The Copper Sign (64 page)

He came over and stood beside her. “Must have been quite a shock for you,” he said finally.

“What?” Ellen looked up in surprise.

“I mean that he showed up here so unexpectedly.” Jean wiped his hand over the anvil.

“I never thought it would trouble me to see him again. I mean, things are going well with Isaac and me…I have no reason…” Ellen took a deep breath.

“William did not recommend you to the king back then, though he could have, and he won’t do it now, either. All you could expect from him was that he would take you for a roll in the hay.”

“Jean!” Ellen looked at him angrily.

“I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I am right! You have to put him out of your mind, Ellen.” Jean shrugged. “I saw how you looked at him, but he hasn’t done anything to deserve your love. But Isaac has.”

Ellen looked down at the ground, ashamed. “I can’t help myself. It’s my heart—it beats so wildly when he is around me,” she said softly.

“You don’t mean anything to him, Ellen, you are just one conquest among many. Don’t forget who he is! Just what do you expect? Until yesterday you were happy with Isaac, and it is because of you that he has changed so much.”

Ellen laughed, but it was a laugh of desperation.

“We really hated each other at first, but my goodness, that was so long ago!”

“Isaac loves your son as if he were his own. Even the Marshal couldn’t be a better father to Will.”

Ellen nodded. “I know he will never be a father to him.” She shrugged and added, “I’ll try hard, I promise!”

Jean patted her on the shoulder. “I once told Isaac he didn’t deserve you, but ever since he started working in the smithy again, I’ve changed my mind. You belong together!” Jean gave her a nod of encouragement.

Ellen tried to assume a confident smile, but she couldn’t quite manage it.

When Thibault saw the boy watering the horses, he knew that he had to be Ellen and William’s son. Just the same, he needed confirmation that Ellen was here, too. He waited until they left the smithy for the evening. William and Baudouin had gone some time ago, but he still lay waiting in the underbrush.

When he finally caught sight of Ellen, he felt as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. She was still, just as back then, the most exciting woman he had ever met. Her red hair shone in the twilight, and the sad look in her eyes cut him to the quick. How he wanted to jump up and run to her, to take her in his arms and…the damp ground in the forest penetrated his clothing and interrupted his reveries. He walked back to his horse, mounted, and rode off. He had to find a way to get a sword from her—not just any sword, but a masterpiece, the best sword she had ever made. The only question was how.

After the Marshal left, life quickly resumed its normal course again for Ellen and the others. Ellen hardly gave a thought to seeing him again, and Isaac tried to suppress his gnawing jealously. Thus, everything was soon back to normal until the day another strange knight appeared in the yard.

He was dressed in rich clothing and accompanied by a squire.

Rose, who had just finished picking vegetables in the garden, went to meet him.

“The smith! Take me to her!” he ordered without dismounting.

“Will you please follow me to the workshop?” As she walked closer, she recognized him at once, and big beads of sweat started to form on her brow. She sent a quick prayer to heaven that he would not recognize her.

Without saying another word, Adam d’Yqueboeuf jumped down from his horse and gave the reins to his squire. He paid no further heed to Rose, but walked with great strides toward the workshop.

Rose ran back to the house and did not catch her breath until she had closed the door behind her.

In the smithy, the knight had to first get accustomed to the semidarkness, but then he caught sight of Ellen. He had seen her earlier in Normandy where she was working in a blacksmith shop at tournaments and had thought she was crazy because she had taken it into her head to do a man’s job. He snorted, then walked over to her. “Do you recognize the coat of arms I am carrying?” he asked severely.

Ellen nodded. “The royal lions! What can I do for you, my lord?” Ellen tried not to sound overly impressed.

“It is said that your swords are extremely sharp and are good weapons. For this reason, I am bringing you jewels and gold for a sword better than any you have ever made. One to amaze the Young King, a sword that has no equal!”

Ellen looked at him in surprise. The Young King wanted a sword from her? She could hardly believe it. Finally! Finally William had recommended her. She tried to look calm. “Until now I have seen young Henry only from a distance, and that was years ago. I must know his size and which hand he favors in battle.”

“Only the right hand is a good hand, and as for the length, you can take my measurements,” Yqueboeuf replied, bored.

“When shall it be finished?” Ellen asked, a bit anxiously. For the most part, the higher the rank of a customer, the sooner it had to be done.

“Young Henry will not stay in England for long—the tournaments begin soon! I would say three or at most four weeks. The next time we are in this area I’ll come and fetch the sword. You won’t give it to anyone else, do you understand?”

Ellen nodded.

Yqueboeuf handed her a purse with gold and another one with costly gems.

Ellen poured the jewels into her hand. “Sapphires, rubies, emeralds—they are beautiful!” she said. They were in fact pure and sparkling, but Ellen couldn’t help thinking of the Marshal and what Baudouin had told her about William’s opinion of jewels on a sword. She frowned. There had certainly to be other considerations for a king. “It will be the most beautiful and finest sword the king ever held in his hand,” she promised.

“We shall see, but it would be best for you if that is the case!” Yqueboeuf replied.

Ellen had a ready answer for that, but she decided not to quarrel with the nobleman and merely bowed her head humbly.

“Don’t tell anyone about your work, and order your journeymen to keep silent as well. Not a word to anyone!” Yqueboeuf said, looking at her intently.

“As you wish, sire!” She bowed again.

Yqueboeuf snorted once more, and this time his nostrils flared out like those on a horse.

“And what about the pommel and cross guard?”

“Do as you think best, and choose a shape most suitable for a well-balanced sword. Don’t forget, however, that it must display elegance and grace!”

Ellen choked back the answer she wanted to give to that. Every one of her swords was elegant and graceful, even without the jewels.

“Do you have any requests for the belt and the scabbard?” Ellen asked, as usual.

Yqueboeuf seemed perturbed, and shook his head. “You are the master, aren’t you? So just come up with something to make the sword unique and its carrier the envy of the world!”

Ellen bowed again. “As you command, sire!”

After the king’s knight had left, Jean, Isaac, and Peter gathered around Ellen, who patiently answered their questions.

“The sword for the king is more important than anything else. This work has priority, is that clear?”

“But why are we not allowed to talk about it?” Peter wondered. “It would be much easier to put the monks off if we could tell them you are making a sword for the king. It would also help our reputation and make yourself known beyond the boundaries of St. Edmundsbury!”

“And it would be an invitation to thieves to rob us! Did you think of that? After all, we are responsible for the jewels entrusted to us!”

Peter held his breath. “I didn’t think of that!” he admitted meekly.

Jean and Isaac barely said a word.

Later in the afternoon, when she was alone in the smithy with Jean, Ellen rejoiced. “You see, you were wrong! He finally recommended me to the king, after all!”

Jean shrugged. “Nevertheless, my opinion hasn’t changed: you’ve got to put him out of your mind.”

The time was short, and it seemed almost impossible to finish the sword on time. Ellen told Peter and Isaac they would have to complete all the other orders on their own, until she reached the point where she didn’t need Jean any longer as a striker.

The design of the sword took no more than half a day. Ellen took the jewels out of the leather purse, sorted them, and thought about how to use them to decorate the pommel. She still didn’t like lavishly ornamented weapons, but a sword for the king was, after all, an exception. In order to make up her mind on a design, she first drew her ideas in the sand. Once she had determined the shape, she scratched the design into a wax tablet and took the most important measurements. As she worked on the details, a sequence of syllables kept running through her mind: Ru—ne—dur. Without noticing it, she kept whispering the syllables to herself. Then she stopped short. Runedur! That would be the name of the king’s sword! The name leaped to her mind involuntarily, just as the name Athanor had before. Runedur would, of course, bring together all the qualities that made up a good weapon. But the sword would above all be unique because the art of the swordsmith and that of the goldsmith would come together in a unique harmony, since all the work would be a product of her soul and her hands alone. The king’s sword would be both consummately elegant and at the same time simple. And of course, Runedur would show the strength and power of the Young King. Ellen recalled the altar vessels and crosses that Jocelyn had made. They, too, had sometimes been adorned with jewelry and other decorations but despite their lavish workmanship had always given the viewer a feeling of humility because of their beauty. That was just the way everyone should feel on seeing Runedur. After she had decided how it would look, she began to work feverishly on it.

Even though Jean had carefully studied the drawing on the wax tablet and listened intently to Ellen’s description, he could hardly keep up with her. She was always two or three steps ahead of him in her thinking. Sometimes she was angry because he seemed not to understand what she was trying to do. Her feelings kept alternating between a deep-seated fear of failure and the elation of finally making a sword for the king.

When she was making good progress, Ellen gulped down her meal at lunchtime in order to get back to the workshop as fast as possible. If the work was proceeding more slowly or if she was brooding over a problem, she would poke around in her food after the others had left the table. The family and the helpers in the smithy got along well, sitting, eating, and chatting with one another, but Ellen had kept to herself recently, not paying attention to anything going on around her and thinking only of Runedur. She was already thinking of the next step, trying to anticipate any possible problems and how they could be circumvented so that no errors would creep in. One time she slipped, however, while she was scraping out the fuller, making a scratch in the sword. Her eyes filled with tears. How could that have happened? In despair she looked a bit closer at the damage. A day was lost in self-doubts, but then she figured out how to correct the error by lengthening the fuller a little. She carefully scraped out a little more metal from the middle, then turned the sword around and lengthened the fuller on the other side. Happy that the damage was no longer visible, she breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Ellen worked from early morning to late at night. After successfully hardening the blade, which was the major hurdle to overcome, she proceeded to the basic and finishing polish and was delighted at the wonderful shine that she was able to get, bit by bit. Even though she barely got any sleep, she never felt tired and seemed to have the strength of three men. As the sword took shape, she looked more and more radiant and happy.

“Have you decided what your daughter’s name will be?” Ellen smiled without looking up from her work. The evening before, Rose had given birth to a little girl with a powerful voice and obviously strong lungs.

“By no means does Rose want to use her mother’s name, but she thinks Jeanne wouldn’t sound bad!” Jean was clearly proud of the name chosen for his daughter.

“Jeanne!” Ellen repeated, and nodded appreciatively. “That’s a good name!” But as soon as she started concentrating on her work again, the tip of her tongue appeared in the left corner of her mouth. Setting the gemstones was causing her more trouble than she wanted to admit.

“Why don’t you let a goldsmith take care of that?” Jean was amazed at how hard she tried without even once complaining or losing control of herself, but he couldn’t understand why she insisted on working without any help.

“It’s out of the question. First, I swore I would do it myself, and second, the goldsmith would ask me who the sword is for. And as you know, I can’t say. Beyond that, I don’t trust a stranger with such valuable stones. Who knows if he will do a good job? Maybe he will just use pieces of glass and keep the jewels for himself!”

“Don’t you think that is a bit far-fetched?” Jean scowled skeptically.

“No, not at all! I have been given the task of forging this sword, and I’m responsible for it. Just don’t worry—I’ll take care of everything.”

“All right then, as you will! I only meant well.”

“It’s best to leave her alone,” Isaac teased, grinning at Jean. “You can’t get anywhere with anyone as stubborn as she is! I gave up long ago and learned just to go along with everything she says.”

“Oh, you!” Ellen threw him a glance that was both critical and provocative.

“Very well, I am going back to work!” Isaac raised his arms in a gesture of surrender.

In the evening when they were alone in their room, Isaac rolled away from her, breathless.

“Oh, Ellen! You should always forge things for the king!” he groaned contentedly.

“Is that so?” she asked, in studied innocence. “Why?”