Chapter 4: How the Baron Finds Pelle a Wife

It was two weeks after his quarrel with Greta, a Sunday, and like the rest of the village, Pelle stood in front of the new church. The baron, having recovered a year before from a severe bout of the Mumps and attributing this to the prayers of his priests, had pledged to build a stone church in Lemdalen to show his gratitude, and now the new church was finished.

When the baron rode into the village in the tenth hour, followed by a train of retainers and soldiers, all the people watched on and cheered. Baron Sigfrid looked indeed splendid in his purple coat, his feathered hat, and his shiny boots. He was in his early thirties and a widower after his wife had died in childbirth.

He was welcomed by the reeve of Lemdalen, Markward, who wore a Birkenhain coat-of-arms and even a sword for the occasion. Markward was at best useless for the villagers. At worst, when he settled quarrels, he unerringly sided with the few cronies he had. There were also rumours that no serving maid was safe from his philandering ways, and that he frequently tried to shake down the freeholders and craftsmen for “special levies”.

Pelle himself was not in that man’s bailiwick as he was living out in the forest. The forests had appointed keepers, but Lemdalen Forest was ruled directly by the overseer of the lands who was content with Pelle delivering coal regularly.

All the villagers were wearing their finest for the occasion. Pelle could see from afar that Greta had put her daughter into a tight fitting dress with a low neckline that showed off the creamy white flesh of her chest, causing quite a few scandalised looks and open leering by the reeve. Pelle saw that the men in the baron’s train looked at her too, and he grinned to himself. Mayhap Greta’s dreams would come true today and some vassal of the baron would fall for Ingeburg’s outward beauty. The poor fellow!

The church, new as it was, was too small for the baron, his followers, and all the villagers. Along with the lower ranked villagers, Pelle stood outside on the steps and watched the dedication ceremony performed by the Abbot of Tosdalen. He regarded the Abbot with silent hatred. Fat and jovial though he looked he’d had Pelle’s father burnt at the stake for a word said in anger. If ever given a chance, Pelle would have his revenge.

Seeing the fat abbot almost ruined the village fair for Pelle. However, a number of traders had come to offer their wares and the opportunities were too good to pass. One fellow had yew bow staves for sale. He claimed that they were already well aged and Pelle found them without flaw. They cost him two Groschen each, but he bought two for his use. For a moment, he felt tempted to take his belongings and drive home to his cabin. He was eager to try the new bow staves, and village fairs had always been a mixed bag for him. Whilst exciting and offering fun, he would also be subject to ridicule once the village youths were drunk enough.

The friendliness he encountered on this day made him change his mind. It was almost funny how many people spoke kindly to him. It seemed to him that his confrontation with Greta had won him friends in Lemdalen. Even the baron recognised him and spoke to him briefly, asking him about his yields and the possibility to increase the amounts of coal. The demand for good steel was growing and the shrewd baron wanted to secure the supplies. He suggested that Pelle took in a helper and that was certainly good advice. Many people regarded the collier differently after that.

In good mood Pelle sat with Rudlo and Tymo’s families. They were jesting with each other and having a good time when suddenly Ingeburg stood before Pelle to offer him drink. Then she flabbergasted everyone by asking forgiveness of Pelle. She seemed so sincere that he finally accepted her plea for forgiveness and to his shock she even pressed his hand in what seemed like genuine gratitude.

Still not comprehending, Pelle followed the girl with his eyes. He saw Greta step up to her, and he could see that the old shrew was angry with her daughter. Greta then made her way to the table where the baron sat, dragging a hesitant Ingeburg behind her. Like many others, Pelle strained to hear what she said.

“Great Lord, my I speak?” she asked kneeling before him.

“Speak, woman!”

“I am Greta, Lord. Perhaps you have heard my name before. I served your noble father for many years, his memory may be cherished. As a result, my daughter Ingeburg was born, and your father saw fit to send me here to be wed to my husband Hunold.”

Even from twenty paces away Pelle saw a cloud on the brow of the baron.

“Yes?” he asked curtly. “What of it?”

“You can see for yourself that my Ingeburg is a fair lass, and seeing that she is of your own father’s blood, may he rest in peace, almost your half-sister so to speak, I ask that you find her a proper husband, for none fitting can be found in Lemdalen.”

The baron was less than pleased by the request as Pelle could see. Also, a number of young men grumbled audibly at Greta’s words, considering them insulting.

“I know thee, woman! You usurped my poor mother’s place and using your wiles you corrupted my poor father. You have the nerve to stand here and ask me for my favour?”

“Not for me, good Lord! For my daughter who is of your father’s blood.”

The baron briefly regarded Ingeburg and a cruel smile played around his lips. “Is this your wish too, Ingeburg, Greta’s daughter?”

Ingeburg looked down modestly, and when she spoke she was barely audible. “I shall be grateful for my Lord’s guidance and for whosoever he will find for me.”

The baron’s mouth twitched again and mirth shone from his eyes. “A husband for my almost-sister. That is worth a thought or two. Who shall I pick?”

He let his gaze sweep over his followers who showed amusement, too. Then his gaze swept over the villagers. To Pelle’s shock, the baron’s eyes suddenly focussed on him and an evil grin formed on his lips.

“Holla, Collier! Step forward! You need help out there in the forest; you need somebody to cook and clean for you. Will you take fair Ingeburg for your wedded wife?”

“Lord, please, no!” Greta shrieked. “Not the collier! He’s a dirty, uncouth scoundrel, unworthy of my daughter! Look at my Ingeburg! So pretty and well-groomed. She can make a nobleman happy. Just take her in! No need to have her marry. But don’t give her to a collier!”

Pelle was dumbfounded at first, but then he spoke up to ward off this outlandish idea.

“Lord, I’d rather not. Ingeburg and I are not friends and living with her I might just strangle her. And if her mother ever visits, I’ll most assuredly strangle her.”

The villagers broke into scornful laughter. Even the collier refused the ‘princess’! The baron laughed heartily at first.

“You’re a man after my heart, Collier! But what nonsense!” the baron exclaimed, now growing impatient. “Treat the lass with a firm hand and she’ll serve you fine. She’s tall and looks strong, and she’s not ugly at all.”

“But, Lord, really...”

“Enough, Collier! I’m in no mood for more of this tomfoolery.” He grinned maliciously. “I’ll even double your yearly allowance to twelve deer from my own forest! Let nobody say that I don’t see to maintaining my almost-sister in proper style! Holla, Abbot! Have one of your priests perform a quick wedding!”

The baron’s men at arms brooked no resistance and dragged Pelle into the new church. Hunold looked fit to burst, his head red like a ripe tomato, but the baron was adamant. Hunold had to lead his stepdaughter down the aisle to where Pelle stood. He was looking around for an escape much like a trapped fox would.

The ceremony was performed hurriedly by a slovenly priest who was neither steady on his feet nor had much of his wits left after having indulged heavily in wine and ale.

“Do you, Pell’, Coljer in Lemdalen, take sssish Ingeburg, dodder of Hunold, ash your fife?”

The gloved hand of a soldier slapped the back of Pelle’s head when he hesitated one last time.

“Aye,” Pelle said through clenched teeth.

“Do you, Ingeburg, dodder of Hunold, take Pell’, called ssse Coljer, ash your hushband, sssen sssay ‘aye’!”

“I...” Ingeburg tried to protest.

“Fine. I declare you hushband and fife. What ssse Lord hasss joined let no man tear asssunder!”

That was it. Pelle left the church with an Ingeburg at his side who was shaking her head as if trying to wake from a nightmare. Pelle felt the same. He was dazed. The baron had just made him marry the most spiteful girl for miles around. It did not matter that she had apologised for her latest and worst slight. She was a spoiled and malevolent shrew!

Bride and groom had to listen to the jeering and to the scornful shouts of the crowd. The taunts were mostly directed at Ingeburg, but they were insulting to both of them.

“Hey, Ingeburg, is that your noble husband?” - “Ingeburg, careful! His dirt will rub off on you!” - “Better spread your pretty legs and play nice, Ingeburg, lest you end up in his coal pile!”

And on they went. Even Ingeburg’s friends, Margrite and Luise, shouted scornful insults at her. Ingeburg looked around dazed and she shed silent tears under the public humiliation. Thankfully, the smith Rudlo and his wife Hedwig rushed to their help leading up Pelle’s donkey cart.

“Here, Friend, get on your cart and leave before this gets any worse.”

Numbly, Pelle mounted his cart whilst Hedwig pushed the dazed Ingeburg up as well, and then Rudlo slapped the back of the donkey to start it into a quick trot. Ingeburg stared back at her parents who stood by as if thunderstruck whilst Pelle took the reins and steered the cart towards the forest. Slowly, the hubbub died away as they left the village.

When a group of young people wanted to follow the cart, Rudlo, Tymo and the tavern landlord headed them off. Shortly after, the baron and his followers mounted their horses and left laughing among themselves at Greta and Ingeburg’s expense.

***

Both young people sat silently whilst Pelle steered the cart out of the village. The sun was still above the tree tops when they neared the fringe of the large forest.

“Whereto are we going?” Ingeburg suddenly asked.

“To my cabin; where else?” was Pelle’s morose answer.

“No, I mean, where is your cabin? It’s not in the forest, is it?”

“Well, it is. I’m a collier. Where else would I live?”

“Y-you take me to live in the forest? Who else lives there?”

Pelle shook his head. “Nobody but me. My mother and my stepfather lived there, but they died five years ago. I’ve been living alone all the time since then.”

Ingeburg looked around in fear as the cart made progress along the narrow path through the trees. Finally they arrived in the clearing where Enewalt had built the cabin.

“We’re here,” Pelle announced unnecessarily.

Still in dazed silence, Ingeburg dismounted and stood motionless whilst Pelle unhitched the donkey and led the animal to the small corral. The cart was pushed against the side of the cabin and Pelle collected the items he had purchased at the fair.

“Help me carry!” he said gruffly and Ingeburg jumped at the sound of his voice.