Afton of Margate Castle (12 page)

Morgan and Lunette ushered Afton to a small table near the royal dais, but against the wall. Afton was delighted. From here she could see observe all that went on at the king’s table and yet not be seen.

She glanced over the assembled company. The tables nearest the king’s table were filled with richly dressed men in ermine-trimmed robes, the king’s counselors, Afton assumed. She had heard Calhoun speak of them as “rich men who talk of war and know little of it.” Behind them were men with swarthy faces and simple red robes, the royal knights. Perceval’s knights, in their white and purple tunics, were intermingled in their midst, and behind the knights were the various high level servants and men at arms who traveled with the king.

Afton was surprised to see the king’s granddaughters sitting at a table directly across from her, on the far side of the room. They were silent, sitting in stillness, their eyes trained on the trenchers in front of them.

“Lunette,” Afton whispered, tugging on the maid’s sleeve. “See the granddaughters over there? Have you had occasion to talk to them this week?”

“Shh, not I,” Lunette whispered, laying a finger over her lips. “Hush now, the king approaches.”

A trumpeter shrilly proclaimed the king’s arrival, and the entire company stood and bowed as King Henry entered. Perceval, Endeline, and Lienor followed him and took their places at the raised table. When the king had been seated, the entire group sat and centered their attention on the grand meal set before them.

The dinner was impressive. Perceval had saved his best foods for the king’s farewell dinner, hoping to impress his sovereign with Margate Castle’s seemingly endless supply of delights to please the palate.

Afton crinkled nose in appreciation as the highly seasoned foods were passed down the tables, and her mouth watered. There were black puddings, sausages, venison and beef, eels and herrings, fresh water fish from the lake, and round and flat sea fish. The meats had been seasoned with sauces of vinegar, verjuice, and wine, and each gave off a most delicious aroma. One roast that passed by her was studded with cloves; steam and the scent of ginger rose from a tray of boiled snails. Almonds, a rare treat, were sprinkled over the foods in abundance. Murmurs of appreciation rose from the men and women who indulged themselves at Perceval’s table, but Afton was speechless. Compared to the common fare she had been eating with the servants, this food was an unimaginable excess of richness and variety.

Perceval sat at King Henry’s right hand, and Endeline sat at his left, Lienor by her side. Afton glanced up at her playmate and smothered a smile. Endeline’s plan was apparently proceeding well, and after today Lienor’s destiny would be settled.

***

Endeline felt a vast feeling of relief settle over her, but she forced herself to remain vigilant. All was going well, but it was not yet time to celebrate. Perhaps it was time to seal a royal marriage.

She smiled carefully at the king. “If it please Your Highness, may we inquire about the health of your son, William? Our hearts were laden with sorrow when we heard he would not be joining you here with us.”

“My son remained behind, but he does well,” Henry answered, nodding. “He is a brave and valiant knight. He will do justice for England and Normandy when he wears the crown.”

“He cannot do wrong, but with the proper wife he will do better still,” Endeline said gently. “Has your royal son given thought to marriage?” She looked down and idly stirred the pottage in her bowl. “My daughter, Lienor, is of noble blood. Of course I know I do not need to remind you, but her grandfather, Lionel, was a close ally of your father’s.”

“I heard my father speak of Lionel often,” Henry nodded. He glanced at Lienor, who sipped her pottage with her eyes obediently downcast. “And surely your daughter carries the same noble heart. There is a spirited look about her.”

Endeline felt like kicking Lienor under the table. What had the king seen? Endeline had tried to keep Lienor’s wild nature concealed, but obviously she had failed. “Aye, her grandfather’s spirit flows in her, but a more womanly girl could not be found,” Endeline answered, her cheeks reddening. “Do you not agree, my king? A free spirit can certainly be a virtue.”

The king did not answer, but Perceval scowled in Endeline’s direction as he cleared his throat. .”We should like to host Prince William sometime,” he said evenly. “Perhaps he can share his gracious company with us after his return from Normandy.”

Henry nodded and patted his bulging stomach. He had eaten enough for three men. “It is a convenient place for resting from the sea journey,” he said. “I will suggest it. And of course, Perceval, Earl of Margate, we thank you for your hospitality.”

“It is no more than my duty demands,” Perceval answered, bowing his head. “It is but right, my lord, that whenever you come, all doors should be thoroughly opened to you. Whatever you desire, you have but to ask.”

“I have asked, and you have given,” Henry said, quietly belching. Endeline blanched, but listened carefully to what followed: “And I will return the favor to you, noble Perceval,” Henry continued. “You have but to ask, and your request shall be granted.”

Endeline sighed in relief. There. The king had given his promise. All Perceval had to do was suggest an alliance between their two houses, and Lienor would be betrothed. Henry’s visit had been a success.

Endeline sighed in relief and slipped her arm around Lienor’s shoulder.
Her Royal Highness Queen Lienor
. A smile played around the corners of her mouth.
Perceval will stall a moment, then he will tell the king his daughter needs a husband. William will be suggested. The two families will merge.

But before Perceval could speak, a clamor arose outside the hall. A messenger in the king’s colors rushed up through the rows of tables and knelt before the royal table. “Your Highness, I come from the port with news of Normandy,” he replied, breathless. “An urgent letter from Prince William.”

King Henry took the letter, broke the seal, and read it. Endeline drew in her breath--something had to be wrong, else the message would not have been so urgent. She only hoped whatever it was wouldn’t spoil the king’s positive impression of his visit to Margate.

King Henry put down the letter and closed his eyes. The audience of nearly three hundred souls waited in silence, many with spoons and tankards upraised in suspended animation, as the king of England sat in contemplation, a frown upon his face.

The king finally opened his eyes. “Bring me the daughters of Julienne,” he whispered, his hoarse voice carrying to the farthest corner of the silent room. A guard left the king’s side at once to escort the girls from their table, and Henry rose to his feet. “Hear me, all of you,” he roared, his face reddening. “My own daughter in Normandy, Julienne, did she not give me her three daughters in trust and faith?”

“She did, my lord,” one of the king’s counselors spoke up from a nearby table. “To assure you of her love and familial devotion.”

“Did I not give her to be the wife of Eustache de Breteuil, and did I not give them the chateau of Ivry?”

“You did, my lord,” another counselor added. “A most generous gift.”

“Why then,” Henry shouted, shaking the letter in his hand, “does our rightful son William write and tell me that Julienne, along with her traitorous husband, has stood at that selfsame chateau and fought against the armies of Henry of England?” Henry’s voice rose to a shrieking crescendo. “Why has she put on armor and shaken her fist in the face of her father and king?”

Not a soul moved. Not a counselor dared to speak. Henry closed his eyes in resignation, and Endeline felt a trembling begin to rise from somewhere inside her chest. The king’s wrath was boiling, it would be poured out on someone, somehow--please, God, she prayed, she and Perceval had done nothing to deserve it.

The guard sent to fetch Julienne’s daughters stepped up to the king’s table. Behind him walked the three girls, their eyes on the floor in front of them.

“Bring Julienne’s children to me,” Henry commanded. The girls, not one of them taller than Lienor, walked silently past the knight and stood in front of the king’s table.

“Kneel before me,” the king commanded. The oldest girl, who must have been Lienor’s age, knelt promptly at her grandfather’s feet. The second girl hesitated a moment after looking up into the king’s fierce face, and the youngest girl, a blonde cherub with baby fine hair, looked to her older sister for instruction before teetering down to her knees and putting her hands together in the traditional position of prayer.

Endeline’s teeth began to chatter. She clenched them together.

Henry unsheathed his sword and handed it to a nearby knight. “Put the point of my sword into the fire until it glows red,” he said, all emotion erased from his face. “Then put out the eyes of these girls, for their mother does not recognize her father.”

The knight took Henry’s sword and walked over to the hearth. He set the point of the king’s sword into the flames.

“And you, loyal friend,” Henry looked at Perceval. “As you love me, noble Perceval, obey my command now.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Perceval said, standing stiffly to his feet.

“Draw your sword and cut the noses from these three faces,” Henry commanded, “so no man will bear their mutilation and take them to wife. The seed of my Judas Julienne must not be allowed to continue.”

As Perceval withdrew his sword and held it above the face of the youngest girl, blackness rushed from the walls of the room and blocked the sight from Endeline’s eyes. She fell forward into her empty bowl and fainted.

***

Henry was gone, but like fish fossils on high mountaintops that give evidence to powerful flood waters, traces of his brutality remained. The grisly scene in the great hall woke Afton from her sleep night after night, and Lienor did not fare much better. One night as both girls lay sleepless in the dark Lienor confided to Afton that she would rather jump from the castle tower than marry the son of King Henry. “I’ll take a vow of chastity,” Lienor mumbled, “and give my life to God rather than to the son of such a man. Every night for a month now I have prayed for William’s death. I pray that he will drown in the ocean and be eaten by sharks before he ever sets foot in England again.”

“Lienor, you should not say such things!” Afton whispered, truly horrified. “That’s treason! Calhoun says the punishment for treason is death, and--”

“I would gladly die rather than be married to the son of King Henry,” Lienor spoke, her whisper echoing in the stillness of their tiny chamber. “If God requires my life for my freedom, I will give it.”

Since the king’s visit, Afton, too, had been thinking heavy thoughts of God and man. Was it honorable for any man, king or not, to disfigure three innocent children? Endeline had taught her that the king was God’s sovereign representative on earth; in fact the touch of a royal hand had been known to heal the sick. Was God good if He allowed His representative on earth to commit such deeds?

In her childhood Afton had heard Wido and Corba pray often and loudly, but their prayers were more like incantations to the earth to bring forth food and rain than the Endeline’s eloquent prayers to a just and wise God. Though the Father Odoric had taught Wido and Corba to end every incantation with “So be it, Lord!”, they knew little about God except that His whims and ways controlled the weather, and, consequently, their lives.

But in Perceval’s household, religion was dutifully practiced. Endeline’s brother, Hugh, was the abbot of a nearby holy house Lionel had established years before. The family still generously supported the Benedictine abbey where Abbot Hugh ran his monastery, and he counseled the family often in spiritual affairs.

After Lienor’s horrible confession of murderous and suicidal thoughts, Afton begged her to talk to Raimondin, the chaplain who led the family in prayers every morning. The next morning, when the family had departed from Mass and the girls confided in Raimondin, he prescribed silent prayer and meditation. “Women, being the weaker sex, are more prone to sin,” he advised the girls. “So you must guard against improper thoughts that question the king’s decisions. Because you have not husbands to watch over you, our Lord Himself will do it if you raise your thoughts and voices in supplication to Him.”