The Copper Sign (70 page)

Ellen sensed her presence here would be undesired and decided to remain quiet. She squeezed back into the farthest corner along the side of Loki’s stall.

The man began to saddle up one of the horses. Why wasn’t he in more of a hurry? An inexplicable anxiety came over her. Ellen closed her eyes and prayed. The wooden door squeaked again, and another man entered the stable.

“I’m here, sire!” she heard one of them say.

“Here, Armand, take this message to the king. Don’t let them turn you away, and give it to Henry personally.”

Ellen froze. Every time she heard Thibault’s voice, a shiver went down her spine.

“It will be difficult getting out of Limoges!” Armand complained.

“You must leave the city through the western gate. Don’t go until just before it gets dark, after the changing of the guard. Go to the guard who is on the right-hand side. He will let you through—I have paid him well for that.”

“And how about my money?” the man asked.

“Here it is, as always. And hurry, there will soon be more for you to do!” Thibault’s voice sounded demanding even though he was whispering.

“Yes, sire, fast and reliable. As you have come to expect from Armand!”

Those were not the words of a desperate man forced to be the bearer of secret messages. His oily voice was one of greed and malice.

Suddenly Loki snorted.

“A wonderful animal,” Ellen heard Thibault saying. He was close by now.

She closed her eyes and prayed.
Please, Lord, don’t let him see me
. If he discovered her now, she would be done for. She barely dared to breathe.

Thibault reached out his hand and stroked Loki’s nostrils. “An uncommonly beautiful animal. Do you know who it belongs to?”

“I have no idea,” Armand replied, spitting on the ground.

“It doesn’t matter. As soon as you have delivered the message, come back, do you understand?” Thibault turned around and left.

“Certainly, sire.” Armand seemed calmer than at the beginning of their discussion, probably because he had received his money.

After Thibault had gone, he saddled up quietly, humming to himself, then took the horse’s reins and led it out of the stable.

Ellen remained motionless for a while but didn’t want to delay too long. This was the chance to finally catch Thibault. She had to tell Baudouin at once what she had heard. She tiptoed to the door of the stable and carefully opened it a crack. Both Thibault and his messenger were gone. Ellen tried to look as casual as possible as she left the stable. Shortly before reaching the castle, she heard steps behind her as if she were being followed. Anxiously, she pressed on.

“Ellenweore, wait, won’t you?” The voice sounded cheerful. “My goodness, you seem to be in a hurry!”

She sighed with relief. It was Baudouin who was running behind her. “You must stop him, I was just looking for you!” she stammered excitedly.

“Whom shall I stop?” he said, glancing at her.

“The messenger, at the western gate!” she pleaded.

“Now take it easy and tell me one thing after the other!”

Ellen told him what she had heard in the stable.

“Don’t wait for me. If I need you, I’ll have someone come and get you!” Baudouin called back to her as he raced away.

Ellen sat down at the table in the servants’ room and waited, but nothing happened.

It was already late when finally a servant of the king appeared and asked her to follow him to the great hall. Although she had done nothing wrong, she was as nervous as if she were the accused. This was the first time she had been in the great hall.

A fire was crackling in the huge fireplace. Some of the walls were painted with magnificent, colorful hunting scenes and others were covered with heavy wall hangings, and the entire room was illuminated by large torches. Ellen stopped not far from the entrance, amazed at all the splendor. Knights and squires were gathered in groups scattered here and there.

Adam d’Yqueboeuf and Thomas de Coulonces were standing with half a dozen other knights who were whispering among themselves.

Duke Geoffrey had taken a seat alongside his brother’s throne.

Baudouin and a handful of other knights were standing before the Young King, and a few steps away Thibault stood with his arms folded, guarded by a knight, and alongside him the messenger, restrained by two soldiers.

“Baudouin de Béthune, state your accusation,” the Young King demanded, beckoning him with a sweeping gesture to step forward.

“This man, Armand, tried to smuggle out of Limoges a secret message to your father!”

An excited murmur passed through the great hall.

Ellen wished she could shrivel up to nothing so Thibault would not notice her, but fortunately he was too occupied grinning condescendingly at people.

“And the message,” Baudouin added after a calculated pause, “the message was written by Thibault de Tournai. It informs your father of every single move we make!”

A loud murmuring and angry shouts underscored the outrageousness of this betrayal.

“What do you have to say in your defense?” Young Henry looked at Thibault sternly.

“I don’t know why Béthune has decided to accuse me, of all people. You know I have always stood behind you,” he said, bowing.

“Is the letter signed by him?” the Young King inquired.

Baudouin shook his head. “No, Your Grace.”

“Does it bear a seal?”

“There is no seal, my king.” Baudouin turned red with anger when he saw Thibault’s malicious smirk.

“So how do you know that it was Thibault who wrote the letter?”

“Armand confessed!”

“How much did you pay Armand for this false accusation, Baudouin?” Thibault interjected. “Men like him can be easily bought! Did the Marshal instruct you to get me out of the way?”

Baudouin wheeled around. “It would be better for you to remain silent, Thibault. I have another witness.”

Ellen could feel fear in the pit of her stomach.

Baudouin beckoned for her to approach. Her legs were as heavy as lead and almost refused to move.

“Tell the king what you told me, Ellenweore.”

Ellen nodded timidly and stepped forward. After she had ended her statement, the Young King leaped up.

“So you actually dared to scheme against me?”

“The smith woman bought your ear!” Thibault declared, playing his last trump. The babble of voices grew louder. “Isn’t it true that you never ordered and never paid for the sword you wear so proudly on your belt?” Confused, the Young King reached for Runedur.

“You are a swindler, my lord, who decks himself out in other people’s property, a thief. Your father would be ashamed if he knew of it.”

The Young King walked slowly toward Thibault, but he wouldn’t be intimidated and continued speaking.

“Runedur belongs to me!” Thibault shouted. “You are decked out in my gold and my jewels!” Thibault beat his breast with his fist. “It is my sword!” he screamed, as if he were half crazed. His face was contorted. “And for her…” he shouted, grabbing Ellen by the arm, “she belongs to me as well!” In a flash, he pulled Ellen to him and held a dagger to her throat.

The men at his side stepped back in shock.

The Young King turned as pale as a sheet with anger. Slowly he took Runedur out of its scabbard and started walking toward Thibault, paying no attention to Ellen. “So you think the sword belongs to you? Good, then you shall have it!” Young Henry looked at Thibault with an icy stare, walked to within arm’s length of him, and plunged the sword right up to the hilt into his chest, with no thought of Ellen’s safety.

Thibault clutched Ellen’s shoulder and then dropped the dagger.

Ellen trembled from head to toe.

“You will never come into your inheritance—I curse you!” were his dying words as he collapsed.

Young Henry withdrew his sword from the body of his erstwhile friend and turned to his knights. “Woe to all my enemies and every traitor!” he cried out grimly, raising up his sword in a sign of triumph. Blood dripped from the blade onto the stone floor.

Armand, the messenger, was led away. He was guilty, and no one was interested in whatever fate awaited him.

Young Henry sat down again on his throne, and two soldiers carried away Thibault’s bloodied corpse.

The knights resumed their conversations, and the great hall became calm and peaceful again as if nothing had happened. The only reminder of the appalling deed was the bloodstain on the floor.

Ellen stood there petrified, but no one paid attention to her. The king had accepted that Thibault might kill her, too, as his last act of violence, and hadn’t paid the slightest heed to her after it was all over. Ellen was deeply disappointed. Thibault was dead, but she felt neither joy nor satisfaction—all that she felt was anger. Without begging leave, she left the great hall and hurried back to her room. Along the way, a fat rat rose up in front of her. She gave it a furious kick and after that felt a bit better.

The next day Baudouin was on his way to Ellen’s workshop but met her already in front of the smithy. “I am leaving tomorrow to find William and bring him back! The Young King is determined to do everything he can to prevail against his father. Doesn’t it seem like most obvious thing to do to go and fetch his best adviser? Word has gotten out that Yqueboeuf and Coulonces were part of the intrigue against William, but I think they can depend on leniency from the king. Young Henry needs every man now,” Baudouin said, just as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened the previous night.

But Ellen could not forget it. Thibault’s fingers had left painful black and blue marks on her shoulder, and she couldn’t get the sight of the bloody corpse out of her mind. She tried to concentrate on what Baudouin was saying but couldn’t do that either. And the child in her belly was hitting and kicking her. Suddenly she felt the ground sway under her feet. It felt insecure, like quicksand, while in her ears she heard the sound of a thundering waterfall.

“Ellenweore!” Baudouin shouted in astonishment, and caught her just as she passed out.

She awakened in a small room. It was already bright daylight and she was alone. At first she thought she had been locked up, but then she remembered what had happened and she placed her hand anxiously on her belly. It was as firm as ever—she had not lost the child!

After she had lain there for a while half asleep, a young maid entered and brought her a bowl of porridge to help her get her strength back.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked shyly.

Ellen just nodded and stared into the bowl. Surely Baudouin had already left. She wondered how William was. Baudouin had told her that after all his years at court he still refused to learn to read and write and always needed someone to read to him and write his replies.
How easily he can be duped
, Ellen thought disapprovingly, recalling all the things that had happened recently. She could admire stubbornness in pursuing a goal—after all, she owed many of her success to that trait. But when stubbornness got in the way of a person’s goals, that was deplorable, she thought. Irritated, she turned to face the wall and closed her eyes again. The child in her belly was thrashing about and the birth was still a full two months away. She thought of Will, who had been born on the English Channel. Where would this child be born? Her thoughts kept turning to William. How exciting were the times of the tournaments and the passion that had once brought them together. But that was all long ago.

Earlier in the morning the sun had shone in a sparkling blue sky, but soon grey clouds came rolling in. Since the noon ringing of the bells a fine drizzle had been falling, though the sun still tried to break through here and there. A beautiful rainbow appeared over Limoges to greet William as he rode through the gate accompanied by Baudouin and some other men. The soldiers cheered wildly, shouted greetings, and whispered among themselves about the magnificent, colorful sign in the sky that had to be sent by God.

At the very thought of William’s return, Ellen’s heart practically burst, but he did not come to the smithy.

Young Henry kept him at his side all day and consulted with him until far into the night.

Not until the next afternoon did William appear in the smithy. Wherever he went, men greeted him, and both men and women cheered him enthusiastically, celebrating him like a hero. William accepted their praises graciously. When he entered the shop, the smiths quickly took off their hats and stood stiffly side by side like little wooden soldiers, and even Ellen was so excited that all she could manage was a little smile.

William came closer, took her by the arm, and led her outside in order to speak with her privately. “My reputation has been restored, and the king needs me,” he said triumphantly. “I knew from the very beginning that Baudouin would need your help in order to expose the conspiracy against me.”

“What do you mean by that?” Ellen asked coldly, and stepped back a pace. She carefully examined his striking face, weather-beaten by the sun and wind.
He looks like a stranger
, she thought disappointedly, although every one of his features was familiar to her.

“After you brought Henry the sword, Thibault was a changed person. I knew the Young King could neither have ordered nor paid for Runedur. His coffers were empty long before that! But when more and more lies were spread about me, it was clear Thibault stood behind it all. But I couldn’t prove anything against him. Everything I did he was able turn against me. Someone had to lure him out of his hole! I was certain you would be able to throw him off. And I was right, as you see. He wouldn’t have revealed to anyone else what he boasted about to you. And then, the fact that you caught him in the very act was a lucky stroke of fate, for me at least.”