The Copper Sign (63 page)

“You look tired. You are working too much and must take it a bit easier,” Rose said one day to Ellen.

For several days she had been pale, her hair looked dull, and she seemed almost frail.

“It is not the work.” Ellen had shadows under her eyes. “I was pregnant,” she explained in a weak voice.

“You were what?” Rose looked at her in shock.

“I was going to tell Isaac some time ago, but now…I’m glad I didn’t say anything. Two days ago I felt cramps.” Ellen placed her head in her hands. “It was almost as bad as giving birth, but thank God it didn’t last as long.”

“Ellen!” Rose took her by the arm and tried to console her.

“It was still very tiny. I could hardly bring myself to look at it.” Ellen sobbed briefly, but not only, as Rose had assumed, out of grief for the lost child but because memories were coming back to trouble her. “Isaac does not know about it, and that’s the way I want to keep it. He wants a son so badly and would be sad unnecessarily.” Ellen gave Rose a pleading glance, and her friend nodded, trying to comfort her.

Thibault was sitting in front of his tent on a sunny summer afternoon when Baudouin came riding up. Thibault looked up, contempt in his eyes. Baudouin was William’s best friend, and in Thibault’s eyes that by itself made him a traitor. He tried not to let that feeling show, though, as it might be useful, after all, to be on good terms with his enemy’s best friend. He became curious when he noticed that Baudouin was holding a new weapon.

Baudouin hurried over to William.

Thibault stood up in order to eavesdrop on the two. He pretended he had to relieve himself, and stopped not far from William’s tent.

The Marshal was standing in front of it shaving his beard and paying no attention to his friend. Baudouin paraded back and forth in front of him, until William finally looked up. The Marshal scrutinized him curiously from head to toe and finally noticed the sword.

“New?” he inquired, raising his eyebrows.

Baudouin nodded proudly. “Would you like to see it?”

“Of course!” William reached out and took the weapon. Once he held it in his hand his interest grew even further, and he turned the sword back and forth. “It has a wonderful feel to it, well balanced, almost like Athanor,” he said softly, reaching for his belt where his beloved sword was attached. Then he discovered the letter that was inlaid with copper wire on one side of the blade close to the cross guard. “And it has the copper sign!” he exclaimed, looking at Baudouin in astonishment.

He pretended to be checking the sword to see whether William was right, and grinned broadly.

“Where did you get that?” William demanded.

“I met someone I knew in my younger years in Béthune.”

“What are you hiding from me? Take me there! Come now, you must take me to the smithy where you got it!” William demanded impatiently, wiping the rest of the soap from his face.

“Why are you getting so upset?”

“I always thought I knew who had forged my sword, but now it appears that there are other smiths using the same sign. I must know if I was wrong. Take me there, at once!”

Baudouin shrugged dutifully. “Of course, if you insist.”

Thibault strolled back to his tent, trying to look inconspicuous, and called for his squire.

“Saddle up my horse, take it over to where the forest begins, and wait for me by the beech tree that was hit by lightning,” he ordered him. The young man hurried out and did as he was told. Thibault put on his sword and spurs, wondering if Baudouin had happened to see Ellenweore, and the very idea of it sent hot pangs of desire coursing through his body again. Back then, at the tournament, he had ordered a boy to steal the sword from Ellen, but she had wrested it back from him so he had never gotten it. If Baudouin’s sword, like Athanor, was really from her, then he had to find Ellenweore and persuade her to make him a better one, or rather, the best sword in the world. Thibault slipped away and hurried to the forest where his squire was awaiting him, as agreed. He swung himself up on the horse and rode through the camp of tents until he found William and Baudouin. They were riding northward, and he followed closely on their heels without attracting attention. It was not for nothing that he had a reputation as an excellent lookout. As long as he kept a safe distance they would never notice him.

The sun had already passed the high point for the day when they arrived at the smithy. Thibault climbed down, tied his horse to a tree, and crept a bit closer on foot.

When Baudouin and William rode into the yard, Greybeard came running toward them, growling, but after the two had dismounted, Greybeard sniffed at William and finally greeted him with a friendly wag of his tail. None of them noticed that someone was sitting in the bushes and observing them.

Isaac was just going down the path to the house. “Is something wrong with your new sword?” he asked Baudouin with concern.

“Oh no, nothing of the sort. My friend here wanted to meet the smith who made it,” Baudouin replied, and winked at Isaac.

Judging from the way Baudouin spoke, Isaac could sense that the stranger didn’t know the smith here was a woman. He didn’t like the thought of presenting her like that.

“You know the way,” he said coldly, pointing toward the workshop. Just before he reached the house he stopped, however. He somehow didn’t feel right about that, and returned to the smithy. On entering the workshop, one look at Ellen took his breath away. She was overjoyed at seeing the strange knight, and her eyes shone like never before.

“This is the smith who forged my sword,” Baudouin said, proudly introducing her with a broad smile. “And moreover, years ago she saved my life! You never would have believed that it was a woman, would you?”

Ellen looked at the Marshal without moving.

Jean’s eyes moved from one to the other; then he nudged Peter and pulled the journeyman away with him. “Come, let’s take a break and go outside. I’m hungry.”

The Marshal didn’t respond to Baudouin’s words, but went straight to the smith. “Ellenweore! How long has it been?” he asked, taking her by the hand.

Baudouin looked at him in astonishment. “Do you know each other?”

“More than seven years,” Ellen replied, without paying any heed to Baudouin’s question. Her heart pounded, and her hands became damp. Never would she have believed that seeing William again would put her mind in such turmoil.

“Say! Could you please just tell me what’s going on?” Baudouin interrupted, tearing Ellen out of her reveries.

“We have known one another since Tancarville,” was all she said.

“You used to live in Tancarville?” Baudouin couldn’t get over his astonishment.

“That’s where I learned how to forge swords. From Donovan. Do you know him perhaps?”

Baudouin shook his head.

“Baudouin came to Tancarville four years after we did,” William explained.

“But then it’s more than seven years ago,” Baudouin concluded. He was especially proud of his ability to make quick calculations.

“We met once again after that.” Ellen’s voice sounded both rough and gentle at the same time.

Baudouin nodded, understanding that they must have known each other better at one time.

Ellen’s gaze moved to William’s sword belt. She recognized Athanor at once. The scabbard was worn, so he must have used the sword frequently. “How did you…” she started to say, pointing at the sword.

“Athanor?” William placed his hand on the sword and seemed relieved that she asked about it. “Some months after we freed Jean and you left, I won it from a Frenchman at a tournament in Caen. He had been showing it off, having just purchased it. I recognized it at once and simply had to have it. I wish
I
had gotten it from you, and not some stranger.” There was a mild tone of reproach in his voice.

“You won it in a tournament!” Ellen smiled.

“Baudouin showed me his new sword, and it felt just as comfortable in my hand as Athanor. And then I noticed your sign on it. For a moment I feared other smiths might be using that sign as well and that perhaps it wasn’t Athanor at all. Even though I never doubted it, I just had to come and convince myself that you made both Baudouin’s sword and my own.”

“And so you are happy with it?” Ellen’s eyes sparkled like stars.

Isaac, who had quietly moved closer, felt the jealousy rising in him almost to the point of being unbearable.

“It’s the best sword I ever had! All the knights speak of it with great reverence!” The Marshal became emotional as he spoke of Athanor’s fame. “Even the Young King admires it!”

The door to the workshop swung open, and Isaac stepped aside a bit. The squeaking of the hinges drew Ellen’s attention to it.

“Will?” She looked at her son crossly. “What is it this time?” she demanded when the boy didn’t reply at once.

“May I give water to the horses?” he asked, hobbling a few steps closer to his mother.

“Will?” The Marshal gave her a questioning look. Anyone could have seen in her eyes that the boy was his son. Even Baudouin understood. He looked from the boy to his friend and could see that except for the freckles and the green eyes that doubtlessly came from his mother, the boy was the very image of his father.

Isaac also could not fail to interpret the glance correctly. A searing pain passed through his body. So this strange knight was Will’s father. Would Isaac lose the love of both his wife and his son now?

Baudouin was the first to get control of himself. “It would actually be a good idea for you to take care of our horses. We were riding fast and surely they are thirsty,” he replied.

Will smiled broadly. “They are wonderful animals, so strong and elegant,” he said as he hobbled out of the smithy.

“What is wrong with his leg?” William asked gruffly.

“His foot has been deformed since he was born,” Ellen replied coldly. She had not failed to notice the unfriendly tone of William’s voice.

“A cripple,” William mumbled.

She was about to reply, but Isaac had already approached and spoke first. “For a smith, feet are not important. Someone like myself is worse off!” He held his stump out for the two knights to see. “It seems I cannot even hold onto my wife!” he replied, glaring at the Marshal.

“Isaac!” Ellen gave him a furious look, while William just eyed him haughtily.

“If that’s the case, it’s probably not just because of your arm,” he replied, turning away.

William took Ellen’s little hand, enveloping it completely in his own huge one, and held it tightly. “I am delighted to see you again.”

It was hard for Isaac to bear the longing way that Ellen looked at the Marshal. Everyone could see how much this man still meant to her.

“He looks just like you,” Baudouin whispered to his friend once they were outside. They walked toward little Will, who had brought water for the horses and was now gently stroking their noses. “And he knows his way around horses just like his father.”

“He’s a cripple!” William growled, visibly angered.

“Thank you, Will,” Baudouin said as he handed the boy a precious silver coin.

“You look just like your father,” Baudouin said, taking the boy by the chin in order to look into his eyes.

“Isaac is not my father!” Will answered impudently.

“I know that, because I know who your father is. He is a brave warrior, a great man, and the best friend anyone could ask for. You can be proud of him.” Baudouin smiled as he looked at the boy.

“Is that true? You know him?” Will looked up at him with a broad smile on his face.

“As sure as my name is Baudouin de Béthune!” Baudouin pounded his chest with his fist.

William said nothing, and didn’t even look at the boy.

“Stop talking nonsense and come!” he growled at his friend, and mounted his horse, but Baudouin wouldn’t be hurried. Impatient, William spurred his horse and started to ride away.

Baudouin also mounted, but before he left he bent down once more to speak to the boy. “I’ll tell him about you, and one day your father will be proud to have a son like you!” he whispered.

Will nodded his head vigorously and waved to the two men as they left.

“The knight, Mother…!” William shouted, running back to the smithy. “The knight you made the sword for said he knows my father!” Will said with a big smile.

Isaac grumbled something and left.

“You never told me about him,” Will said, giving his mother a disapproving look.

“There is not much to tell!” Ellen replied brusquely.

“But who is he?” the boy persisted. Ellen turned away.

“You will find out soon enough. Get back the house now and help Rose—go on, get moving!”

Will knew there was no point in pestering his mother any further and walked back to the house despondently.

At supper, Isaac sat quietly spooning his porridge and not looking up. Ellen was lost in thought and finished her plate without paying any attention to Jean and Rose, who tried to cheer up the two of them with idle chatter.

Will held his head in his hand, listlessly stirring his food around in the wooden bowl.

Agnes and Marie laughed and giggled, teasing the twins by taking away the bread crusts the boys had been sucking on happily.

The two boys now began to cry and reach out for the bread.

Ellen, who otherwise insisted on quiet at the dinner table and usually would scold the children right away if they got noisy, said nothing.

But Rose looked severely at the two girls and gave the bread crusts back to her sons at once.

After supper, Ellen returned to the smithy where she tidied up, though there was nothing out of place, swept out the hearth for a second time, and oiled the tools that had already been oiled before. She was so lost in thought she didn’t hear Jean entering the shop.