Afton of Margate Castle

by Angela Elwell Hunt

  “I didn’t do this,” Afton answered, unable to keep the anger out of her voice. “Lienor and Charles did it for sport.”

  Calhoun stood motionless and Afton was afraid he would walk away, too. “Are you going to let me starve up here?” she finally demanded.

  “No,” Calhoun answered, smiling up at her. “I was just enjoying the sight. It is easy to see why my eyes mistook you for an angel. Hair of gold, eyes like morning fog. . .”

  “Get me down!” Afton shrieked, covering her ears.

  Calhoun maneuvered the weighted bale of hay so that it was directly under Afton. Then he pulled a dagger from his belt. “I’m going to cut the rope and you will fall,” he said, looking up. “I will catch you.”

  “Is there no other way? I don’t want to fall.”

  “I said I would catch you. Don’t you trust me?”

  Afton bit her lip. “No.”

  Calhoun shook his head. “A knight always keeps his word,” he said solemnly. “I will catch you.”

  She nodded and held tight to the rope around her waist. Calhoun swung his dagger in a wide arc and as it bit through the rope, Afton squealed and dropped to the ground like an iron weight. She landed squarely on top of Calhoun and knocked him off his feet. Both of them lay sprawled in the hay.

  When she had caught her breath, she pushed herself up and away from him. “You didn’t catch me,” she said, her voice unsteady. “But thank you for breaking my fall.”

  Calhoun spat hay out of his mouth and lifted his head. He grinned at her. “Next time, I will catch you.”

  She scrambled further away. “You will not have to rescue me again,” she said, brushing the hay from her tunic.

  In an instant he was beside her. “Nay, but that is a knight’s duty.” He ran his hands lightly over her shoulders and arms. “Are you certain you are all right? You are not hurt?”

  “I am not hurt,” she answered, studying his face. His touch surprised and affected her, for no man or boy had ever touched her with compassion. In his eyes she saw concern, friendliness, and care, the qualities she had always ascribed to God and the king alone. And she knew no son of the king’s, or even the king himself, could be more beautiful than Calhoun.

  “Lienor and Charles will not play these tricks again,” Calhoun told her, taking a step back. “You can be sure of it.”

  He returned his dagger to his belt and went to tend his horse, and Afton sat silently in the hay, watching him. In that moment, for the first time in her eight years, she valued someone else’s life above her own.

  Five

  Life soon fell into a comfortable routine. Every morning Afton woke in her dormitory with Lienor, Morgan, and Lunette. Under the maids’ careful supervision, the girls washed their hands and faces in a basin, said hurried prayers, and dressed quickly and neatly. Afton found an endless delight in dressing. Her clothing was dyed in brilliant jewel colors, and it seemed that each day she was given a different long-sleeved tunic and sleeveless surcoat to pull on over her long linen chemise. In October when the weather turned cool, she and Lienor were given graceful fur-lined mantles that fastened at the neck--hers, by a simple gold chain, Lienor’s by a golden brooch.

  After the girls were dressed, the maids braided their hair. Lunette usually braided Lienor’s into intricate designs, while the more down-to-earth Morgan braided Afton’s. One morning Lienor rebelled against the daily ritual, and pulled away from Lunette’s nimble fingers. “I’ll wear my hair down today,” Lienor said, her back toward the wall. “I won’t be all trussed up like a horse.”

  Endeline stepped calmly into the small room. “Lienor, you will have your hair braided, and you will wear your cap, as a young girl should,” she pronounced. “A girl’s hair should always be beautifully braided. Wild hair, my daughter, is permissible only in mourning, and you are not in mourning--” she arched an eyebrow--”yet.”

  Lienor returned to the stool in front of Lunette, but the sulky look did not leave her face. Endeline patted her daughter’s shoulder gently and smiled coyly. “A beautiful braid will do much to attract attention even as you are walking away. Knights and lord have their swords, girls, but women use their hair as weapons.”

  Lienor’s scowl only deepened, but these words fell on Afton’s ears as true gospel. She sat motionless while Morgan finished braiding her hair and tied the close-fitting cap on her head. Soon she would be old enough to wear the tall veiled hats or beaded caps that Endeline favored, and Afton resolved to do nothing to weaken her lady’s favor. Her world revolved around Endeline’s instructions and gentle admonitions.

  Lienor never failed to scowl when her mother imparted pearls of womanly wisdom, but Afton could never hear enough. She followed Endeline’s example in word and deed, even wishing her own blonde hair were dark so she could undergo the bleaching treatments Endeline and Lienor endured once a week. “Why should you wish such a thing?” Lunette once privately reprimanded her. “Even nature itself saves ze color gold for its best creatures--look at ze golden eagle! Your hair, gold as nature intended it, is by far ze more lovely.”

  Afton enjoyed the compliment, but she didn’t believe Lunette. She wanted to be like Endeline in every way, and she was simply inferior. Why else was she left out of the most important weekly rituals?

  Every Monday morning, after washing and bleaching their hair, the maids massaged Endeline’s and Lienor’s scalps with olive oil. Then Endeline endured the ritual every high-born woman favored--her scalp was partially shaved. Afton watched in horror the first time she saw Lunette shave Endeline’s widow’s peak and an inch of scalp to enlarge the lady’s forehead, but Endeline merely smiled at Afton’s frightened expression. Wide foreheads, Endeline assured Afton, were the fashion. After the lady was suitably bleached, oiled, and shaved, her remaining hair was combed, braided, and covered with a dainty cap.

  With their daily grooming accomplished, the ladies met the rest of the family upstairs in the tiny chapel for mass with Raimondin, Perceval’s chaplain. After the mass and prayers, Afton and Lienor went downstairs to their chamber for lessons with Eleanor while Charles and Calhoun stayed upstairs for lessons with Raimondin. While the children learned their lessons, Endeline went downstairs to discuss with Hector the details of the dinner and supper preparation.

  Afton was always amazed at the grandness of the lord’s dinner. The meal always began promptly at ten o’clock, and the girls were excused from lessons just in time to rush to their places at the children’s table in the great hall. They ate with Eleanor, Raimondin, Charles, and Calhoun. Their table was one of many, for three rows of tables filled the hall, and at these tables were seated the other members of Perceval’s household: the messing, or military personnel, knights, guards, squires, men at arms, and watchmen; and the domestic staff, clerks, and high-ranking servants. Visiting vassals from other manors dined as well, and Afton saw new faces in the dinner crowd every morning. She often forgot that she was supposed to eat in silence and keep her eyes downcast. It was much more interesting to say nothing and look much.

  At the front of the spacious hall was a raised platform, and upon this platform sat Perceval’s table. From this table Perceval, Endeline, and Hector surveyed the members of their estate, and Perceval used this vantage point to regale his audience with tales of his bravery or his latest acquisition while Endeline directed the servants with discreet nods and gestures.

  For the most part, Afton ignored the adults around her. She loved dinner, for Calhoun usually sat across the rough table from her, and his laughing eyes were rarely more than two feet away. He talked constantly, a continual current of conversation under his father’s orations from the dais, and Afton loved hearing about his exploits with the knights, his horse, or the latest trick he had conspired with Charles to pull on Raimondin.

  Charles said little. When he did speak, it was to Lienor, and his eyes rarely lifted off his trencher. He ate dutifully and purposefully, never beginning one food until he had finished the first, and never, eve
r looking in Afton’s direction. After a while, Afton was convinced that he hated her.

  When dinner was done, Perceval led the men outdoors to hunt or go hawking. Charles and Calhoun usually amused themselves in the castle yard with archery or horseshoes, and Endeline kept Lienor and Afton by her side in the orchard as she conversed with her handmaids or visiting ladies. While the men participated in physical sports, the women took part in verbal exploits, telling stories, exchanging riddles, and playing gentle games.

  Endeline’s skill as a verbal gymnast fascinated Afton, and even though she often did not understand what Endeline’s coy words and upraised brow meant, her effect upon the other ladies was visible. Often they blushed, sulked, laughed, or went pale, but nothing upset Endeline. She was mistress of the castle and of conversation, and no one dared contradict her.

  When many outside visitors were present, Endeline’s garden meetings often revolved around pure gossip. During these sessions Afton would leave Lienor sulking and slip away to wander through the garden, weaving garlands of flowers or circlets of daisies. When the visiting ladies retired into the castle for a nap, Afton would take her floral offering and kneel to place it in Endeline’s lap. Her efforts never failed to earn her a hug and a cry of “Oh, you darling girl!” Afton felt that no offering had ever been so well rewarded.

  During quiet afternoons where there were no guests, Endeline taught Afton and Lienor how to embroider. “You should create tapestries suitable for the finest castle or for a priest,” she told them. “Leave the simple work for the villeins. Beautiful ladies should create beautiful things.”

  Lienor did not find needlework to her liking, and her finished works usually brought a frown to Endeline’s delicate face. But Afton took to sewing naturally, for Corba had already taught her the basics, and the richly colored threads and fabrics available in the castle made embroidery a sheer joy. Best of all, Afton found that her skill in needlework surpassed Lienor’s. Whenever Afton struggled to catch up to Lienor in her study of Latin and French, she took comfort that at least she could embroider beautifully.

  When Perceval and his knights came in from hunting or traveling at the end of the day, the ladies dropped whatever they were doing and ran to make the master comfortable. Endeline snapped her fingers and brought servants running with bowls to wash his hands and feet. Endeline herself brought comfortable slippers for him to wear while she hung on his words and admired his labors. It was Lienor’s job to bring her father a pint of ale, and Afton’s to bring a pillow for his head. She shrank from the job at first, hardly daring to approach the man whose name she had only heard breathed in dread or fear. But Perceval largely ignored her, and each day she accomplished her slight task more easily. But she never lingered, never spoke, and never allowed her flesh to touch his head or hands or shoulder.

  After the lord had rested, a light supper was served in the hall, with only Perceval’s immediate household present. But even this group was considerable, including the family, the steward, the knights, the chaplain, and the high-ranking servants, so Afton learned to feel comfortable in the castle company. As each day passed and Perceval neither spoke to or acknowledged her, she was sure that in the lord’s eyes she remained a blessedly anonymous presence.

  But Perceval did not matter. Endeline taught her, Lienor tolerated her, Charles left her alone, and Calhoun often smiled at her. Morgan and Lunette spoiled her shamelessly. And as Endeline had predicted, Afton’s memories of an earthen hut and five hungry brothers began to fade.

  ***

  Two days before King Henry’s scheduled arrival, the castle was a flurry of activity. Perceval lost his grand aloofness at meals and constantly called for Hector or Endeline or Gawain with real and imagined concerns. Endeline lost her mask of self-control and lashed out at the servants and her children. Afton slipped in and out of the castle, remaining in the shadows as much as possible.

  Dozens of villeins from the village had been ordered to work at the castle, and Afton had never seen such sweeping and dusting. She peered through the crowd of women who worked in the kitchen, wanting but not wanting to catch a glimpse of Corba. Wido she had seen from a distance, carrying logs from the forest for the hearth fires. He looked as strong and dark as ever.

  The annual rents Hector had collected from the villeins were now put to use: sheep were slaughtered and salted for later use, the oak planks were used to repair flooring in the castle, and the woven garments were hung inside the wardrobe that adjoined Perceval’s chamber.

  Lessons were interrupted one day when Hector led his new assistant through the lord’s chamber. From the small dormitory where she sat, Afton saw the boy, a thin lad in his late teen years, burdened with a load of furs. “Lay them down carefully, Josson,” Hector called, his reedy voice disturbing the quiet of the room. “Then go fetch the tapestries and candles that remain downstairs.”

  The boy put the furs next to Perceval’s store of gold plates in the wardrobe, then turned to leave. As he passed the girls’ dormitory, though, his eyes caught Afton’s. He looked at her with frank curiosity, and she felt herself blushing.

  “Afton!” Eleanor’s sharp voice brought her back to her lessons. “You are not reading!”

  Lienor closed her Psalter with a snap. “We can’t read today, Eleanor,” she said, peering out the arched doorway. “We want to watch Hector.”

  Eleanor sighed, but it was clear her curiosity had also been aroused by the procession of valuables from the outlying manors. “Let us watch, then,” she conceded, moving closer to the doorway. “But mind you don’t bother the gentlemen as they work.”

  Presently Josson returned with a crateload of candles and a tapestry rolled up under his arm, but Afton didn’t care about the treasures in the wardrobe. She wondered instead about the boy. Where had Hector found him, and what would the future hold for him at Margate Castle? It was obvious that he was a servant, for Hector ordered him with impunity, but he had intelligence and honesty written in his face. His hands, Afton noted, were not stained with earth, so this boy was no villein.

  “Our lord is so rich,” Eleanor whispered to Afton as they watched Josson bring a load of fabrics and a jeweled cask into Perceval’s storeroom. “How could any one man use so much?”

  “Aye, he will use all this and more,” Lienor answered dryly. “I heard my father say that it must be displayed and given freely when King Henry visits.”

  “‘Tis true,” Eleanor nodded. “A lord is judged by his generosity, and he is only truly rich if he has many friends. The richest friend of all,” she added, with a wry smile, “is of course, the king.”

  ***

  Hector and Josson were leaving the chamber as Endeline approached. Good. Surely the girls had been distracted from their lessons, and today they needed to learn lessons of another sort.

  Endeline swept through the chamber and into the girls’ dormitory. “The king arrives in two days,” she announced, though, of course, everyone in the castle was aware of the approaching visit. “It is time for you girls to have a lesson in manners. Come, girls, put away your books. Eleanor, you are dismissed.”

  The girls stacked their books on the end of the table and followed Endeline into her spacious main chamber. Endeline sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for Afton and Lienor to be seated on a nearby bench. “Lienor,” she began, folding her hands primly as she searched for the proper words, “you are nearly nine, the age of betrothal. As the daughter of an earl, we cannot marry you to anyone of lesser stature. There are a few families with sons whose rank equals yours, but why marry a partridge when you can marry an eagle?”

  Endeline paused delicately, but it was cleared from the girls’ baffled expressions that they had no idea what she was talking about. She tried a more direct approach. “You are not too young, Lienor, to begin to think about your future husband.” Her voice was sharper than she intended it to be, her natural impatience with her boyish daughter revealing itself. She took care to soften her voice. “King Henry has
a son, you know, Prince William. Since you cannot marry beneath your station, you would do well to study the king’s son. Find out what he likes, what pleases him.”

  “Do I have to?” Lienor’s tone was almost a whine, and Endeline resisted the impulse to box her ears.

  “You must. Look at Afton here. She acts more like a lady than you do.”

  Lienor scowled at Afton, and Endeline saw Afton blush. Why wasn’t her own daughter as soft, pretty, and pliable? “Notice how Afton walks, straight and gentle, like a doe. A lady must not walk like a man, Lienor. You must not look like a man, or look at a young man as if you’d like to play with him. A lady should not even glance at a man, for glances are messengers of love and men are prompt to deceive themselves by them. The only man you should look at is Prince William.”

  Afton was listening carefully, Endeline noticed, but Lienor seemed more intent on studying the floor. Had a fairy sprite switched the two girls at birth?

  “A lady does not scold, swear, eat or drink too much.” Endeline stood up and paced in front of the girls. “If you are wearing a hood or a veil, you must remove it before King Henry, to show that you honor him. You must respond when the king salutes you.”

  Endeline paused for a moment and studied her daughter’s scowling face. Perhaps it would be better if the king did not get too good a look at her. “On the other hand, given your young age, perhaps it would be better to keep your face downcast, out of respect. And remind Lunette to bring you a glass of wine before dinner--it will bring out the red in your cheeks.”

  Neither girl gave any sort of response to Endeline’s instructions, and she grew exasperated. Was she wasting her breath? Perhaps it would be better to keep Lienor out of sight until the King’s visit had passed. If he got one look at her frowning face or her boyish hands--