Afton of Margate Castle

by Angela Elwell Hunt

  “And what of your handsome second son, Endeline?” The question was asked by an older woman, whose eyes gleamed brightly over the crescents of flesh time had imposed upon her cheeks. “What purpose have you for that worthy boy?”

  Endeline raised her chin proudly. “Calhoun knows it is his place to honor his father’s valor in knighthood.” She picked up her embroidery and stabbed the needle into the cloth with short, abrupt stitches. “He will be leaving soon to serve as a squire at Warwick Castle. Whether he serves in this household, the king’s, or another, it is his choice.”

  Afton stopped sewing. Was Calhoun leaving? It was impossible! She should have known. He would have told her. Endeline must be mistaken, for Calhoun would never leave without discussing it with Afton. For three years he had shared his innermost secrets and dreams with Afton and Afton alone, and the one constant thread of emotion that ran through her years at the castle was her love for Calhoun.

  So Endeline was mistaken or deluded, there was no doubt about it. Or perhaps this was a subtle prodding of Afton’s heart, for Endeline seemed to resent the friendship between the young girl and her affectionate son. In the past months Afton had realized how fickle Endeline’s affections could be. Although Endeline had not done anything to separate Afton and Lienor, she seemed to grow increasingly less interested in the girls’ instruction. Last year she had taken a baby boy from a villein and now her passion was devoted to raising that chubby child.

  Lienor had not seemed to notice that her mother no longer took an active interest in her upbringing. Since the news of Prince William’s death, Lienor had become more and more introspective, giving up her boyish ways in exchange for a burning religious devotion born of gratitude to the Virgin. She played games only when begged to, spoke only when directly addressed, and gradually exchanged roles with Afton. Afton became the leader, the bold and brash explorer; Lienor was content to be a mere shadow.

  Afton gave no thought to her role in the castle, for like all children, she had a poor concept of time and future consequences. Charles, now fifteen, was still as distant as Perceval, and neither of them acknowledged her presence. Morgan and Lunette regarded her as a bright little pet, the other servants deferred to her respectfully, and she often caught the knights peering at her with open curiosity. The only person who talked with her as a friend was Calhoun.

  Afton stopped listening to the drone of the women’s’ conversation and pretended to concentrate on her stitching. She would ask Calhoun tonight if this rumor was true. If he went away, what would she do? Her heart froze and her hand stopped pulling the needle in midair as she thought for the first time of the future. What would castle life be like without Calhoun?

  ***

  Endeline stopped embroidering and stared at Afton. In her three years at the castle she had grown from a very pretty child to an exceptionally beautiful young woman with delicate features, rosy cheeks, golden hair, and eyes that were forever open in curiosity. In the early years Endeline had secretly fretted because Lienor looked positively monkey-like next to Afton’s inborn elegance, but now that she and Perceval had agreed that Lienor should take the veil, Lienor’s physical shortcomings were not important. As long as Afton remained pleasant and docile, there was no harm in her staying as a maid and companion for Lienor.

  But a line creased Afton’s smooth forehead, and Endeline intuited that something in the ladies’ conversation had upset her. A prowling suspicion thrust its head into the light of Endeline’s sophisticated understanding, and she decided to deal with Afton’s misguided notions on the spot.

  “I have an idea,” Endeline said smoothly, putting aside her sewing. “Let us play ‘The King who Does not Lie.’“

  “How delightful!” the visitors bubbled, pulling their seats closer to Endeline.

  “Whatever I ask, you must give a truthful reply,” Endeline said, nodding regally. “Lady Regan of York, we will start with you. Is it true that you languish of love for the handsome Matthew, son of Lord Gerald?”

  The young Lady Regan giggled and hid her smile behind her palm. When she had composed herself, she spoke gravely. “Yes, my lady--excuse me, sire, it is true. Can you speak to my father for me, oh king?”

  The other girls giggled in response, and Endeline raised a dark eyebrow. “We shall see. Now, Lady Udele of Berkhamsted, wife of Roger, I’ve heard it said that you entertain a young knight when your husband is away. Are these things true?”

  Lady Udele was no giggling girl, but she was sophisticated enough to trust Endeline’s discretion. She matched Endeline’s gaze carefully. “Only a fool can misread the direction of the wind,” she answered cryptically, and Endeline smiled in understanding. Lady Udele took a great risk with such an answer, for her husband could have her killed for infidelity.

  “Afton, my dear.” Endeline smiled pleasantly, and kept her voice light. “Of all the young men at Margate castle, surely there is one special man who has caught your eye? Have you tasted yet of love?”

  Endeline noticed that Afton’s cheeks grew rosier. “I believe I have,” she replied, keeping her eyes on her embroidery.

  Endeline raised a finger and pretended to scold her young charge. “If you love, you know it. Do you love a valiant knight?”

  Afton shook her head. “No.”

  “A groom, perhaps.”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps you love one of our frequent guests.”

  “No.”

  Endeline made an effort to keep smiling, but her voice sounded hard in her ears. “Who is it you love, my dear?”

  Afton raised her chin. “I love your noble Calhoun, my lady. I have loved him for years.”

  The old woman with the puffy eyes whispered loudly, “Who did she say? The handsome second son?”

  Endeline kept her face smooth and under control, but her heart recoiled at Afton’s answer. It was a horrible thing for the girl to say, like a rat declaring its love for an eagle. It was improper, indecent! Her son could no more love a girl like Afton than--

  Well, her common sense reminded her, with men being the way they are, he could love her if he wanted to. Her mind shrank from the memory of the time she caught Perceval kissing Lunette in the wardrobe. The passion of men was an unpredictable thing, and powerful men had no compunction about releasing it whenever they chose. But love was one thing, and marriage quite another. Calhoun could never marry the daughter of a villein, one who once had dirt embedded under her nails!

  Endeline studied Afton, who continued sewing as if she had done nothing more momentous than declaring the sky to be blue. I have trained the girl myself, Endeline realized, and I do not think she would agree to any love outside lawful marriage. Of course it was impossible to know such a thing for certain, but Endeline trusted the standards of morality she had instilled in the girl. Still, it was a good thing Calhoun was going away.

  Endeline stood to her feet and motioned for her maids. “Ladies, the men will return for supper soon,” she announced. “I must go make preparation for things to come.” She left the garden, with Morgan and Lunette following.

  ***

  Afton slipped through the garden into the orchard. She had always been able to collect her thoughts amid the quiet of the apple and pear trees, but today was different. She had openly declared her love for Calhoun, and Endeline had not smiled in approval.

  The stillness Afton sought was disturbed when a voice from the leafy branches above her called, “Look out down there!” Four apples fell out of the tree and landed on the soft ground by Afton’s feet. She picked one up and wiped it on her sleeve, then bit into it. “Hey!” the voice yelled again. “That was mine!”

  Calhoun lowered himself through the sprawling limbs of the tree and dropped to the ground. There was no anger in his eyes as he pocketed the other three apples, and when he bowed to Afton she saw the teasing twinkle in his eye. “If you’re really that hungry, I’ll fetch you a basketful of apples,” he said.

  Afton shook her head and chewed her appl
e slowly. At thirteen, he was still very much a boy, but his voice had deepened in months past and he seemed taller than he had been the week before. He was worthy of her love, she knew it, more worthy than any man in the castle or village, and she could not understand why Endeline did not approve.

  “Are you really going away?” she blurted out. “Your mother told the ladies you were soon going away.”

  Calhoun grinned. “Aye. This afternoon Gawain said I might go on a cavalcade with the knights. We will be gone at least three days, perhaps a week.”

  He wasn’t going to Warwick, he was going on a cavalcade. That was worse, and Afton couldn’t stop a shudder. Stark fear laced her earliest memories of the knights’ cavalcades. Once she had been with her father in his narrow field when a cavalcade of the lord’s knights approached, dismounted, and brandished their swords. One burly knight cut her father’s face with impunity, and warned Wido that Perceval was lord and master. She had wet herself before the knights finally rode off, their war-horses trampling her father’s meager field. Afton closed her eyes to block the memory of her father’s blood-streaked face.

  “Please, Calhoun, don’t hurt anybody,” she whispered, and Calhoun laughed.

  “Why do you think we take this journey, girl? We go to find the enemies of the king’s peace, those who would steal and break the king’s laws or trespass in his lands. We go to insure that all who live under Perceval’s protection are living justly.” He gestured broadly. “We would never hurt the innocent, Afton. A knight’s duty is to--”

  “Protect women and children,” Afton finished for him. “I know. But envision each law-abiding villein you see as your friend, I beg you. Remember that I am the daughter of a villein.”

  “I cannot forget who and what you are,” Calhoun answered. His expression changed subtly and Afton thought she saw sadness and resignation in his eyes. Before she could speak, he turned and sprinted out of the orchard.

  ***

  “I’d like you to oversee the women who work today in the women’s quarters,” Endeline told Afton after morning prayers. “The villeins are working on a special tapestry for the feast of St. John the Baptist. You have such a lovely touch with a needle, Afton, will you make sure the work goes well?”

  Afton was flattered and agreed easily. Endeline usually oversaw the villein women herself, and Afton took the request as a sign of Endeline’s increasing confidence in her. She dressed quickly and went downstairs to the women’s quarters that were separated from the rest of the castle courtyard by a tall hedge.

  The summer sunshine was warm, so she loosened her cap to catch the slight breeze and walked through the castle yard with an easy step. She had left Lienor praying in the chapel. That was all Lienor voluntarily did these days, and Afton thought Endeline seemed frankly relieved. It was better to have a daughter give her soul to God than walk mannishly and never be a proper gentlewoman. No wonder Lienor grew more gentle every day that she prayed.

  Afton hesitated outside the tall hedge that surrounded the women’s enclosure. Morgan once told her that no man had ever entered the women’s domain. Not that any man would want to. Even though Perceval felt quite at home in the girls’ dormitory and the chamber he shared with his wife and her maids, he would never have lowered himself to walk into the women’s enclosure where the villein and village women met to work. Such secrets as were told in here were not fit for men’s ears.

  Afton lifted the iron latch on the gate and stepped inside. Standing in the gateway, half hidden by the thickness of the hedge, she could hear the women quite clearly and not be seen. She had never been to the women’s enclosure alone. When she had visited with Endeline, she was aware of curious stares and veiled looks, but no one had ever spoken directly to her. She did not know how the villeins would react to her alone.

  A sudden gust of wind rattle the gate and startled Afton so that she stepped forward, in full view of the women. Though her eyes were cast down in their habitual discipline, she felt the pinpricks of probing eyes from every woman in the enclosure.

  She glanced up. The worn eyes of the village women were judging her, from the quality of the fabric in her tunic to the tightness of her cap. Oh no—her cap was too loose. Gentle women simply did not walk around with their caps undone, heat or no heat. One woman shook her head disapprovingly, another bit her lip.

  Sensing the censure in their faces, Afton raised her chin, determined to stare them down, one by one, individually. She was Endeline’s emissary, sent on a justifiable errand. She was hot, so her cap was loose. Her eyes raked defiantly around the circle of women, causing them all to drop their appraising eyes, until she came to one tired and familiar face. Corba.

  By all the saints, her mother was already an old woman! She knew her mother was only two or three years older than Endeline, but the face at which she stared was crinkled and leathered from the sun, and wisps of gray hair dangled rebelliously from the edges of her mother’s cap. Corba’s front tooth was black with disease, and jutted away from the others at an odd angle.

  Despite the sun’s heat, Afton felt a chill close around her heart, as if she had fallen through ice into the river. She jerked her head away from Corba’s shy smile and forced her eyes to focus on the tapestry in the center of the group. “Lady Endeline sends me to look after the progress of the work,” she said, her voice unnaturally loud. “I shall tell her all goes well. Will it be completed by the feast of St. John the Baptist?”

  No one spoke for a moment, but then one stout woman nodded slowly. “Aye, the work will be done. You may tell her that Wilda gives you this assurance.”

  “I will.” Afton turned to leave even though she could feel Corba’s faded blue eyes pulling her back. Something in her wanted to run to her mother, to bury her head in her lap and cry away the pain of the years they had spent apart, but an iron discipline held her to her course. As a child she had been carefree villein, but she was a child no longer. Now she was bound to obey a new code of duty and obligation, to follow a rigidly inflexible code of behavior.

  She counted her steps to the gate. On the tenth step, she lifted the latch, swung the gate open, and left the women’s enclosure. She did not look back.

  ***

  The castle was alive as always, but every room seemed empty without Calhoun’s boisterous presence. He had been gone three days, and Afton went about her routine joylessly. Endeline must have been joking when she said he would leave for Warwick Castle. Surely she could not bear this lifeless castle if he were gone.

  The cry of the sentry warned of approaching riders, and Afton dropped her book and skipped down the steps from Endeline’s chamber. Gawain, Denton, and Calhoun were back, dismounting beside the stable. Afton lingered in the doorway, feasting on the sight of her friend. Life would be fun again.

  At supper that evening Calhoun regaled the people of Margate Castle with stories of his cavalcade. He described the fierce bear they had seen in the woods so graphically that goose bumps rose on Afton’s arms. He rose from the table and acted out Gawain’s defense against the pack of wolves that followed them on the road, and he briefly described the man they apprehended and charged with stealing chickens from a family in a nearby village. Denton, Calhoun reluctantly admitted, chopped off the man’s hands as punishment for his crime.

  Afton cringed at each story, particularly the latter tale, amazed and a little horrified that Calhoun found excitement in such blood-chilling and blood-spilling adventures. But she excused his exuberance. Without his love of adventure, he’d be as plodding and shy as Charles, who exhibited neither enjoyment or displeasure unless he was out in the fields.

  The sun had begun to descend in the west when she found Calhoun alone in the stables. He was brushing his favorite horse, but he paused when he saw her step into the stall. “I’m glad you’re back, Calhoun,” she said simply. “The castle wasn’t the same without you.”

  Calhoun didn’t answer, but looked at her a moment, then dropped the brush onto the earthen floor and swun
g himself onto the horse’s bare back. “Come on,” he said, grasping Afton’s hand firmly. “Ride with me.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation Afton flung herself at the horse, throwing her leg up and over, not minding her skirts. She put her arms around Calhoun’s waist and he walked the horse quietly out of the stable and through the courtyard, then spurred the horse to canter out of the castle gate and down the road.

  The ride was exhilarating. Afton and Lienor did not ride much, and when they did it was usually at a snail’s pace. No wonder Calhoun loved his adventures! Under the sprinkling of stars and a blushing sky, Afton felt the warm wind caress her face and send her cap flying back off her head. As the horse gently cantered down the road, her braid loosened and wisps of hair fluttered around her neck.

  She settled into the easy lope of the horse and rested her cheek against Calhoun’s shoulder. They rode comfortably for several minutes, and Afton was disappointed when Calhoun pulled back on the reins and the horse slowed to a trot, then to a walk.

  “Are we stopping?” Afton lifted her head. “Do we have to?” Calhoun pointed to the sky. “It’s growing dark. And there’s a curfew. Only the enemies of peace go out after dark.”

  “We’re not enemies of peace,” Afton said, watching as Calhoun pulled the horse’s head around and headed back up the road to the castle. “You’re going to be a knight and I’m--well, I’m not an enemy of peace.”

  “Are you sure?” Calhoun asked. “I’ve had no peace, thinking of you.”

  She couldn’t see his face and his voice was flat, so she didn’t know if he was teasing. “What do you mean?” she asked, wishing he would turn and face her.

  The horse trotted slowly up the road and Calhoun cleared his throat. “I’m going away soon,” he answered, his voice growing deeper as the night grew darker. “I’m to serve as a squire at Warwick Castle. I’ll be trained as a knight there.”