Renelde did try, and to her great surprise the nettles when crushed and
prepared gave a good thread, soft and light and firm. Very soon she had
spun the first shift, which was for her own wedding. She wove and cut
it out at once, hoping that the Count would not force her to begin the
other. Just as she had finished sewing it, Burchard the Wolf passed by.
‘Well,’ said he, ‘how are the shifts getting on?’
‘Here, my lord, is my wedding garment,’ answered Renelde, showing him
the shift, which was the finest and whitest ever seen.
The Count grew pale, but he replied roughly, ‘Very good. Now begin the
other.’
The spinner set to work. As the Count returned to the castle, a cold
shiver passed over him, and he felt, as the saying is, that some one
was walking over his grave. He tried to eat his supper, but could not;
he went to bed shaking with fever. But he did not sleep, and in the
morning could not manage to rise.
This sudden illness, which every instant became worse, made him very
uneasy. No doubt Renelde’s spinning-wheel knew all about it. Was it not
necessary that his body, as well as his shroud, should be ready for the
burial?
The first thing Burchard did was to send to Renelde and to stop her
wheel.
Renelde obeyed, and that evening Guilbert asked her:
‘Has the Count given his consent to our marriage?’
‘No,’ said Renelde.
‘Continue your work, sweetheart. It is the only way of gaining it. You
know he told you so himself.’
V
The following morning, as soon as she had put the house in order, the
girl sat down to spin. Two hours after there arrived some soldiers, and
when they saw her spinning they seized her, tied her arms and legs, and
carried her to the bank of the river, which was swollen by the late
rains.
When they reached the bank they flung her in, and watched her sink,
after which they left her. But Renelde rose to the surface, and though
she could not swim she struggled to land.
Directly she got home she sat down and began to spin.
Again came the two soldiers to the cottage and seized the girl, carried
her to the river bank, tied a stone to her neck and flung her into the
water.
The moment their backs were turned the stone untied itself. Renelde
waded the ford, returned to the hut, and sat down to spin.
This time the Count resolved to go to Locquignol himself; but, as he
was very weak and unable to walk, he had himself borne in a litter. And
still the spinner spun.
When he saw her he fired a shot at her, as he would have fired at a
wild beast. The bullet rebounded without harming the spinner, who still
spun on.
Burchard fell into such a violent rage that it nearly killed him. He
broke the wheel into a thousand pieces, and then fell fainting on the
ground. He was carried back to the castle, unconscious.
The next day the wheel was mended, and the spinner sat down to spin.
Feeling that while she was spinning he was dying, the Count ordered
that her hands should be tied, and that they should not lose sight of
her for one instant.
But the guards fell asleep, the bonds loosed themselves, and the
spinner spun on.
Burchard had every nettle rooted up for three leagues round. Scarcely
had they been torn from the soil when they sowed themselves afresh, and
grew as you were looking at them.
They sprung up even in the well-trodden floor of the cottage, and as
fast as they were uprooted the distaff gathered to itself a supply of
nettles, crushed, prepared, and ready for spinning.
And every day Burchard grew worse, and watched his end approaching.