Chapter 11: How Pelle Can Put His Fears to Rest

A day after his return from Birkenhain, Pelle uncovered the kiln. He found the coal of the usual good quality but he felt no satisfaction, only apprehension. Secretly he dreaded his next trip to Birkenhain. What if Ingeburg would take a liking to her new life? What if she, living with the Baron’s family, felt shame at being married to him? If he stayed in the forest he could hope and dream of her at least. If he went to Birkenhain a cruel reality might just crush those dreams.

Nevertheless, he could not put off the first delivery. His friends at the forge depended on him. He also realised that by displaying a sulky attitude he might offend the Baron who would then punish him and perhaps Ingeburg too. It was a good thing that Tjark, Hunold’s son, showed up at the cabin to help out. Tjark was eager to accompany his brother in law to Birkenhain for the first delivery of the fresh batch of coal. Working together the two young men loaded the wagon with almost one hundred bushels of coal, more than twice the normal load that Pelle was used to deliver. Afterwards they filled the tub to wash, albeit one after the other.

Wearing clean clothes and freshly bathed, the two young men set out for Birkenhain early on the next morning. Pelle soon found that not only could he load more than two times the load, but he could make the trip in a shorter time. Especially after reaching the high road, the horse managed a brisker pace than Pelle’s old donkey. Thus, they arrived at the gates of Birkenhain with time to spare before noon.

The forge master beamed at him when they drew up in front.

“That’s a good surprise for sure, Pelle! I hadn’t expected you so soon, and what a load you bring!” He turned to shout into the forge. “Holla, boys! Out here! There’s coal to unload!”

The apprentices groaned at the sight of the loaded wagon but they set to work. Tjark watched with amazement as seven lads made rather short work of the big load.

“So, how much do I owe for that load?” the forge master asked.

“We loaded eight dozen bushel, that’s forty and eight Groschen,” Pelle replied.

When the forge master counted the money out on the table, Pelle left two Groschen for the apprentices, and he offered another four to Tjark for the help. Tjark grinned broadly. Four Groschen was more than his father gave him in a month, and he got to spend a night in Birkenhain on top.

With over forty Groschen left, Pelle headed for a tailor’s shop after leaving Tjark at the Red Cockerel. Tjark planned to spend one of his silver Groschen and the night getting laid for once. He was not married and he not even had a sweetheart, for the girls of marrying age had either been Ingeburg’s friends who were aloof or they hated her and anybody associated with her. To make things worse, he was the second son of Hunold, destined to live his life working for his father and his older brother.

At the tailor’s shop Pelle asked for breeches and a vest in the style of the Baron’s household. He was lucky, or more likely the tailor had been forewarned by the chamberlain, for he had a readymade set available at six Groschen cost. It was indeed a good fit and the dark green wool cloth was smooth and warm. Pelle changed into it at once and asked for a second set to be ready in a week. He was also able to secure a well made linen shirt which he put on under the vest. His other clothing went into a linen sack which he slung over his shoulder.

His next stop was Levy’s shop. He was in for a surprise for he had not yet entered when Rebecca flung herself into his arms.

“You’re here! Oh, that’s wonderful! Ingeburg will be so happy,” she gushed. She released him whilst still smiling. “Ingeburg is well. I already saw her twice. Guess what: I am retained by the young baroness as her personal healer! Even the old baroness ordered some of my scented tallow!”

Pelle smiled back at the exuberant girl. Once more he realised how lovely she was. She was almost the total opposite of Ingeburg but she could hold her own with her looks.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” he asked.

Rebecca nodded and turned sober. “It means a lot. It means safety foremost. Having the ears of the baroness may even protect us when the Abbot will start preaching against my people the next time.”

Pelle felt his hatred rise at the mentioning of the Abbot but he willed it away. Instead, he produced a leather pouch.

“I brought some fine coal for your potions,” he announced causing Rebecca to smile again.

“Thank you! I can use it the way the trots are making the round in town. Make sure to drink ale and hot teas only, but never well water. It seems that the wells are tarnished again.”

Pelle grimaced. He could never live in town, without good clean water.

“I’ll mind that,” he said. “How is your father?”

“He is fine. He had to travel to Tosdalen. The Abbot has not paid back the big loan.”

“I wish him good luck,” Pelle said bitterly. The Abbot was known as a miser among other, less flattering descriptions.

“Oh, he will have no difficulties,” Rebecca smiled grimly. “He has the Baron’s overseer with him to enforce the debt.”

Pelle could not help but chuckle. It would grate the Abbot to no end to be forced to pay his debt to a Jew. In manners like this, the Baron ruled with an iron hand. If you owed you had to pay, abbot or peasant, lest you found yourself locked in the debt tower.

“Well, I better be on my way. Give my greetings to your worthy father, Rebecca, and walk in peace!”

“Walk in peace, Pelle,” Rebecca answered nicely.

Pelle had to spend some time before he could call at the castle, and he walked the narrow alleys of Birkenhain and inspected the goods sold by the traders. He found nothing that caught his fancy and he slowly walked up to the castle. Gebhardt was on sentry duty at the gate.

“Ah, friend Pelle! I see you cannot stay away from your lovely wife for long! Not that anyone can blame you; she sure is a good one. Go right in and announce your presence to the chamberlain!”

Pelle smiled back. “I thank you, friend Gebhardt. I shall do as you said.”

He found the chamberlain Oswald in the courtyard talking to the a group of maidservants. He had to wait his turn before he addressed the man.

“Master Chamberlain, I am Pelle the Collier. I came to visit my wife Ingeburg. She is...”

“Yes, yes, I know her, and I know you. You are dressed properly too. That is good. Your wife is still attending the young Baroness and supper will not start before an hour and a half. You’ll have to wait until after supper to see her. Come with me. The Baroness Ermegart wishes to speak with you.”

Filled with apprehension Pelle followed the chamberlain. They went up to the second storey and followed a winding corridor until the chamberlain bade him stop. There was a large oakwood door which the chamberlain rapped with a huge ceremonial key. The door opened and Pelle saw an elderly maidservant.

“The Lady Ermegart requested to see the collier Pelle. He is here now,” Oswald announced officially.

“I shall ask the Lady,” the maidservant answered closing the door in their faces.

She opened it again a few heartbeats later and stepped out. She inspected Pelle’s clothing and even sniffed him before she jerked her chin towards the door.

“Come in, Collier, and don’t you forget to kneel!” she ordered sharply.

Resigned, Pelle followed her. The old Baroness was sitting at a window doing some needlework as he could see. He was led to within two steps of her before the maidservant gave him a significant nod. Obediently, Pelle knelt. He kept his mouth shut too, for no commoner was allowed to speak out of turn when in front of a noble personage. He did not look down though, but rather returned the Baroness’ scrutinising gaze with assumed equanimity.

“So you are Pelle?” the Baroness asked.

“Yes, Lady,” Pelle answered.

“Your wife tells me that you are no dumb and brute forest dweller. Why did you become a collier then?”

“When my father died, Lady, my mother found it hard to support us. The collier Enewalt offered to marry her and he took me as his stepson. This is why and how I learned the trade.”

The old woman cocked her head. “How did your father die, Collier?”

Pelle swallowed hard. “He ... He was found guilty of heresy in Tosdalen and burnt at the stake.”

“Your father was the caretaker Bero?”

“Yes, Lady,” Pelle answered, honestly surprised that she knew his father.

“That puts a different light on things,” the old woman mused. “Your great-grandfather was a trusted follower of my husband’s grandfather. Did you learn numbers and letters?”

“A little, Lady, but I have forgotten much of what I learned for it availed me little in my new life.”

“A pity that, but easily corrected. Stand up, Pelle!”

Pelle did as she bade and stood.

“You’re tall and strong. You’re not dumb at all and good in your trade as I hear. I can see where Ingeburg may fancy you. Listen to me now! I keep your wife here in the castle because she is of my late husband’s blood. She is good for my son’s wife too. Now that I know more of you I shall find a worthwhile task for you. Bear with it and you may find that my son’s wedding was your lucky day.”

Pelle nodded. Of course, having a task with the Baron’s retinue would mean an easier life for him and Ingeburg. They would eat and drink at the Baron’s table, would sleep in the castle or in town, and they would enjoy the safety provided by the Baron’s guards. Yet, it would mean the end of his freedom too. The end of fresh spring water, the end of hunting deer. He had to think to weigh the issues but the Baroness wanted an answer.

“If my Lord and you, Lady, deem me worthy to serve my Lord in some way, I shall indeed be grateful,” he replied. “I know the woods and forests best but I can also count well.”

“We shall find something, never worry. Now go and put the smile back on your wife’s face; she has been waiting for your visit impatiently. You may join the rest of the household for supper.”

“Thank you, Lady. I shall do your pleasure,” Pelle answered, this time with true conviction.

The same maidservant showed him out. “You did well, Collier,” she told him. “Always keep in mind that my lady has the baron’s ear like nobody else.”

“I will, Mistress,” Pelle answered politely the way his mother had taught him, and he was rewarded with a benevolent snort.

Back in the courtyard he found the forge master.

“I didn’t find the time earlier to speak to you. Pelle, it is good that you have that large wagon now. We need more coal. The Baron secured us shipments of ore from up north and he wants us to deliver more steel. The Count of Rennenberg will buy all the knives and swords we can make. Those other rascals have turned up bad quality recently. Somehow we need you to make more coal.”

Pelle thought about that. Now that he was living alone again his plans to increase the number of coal piles had fallen through.

“I would if I could, Master. You know how it is, though. With my wife now serving the Baroness I have to tend my dwelling and do my own cooking and baking. I guess I can make five piles in a year now, but not more.”

“You need help then,” Tilke the forge master spoke, scratching his bald head. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. Mayhap I can find you a helper or even an apprentice. Just so you know I’m serious, I’ll pay you twelve Groschen extra for each load you deliver.”

Pelle whistled softly and nodded. That was some inducement.

“Wait!” Tilke exclaimed. “I have a thought. There’s a bunch of people, come from the east, fugitives. The Baron gives ‘em shelter and food for a fortnight. They’re a ragged bunch, but there’s some orphans with ‘em what may want to learn a trade. We still have time afore supper. Come, Pelle!”

Shrugging, Pelle followed the forge master. He could really do with some help.

Tilke led him through the gate and downhill. Downstream of the forge, where nobody usually lived, there was an assembly of ragged lean-tos and tents. A cooking fire was going with a cauldron hanging over the flames. Two elderly women were stirring a soup whilst twenty people in rags sat around with hungry eyes. The people looked different. Their hair was mostly dark and so was their complexion. The few men sported black beards, and the womenfolk were wearing dark headscarves.

“Listen up, you people!” Tilke shouted, and the fugitives looked up. “This is the collier Pelle. He is a master of his trade and he is willing to take in an apprentice. Pelle’s coal is the best far and wide, and he who learns from him will make a good living in future years. Who is on?”

The men and women looked at each other and then at their sons. Pelle could see their hesitation. Of course, they wanted to keep their children. Suddenly, a young lad of perhaps fifteen, sixteen years stood and pulled a girl behind him.

“I am Matthias, Master, and this is my sister Marja. We are orphans, and we have no family and no place to go. I want to learn a craft but I cannot leave my sister. Could she come too and help with cooking and cleaning? She is a good cook.”

Pelle looked at the lad. He had an open look about him and he looked strong and able. Then he let his gaze sweep over the lass. She looked unkempt like the rest of the group, but she stood straight and seemed able-bodied.

“Are you truly siblings?” he asked and the youngsters nodded.

There was apprehension in the girl’s eye Pelle saw. He understood. Marja was on the verge of womanhood and the prospects for orphan girls were grim. At best she could expect to be worked from dawn to dusk, at the worst she would be at her master’s mercy and fucked at his leisure. He nodded slowly.

“Be ready tomorrow after sun-up. I shall come with my wife so she can have a look at you. If she agrees you can both come with me.”

“Thank you, Master!” the boy exclaimed whilst the girl curtseyed silently.

“Is she mute?” Pelle asked.

The girl shook her head. “No, Master, I can speak,” she almost whispered.

“Speak then, Marja. I’ll not ask anything from you but keeping my cabin clean and cooking the meals. Do you savvy that?”

“Yes, Master,” she answered, but he could see something, hope or relief, in her dark eyes.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Pelle concluded, and together with Tilke he walked back to the castle.

“A raggedy bunch to be sure,” he sighed.

“I’ll say, and most of them are afraid of work. The lad seems to be a good one. Be careful of the wench though, lest you make your wife jealous.”

“I didn’t even think of that, but you are right!” Pelle exclaimed. “I better speak up to her at once.”

“You better!” Tilke chuckled. “That wife of yours does not strike me as being docile.”

“She has naught to fear, Master. I’ll stay true to Ingeburg, now more than ever.” He thought of something now that he had almost forgotten. “Master Tilke, do you still remember the mason who built the furnace and the flue in your forge?”

Tilke was surprised. “Yes, certainly. He is Wenzel, and he does most of the work for the baron.”

“Do you think he might do work for me in Lemdalen Forest?”

“You have to ask him. Or better, I shall speak to him when I see him next. What is it that you need a mason for?”

“I have this idea. A traveller to whom I spoke at breakfast in the Red Cockerel months ago put that idea in my head that a kiln of stone and clay, once built, makes the charring much easier. I was thinking to try it out, but I need a master mason.”

Tilke’s eyes lit up. “With easier you mean faster?”

Pelle nodded. “That is my hope. Covering the kiln with twigs and clay takes two days at the least, and uncovering and saving the clay another two. I am thinking of four solid kilns, each to be loaded and fired every four weeks. Whilst one is loaded, the second is fired, the third cools down, and the fourth can be harvested.”

Tilke was a master craftsman used to planning the workings in the large forge. He saw the concept immediately.

“You’re onto something here, Collier! I shall speak to Wenzel at first chance. You could even work through rainy weather!”

“There is that, and the risk of a blaze is much lower with a solid kiln.”

“Say no more, Pelle! I shall help you if I have to hew stone myself!”

When they returned to the castle, the supper bell sounded. Master Tilke led Pelle into the hall. He sat with the smiths of the forge, anxiously scanning the doorway from whence the Baron and his family would emerge. He did not have to wait long, for the chamberlain opened that door and loudly announced his lord.

“All rise! The Lord Sigfrid is in the hall!”

They all stood whilst the Baron entered with his wife on his right arm and his mother to his left. Behind them Pelle could see Ingeburg. She too was anxiously surveying the hall until she saw Pelle, and she gave him a beaming smile.

“Ah, to be young again!” Tilke grinned. “Well, at least I’ll get my regular shipments of coal out of this!”

They all sat again and then the supper was served. Whilst the upper table had a choice beef roast, the lower table received a rich soup, with the lesser beef, grain and cabbage. They were allowed to ladle second and third helpings into their bowls, and Pelle felt well sated after his second. Thin ale and brown ale flowed freely and Pelle followed Rebecca’s advice to eschew the well water keeping to the thin ale.

When supper was finished, the Baron and his family retreated, save for Ingeburg who fairly ran to meet Pelle. The other castle dwellers made raucous comments when Ingeburg launched herself into her husband’s open arms.

“I missed you so much!” she whispered between kisses.

“Not as I missed you, my Sweet!” Pelle assured her. “Shall we go for a stroll to settle the supper?”

“I’d love that,” Ingeburg beamed and hooked her arm into his.

Together they left the hall and crossed the castle courtyard. They sat on a wooden bench under the huge oak tree in the centre of the courtyard. That oak tree was older than the castle. The lore said that it had been a sacred tree in pagan times, dedicated to the god of thunder, Donar, who also was a patron of the smiths. These days the castle dwellers spent their idle time sitting in its shade.

Quickly the two lovers filled each other in on what had happened during the last days. Ingeburg was relieved when she heard that the old baroness seemed to approve of Pelle. Then Pelle brought up the subject of the two orphans.

“Tilke, the forge master, showed me those fugitives before supper. I may have found an apprentice among them. He’s a young lad of fifteen years and he seems willing and healthy enough.”