The Copper Sign (66 page)

“May I show it to Isaac and Jean?” Will asked, before his mother could give him another long discourse on forging.

Ellen smiled and nodded. Needless to say, the two of them had already seen the blade, but the boy seemed so excited about it that she didn’t want to discourage him.

Damascening was an old technique that was used frequently for knives but no longer for sword blades. As she had learned from Donovan, the Vikings had perfected the art of damascening to an astonishing degree and made wonderful swords and artistic patterns with it. But since that time, this type of sword making had been forgotten, and the blades now, with the exception of engravings and insets, were smooth and lacking any pattern. Ellen regarded this ancient technique as a challenge and was considering making a sword sometime with damascene inlays, which would surely be difficult but not impossible.

With the knife, she hoped finally to awaken William’s interest for work in the smithy as well. Until now, her son had preferred to spend most of his time in the forest. Again and again he brought home orphaned animals and cared for them lovingly, even though Ellen kept admonishing him to spend his time with more sensible things. Isaac and Jean supported the boy and tried to persuade her to be lenient when she scolded him. Ellen frowned when thinking of her son. Why didn’t he understand that a future smith had no time for such nonsense?

Will was sitting listlessly in the yard petting Greybeard when two men on horseback came riding up. One of them, with a bird perched on his hand, he recognized as the knight who had been there before with Baudouin de Béthune. The other was probably his squire. Will jumped up and ran toward them with amazing speed despite his foot.

“Is that a falcon, sire?” William asked without any inhibitions.

“Yes, a lanner falcon,” William Marshal confirmed in a calm voice, smiling. “Step back a bit so I can dismount without frightening the bird.” The Marshal’s hand remained almost motionless as he stepped down. “Falcons are wild animals and remain so all their lives, even when they are in captivity,” he told Will, who was looking at him curiously. “Any sudden movement frightens them and they will try to fly away, so approach slowly, and speak softly.”

“But you are holding him on a leash, aren’t you?” William wondered, pointing at the strap attached to the bird’s foot. He moved forward carefully and slowly in order to get a better view of the bird.

“Exactly, lad, and if she—the falcon is, by the way, female—if she should be startled by something moving near her and try to fly away, she could hurt herself.”

“Oh, I see!” Will’s face brightened. “Does she have a name?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.

“Princess of the Sky.” William smiled.

“Can I pet her?”

“You can try, but be careful!”

Will approached timidly, with his gaze lowered, looking at the bird out of the corner of his eye.

“You are doing fine,” the Marshal encouraged him, “but if she gets restless, step back right away without making any fast movements. Do you understand?”

Will nodded and was practically bursting with pride when he finally managed to get close to the bird. Slowly he raised his right hand and gently petted the bird’s chest.

The falcon did not seem at all restless.

The Marshal was surprised, since Princess did not allow just anyone to come up and touch her. It had taken forever for her to get accustomed to his squire Geoffrey.

Obviously jealous, the squire now came stumbling up to his master and Will, frightening the bird, which immediately tried to escape from its master’s hand. “You can’t touch it! You’ll frighten it!” Geoffrey scolded.

“I will?” Will just gave him a scornful look before turning to the Marshal.

“You’re such an oaf, Geoffrey. You frightened her,” the Marshal grumbled softly in order not to frighten the bird even more. Only the angry look he gave his squire revealed how furious he really was.

Will continued to stand there without moving, and when the falcon calmed down he started petting her again.

“You have a way with birds,” William Marshal said, complimenting him.

“I’ve taken care of pigeons, green plovers, jays, and other birds. Sometimes I find nests the mother has abandoned and then I raise the birds myself,” Will said, his eyes sparkling. “Once I even cared for an injured raven. He was very smart, but he flew away. It was mating season!” Will grinned sheepishly and admired the falcon out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, son, falcons don’t have much in common with other birds. Birds of prey are afraid of people; they even hate the sight of them! Taming them, or what falconers call ‘manning,’ so they will sit on your hand and teaching them to hunt for you takes a lot of skill and endless patience. The falcon does not by nature seek the company of men. On the contrary, he avoids them. He loves freedom, and because it is so difficult to tame birds of prey, falconry is considered the most noble of all forms of hunting.”

“Will!” they heard a strong woman’s voice calling.

Ellen stuck her head out of the window in the smithy. “Where in God’s name is the rascal gadding about now?” she called out crossly.

When she saw the Marshal, she wiped off her hands on her dress, put her hand to her forehead to push a few unruly locks of hair back underneath her bonnet, and joined him. “My lord!” she said, nodding but not curtsying. After everything that had transpired between them, she thought such reverential expressions were superfluous, even in the presence of his squire and her son. She took Will by the shoulders and gave him a nudge in the direction of the workshop. “Go see Jean, and help him out!” she told him before turning to the Marshal.

“The king is very happy with the sword!” William handed the bird back to his squire and walked over toward the workshop with Ellen. After a short distance, they stopped.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, opening the door for him and standing aside so he could enter.

“A sword,” he said. “One of the king’s squires will be knighted soon. He is like a son to me,” he said, glancing fleetingly at Will. “Or rather a younger brother,” he mumbled.

Ellen ignored the allusion to Will and tried to treat the Marshal just like any other customer. They discussed the details and agreed on a price and when the sword could be picked up.

“By that time we’ll be back on the continent again. Henry is expected at his father’s court for Christmas.” The Marshal fidgeted with the scabbard of his sword.

“That has to be mended. The leather is in shreds,” Ellen told him. “I can do that right now, if you want. I noticed it the last time you were here and have everything in my shop to repair it, if you have a little time.”

The Marshal hesitated for a moment and then nodded in agreement. “May I take Will off your hands for a while?”

Ellen shrugged, feigning indifference. “Certainly, why not? Will! Go with the Marshal,” she ordered her son.

With a happy smile, the boy followed William outside. “Thank you for freeing me from this miserable, dark shop.” He grinned at the Marshal conspiratorially. “Is it true that you’re best friends with our king?” At the dinner table Will had only pretended he wasn’t interested in what the grown-ups were talking about, but in fact he eagerly took in every single word.

The Marshal laughed. “You are right, I am young Henry’s tutor, and he is also the king of England, just like his father. And I think I’m in fact his closest confidant. Does that answer your question?”

William nodded with embarrassment.

“Would you care to see a falcon fly? I’ll show you, if you like.”

“Oh, yes, please! Would you really do that?” Will pleaded with shock and amazement. The Marshal nodded, and the boy jumped up and down excitedly.

“But take it slow or you’ll frighten her,” the Marshal said, trying to calm him down.

They spent the entire afternoon together, and William showed little Will how the falcon flew and explained all sorts of things worth knowing about the nature of these animals and how to tame them. He also let Will try on his gauntlet.

The boy was awestruck by the buckskin glove, which was soft yet firm and had a full-bodied fragrance. It felt good on his hand even though it was far too large.

The Marshal showed the boy how to hold his hand, and toward the end of the afternoon even set the falcon down for a moment on his fist.

“You have to hold very still!” he told him in a friendly voice.

Will tried not to tremble and was both relieved and disappointed when the Marshal told Geoffrey to take the bird again.

“He has a way with animals,” the Marshal said to Ellen as they returned.

“Well, if he doesn’t start taking an interest soon in forging, he’ll not be doing much more than shoeing horses. So it can’t hurt if the animals don’t walk all over him.” Ellen sounded a bit cross.

Even William noticed it and wondered why she was so hard on the boy. He could hardly remember his own childhood but did know how incredibly much his mother and nannies spoiled him when he lived at home.

“Here it is, like new again!” Ellen interrupted his thoughts and handed him the repaired scabbard.

“The glue has to dry a bit still, so you shouldn’t put it on yet.”

“Wonderful!” he said, praising her work and looking for his purse.

“No, don’t.” Ellen placed her soot-blackened calloused hand on his forearm. “That was the least I could do.”

Even though he didn’t understand what she meant, the Marshal shrugged respectfully and left the shop accompanied by Ellen and Will. He slapped the boy on the shoulder and said farewell. Once he had mounted his horse, he bent down to Ellen and touched his lips gently against her cheek. Surprised, she stood frozen, and Geoffrey looked at him curiously, with an almost suspicious expression. Ignoring him, the Marshal said to Will: “Obey your mother and do what she tells you, Will!” Then he took the bird again on his hand and rode off, accompanied by his squire.

Ellen stood there a while, as if rooted to the spot. The kiss made her skin tingle, almost burning like a mark of the devil, and her heart nearly burst into flames.

Rose was watching from a distance.
I hope this doesn’t end badly
, her gaze seemed to be saying; then she grabbed her broom and went back into the house.

The Young King was right. Scarcely had a few weeks passed and every nobleman in East Anglia knew the king and the Marshal had a sword made by Ellen. New noblemen kept coming to the smithy to order a sword. Many acted as if they just happened to be in the area, and others mentioned how far they had come just to place an order with her.

The more Ellen had to do, the higher the prices she was able to ask for her swords. In some months she took in more money than she had in an entire year before.

“Jean, I think you are at the point where you’re ready!” she said cheerfully one evening at dinner.

“Ready for what?” he asked unsuspecting, sipping at his hot soup.

“You will start working on a sword tomorrow all by yourself! You will have a striker—I’m thinking of the new helper. What’s his name?”

“Stephen!”

“Right, Stephen. When you have finished the sword and your work is convincing to me, I’ll go to the guild master and ask him to have you recognized as a journeyman.”

Jean choked for a moment on a piece of bread. “Are you serious?” he asked, as soon as he got his voice back.

Ellen looked at him and raised her eyebrows. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“No, of course not. Thank you, Ellen!” he replied somewhat embarrassed.

Rose put her hand on his and squeezed it for a moment. “You can do it!”

“Of course he can do it. If I wasn’t convinced of it I wouldn’t ask him,” Ellen said.

“And what about Peter?” Jean asked, always thinking of other people.

“When you are finished, then it’s his turn.”

Jean nodded with satisfaction.

“Then we are soon going to need new apprentices or strikers, don’t you think?” Isaac said, turning to Ellen and reaching for another slice of bread.

“I have thought about that, too.” Ellen took another gulp of light beer but didn’t say any more about it at the time.

Ellen took the sword that Jean had made without her help, wrapped it up, and set out on her way to Conrad.

Jean had asked whether he shouldn’t come along, but she preferred to go alone. She wanted to give Conrad a chance to make some concessions to her without feeling watched. Ellen was wearing clean new clothes that Rose had made for her out of beautiful, soft, pine-green woolen cloth with silver embroidery on the neck and arms. At first Ellen had been a bit annoyed and said it was a waste of money because she already had a green dress from Béthune, but Rose didn’t let herself be put off.

“You’ve got to have something special to wear. Claire’s wedding dress must be about ten years old. Please, Ellen! Perhaps you will be summoned to the king again, or just to the guild master, and you want everyone to see that you are not a poor smith but have made your mark!”

Ellen relented. It was too late, in any case, for her to change her mind because the dress was already finished. And she was as happy with it as with the coat trimmed in wolf fur that kept her dry in the damp, cold weather. Even though the first tender yellow narcissuses had already appeared along the roadside as signs of the impending spring, the wind was still quite cool.

“You look wonderful! Like a real lady!” Isaac had called out to her, laughing as she prepared to ride off.

The house of the guild master was only a few miles away, and Ellen could easily have gone on foot, but she followed the advice of Rose and Jean and rode the beautiful white horse for which people had often envied her.

“It doesn’t hurt for Conrad to see how well you have made out!” Isaac chimed in.