Chapter 8: How Pelle and Ingeburg Visit Friends

It was almost noontime when they approached the drawbridge over the water-filled moat that encircled the walled town of Birkenhain. The sentries knew Pelle, and the tale of how the poor collier had to marry the haughty daughter of Greta had made the rounds. At the gate, Pelle’s friend, the Corporal Gebhardt, grinned at him.

“Holla, Collier!” he greeted Pelle. “How is married life for you?”

In spite of his mocking tone there was admiration in the soldier’s eyes as he regarded Ingeburg.

“My life could scarcely be better, Gebhardt,” Pelle answered cheerfully. “Ingeburg, this is Gebhardt, Corporal in the Baron’s guard. I trust you have heard of Ingeburg, my friend?”

“Yes, I have. All in the castle have. They say, though...”

“I can imagine, friend,” Pelle interrupted him. “Know you that Ingeburg is my dear wife. The Baron did me a great favour.”

“And me!” Ingeburg spoke up for the first time.

“Good for you, Collier,” Gebhardt laughed. “How the girls at the Red Cockerel will mourn your passing into Holy Matrimony!”

Pelle blushed at the taunt but kept his face straight. “As long as they have stout soldiers like you, Friend Gebhardt, they will console themselves no doubt!”

“A man can but do his best!” the guardsman grinned lewdly.

Pelle drove his cart along the market place whilst Ingeburg looked at him sideways.

“You have been seeing girls at the Red Cockerel? I have heard of the place.”

Pelle was beet red but he answered truthfully. “Yes, I came here often. I was alone, and they were nice to me. Of course, I shan’t go there anymore.”

“Did you have a favourite?”

Pelle shook his head. “No, they were all friendly. Last time I was there, there was a new girl, Elsa. She is from the Duke’s city, and she knows many tales to tell, but I was with her only once.”

Pelle was glad that they reached the forge. The master smith came out to greet him, clearly curious to see the infamous Ingeburg.

“Here you are, Collier, and you brought your wife,” he started and then stared. “Holy...! This is the girl whom the Baron made you marry? And you wanted to refuse? Have you been drinking your wits away?”

“Master Tilke, this is Ingeburg, my wife,” Pelle introduced. “And yes, my wits were failing me.”

“I greet you, Master Tilke,” Ingeburg added and gave the man a smile.

The worthy man just shook his head. “Collier, you are a fortunate man. Holla, Lads, unload the coal!”

The apprentices unloaded the wagon with far more willingness than was their custom Pelle found. Perhaps that was owed to Ingeburg’s presence he thought with a grin.

When the unloading was finished, Pelle drove the wagon to the stable where he usually left his cart, and Pelle and Ingeburg began to stroll the market and the narrow alleys where the traders had their shops.

The visited the boot maker and Pelle placed an order for a pair of sturdy boots for Ingeburg. Ingeburg was touched by this obvious gesture of care and she pressed his hand to show her gratitude. They also visited a grain trader. With a saucy grin Ingeburg overruled Pelle’s order of two pounds of oatmeal, asking for six pounds instead. The trader was nonplussed over Pelle’s roaring laughter.

They also bought a bale of sturdy cloth, with yarn and new needles. Ingeburg had expressed her wish to make better clothes for Pelle and herself, and Pelle was happy to comply. The trader promised to send the goods to the rental stable.

The last visit was with Levy, the money lender. Pelle had no pressing business with Levy, but he had taken aside a few choice pieces of charcoal for Rebecca’s healing potions. Levy was away from his shop but Rebecca was there.

A shadow showed on the pretty Jewess’ face when she learned of Pelle’s enforced marriage. The Jews of Birkenhain were not privy to the gossip of the castle, and Rebecca had not heard the tale yet. Her dark eyes were almost accusing when she regarded Ingeburg. Knowing of Pelle’s friendship with the girl’s father, Ingeburg was her friendliest though, and noticing her guest’s effort Rebecca relented.

She still seemed sad. Her eyes lit up, though, when Pelle showed her the fine charcoal pieces he had saved for her. As a gesture of reconciliation towards Ingeburg she gave Pelle a bar of fine, rose scented soap in exchange.

At this moment, Levy returned. Learning of his visitors he rushed to greet them. Pelle took him aside to speak about some money issue, leaving Ingeburg and Rebecca alone.

“Pelle told me that you know traders of spice?” Ingeburg tried to start.

“Yes, my Uncle Avraham sells pepper, ginger, and other spices. You want I show you the way?”

“That is kind of you, Rebecca. I better tell Pelle first.”

“Yes, you better do,” Rebecca agreed.

She led Ingeburg through a corridor and into another room where Levy and Pelle were obviously speaking intently.

“Father, Pelle, I’ll take Ingeburg to Uncle Avraham to buy some spices and other things,” Rebecca announced.

Pelle looked up. He fished in his purse and gave Ingeburg three silver coins.

“Don’t spend it all,” he smiled.

Once outside, Rebecca looked at Ingeburg speculatively. “I’ve never seen Pelle so happy. He deserves to be happy. So whatever you do, don’t stop it.”

Ingeburg blushed a deep pink. “It’s rather what he does to me that makes us both happy,” she whispered.

Now it was Rebecca’s turn to blush, but she also giggled. “Then don’t make him stop to do these things!”

Ingeburg laughed outright. “You may hold me for a Goy, but don’t hold me for witless!”

At first, Rebecca laughed but then she turned serious. “That word, Goy, is not a nice word. I would never speak of you or Pelle that way. We call you Gentiles.”

Now it was Ingeburg’s turn to be embarrassed. “Forgive me! I did not know it better. I heard the word once and was told that it’s how your people calls us. Mayhap you can tell me more of your tribe in the future. We could be ... friends?”

“You want to be friends with me? I’m but a Jewess.”

“You are friendly and kind. I would love to have a friend. Most of my friends showed their true faces when I was humbled by the Baron. They were nothing but envious of me. With you I wouldn’t have to fear that. With you so pretty and your father so wealthy, there is no grounds for envy.”

“You think me pretty, Ingeburg?”

“Who would not?” Ingeburg countered.

Rebecca shook her head. “There are but many who give me bad names. I have no friends. There is Ruth, Ismael’s daughter. She is my age, but we are no friends.”

On impulse Ingeburg hugged the startled Rebecca.

“You have a friend now,” she declared. “Now let us see your uncle and his spices.”

Rebecca led her upbeat new friend into a small shop where an elderly man sat in front of rows of glass jars filled with seeds and leaves.

“Uncle, this is Pelle the Collier’s wife, Ingeburg. She wishes to buy herbs and spices from you.”

The man rose, bowing slightly. “Welcome, welcome, beautiful Rose of the Lemdalen forest! What is it with which I can please your nose and palate? I have fresh marjoram, rosemary, and here I have caraway seeds, peppers, and even cinnamon.”

Carefully asking the prices for each spice first and heeding the old man’s advice, Ingeburg made her purchases. In the end she had a good variety of herbs and dried fruit, like she had seen her stepfather’s sister use for seasoning. She paid two silver Groschen and received two copper Heller change. She thought of something nice to say before she left.

“Thank you, Avraham, for giving me good advice. You offer good wares. I’ll come again when we shall be in town.”

Avraham the spice trader nodded in return. “Peace upon you, Wife of Pelle. Give my greetings to your husband.”

Ingeburg returned to Levy’s house with her purchases where she found Pelle ready to leave. Levy bade them farewell, shaking Pelle’s hand. Rebecca even gave Ingeburg a hug of her own as farewell and Pelle smiled at his wife with appreciation.

“Where will you stay, friend?” Levy asked, just as they turned to leave. “Your usual place?”

Pelle grinned sheepishly. “I was thinking we could try the Proud Stag Inn.”

“Ah, but they will rob you with what they ask for their rooms!” Levy exclaimed. “And their beds are full of fleas and bedbugs.”

Pelle made a face. “Where else can we find a place then?”

Levy tilted his head and smiled. “Friend Pelle, why not ask me?”