Chapter 2: How Pelle Admires the Fair Jewess Rebecca

Before Pelle went to bed that evening, he loaded his cart high with coal for the Baron’s forge. That done, he filled his tub with water from the creek and with hot water from the kettle over his fireplace. He added soap shavings and soaked himself, his tunic, and his pants in the tepid, soapy water. It felt good to be rid of the dust again.

He had a supper of venison stew and mashed grains, left over from the day before, before he rolled into his blankets in the roomy cot built on the loft under the rafters of his cabin. In spite of being tired, he took some time falling asleep. Against his will, his thoughts always returned to Ingeburg. How could a girl as sweet looking as she have such a vile mouth? Why was it that she and her friends hated him so much? Much as he tried, he could not remember to have ever done wrong by them. In the end, he just accepted that nobody in Lemdalen cared for him except for his friends at the smithies.

As usual, he woke with the sunrise and after a quick meal of buttered rye bread he hitched his donkey to the cart and drove off towards Birkenhain town. A little after noon time, he reached the drawbridge that led through the city walls and into the town. The sentries knew him and he drove his cart through the wide Market Street and then to the left to where the Baron’s armoury and forge stood.

Pelle loved to deliver at the forge because here the apprentices had to unload his wagon. They groaned when they saw the big load whilst the forge master, Tilke, grinned widely.

“That’s good. You brought an extra large load today. We can use it. That fellow Orvan did not show last week. I sent for him. Imagine this: he is dead. From the looks of it, a wild boar got him. How much did you bring this time?”

“Forty-two bushels.”

“That’s — wait — twenty-one Groschen, right?”

Pelle smiled and nodded. The master smith counted off twenty-one silver Groschen, and Pelle gave one to the apprentices, for luck and goodwill, as Enewalt had taught him. The lads even swept the cart bed with a broom and wet rags, to wash off the coal dust.

Leaving his cart at a stable, Pelle went to sell last winter’s cured skins. He had quite a number of ermine pelts but also rabbit and hare skins to sell, and he received another twenty Groschen for them. The merchant always gave him good money for his pelts and skins.

He was walking past Levy’s house when a young woman, barely older than a girl, stopped him. It was Rebecca, Levy’s daughter.

“Hello, Pelle!” she greeted him.

“I greet you, Rebecca,” Pelle smiled looking her over with undisguised appreciation. “You really favour your good mother.”

She had grown into a comely lass. Her hair was not black, but of a rich shade of dark brown, and tied back into a braid with single locks framing her face. Her dark brown eyes were huge and lively, and the corners of her mouth pointed upwards in a friendly smile. It was hard to look at her and not feel good.

“My father told me that you came to town. I need some charcoal.”

Pelle shook his head in regret. “I just delivered a load at the forge. ‘Twill be a week at least before I come again. How much do you need?”

She smiled, and he could see perfect white teeth, like pearls on a twine. “Only a small bag, less than a pound. Ground up it helps against the trots,” she added with a conspiratorial smile.

“You’re really taking up the healing, like your mother?” Pelle asked smiling back.

“I learned most of her herb lore and but only a little of the healing arts,” she explained modestly.

“Look, if you give me a bag I’ll get some charcoal from the load I delivered to the forge.”

“That’s very kind of you, Master Pelle,” the maid answered, rewarding him with a beautiful smile. “Charred bones of animals work best.”

“I remember that from your mother,” Pelle answered. Sarah had always asked Enewalt for charred bones for her potions.

From a drawer the girl retrieved a small cloth sack and handed it to Pelle. He quickly strode to the forge still thinking of the girl. She was lovely and nice, and it was a pity that he could not court her. No priest would marry a Christian man to a Jewess however lovely she was. Then he checked himself and grinned ruefully. Levy, her father, was a wealthy man. Even if Pelle had been of the same faith, Levy’s daughter was as far out of Pelle’s reach as was Ingeburg, Hunold’s daughter.

She thanked him nicely enough when he returned with the small bag of selected coal pieces and gave him a small cup filled with a salve for wounds in exchange. Pelle often cut or stabbed himself when working with limbs and branches in the forest, and he would make good use of that salve.

It was a profitable afternoon. Pelle used two silver Groschen to buy peas, dried beans, and other preserved food for his use. He also found a brass oil lamp with a coil of wicker and two earthen bottles filled with lamp oil. He had all his purchased goods brought to the stable where he loaded his wagon for the return trip before he went into town for the evening.

Here, in the town under the castle, Pelle had had his first woman seven years ago. Enewalt had dragged him into a brothel, the Red Cockerel, and paid in advance before leaving him alone. On that evening, Pelle saw his first naked woman and for the first time experienced the delicious feel of a woman’s sex around his member. It was not to be his last visit to the Red Cockerel. In the years to come, whenever he brought charcoal to the forge, he also spent a night in the brothel.

He became a well-liked visitor with the women and girls. In spite of his huge size and powerful body he was gentle and always eager to please them. He also paid honest money for their services and he never tried to stiff them. In return, the women allowed him more liberties than they did with most other patrons. Thus, at age twenty-three, Pelle the Collier knew more about women than most unmarried and even married men in his village.

He went straight for the Red Cockerel. They offered a good supper in the common room and Pelle preferred to eat supper with the girl he picked for a night. The girl, Elsa by name, was a new one. She was young and fresh, and she smiled and talked a lot. Pelle enjoyed her company.

She had come from Brunswick, the seat of the Duke, some fifty miles to the west and she had many news. She told Pelle of the ill-fated last crusade. The first survivors were already returning from the Holy Land having accomplished nothing.

There was also this disturbing new plague, down south beyond the great mountains of the Alps. Wherever it hit, whole cities were turned into morgues. People woke up healthy in the morning only to drop dead by afternoon, or so Elsa retold what she had heard. The larger a city, the more devastating the plague ran its course. As a precaution the Duke had ordered the priests to hold masses and to pray to the Holy Mother for help against the pestilence.

When Pelle and Elsa went up to her room after supper, he found out that the girl from the big town knew a few tricks that had eluded him so far. At first Pelle was apprehensive when she bent down to take his member into her mouth. He was afraid she might bite him. It took a while for him to realise that she really meant well, and then his fear turned into raging lust. He had known whores who would relieve him with gentle hand play, but Elsa used her lips and tongue on him bringing him to an intense release. She even swallowed his spent semen to the last drop.