Pelle The Collier

I — How Enewalt Finds A Wife and the Shrew Greta Is Banned From The Baron's Castle

The middle-aged 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 Lemdalen Forest, uprooting trees and littering the forest floor with branches and twigs for over a mile. For Enewalt, this was a literal 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 also 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 stoppers 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 had started the kiln, 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 smelting 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. Once 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 mid-winter 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.

The only fly in his ointment was that he was never able to sire a child with Nele. Since she had born a child already Enewalt had to accept that he was most likely the lacking part. In consequence he began to focus his attention on Pelle and accepted the lad as his son for all purposes.

The happiness in the Collier's cabin lasted for almost eight years. Enewalt prospered, his wife took good care of him, and he had a son who grew into the trade and could be trusted to work on his own. Then, fate struck. Nele cut her finger whilst working the small vegetable garden, and after a few days, the wound began to fester, and she had pain along her arm which showed a red streak. The pain grew and she developed a terrible fever.

Enewalt sent Pelle to the town, to get Sarah, Levy's wife. The Jewess was an adept healer, but when she arrived at the Collier's cabin it was too late. Nele was too far gone. The blood poisoning had reached her heart and she died the following night.

Both men were deeply distraught by her death, but whilst Pelle slowly recovered, Enewalt never did. He would barely eat, he could not work, he just sat beside Nele's grave mumbling under his breath and crying silently into his unkempt beard.

Just once, Enewalt gathered his strength, when he took Pelle to Birkenhain town. There he introduced him to the Jew Levy, the money lender. To his astonishment, young Pelle learned that Enewalt was lending money through Levy. Enewalt asked his unlikely partner and friend to look after Pelle's interest.

Levy seemed to take an immediate liking to the young man and he promised to be a fatherly friend to him. Whilst the two older men were talking some more, Pelle met Levy's daughter, a shy girl of thirteen years named Rebecca. She was learning the healing arts from her mother Sarah and she asked him about his life in the forest.

Next, Enewalt took his stepson to the Baron's forge. Pelle was known there, having helped Enewalt deliver charcoal untold times. This time, however, Enewalt let the forge master know that henceforth Pelle would do the deliveries since he, Enewalt, felt his health declining. After that visit they returned to their cabin and Enewalt fell into apathy again.

Five moons after Nele's death, Pelle came in from the forest and found his stepfather lying over the love of his life's grave. Enewalt's broken heart had stopped beating. The young man, now almost nineteen years old, shouldered the burden of burying the Collier side by side with his mother, and for all purposes he took over the trade of his stepfather. Within a year, he was known as Pelle the Collier to everybody.

—————

At around the same time when Enewalt took in Nele and her son Pelle, a very angry young nobleman confronted his father. Sigfrid, son and sole heir of the Baron Friderich of Birkenhain, had returned to his father's lands after serving the Hole Roman Emperor in his war against the French king for the last five years. He had returned to find his mother, the Baroness Ermegart, banished from the castle and living in a house in the lower town whilst his father frolicked about the castle with his presumptuous, scheming paramour, Greta.

"My Father, how can you put the interest of that woman over that of your own wedded wife?" he challenged the Baron.

"Well, you have to see that your mother was quite uncomfortable. Greta suggested she would feel better if she lived away from us."

"Greta! Are you a slave to that… woman?"

"Now wait, Son! Nobody, not you nor any other man, speaks to me like that in my own hall. I am the lord of these lands!"

"You are lord of these lands and it is for you to decide who you will have in your bed. Know, however, that I shall not share bread and salt with the woman who shamed my mother and usurped her rightful place. I served the emperor well, and I shall ask him for liege-lands of my own."

"What do you mean by that? You are my son and heir. You want to forsake title and land over your petty grudge?"

"And you, Father, you want to lose your son over that scheming woman? It is your choice."

"But what can I do? She has born me a daughter. I cannot abandon her now."

"Marry her to some wealthy freeholder away from Birkenhain. Offer the groom some land in return for raising your bastard daughter. She's not the first you sired, after all."

"And you will stay if I send her away?"

"I will and what rewards the Emperor may bestow on me will benefit our lands."

The Baron made a show of sighing deeply. Inwardly, he chuckled. He was getting tired of Greta anyway. She was developing into a right shrew. Now he could put the blame on his son and get rid of her. He might even get to lie with her from time to time if he picked a right docile husband for her.

"So be it then," he said with fake sadness.

—————

A week later, Greta, Elbart's daughter, sat on a wagon with her daughter and with what few worldly possessions she was allowed to take. Little Ingeburg, just four years old, looked around happily, excited over the new sights as the wagon made its way to the village of Lemdalen. Once there, Greta would be wed to the farmer Hunold, a widower and the wealthiest freeholder in Lemdalen.

Greta was steaming. The old fart of a Baron had indeed sent her away to be married to some village simpleton, after years of promising her his troth and even a morganatic marriage. Her mother, the widow of a Birkenhain grain trader, had raised her with the aim of winning the heart of a man of consequence, and the comely lass had indeed caught the fancy of a man in the baron's service. This was how the Baron Friderich had first seen her, an older man already, but randy as they came. Without any scruples he courted the pretty girl. In little time and lured by his promises, she became his latest concubine. She had established herself well in the old man's favour, had even born him a daughter, but then the baron's son had returned, a hero of the minstrel songs, and he had forced the old baron to take back his wife Ermegart and toss her, Greta, out.

They arrived at Lemdalen and the baron's almoner drove the wagon to a large house that was facing the village square. It was indeed the largest dwelling in the village, but to Greta that meant nothing. A stout man emerged from the house followed by two boys. They were both older than little Ingeburg.

"Freeholder Hunold," the almoner spoke, "this is Greta, Elbart's daughter, whom our Lord Friderich sends to you as your bride. You will raise the girl Ingeburg as your own, and the Lord Friderich will pay you fifty silver Groschen every year for her upkeep.

Greta looked at the man with barely concealed contempt. He looked back at her with a expectant grin, the imbecile. No doubt he was seeing her in his bed already.

"I greet you, Greta. I am Hunold, your groom, and these are my sons Hanke and Tjark. The priest from Tosdalen will come after the noon meal."

Greta shrugged. Whatever! She looked around expectantly. "Where is my magd¹?"

To Greta's anger, Hunold broke out in a snorting laugh.

"There's no magd for you. My sister keeps my house, and the mægde work the stables. Get off that wagon and bring your things inside!"

"Do you know who I am?" she demanded haughtily.

"Oh yes," he chuckled. "But in my house you'll work for your upkeep, just like everybody else. Now go in and dress nicely for the wedding. Don't make yourself a nuisance!"

With flashing eyes, Greta turned to the almoner. "Take me back to the castle! I'll not wed this lout!"

The almoner gave a short snort in response. "Get off the wagon, Greta, and mind your station when you address me! The Baron said to bring you here, and here you'll stay. Your days of ordering us around are over."

"B-but my daughter, she's the Baron's natural child!"

"Aye, like so many of them," the almoner laughed. "He found you a husband and pays him good silver for raising your bastard daughter. Be grateful that he did not pass you on to the guards."

Dumbfounded, Greta stepped off the wagon. The younger of the boys, Tjark, helped Ingeburg down, and then the almoner threw Greta's bags and her chest on the ground and drove off. She stood there shaking her head. This could not be! She would not accept this. One day she and her daughter would reclaim their rightful place in the castle!

 

II — How Pelle the Collier Is Scorned By the Maid Ingeburg

Pelle, the collier of Lemdalen Forest, stopped the donkey cart in front of the bloomery².

"Hello, Pelle!" the smith's wife greeted him friendly.

Rudlo the Smith was one of the oldest customers of the collier, the relationship even predated Pelle's apprenticeship with his stepfather. Hedwig, the Smith's wife, always made sure to welcome him, and oftentimes she would offer him to join the family for the noon meal.

"Greetings, Hedwig! I have the two dozen bushel Rudlo wanted. You want I fill them into your bunker?"

Hedwig smiled gratefully. The young collier always did that so nobody else would end up covered in coal dust. In that he was far more considerate than his stepfather had been.

"Yes, please. Will you join us for the meal afterwards? We're having pea soup."

"Love to!" the young man laughed.

He was always hungry as Hedwig knew. Not because he was so poor he could not afford food, but because he lived alone in the forest and he was always too busy with his trade and working so hard.

"Remember to wash up before you come in!" Hedwig mocked him, knowing full well that Pelle always washed off the coal dust before he sat at their table. His mother, poor Nele, had raised him well.

When the noon bell sounded from the half finished bell tower in the village, the Smith and his family and helpers assembled around the large table. He had two sons of fifteen and twelve years, and a daughter of ten. Of course, the sons were already learning the craft and helping their father, whilst the daughter helped Hedwig in the kitchen. Little Lisa was probably the only girl in the village who did not fear "the Black Man" as the collier was oftentimes called.

Pelle was always welcome in their house even though Rudlo was one of the most respected villagers. Perhaps it was because he himself was often covered in soot from his work, but perhaps it was also because the good quality of the coal which Pelle delivered. Rudlo held that it was partly responsible for the high quality wrought iron that he could produce in his bloomery.

Other villagers did not hold Pelle in such high regard. The reasons were many. His birth father had been burnt at the stake as a heretic, his mother had been a whore — albeit for a day only — and he was a collier. He was the "Black Man" whose mentioning by the mothers scared children into obedience. He lived alone in the forest and away from the village, and only the Good Lord knew what and who ended up being charred in his kilns. The Baron's reeve, Markward, held that he was a poacher, too, killing more than his allotment of six bucks each year, but then again, the reeve had no say over the forest.

Pelle knew of those rumours. It was bitter for him to be an outcast. Only Rudlo and the other smith, Tymo, would talk to him. Fortunately, things were better around Birkenhain castle where he delivered the bulk of his product. The men at the forge and even some of the Jewish traders treated him with respect. It was for this reason that he held no prejudice against the Jews in general whilst many villagers and townspeople harboured a distrust against them.

Perhaps the fathers in Lemdalen would have encouraged their daughters to see the Collier on friendly terms if they had known about the leather bag filled with silver Groschen that was buried safely under the floor boards of his cabin. It might have changed their view had they known that the Baron himself took interest in the collier. The Baron Sigfrid held a lively interest in his forge which produced good quality knives, tools and weapons. The trade with these goods was a main source of income for the Baron. Smiths and colliers were thus treated with favour in his lands. He did not charge the latter for the use of his forests, and he even allowed each of them to hunt six roe deer every year, for their sustenance.

It would not have helped Pelle had the villagers known that he was a silent partner in a money lending business. The Jew Levy was an important man for all the trading in and around Birkenhain, with his connections to other money lenders far and wide, but like all money lenders, he was scorned by his clients. Thus, Pelle wisely kept his partnership with Levy a secret, as did most of the people who enjoyed the interest Levy paid them for their gold. It was Levy who held the bulk of Pelle's savings, against a healthy interest, of course.

The collier also served with the drivers when the Baron invited other nobles to a hunt. That was always profitable for Pelle, for the nobles took only the choice meats from the animals they hunted, and a good part of the meat was left for Pelle and the other drivers. This was not counted against the six roe deer he was allowed to hunt every year. Moreover, many noble hunters could not be bothered to recover their arrows when they missed their prey, and thus Pelle's quiver was well filled with the perfectly straight, iron-tipped shafts he found after the hunts.

"Did you hear the latest of Ingeburg?"

The question from Hedwig tore Pelle from his thoughts. Ingeburg was the daughter of Hunold, the largest freeholder in Lemdalen, and his wife Greta. The villagers called the girl 'the princess' in what was only partly jest. She was said to be the bastard child of the late Baron. Her mother had certainly pampered the pretty girl from earliest childhood and groomed her to better herself someday, meaning to marry somebody above her peasant stand.

Pelle had seen her many times and she was so pretty that she made his heart ache. Tall for a woman, she had a finely developed body with long legs. Her face under the braided blonde hair was that of an angel, with large, impossibly blue eyes and shaded by dark blonde lashes. Her fine nose and her kissable mouth were in the dreams of Lemdalen's men, and the younger men soiled their beddings at night thinking of those long legs and what lay between them.

Alas, her beauty and her rumoured noble pedigree had gone straight to her head, and at best she was aloof. On bad days, she was one of the worst shrews for miles around, second only to her mother Greta. For both of them, Pelle was a target of scorn and contempt, and he knew to keep his distance from them whenever he could.

"No, what did she do this time?" Pelle asked.

"She has been sparking with both Bartel and Nithart at the same time!" Hedwig said with a shake of her head. "The lads found out and fought over her. Bartel lost two front teeth and Nithart broke his hand. They say it may not heal well."

Pelle flinched. One boy toothless and the other possibly crippled, that was a bad outcome of Ingeburg's latest stupidity. He shook his head.

"Why would they even fight over her? Her mother will never allow either of them to court her precious daughter," he asked the table at large.

"So true," Rudlo agreed. "I spoke to Hunold yesterday. He claims that her mother puts all that foolishness into her head, and he's afraid she'll go too far one day and be in trouble. He maintains she's not a bad girl, but there's nothing he can do with her mother supporting her every whim."

"Did you know the Baron will be coming to dedicate the new church?" Hedwig changed the subject.

"No, but that is good news, isn't it?" Pelle smiled.

"Yes, we'll have a regular church fair to celebrate. The Baron will come with most of his household."

Pelle grinned mischievously. "That may be just the chance for Greta to find a husband for her daughter."

"You're right, Pelle," Rudlo laughed. "And once she's gone to Birkenhain, there'll be peace again in Lemdalen."

After the meal, Pelle made one more delivery to Tymo's smithy. He was the other smith in Lemdalen, and he was known for his well made pots and pans. Pelle was again covered in coal dust when he started out on his way home on his donkey cart. Halfway through the village he saw three girls standing idly and watching the comings and goings. Pelle knew what was coming when he recognised them.

"Oh look, it's the Collier," one of them exclaimed, loud enough for Pelle to hear, and in fact loud enough for half the village to hear. It was Ingeburg. He looked at her warily.

Her friend Margrite quickly chimed in. "How can you know? It could be anybody under all that dirt."

The girls tittered.

"He doesn't dare to wash. Without the dirt, people would recognise him as the whore Nele's son!" Luise, the third in the group, added her barbs. Luise was as pretty as Ingeburg, but she was a small redhead with a freckled face.

Each of the girls tried to outdo, out-insult the other. Of course, Ingeburg could not let any of her friends have the last word.

"I don't think it's dirt," she announced. "His skin is so black because he takes after his father who was burnt at the stake!"

She was the only one who laughed over her cruel jest; even her two companions were taken aback. For once, Pelle was grateful for the coal dust which covered his face, for it hid the deathly paleness he was sure to develop. That was not the first taunt under which he had suffered, but it was the worst by far. Try as he might, his enraged mind could not come up with an answer. Instead, he drove on, silently shaking his head.

The sound of powerful slaps sounded over the entire village square and Pelle turned. Hunold stood before his stepdaughter, red-faced with fury and hitting her left and right with his open palms.

"You evil girl! Is this how I raised you? To revel in people's suffering and pain? Into the house with you!"

Pelle blinked. The last command was accompanied by a deft kick into Ingeburg's much-admired behind and she practically flew over the door step. Hunold came running after Pelle.

"Pelle, Pelle, wait! I ask your forgiveness. I'm deeply ashamed over my daughter's words. This is not how I think about you and your poor father."

Seeing how distraught Hunold was mollified Pelle. He knew that Hunold himself had had run-ins with the church in the past, himself barely escaping charges of being a heretic. He took a deep breath.

"I don't fault you for her words, Hunold, nor are you at fault for her upbringing. I pity you, for you have to live with her and her mother all the time."

A sigh escaped Hunold's mouth and he nodded sadly.

"Why you good-for-nothing peasant! Will you stand there and let this dirty lout insult your wife and daughter?" a shrill voice sounded from the house.

Pelle looked over and saw Greta, her arm around Ingeburg who was pouting and shedding fake tears. Finally Pelle had his fill. He stood tall on his cart.

"Shut your vile mouth, Greta!" he shouted. "It's you who made an insufferable shrew of your daughter. Yes, I pity your husband, for no man should suffer to have two such harpies in his home!"

The crowd of people who had listened to the altercation gaped at him, but he could see many a mouth twitching with mirth. Tjark, Hunold's second son, grinned openly. Tjark was one of the few age mates with whom Pelle consorted. The freeholder's son had always been intrigued by the free life in the forest, and together they had often poached small animals as youths. These days, Tjark helped Pelle when there was work to do that took more than one man. Pelle always gave his friend a fair pay for his help.

"Bravely spoken, Collier!" Rulant, the landlord of the tavern, shouted. "It's high time somebody gave her his mind! Do come in, Pelle, and you too, you men. A round of ale for all!"

It was unheard of for the landlord to give a free round and Pelle was helpless when the other men pulled him off his cart and into the tavern.

"Yes, go off into that cesspool of sin whence your whore of a mother came!" Greta shrieked after them.

"What do you know, Shrew?" Rulant shouted back angrily. "I knew Nele. Not once did she go with a man for silver. The first man she ever saw in my tavern was Enewalt, and he married her right the next Sunday. Mind your own past as the Baron's kept woman before you heap insults on an honest woman!"

The men pushed Pelle in and he could not understand Greta's shrieked response. The landlord followed and proceeded to tap the keg. He brewed his own ale, storing it in a stone-lined cellar under the tavern, and it was as good as the ale brewed at Tosdalen Abbey.

"Here, Collier, have this mug!"

He filled stein after stein of beer and handed them to the men in the guest room. In the end, when everyone held a mug of ale in his hand, he raised his own stein.

"I drink to you, Collier! Your mother was a fine woman, says I, and I dare anybody to say different!"

Finally, Pelle found words. "She was a good mother to me and a good wife to Enewalt who treated me like a son. I pity Hunold, and I even pity Ingeburg. Either has no good wife whilst the other has no mother to teach her right from wrong."

"Hear ye! The Collier speaks wisdom. Mayhap, all the little snot needs is some serious boning to drive all the nonsense out of her!" a young fellow opined lewdly.

Pelle looked at him. "I wish you luck. I grant you she is looking pretty on the outside, but her inside is pure poison. Me, I like my girls to be friendly."

One of the whores sidled up to Pelle. "I am friendly, Collier. How about us?"

"But you're no girl," Tymo the Smith quipped.

In the cover of the laughter that followed, Pelle was able to extricate himself from her arms. He did not consort with the wenches at the tavern in Lemdalen. None of them appealed to him, old and worn out as they were.

"I need to return to my work, Landlord," he said. "I thank you for your kind words and for your fresh ale."

When he stepped out of the tavern he could still hear the shouting from inside Hunold's dwelling. Walking to his cart he was suddenly confronted by a woman who held a squirming girl by the neck. Luise's mother nudged her daughter roughly and the girl stood with her head bowed.

"I apologise for my words, Master Collier. It will not happen again," she said reluctantly.

Luise's pretty face was showing contrition, but also the red marks of open hands on both cheeks.

Pelle swallowed. "If you really mean it I can forgive you."

"Thank you, Pelle," Luise answered in a sweet voice.

For a moment he wanted to believe the girl, but then he realised it would not matter. These people would never accept him. He turned and mounted his cart for the ride home.

III — 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 wall 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 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 the 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 and only child.

"Hello, Pelle!" she greeted him.

"I greet you, Rebecca," Pelle smiled, looking her over. "You really favour your good mother."

She had grown into a comely lass, Pelle had no doubt about that. 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 bone coal."

Pelle shook his head in regret. "I just delivered a load of coal 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 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 try to find some charred bones in 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 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 still showing the shape of deer leg bones 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. He also resolved to add animal bones to his kiln where he could easily retrieve them once charred.

All in all, it was a profitable afternoon. Pelle used a small part of his coins to buy sacks of 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 what women liked, likely more so than most men in his village, married or not.

He therefore 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 he picked, 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 Dusseldorp, on the River Rhine, the seat of the Duke Wilhelm von Berg, some fifty miles west, and she had many news. She told Pelle of the ill-fated last crusade. The few survivors were returning from the Holy Land having sacrificed much and 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 already 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 Pelle 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 with a saucy grin.

After that, he saw her she point at her crotch. She smelt fresh down there and of scented soap, and Pelle did not hesitate to kiss her opening. The Red Cockerel had a bath house, and Pelle knew the wenches to frequent it regularly. That bathhouse had given Pelle the idea to have his own tub made by a cooper.

Elsa squealed with appreciation giving him a few pointers where to direct his lips and tongue and he enjoyed her obvious pleasure. Pelle always liked it better when the women he lay with had pleasure, and Elsa was by far the most receptive girl he had ever bedded. After she had shaken through a strong release of her own, Elsa deftly gripped Pelle's member, quickly stroking it back to hardness.

"Now let's see what you can do with that!" she said brightly.

Pelle complied happily, and for quite a while, Elsa's squeals and cries could be heard all through the Red Cockerel. After Pelle finally gave in to the sensations and spent a second load of his seed in Elsa's womb, the two young people fell asleep in each other's arms and never woke up before the next morning.

—————

A very satisfied Pelle mounted his cart the next morning for the return trip to Lemdalen Forest. For the first half he could use the highway that led from Birkenhain to Lemdalen, but then he took a narrow path to the north that had first been cleared for the wood cutters when the baron had his new forge built seven years before. There was still some wood cutting going on, but it was Pelle's cart that mostly kept the path open.

Seeing that he was travelling with silver coins in his bag, he kept his longbow in easy reach and his long hunting knife was in a sheath dangling from his belt. One of his other friends, a corporal in the baron's guards named Gebhardt, had taught the tall collier how to wield a knife in a quarrel, and woe to the brigand who would try to rob him.

Nothing of the sort happened though. After all, the people in Lemdalen thought him to be poor and barely eking out a living. Such had been Enewalt's reputation, and Pelle did not see fit to enlighten the villagers. Even those knowing of his dealings with the smiths were mislead, for he charged his friends a lower price for the charcoal, and nobody except for the master smith Tilke had a notion just how much coal Pelle produced and sold. Tjark, Hunold's son, might have known, but then again, Tjark was not known as a gossiper and largely at odds with most of the village.

It was a little after noon when Pelle arrived in the clearing. He unhitched his brave little donkey and left it to graze around the cabin. The cart was upended and leant against the side of the cabin after Pelle had carried his purchases into the cabin.

The fire place was cold, but using flint stone and steel striker he quickly started the tinder. Once the fire was burning well, Pelle hung a pot half-filled with pre-soaked grain over the flames. From a smoked deer leg he cut generous shavings which he added to the pot. Carrot roots from his small kitchen garden also landed in the pot, and Pelle let the meal simmer for some time whilst tidying up his cabin.

It was a sunny day, prompting Pelle to bring his bedding out for airing. He loosened his straw mattress and let it sit in the sun. Thinking briefly, he hauled the spare mattress down as well, letting it air out. He rarely had overnight visitors, but it could not hurt to keep the straw from getting mouldy.

Once the grain and carrots were boiled to softness, he ladled a generous helping into a bowl, cut off a slice of rye bread, and sat in the afternoon sun enjoying his meal and the comparative leisure of a Sunday. It would be really nice to share his fine cabin and his moderate wealth with a good wife he mused. Going to the Red Cockerel every two weeks was fine and dandy to still his hunger for the female body, but a wife could be more. He sometimes caught himself talking to the empty cabin, and he wished for some human companionship.

Yet, thinking about the obvious candidates in Lemdalen or Birkenhain, he could not come up with a single girl or woman with whom he felt comfortable. Young Elsa had been a good wench for a night in the Red Cockerel, but she was a town girl. Her hands and face were clean and smelt nice, and she would never be a colliers wife. Yet, the whore houses were the only places were a collier might find a woman desperate enough to follow him to the forest.

Pelle knew that from time to time, bands of fugitives travelled through the lands fleeing from one war or another. Often enough, there were widows and orphans amongst those, and Pelle always kept his ears open when in Birkenhain. A young widow or an older orphan girl might just be desperate enough too, and Pelle was determined to be a good husband to any woman he could find, having had two good fathers to teach him.

With an effort, he stopped the pointless dreaming and rose from his bench. Quickly the bowl was rinsed and the hearth fire banked, and then Pelle was off to the fringe of the forest. Here, where the deadwood of the forest and smaller trees were in abundance, he laid out the form for his next kiln. He would start early the next morning by building the central flue.

Next he inspected the clay pit. The clay cover from the last kiln was already soaking and dissolving. Pelle re-used the clay to avoid long travels to natural deposits. He only needed a few buckets full of fresh clay for every new kiln, and he kept it all in a small wood-lined basin close to the creek. Using a hollow tree stem he could divert water from the creek into the basin to wash away the soot and other impurities from his clay. Enewalt had taught him the craft well enough, but Pelle had had a few ideas of his own that helped him reduce the work.

There was another idea fermenting in his brain that had been planted by a story he had heard from a traveller in the Red Cockerel. That man had returned from the crusades and, upon hearing of Pelle's craft, had told him of the kilns used in faraway lands. Those were permanent, domed structures built of masonry or bricks, with air vents and a carefully built flue that could be shut using iron doors.

Ever since hearing about it, Pelle had tried to envision how he would build a likeness of his own kilns in stone. They would have to be smaller. Nobody could build domes the size of his normal kilns. They could be filled faster, of course, but the firing would take almost as long. That meant that he would need three or four of them — one being filled, one being fired, one cooling down, and one being harvested, at any given time. Having masonry or brick kilns would also allow him to keep charring in rainy weather.

He sighed. Alone as he was, he could not hope to do the work. Then again, what if he hired a mason to do the building? He had the silver to pay a mason and his apprentice. There had to be one in Birkenhain. Pelle resolved to ask Tilke, the master of the forge. Their stacks were built from brick, and Tilke had to know who had done the building. It would be worth a small bag of silver to save himself the kiln building and clay coating.

He had a small supper of bread and small ale before he turned in for the night. He thought some more about the idea, and the more he considered it, the more he liked it. Yes, he would speak to Tilke.

 

IV — How the Maid Ingeburg Is Given Lessons by Hunold

Ingeburg, Hunold's daughter, woke up and flinched with pain. Her backside hurt fiercely where Hunold had kicked her. She had never seen him in such an 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 fiercely 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 on her barely used wooden shoes, 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 can 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 Hunold? 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 that they would burn him at the stake, and the old baron said and did nothing. 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, he must hate me now!"

"Nobody hates you, stupid girl!" her aunt answered impatiently. "Take that pot and serve the oatmeal. 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 handle and hefted the heavy copper pot. When she entered, she saw 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 stepbrothers. Hanke grunted and held out 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 too.

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, a hard worker and well respected by those who care to know him. 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 be hard. 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 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 nothing but 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 about 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."

Ingeburg looked at her stepfather with horror in her eyes. "Just for a few words spoken in anger?" she whispered.

Hunold nodded grimly. "It doesn't take much to end up like this," he said with bitterness.

"Father, why are you showing me this?"

"Pelle's father, Bero, was the caretaker for the Abbey. He was friendly to the tenants and often argued in their favour. One day he must have said something wrong to the Abbot, and the next thing we heard, he was burnt as heretic. His wife and son had to leave their house and Tosdalen lands. That's how Nele ended up in the tavern. Nobody would help her feed her child, nobody would offer them shelter for fear of the Abbot. She was a strong, good looking woman, and the landlord gave her work in the tavern. When Enewalt, the old collier, made the offer to marry her she went with him, rather working hard in the forest than plying the trade of a whore. There was nothing bad about her or her son. Pelle has worked hard to earn his living and to live down the shame people have heaped upon his head for his poor father's misfortune. Is that the sort of man we should scorn?"

Ingeburg felt shame now. In her previous mindset she had regarded the people who were burnt at the stake as faceless 'heretics'. She never put a name or a face to them or asked what had earned them their horrible death. Hunold's calm lesson was having a greater effect on her than his terrible rage a week before. She tried to imagine herself, having her parents burnt and driven from her home, and she made a decision never to be mean to the Collier again.

"No, Father," she replied. "I shall ask his forgiveness for my cruelty, not to lessen your anger at me, but because I can now see how wrong it was to scorn him."

Hunold nodded at her with approval. "You're not a bad girl, Ingeburg. Try not to listen to your mother too much. Open your eyes at the world around you. Sow friendliness around you and you will harvest friendship in turn. Do not turn into a bitter shrew like your mother. She was treated badly by the old Baron, I'll grant her that. He promised her the world for her virtue, but once she had given it away, he dropped her like a hot coal. You'll be much better off with a husband from our own stand, my girl. Mark my words."

Ingeburg shrugged. "Who will have me in Lemdalen, Father? The young men don't talk to me anymore."

"Whose fault is that?"

She lowered her pretty head and blushed pink. "Mine, Father," she whispered.

"Then offer your apology to those you treated badly."

"I fear there are many of them, Father."

Hunold laughed grimly. "You're still young. You have enough time."

—————

"Mother, this dress is too tight. What will people think of me?" Ingeburg complained.

The dress her mother had made her put on was cut low, and her bosom was almost spilling out of the top. Ingeburg felt that she looked like one of the wenches in the tavern.

"It compliments your looks, girl. The Baron will come today, as will all his retainers. Make sure to smile at the Baron whenever he looks at you. Come to think of it, smile all the time! Men like a happy face. When you pour ale and wine, stand close and bend over the table."

"But Mother, the people will give me bad names!" Ingeburg complained.

Her standing in the village had undergone some change in the recent weeks. Her taunt at the collier had backfired badly, and the adult population regarded her mostly with distaste. Even the young men of the village who had once flocked around her, now shunned her. She had heard rumours that they had met and all taken an oath not to speak to her anymore. She was sure that Bartel and Nithart were behind this. They had been best friends before they fought over Ingeburg. Now they had resolved their quarrel and they incited the other village youths against her. Even her best girlfriends, Margrite and Luise, had not visited her in the two weeks since the incident.

"What do you care about those peasants, Ingeburg? Just go and find yourself a man of consequence from amongst the Baron's retainers. That is where our future lies, not in this stink hole."

"Are you sure, Mother? Most of them will only want one thing of me."

"Surely they do; just don't give it away for naught! You'll do better than I did; so don't you be tricked by empty promises. I'll keep an eye on you, never worry. I'll let no worthless stable boy or page trick you. Come now! Make sure you get to serve at the Baron's table when the fair starts."

With a heavy heart Ingeburg followed her mother. Luckily, Hunold and his sons were already busy in the village square. Hunold would have sent Ingeburg back to dress decently. She felt shame when she had to step out wearing the tight dress. Almost immediately, she heard the scornful remarks she had feared, and she felt heat in her cheeks. She had a bad feeling: This day would not end well.

She caught more scandalised looks when Greta pushed her into the new church and into one of the front pews. Her cheeks burning, Ingeburg kept looking at her feet. Still she heard the snickering of the young men in the adjoining pews.

She also heard Hunold's angry whisper. "Take her home I say! Have her dress decently!"

Greta sounded smug when she answered. "We can't. The service will start in a few moments. The Baron is already outside."

Indeed, they heard a bustle from the rear and the clinking of spurs as the Baron entered with his train of followers. Ingeburg looked at the man who was her half brother. He smiled benevolently at the villagers until his eyes caught Greta. His piercing look was not boding well.

The Abbot of Tosdalen performed the dedication ceremony with all the routine borne of years in high church office. None of the villagers and scarcely any of the noble visitors understood a word, for the entire mass was held in Latin. Thankfully, the Abbot was brief or mayhap he was just hungry. Soon, led by the Baron, the villagers filed out of the church and into the village square.

Like the other village girls of marriage age, Ingeburg had been tasked with serving at the tables. Greta had told her to serve at the Baron's table but the Baron's angry look at Greta and her family scared Ingeburg enough to stay away. She tried to be as friendly as possible as she offered wine from the pitcher she held to the people at the other tables, ignoring the lewd comments directed at her. Then Ingeburg espied the collier Pelle who was sitting at a table with the two smiths and their families. Ingeburg steeled herself. She had promised Hunold, and she would keep word.

"Would you like some wine, Master Collier?" she asked politely.

She could tell that the collier was conflicted. In the end, Rudlo's wife Hedwig put a calming hand on his arm and he nodded reluctantly.

"Yes, thank you," he said under his breath.

Ingeburg filled his mug to the brim before she looked into his eyes and took another deep breath.

"Master Collier, if you will listen to me, I wish to beg your forgiveness for the ugly words I spoke to you a fortnight ago. What I said was stupid and cruel, and I have felt guilt over it ever since."

There was a lull in the talk at the tables around them. People stared at her unbelievingly. 'The Princess' was offering an apology? Ingeburg forced herself to look steadily at the collier. His gaze was on her for a number of breaths.

"Is this another one of your taunts?" he asked warily.

Ingeburg shook her head, her face red with shame. "No. I really feel bad and your forgiveness would be a great relief for my conscience."

The Collier took a deep breath of h