Prologue

How The Collier Enewalt Finds A Wife And the Shrew Greta Is Banned From The Baron’s Castle

The man was bent under the heavy load of wood on his back, and he had to be careful not to get stuck under low branches as he made his way out from between the fallen trees and into the clearing. Enewalt was a collier, and he was collecting wood from a windfall.

A year ago, a heavy thunderstorm with gale force gusts had torn a swath through the forest, uprooting trees and littering the forest floor with branches and twigs for over a mile. For Enewalt this was literally a windfall which provided him with vast quantities of deadwood. He was building a kiln from the torn limbs. With so much wood readily available he was building his woodpile bigger than ever.

He had decided that this load would be the last. The pile was already more than twice his own height and a dozen paces across. Carefully he filled the last gaps in the intricate pattern of branches and twigs that held together the pile and kept the central flue open.

For the rest of the day, Enewalt used a wooden spade to cut sods from a nearby meadow. He slept rolled into his blanket under a makeshift lean-to as was his custom. Over the next days he covered the kiln with grass sod and clay. Once that was finished he fired the pile from the centre, near the flue, to start the charring process. For eight days, he kept a vigil at the pile, regulating the air intake with wooden stops and testing the temperature of the sod cover frequently. Once the sod became hot to the touch he stopped the air ducts with logs to suffocate the fire.

For another week he let his pile cool down and then, a full two months after he started the work, he broke the cover open. A warm rush flowed over him the moment he opened the pile. The charcoal was perfect: black and feather light all through the pile. The Baron’s smiths at the forge in Birkenhain Town would be satisfied with the quality, and Enewalt could expect a good sized bag of coins for his product.

The young smith in Lemdalen, the village closest to the forest, would also buy a load of coal, adding to Enewalt’s earnings. Good charcoal was all-important for the smeltering of iron ore, for turning the rusty-red stones into dark grey wrought iron. The smith operated a small bloomery where he produced the wrought iron that was made into steel by the Baron’s forge. Enewalt did not understand how this was done and he did not care. It was enough for him that they would give him a Groschen for each two bushels of charcoal he delivered.

Enewalt looked around. He had cleared only a tiny part of the windfall and more fallen trees were there for him to char. This storm clearing would give him work for four or perhaps even five or six years. A small brook ran through the clearing and Lemdalen was only an hour’s walk to the East. For the first time in his thirty years of life, Enewalt contemplated settling down. The clearing would provide him with material for the building of a log cabin, the brook had sizeable clay deposits, and a rock wall, some hundred paces to the West, had a pile of stones at its foot. Again, Enewalt nodded with satisfaction.

It took Enewalt four weeks to transport the coal to his customers. He started with his pannier which only held four bushels at a time, making the trip to Lemdalen three times a day for almost a week. With these first earnings Enewalt was able to buy a donkey and a sturdy cart, and now he was seen almost daily on the trail to Birkenhain, bringing cart after cart of coal to the forge. At the end of the month, Enewalt held a large bag of Groschen in his hands, so many that they by far exceeded the counting words he knew.

With the harvest around Lemdalen done, Enewalt had no problems to hire four farm lads willing to help with the building of a log cabin. On a foundation of large stones which insulated the cabin from the moisture of the ground, they built a frame of larch wood. The space between the beams was filled with a masonry of stones and clay. The inside was finished with cut straw and clay and on the outside, the wooden beams were impregnated with linseed oil and turpentine. The roof was shingled and the shingles weighted down with rocks for stability.

It was a good cabin as everybody conceded, and by midwinter Enewalt moved in. He worked during the short winter days building another kiln, but in the evenings he sat by his fire place and at night he lay on his cot, away from rain and wind. Enewalt the Collier had found a home at last.

With spring approaching and his new kiln nearing completion, Enewalt visited the village to trade for some grain and a bacon. He cleaned up as was his custom, for he was not allowed in the tavern wearing his sooty work clothes. The tavern was one of the main attractions for him, not so much for the ale but for the three wenches whom the landlord kept. A visit to the tavern and a romp with one of the whores always gave him fodder for many nights of naughty dreams.

After completing his trading, Enewalt tied his donkey to a post in front of the tavern and entered the low dwelling. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness within. To his surprise, a new woman had joined the three whores. She was tall and seemed strong, and she looked not like the other wenches but rather like a decent woman. Eagerly, Enewalt signalled her to come to his table and she approached reluctantly.

“New here, eh?” he asked. “Wot’s yer name?”

“Nele,” she answered in a low voice.

There was nothing of the false cheerfulness of the other wenches on her. She hated being there, she hated waiting on Enewalt, and she hated herself Enewalt could feel.

“Where you hail from? Can’t say I’ve ever seen you,” Enewalt asked friendly.

She was not ugly and he wanted to bed her even if she hated it. Or because of that.

“I’m from Tosdalen. This is my first day here.”

Tosdalen was a village to the East that was owned by Tosdalen Abbey, a rich monastery.

“Why would you leave there and come to this stink hole?” Enewalt wondered aloud.

“They burnt my husband at the stake for heresy and made us leave,” she explained, the pain in her voice evident.

Enewalt looked around. Making sure he could not be overheard, he answered.

“That’s the trouble with living on church lands: you have to hold your tongue. You have family?”

“A son. He’s ten and growing. I can’t find food for him unless I ... work here.”

Enewalt never knew where he found the courage but he blurted out his offer.

“I’m but a lowly collier and plying my trade in the forest, but I have a good, sturdy cabin. I’ve no wife yet and no son to teach my craft. You have need of a husband to support you, and your son needs a trade to learn. What do you say, Nele? Will you join with me? I’ll treat you right nice an’ you’ll be a decent woman again.”

The woman stared at him for many breaths. There was a mixture of hope and distrust in her eyes.

“Only if you’ll wed me,” she answered firmly.

Suddenly overwhelmed by his own audacity, Enewalt stuttered. “B-but o-of course! Yes! I-I want a w-wife!” he declared excitedly, giddy with the prospect of finding a woman, a good looking one at that, who was willing to share his lowly life.

“Then, I accept,” she stated simply.

Thus, on the very next Sunday, a priest from Tosdalen Abbey conducted the wedding of Enewalt the Collier with Nele, widow of Bero. After a brief celebration in the tavern, Enewalt loaded his new wife and her son, a lad named Pelle, onto his donkey cart and drove them to his home in the middle of the Baron’s forest.

They settled there and Nele took over the household whilst her son, Pelle, helped his new father finish the huge kiln. In the evening, when the exhausted boy fell asleep, Enewalt mounted his new wife. Enewalt had lain with many different women, tavern wenches mostly, and a few of them had taught the Collier a thing or two about women. Thus, his wife Nele soon found that wifely duties with Enewalt were rather a pleasure, and in the weeks and months to come she became very diligent in performing those duties. Enewalt was a very happy man, indeed.

The lad Pelle also turned out to be a catch for the Collier. Tall for his age, he soon became a good helper for the Collier, giving Enewalt more time in between the firing of kilns to set his snares for small forest animals and to attend to his wife.