Chapter 3: How the Maid Ingeburg Is Given Lessons by Hunold

Ingeburg woke up and flinched in pain. Her backside hurt fiercely where Hunold had kicked her. She had never seen him in such insane rage, and for once he had enforced a punishment on Ingeburg. Her mother had defended her of course, but even she shrank away when Hunold told her in a cold voice to keep her mouth shut or take to the road with her spoiled daughter. Ingeburg still could not understand the reasons for her stepfather’s seemingly blinding rage.

Her stomach growled for she had been sent to her chamber without supper. Ingeburg had never gone hungry in her life, and she felt miserable and utterly confused. She had tried to get support from her brothers, but Hanke did not like her anyway and even Tjark had turned his back on her. Ignoring her bruised behind she sat up and began to dress. Her instincts told her to dress modestly and she did that, wearing a simple homespun dress with an apron. She even put wooden shoes on her feet, eschewing the soft leather boots she liked so much. Thusly dressed, she climbed down the narrow stairs and went into the kitchen. Her aunt was busy preparing breakfast, and she looked up when Ingeburg entered. Her look was withering.

“What do you want?” she almost barked.

“I-I wanted to ask if I may help,” Ingeburg answered timidly realising that whatever she had done was not forgiven yet.

Her aunt nodded. “Stir the oatmeal. Make sure it won’t burn!” she ordered gruffly.

Obediently, Ingeburg took over whilst her aunt bustled around the kitchen.

“Aunt Anna?” Ingeburg finally asked.

“Yes, what do you want?”

“What is it that I did that was so terrible? I was only taunting the collier. Everybody does. He’s a dirty, uncouth lout and nobody cares for him.”

“Have you really no idea? Don’t you see what you said, stupid girl?”

Ingeburg hunched her shoulders. “No,” she squeaked.

“That cruel taunt, don’t you see how that had to anger your father? When that no-good scoundrel Felkel accused him of witchcraft, they kept him in Tosdalen for nigh on a week. They nearly tore his limbs apart to make him confess and they burnt him with red-hot irons. For over a week we feared they would burn him at the stake. Think your skin would have turned black too, if your father was burnt?”

Ingeburg felt the blood rush to her face. She had been eight or nine years old then and she had not really understood anything. Now she saw why her words had enraged her stepfather and she felt a burning shame wash over her.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “Oh mercy, how he must hate me now!”

“Nobody hates you, stupid girl!” her aunt answered impatiently. “Take that pot and serve oatmeal to them. Then tell him you’re sorry, and you better mean it too. Understood?”

“Yes, Aunt,” Ingeburg answered meekly.

Using a rag, she took hold of the hot pot handle and hefted the heavy copper casserole. When she entered, she saw that the rest of the family sitting at the table. Her mother stood immediately.

“What are you doing, Ingeburg? I did not raise you to be somebody’s magd!”

“Sit, woman!” Hunold barked angrily.

“I’m helping Aunt Anna,” Ingeburg answered defensively. She turned to Hunold. “Do you want oatmeal, Father?”

Hunold looked at her for several heartbeats and she looked back pleadingly. Finally, he nodded. Using the wooden ladle, Ingeburg served him. Then she turned to her half brothers. Hanke grunted and held his bowl, and she ladled a generous helping of oatmeal into it. Tjark held his bowl to her without a word and she served him too. When she approached her mother, Greta shook her head stubbornly. Looking at her own bowl, Ingeburg asked Hunold.

“May I, Father?”

“Help yourself, Ingeburg,” he answered and she filled her bowl.

She returned the pot to the kitchen before she approached the table again. She stood in front of Hunold and waited until he looked up.

“May I speak, Father?”

Hunold grunted his assent.

“I have spoken nasty words to the collier, Father, not knowing how much they would offend you. I have no memory of what you endured; I was too small then. I beg your forgiveness. I shall not remind you of your torments again. I promise you that.”

Hunold weighed her words before he answered.

“It’s not me you must ask for forgiveness. Pelle is an honest man by all accounts, a hard worker and held in high regard by those who buy his coal. You have been cruel to him taunting him with his poor father’s death. The Sunday after next, at the Church Fair, you will seek him out and ask his forgiveness. Understood?”

Ingeburg nodded, her pretty face blushing intensely. This would come hard to her. She held the collier in little regard, and to beg his forgiveness in front of the entire village would be humiliating. Yet, Hunold left her no choice.

“I shall speak to him and I hope he will find it in his heart to accept my apology,” she said through gritted teeth.

“This is going too far!” Greta blurted. “For her, the daughter of our noble baron, may he rest in peace, to apo...”

“Shut your mouth, Greta!” Hunold thundered. “Stop filling her head with nonsense. She is already hated by most of the village. She must learn to behave or we’ll never find a good husband for her.”

“And what husband can be found in this pigsty?” Greta huffed. “Bring her to Birkenhain! Only there will she find a proper man.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Greta! The young baron hates you and he forbade you to enter the town. To the townspeople she is a peasant’s daughter. The best she can do there is find work as a tavern wench.”

“The baron must recognise her as his sister and he will,” Greta answered stubbornly.

“Enough of this! I’ll not have this any longer. Ingeburg, you will help your aunt in the kitchen from now on. It is time you learned how to cook and keep house.”

Ingeburg liked her aunt and she knew that her aunt mostly liked her too. She found nothing wrong with the prospect of learning from her. Recently, she had found her mother increasingly scary with her obsession with the baron and his family. It might be good to be away from her, if only to avoid Hunold’s wrath.

“Yes, Father,” she therefore answered.

Ingeburg quickly emptied her bowl of oatmeal and returned to the kitchen.

Her aunt raised her eyebrows. “You want to learn how to keep house?”

Ingeburg just nodded with a shy smile.

“Well, then go and fetch some firewood. After that you’ll clean out the ashes. When you’re done with that, we’ll scrub the bowls and pots. Go!”

Her tone was gruff but her eyes were winking at her. With a smile Ingeburg lifted her skirt and ran outside for the wood stack.

It was a week later and Hunold was loading his wagon with sacks of apples from the last fall. They were wrinkled and brown by now, but the Abbey’s cellarer knew how to turn last year’s fruit into delicious spirits. Hunold had done this before and he had received a keg of ale for his wagon load of sweet apples.

He was getting ready for the hour-long trip when his eyes regarded Ingeburg who was scrubbing a pot with water and sand. The girl had shown signs of betterment over the week and she was helping his sister willingly. On the spur of the moment, Hunold decided to give her another lesson.

“Ingeburg! Leave that! Put on good shoes and your cloak and come with me.”

Ingeburg looked up surprised, but she nodded and disappeared in the house. Not many heartbeats later she returned, wearing leather shoes and a woollen cloak around her shoulder. She quickly climbed up on the seat beside Hunold who wordlessly started the horses. With creaking wheels and axles the wagon rumpled over the uneven surface of the path leading to Tosdalen.

“Please, Father, whereto are we going?” Ingeburg asked with obvious apprehension.

Hunold realised her fears. “Oh, don’t worry! You’ll return with me. We’re going to Tosdalen Abbey to sell last year’s apples.”

“Oh,” was all Ingeburg answered but he heard her relief.

“Listen, Child, you have behaved well the last week and I can see that you try your best. So says your aunt. Keep it like that and I’ll never have to get angry with you again.”

“I will, Father,” she promised solemnly.

The rest of the trip was spent mostly in silence and when they arrived at the Abbey, Ingeburg kept sitting on the wagon whilst Hunold unloaded his apples. He received a keg of the famous Tosdalen Ale for the fruit and climbed up on the seat again. Instead of driving back home, however, he drove the wagon to a small field west of the Abbey’s main gate. To her horror, Ingeburg saw the charred remnants of a man hanging by a blackened chain from an equally charred stake.

“That was the cooper Bert,” Hunold said under his breath. “He delivered kegs to the Abbey, but he quarrelled with the overseer over the price. He became angry and said something about rather selling his kegs to the devil than agreeing to such a low price. He was charged as Satan’s follower and burnt at the stake.”