smithy as if he were entering it for the first time. A lot of things had changed since Ellen started working here. She had brought along new tools and a pedal-powered whetstone and had also set up two new workplaces. The tools were grouped according to how she used them, and there were quite a few more that he had ever possessed. It would no doubt take him a little time to find his way around the smithy. After respectfully greeting Peter, he asked him about the work that had to be done.

“It shouldn’t be too hard for me to work with the hand hammer. That’s something you don’t soon forget, so I’d like to begin with that.”

Peter nodded politely and tried very hard not to disappoint his master. Isaac was completely wrapped up in the work and swung the hand hammer down onto the iron again and again, paying no heed to the pain that spread gradually from his hand up to his shoulder. It felt good to exert himself. He had missed the work, the sweat, and the calluses on his hands.

“Hand me the sledgehammer and let me see if I can hold it,” Isaac asked shortly before supper.

Peter swallowed hard. How could Isaac grab the handle without his left hand?

Isaac noticed Peter’s hesitation and tried to reassure him.

“I just want to give it a try to see how heavy the hammer feels and if it’s something I might eventually be able to do with a little practice.” Isaac was skillful with the sledgehammer, but the handle kept slipping and he had trouble holding onto it. Disappointed because he had already reached his limit, he set the heavy hammer down in the bucket of water so the handle could swell up and would stay on securely the next day without shaking loose. “Let’s stop for today. I’m as hungry as a bear!” he said, trying to sound cheerful to hide his disappointment from the others.

For weeks Isaac worked with Peter as if he were the apprentice and not the master. Though he wasn’t working with Ellen, he couldn’t escape noticing how concentrated she was. Whenever there were problems, she knew a solution, and her rich store of knowledge seemed inexhaustible. In a word, any smith would be impressed with her ability, and one day Isaac took the plunge and asked Ellen for advice. She replied, as if it were the easiest question in the world, and went back to work. Isaac was surprised, even shocked at the clarity of her answer. Why hadn’t he figured that out himself? For a moment he struggled with his own bitterness, then just did as she said.

Jean and Ellen had taken the dining table and benches outside in order to serve lunch in the yard. The sun had been shining every day for a week, and on Sunday they could enjoy the fruits of their work sitting quietly outside for a long time enjoying the warm summer day.

“Is it difficult to polish swords?” Isaac asked as he dunked a piece of bread into what remained of the soup.

“I would say so, yes, it takes experience and skill. Why?”

“I have watched you. For the first rough polishing you need both hands, but in fine polishing you really need just the right hand.” Isaac didn’t dare to look at her. When she spoke of swords, her green eyes sparkled and he desired her so much that sometimes it hurt. At times he could hardly manage to lie next to her at night without touching her.

“It’s true what you say.” Ellen rubbed her temples with her finger, as if it helped her to think more clearly. “Haven’t you ever polished? Not even a simple hunting knife?”

“I polished only tools and a few knives, but that isn’t at all like polishing swords,” Isaac replied modestly.

“Well, you can try,” Ellen said confidently. “Today is Sunday and we can’t work at the forge, but the shop is open and I could show you—if you like,” she quickly added. She had noticed that Isaac hadn’t had a mean thing to say about her since coming back to work in the smithy. In fact, he tried to help wherever he could in spite of his missing hand. More than once she had admired how persistent he was.

“Good! Let’s go!” Isaac got up with a smile.

“Fine polishing is something you can do sitting down. I’ve seen how you can whittle,” Ellen said, but she still avoided looking him directly in the eye. The admiring glances he thought he was able to hide from her did not go unnoticed, leaving a strangely queasy feeling in her stomach.

“Is it all right if I hold it with my foot?”

Ellen shrugged. “Why not? As long as you keep your toes away from the blade.” She grinned at him and then blushed at once. Turning around quickly, she went and got a scythe that Peter and Isaac had finished the day before.

“You can begin with this.”

“A scythe? You want me to polish a scythe?” Isaac looked at her a bit reluctantly.

“It won’t hurt the scythe!” Ellen said, laughing.

Her laugh felt to Isaac like a blow in the pit of his stomach.

“I guess that’s right,” he stammered, bewildered.

“At first you should practice with the finest grinding compound,” she said.

“I should? But why?”

“The coarser the stone, the worse the errors will be. If I make a scratch in iron using a coarse stone, even the best sword polisher won’t be able to remove it. To start with, a grinding compound made of rock powder is the best; then nothing can go wrong. Once you have had some practice, you will know what to be watching for and how the iron reacts with the powder, and then you can take a rougher stone. Polishing swords is really special! Sword polishers deal only with polishing, and a really good sword polisher is worth his weight in gold, as he has quickly acquired much more expertise than any smith.”

Isaac nodded admiringly.

Ellen noticed how he was looking at her and blushed again. She quickly picked up a linen cloth and rubbed some grinding compound on the scythe. Then she showed Isaac how to polish the blade while holding the rag between his thumb and index finger, and she watched as he did it. Now and then she nodded appreciation of his skill. He quickly understood what was important, and so she soon suggested that he polish the hunting knife she had just finished making.

Isaac was thrilled. Ellen’s confidence in him meant more than anything.

Ellen took a polishing stone from her leather purse and gave it to Isaac. Her fingers briefly touched his hand, and he shuddered.

The smith showed persistence and skill in polishing and enthusiasm for learning. Before two months had passed, Ellen set him to work on the simpler swords, but kept for herself the expensive swords that she made now and then. It took a special sort of feeling to select the proper stones to show off the brilliance and sharpness of a blade.

No more angry words were exchanged between the two, and Isaac clearly enjoyed the confidence that gradually developed between them.

On one of the first fall days, muffled hoofbeats on the soft ground announced the arrival of a heavy horse. The rider jumped down, and moments later they heard his booming voice in the yard in front of the smithy.

“The master, I want to see the master!”

Ellen looked toward the door, then nodded at Peter to let the man in.

A young baron entered, richly dressed and bearing weapons decorated with much gold and expensive enamelwork.

“What can I do for you?” Ellen asked politely as she walked toward him.

“The master, where is he?”

“Standing before you, my lord!” Ellen remained calm, though she was not really a recognized master. This was not the first time she was treated condescendingly, and she’d had enough of it.

The young knight looked at her angrily. “That cannot be! I heard that the master of this smithy is a certain Alan, and he is reputed to make the best swords far and wide.”

Jean grinned. Even though Ellen always insisted on being called Ellenweore, it happened again and again that they called her Alan.

“I refuse to deal with a woman. Go back to the hearth and cook us something decent to eat. Where is the smith?” the young baron asked impatiently.

Ellen was outraged and gasped for air. She could still clearly remember when Isaac said things like that. She had no desire to let herself be insulted further and stepped closer to him, ready to throw him out. Suddenly Isaac stepped up alongside her.

“If you please, my lord, I am Isaac, the smith.” He nodded, hiding the stump of his left arm behind his back.

Ellen was furious at his betrayal.

“Ah, yes! The master!” A triumphant grin passed over the face of the young knight.

“I am indeed the master of this smithy, my lord, but I am unable to forge the exquisite swords of which you speak, nor is my helper.” He pointed to Peter. “I am proud to say, as God is my witness, that it is my wife who makes these wonderful weapons. In all of East Anglia you will find no better swordsmith than her. So if you want to have such as sword as your own, you must excuse yourself and hope she forgives you, for anger, you must know, is a bad smith.”

The young baron had turned pale, expelled air noisily through his teeth, turned on his heels, and left the smithy without saying a word.

“He doesn’t deserve one of your swords!” Isaac said disparagingly.

Ellen’s heart pounded wildly, not with anger, but joy.

“You are absolutely right!” Jean agreed. He looked back and forth between Ellen and Isaac, wondering if something like tender feelings might be developing between the two.

Work brought the two closer together. In the shop they treated each other with respect and recognition, whereas in the privacy of their own bedroom neither knew what to make of the signs of growing intimacy.

Isaac had not forgotten what he had said on their marriage night. He was certain that Ellen no longer hated him but didn’t dare to take even the smallest step toward a reconciliation out of fear she might feel obligated to submit to him.

The others also sensed the tension between the two, and one day, when they were alone, Rose took Ellen aside.

“Honestly, Ellenweore, I can’t just stand and watch it anymore!”

“Watch what?” Ellen looked down at her. “What have I done?”

Rose laughed. “I mean you and Isaac! You are tiptoeing around each other…”

Ellen blushed.

“He still doesn’t lie with you, does he?” She looked at her friend quizzically.

Ellen shook her head. “He renounced his conjugal rights on our wedding night,” she replied softly.

“Very noble of him,” Rose mumbled, as she paused to consider what Ellen had said. “I don’t think he will ever break his promise on his own.” Rose raised an eyebrow. “Men!” She gave a sigh of resignation. “But you can’t do without them! So it’s in your hands!” She grinned, trying to cheer up her friend.

“But, Rose!” Ellen exclaimed angrily. For a brief moment she thought of Will and his outrageous way of demanding love, something she had not been able to resist. “But I can’t do that! That’s something the man has to do!”

“Oh, nonsense. Women who can forge iron can also seduce their husbands!” Rose smiled conspiratorially and whispered something in Ellen’s ear.

“But, Rose! No! I could never look him in the eye again!” she cried in horror.

“Just do it!” said Rose, ending the discussion and permitting no further excuses.

Rose’s frank words and the idea of caressing Isaac’s well-shaped body had put Ellen’s mind in a turmoil. She didn’t show up for supper with the family because she was afraid they would all be able to read her mind and see how lustful her thoughts were. Only later, when Isaac was already asleep, did she enter their room, undress hastily, and slip naked under the covers. Isaac lay on his back, and Ellen cuddled up close to him. Her heart was pounding at the thought of what she intended to do. Isaac didn’t stir and appeared to be fast asleep. Ellen began to touch him gently. Her hand slid under the sheets to his smooth, powerful chest, and down to his stomach. At first carefully and then with greater and greater fervor, she kissed his neck, pressed her entire body up against his, closed her eyes with pleasure, and breathed in the odor of leather and iron that mixed with the lavender that Rose had placed in the bed to keep bugs away.

Isaac’s breathing became heavier.

Ellen could sense his growing excitement but waited in vain for him to take her in his arm. She ran her hand gently up and down his left arm until she got to the stump. Then she lay down on him, took his right arm, and put it around her waist. It was too dark in the room to see whether Isaac had opened his eyes, but Ellen could sense that he was awake. “Hold me!” she whispered hoarsely, and kissed him on the mouth.

At first reluctantly but then with growing passion he returned her kisses. His right hand moved up and down her body and sent a shiver of delight down her spine.