The Copper Sign (5 page)

On the steps of the church in Cornhill, where the different markets were located, Ellen caught sight of a beggar. His clothes looked as if they had seen better days even though they were now soiled and torn. He sat there, slumped down and motionless and with a gaping wound full of maggots in his right leg that must have been very painful. He kept his face covered, perhaps out of shame over his wretched condition, and Ellen wondered what he might have done for God to punish him so severely. Quite unmoved by this sight and no doubt accustomed to scenes of poverty and filth, a few children played with sticks and stones in the mud just a few feet away. Three older girls, presumably their older sisters who were supposed to be keeping an eye on them, stood whispering in a corner. They were so involved in their conversation that they did not even notice the rat that was boldly running up to bite one of the children. Two boys about ten years of age began fighting and pushing one another. Ellen was surprised they looked so much alike. She had heard about identical twins but had never seen them. She stopped for a moment and watched, wondering what it would be like to have a twin sister. The thought was somewhat consoling, although twins clearly did not always agree on everything—the two boys were arguing more loudly now and finally came to blows.

Ellen was carried along by the crowd toward the marketplace and lost sight of the children. The closer she got, the more crowded the streets became, and she had difficulty moving forward. On the other side of the street just slightly ahead of her Ellen was watching as a man sneaked up to a well-dressed traveler and surreptitiously cut a money purse from his belt. Ellen gasped for air. Before the victim realized what had happened, the thief made off, running straight toward her. As he pushed past, she could see he was no man but a boy hardly older than herself and just a bit taller. His straggly, dirty hair was clinging to his pimply forehead, and his cold gaze looked her over from head to foot. A shudder ran through her—she was outraged at what he had done, but at the same time was afraid he could make off with her own purse as well as he ran past. She quickly put her hand on her chest, but there was nothing to worry about: the purse was hanging right there where it belonged under her shirt. She turned around, but the boy had disappeared.

“Freshly baked fish pasties!” a girl was shouting. She had large eyes with dark circles under them, and her voice carried astonishingly far over the crowd considering her delicate, almost scrawny body clothed in a worn, dark grey linen dress. Ellen could smell the aroma of dill and clove seasoning used in the pasties and made her way through the crowd to where the girl stood.

“How much?” she asked, pointing to one of the delicious-looking little pasties in the basked the girl was carrying in her arm.

“Three farthings.”

A farthing was a quarter pence, and three farthings for such a pasty was a steep price. Nevertheless, Ellen decided to buy one of the splendidly fragrant pasties, as she had not eaten and was as hungry as a bear. She could hardly introduce herself to a smith with a growling stomach. Reaching under her shirt, she took the coins from her purse. The girl looked down bashfully as Ellen approached her, then looked up, smiled, and blushed, revealing two cute little dimples in her cheeks. She chose a very large, golden pasty out of her basket and handed it to Ellen with a smile.

“It really looks good,” said Ellen, thanking her politely.

The girl blushed again deeply.

Ellen chuckled to herself, seeing that she was clearly perceived as an attractive young lad. “Mm.” She rolled her eyes to show how much she enjoyed the pasty. “It tastes wonderful.” She licked her lips, and the girl gave her a warm smile.

“I buy the fish the first thing in the morning and bake them fresh every day,” she said, beaming at Ellen.

“Do you perhaps know where I can find Donovan, the blacksmith?” Ellen asked, still chewing on her pasty.

The girl shook her head regretfully.

Ellen shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll find him.” Just as she was turning away she noticed a small band of armed men coming toward the fish-cake vendor.

“Hey, girly, what are you asking for the basket of pastries?” one of them shouted loudly.

The girl cringed and hardly dared to look toward her questioner.

An enormous older knight with a deep scar on his left cheek approached her. He was wearing a stitched doublet that looked almost new, and spurs on his boots that jingled at his every step. From his accent, Ellen thought he must be a Norman. His companions stood a distance away and waited for him, eyeing the streetwalkers standing on the next corner and beckoning to them.

The pastry vendor looked pleadingly at Ellen and then into her basket.

It seemed she was trying to count how many pastries were left and figure out what the knight would owe her. It took a long time, and Ellen was afraid the Norman might be getting impatient. “Hurry up,” she said hissing through her teeth, nudging the girl with her elbow. Didn’t she know how quickly such a knight could become dangerous when he got angry?

The knight noticed the vendor’s dilemma and handed her a shiny silver coin. “I think this should be more than you need.”

Ellen squinted and looked at the coin as the knight reached out his hand. There was a head stamped on it, and though Ellen didn’t know its value, she nudged the vendor again and said, “Give him the basket, let’s go!”

A broad grin passed over the knight’s face, and he added with some amusement and feigned sorrow: “This is the first time I’ve paid a pretty lass who has given me a cold shoulder! So please be so good as to relieve my distress.” Then he laughed loudly.

As fast as if the handle of her basket had caught fire in her hands, she reached out to him. “I hope you enjoy them, my lord,” she said with a trembling voice.

“I hope so, too, and if they’re not fresh and good, I’ll get my money back and rip off your head.” He suddenly had a fearsome look in his eyes as he gazed at her. He was no longer laughing.

The girl looked up anxiously, and Ellen saw the fear in her eyes.

“I just had one myself. They’re still warm, fresh, and nicely seasoned, I’ll assure you, my lord,” Ellen said, amazed at herself and how outspoken she was.

“Now, young man, then I hope your tongue is not only insolent but discriminating.”

The knight raised his eyebrows derisively, then burst out laughing and gave Ellen a friendly but forceful slap on the back that nearly took her breath away for a moment. Still laughing loudly and shaking his head, he returned to his companions, handed them the basket, and said something to them in a foreign tongue. The men looked at him and roared with laughter.

When they finally left, Ellen breathed a sigh of relief.

The little fish-cake vendor looked stunned. “I’ll have to buy myself a new basket,” she stammered. “Otherwise, how can I sell my pasties tomorrow?” She didn’t look happy at all, as one would expect after such a good sale. “A basket like that is not cheap. I hope I have enough money left to buy one. If my mother thinks I haven’t come home with enough, she’ll have her seven-tailed cat jumping on my back.”

Ellen saw the tears in the girl’s eyes and was sorry for her, though she didn’t know what a seven-tailed cat was. In any case, it sounded frightful to her. She wondered whether it could be worse than being whipped with Leofrun’s leather strap. “His coin is surely worth much more than the basket with the fish cakes,” she ventured, trying to cheer her up. “Your mother will surely be happy with you.”

“It was really brave of you to say that the fish cakes are good,” said the girl, looking her directly in the eyes, “and very courageous, too.” Then she looked up proudly. “If you’re here again tomorrow, I’ll have a free one for you, as a thank-you.” She smiled and left with a kiss to Ellen’s cheek before she hurried off.

This time it was Ellen who blushed. She wandered slowly along until she reached the market square, where she watched a juggler and a magician who made the bashful girls blush and caused the rest of the crowd to laugh at the girls’ discomfort.

Again and again he bowed with a grin and thanked the crowd for their applause and the coins they tossed at him.

Not far from him stood a fire-eater and sword-swallower, a stout fellow with a hairy, naked chest and bald head who put a long sword through his mouth and thrust it deep into his throat to the astonishment of the onlookers. Ellen turned to watch a group of jugglers when suddenly a piercing cry diverted her attention to a cluster of people.

She pushed her way through the crowd. The tooth puller that the girl had spoken of and a barber were standing atop a big wooden platform at the far corner of the market square.

As one could tell from the greyish, weathered color of the platform, it stood outside there all year long at this spot. Perhaps trials were held up there, adulteresses whipped, crooks pilloried, or thieves had their hands cut off. Maybe even executions took place up there where you could see dark splotches on the wood. But now there were two large chairs to accommodate the patients.

The tooth puller had a little table where his tools were displayed: clamps and tongs in various sizes as well as herbs and tinctures to promote faster healing. Ellen thought of the girl with the red hands and wondered if she actually had fallen in love with the morose-looking old man who was just spreading out the instruments. Only when a handsome young man in a maroon robe appeared on the platform did Ellen understand that the old man was just the tooth puller’s assistant.

On the other side of the crowd, close to the stairway, Ellen saw the maid, completely absorbed at the sight of the young man. Ellen hoped the girl would think of something other than having her tooth pulled in order to get his attention.

The barber-surgeon needed more equipment and a larger table. On one side there were his herbs, medicines, and cloths for making plaster and bandages, and on the other the saws for amputations as well as pairs of tweezers, scalpels, and needles of various sizes. A brazier and a branding iron stood nearby, too. Both the barber-surgeon and the tooth puller used broad leather straps to tie down their patients securely so they couldn’t jump up in fright or pain and run away.

Sweat poured down the faces of even the bravest of them when a tooth had to be pulled or a wound sewed up. Patients were standing all around the platform, and in their faces one could see their fear of the pain as well as their hope for a cure.

Curious bystanders also besieged the podium in hopes of witnessing an amputation or other horrible thing. The crowd carefully watched every move the men made, commenting on their gestures with disgust or astonishment and shouting taunts at the patients. Apparently the spectacle was a welcome diversion for many of them.

Ellen couldn’t bear to watch any longer. The repulsive odor of pus and rot, blood and burned flesh was just too much for her stomach. And it was only with difficulty and a strong will that she managed not to throw up her fish pasty.

On the other side of the square, the booths were huddled close together. Their roofs were of colored cloth or leather used to collect rainwater, and the merchants poked at them from below with sticks so the rain would run off. Farmers, monks, and all kinds of merchants had brought their goods to Ipswich. Whatever anyone could want could be found at this market: iron or copper pots in all sizes and shapes, all sorts of clay vessels and baskets, toys and household goods, leather and leather goods, cloth, straps, decorations, and anything useful made of horn, bone, wood, or metal.

In one corner, two monks in threadbare cowls were selling beer that they ladled from large, bulging kegs. Though they both appeared to be impoverished, their brew was no doubt very good, as a long line of customers holding one or more large tankards had formed alongside their wagon.

Farther along, live poultry was for sale along with eggs, flour, herbs, salted and smoked meat, fruit, vegetables, and other condiments for the kitchen.

Most unusual, though, and always surrounded by curious onlookers were the stalls with exotic fruits and spices such as dates, pomegranates, pepper, ginger, anise, cinnamon, and mustard. Ellen took a deep whiff of the tantalizing aromas. When she closed her eyes, it almost seemed to her that she was in another world.

All the merchants were shouting and extolling the quality of their goods. At the costume jewelry booth there were crowds of women and girls of all ages pushing and shoving in order to see the pretty goods and perhaps be able to touch them as well. Even though it had become second nature in recent months for Ellen to act like a boy, she stood there, like all the girls, with mouth and eyes wide open, marveling at the colorful hair ribbons and other attractive finery. The beautiful, bright colors, the exotic odors in the marketplace, and the huge variety of goods offered there was as intoxicating as a tankard of strong beer.

“Move along, lad,” a pale-looking merchant barked at him, “you’re blocking the view for the ladies!”

The next moment he was smiling and extolling his cords, braids, and ribbons while at the same time trying to chase Ellen away with an angry look—and suddenly all the wonderful, blissful feeling vanished.
What is more important to you, you silly goose
, Ellen thought to herself—
to be a blacksmith or to dress up with colorful ribbons in your hair?
She was angry that she had been so taken in by these pretty, worthless things. She turned her back resolutely on the knickknack stall.
I’ve got to make sure
, she thought, reaching for her moneybag,
that I find this blacksmith Llewyn was telling me about instead of standing around with my mouth open
. As long as she had no work, all she had left were her savings.

Suddenly she broke out in a cold sweat. She looked under her shirt—there was nothing there! Then she reached for the leather cord around her neck. It was still there, but the purse with the money was gone, cut off. Her heart began to pound, and she felt a humming in her ears. Frantically she reflected on how and when the theft could have taken place. Had she forgotten, after buying the fish pasty, to slip the purse back down again under her shirt? She looked around helplessly. Who could have stolen it? Was it perhaps the nice little pasty vendor? She felt as if an enormous hole had opened up in front of her and was about to devour her. Her eyes filled with tears.