Afton of Margate Castle (18 page)

***

Lunette and Morgan dressed Afton the next morning in a new blue tunic and vibrant yellow surcoat. “You look lovely,” Morgan said, braiding Afton’s long tangle of hair. “This Hubert is a fortunate man.”

Afton was trying not to think of Hubert. She would face the possibility of marriage to him later, perhaps tomorrow, but today was more important than a thousand tomorrows. It was the last morning she would see Calhoun. He and Fulk were leaving for Warwick Castle after dinner.

“Can you hurry?” she asked Morgan.

Morgan misunderstood Afton’s reason for haste and chuckled. “Of course, any girl would be anxious to see her future groom. My fingers will fly for love, but you must be still, girl!” She tied the end of the braid with a long white ribbon. “There!”

Afton flew to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Calhoun or the knights who would escort him to Warwick Castle, but the courtyard was empty save for a ramshackle wagon driven by a villein and his wife. She would have given them but a cursory glance, but there was something familiar in the driver’s form, and she groaned with the shock of recognition. Perceval had sent for Wido and Corba.

***

The mid-day dinner was a never-ending nightmare, where seconds stretched into minutes and minutes into hours. Afton had looked forward to sitting across from Calhoun at their last dinner together, but she had been seated across from Wido and Corba at the first row of tables on the main floor. Hubert, red-nosed and simpering, sat at the lord’s table with Perceval, Endeline, and Hector. Calhoun, Fulk, and other knights sat at the center table, where there was much noise and laughter, and Charles and Lienor were with other members of the household at the third table.

As the servants passed the ale, Perceval stood and raised his glass. “Honored guests, we drink today in celebration of the impending marriage of the miller Hubert to the maid, Afton, whom we have raised from a child.”

“Hear, hear!” the other dinner guests raised their glasses and drank. From the corner of her eye Afton saw Hubert raise his glass and felt his eyes upon her. The skin on the back of her neck crawled when he tossed back his drink, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and smirked in her direction.

Afton was thankful for the habit of maidenly deference that forced her to keep her eyes downcast at the table in front of her, for she did not want to look in Hubert’s direction. But her eyes were torn from their habitual discipline when Perceval spoke again, his words slightly slurred: “And after dinner, our beloved son Calhoun leaves for Warwick Castle. Let us drink to the success, glory, and honor he will bring to our house and the King!”

“Hear, hear!” The guests raised their glasses and drank again, more boisterously than before. Afton craned her neck to look for Calhoun in the crowd at the knight’s table, but the stout form of Fulk blocked her view.

Perceval was unsteady on his feet as he raised his glass a third time. “And to my beloved son, Charles, who will inherit the castle and lands of Margate, provided he ever decides to choose a wife and bring forth a son.” Perceval’s eyes crossed and he took a giddy step backward.

“Careful, my lord,” Endeline cautioned, putting out a hand to steady him.

Hubert put a stout arm behind Perceval’s back. “To Charles!” Hubert roared, raising his tankard with his free hand, and the crowd replied, “To Charles!” They drank again, and Hubert coaxed Perceval back onto his seat.

Afton watched the scene with interest. Perhaps there was merit in this rough man, Hubert. Endeline could be right. Though she knew she would never love him as she loved Calhoun, perhaps she might like him. With liking might come respect, and with that, surely there could be a happy marriage.

Afton sighed and stirred her black pudding. Wido and Corba sat across from her, silent and obviously uncomfortable, and neither had said anything more to their daughter than “Good day.” Well, soon she would be out of their lives, too, so there was no need to reestablish a relationship. Only one thing mattered--parting from Calhoun with one last word, one last touch, and one last smile.

When Perceval was finally persuaded to stand and dismiss the diners, Afton sprang from her seat to run for the courtyard where Calhoun would prepare to leave. “Daughter, why don’t you sit with us a moment more,” Corba said gently, her blue eyes wide with frank love and longing. “Lord Perceval has asked us to talk with you.”

“There’s no need,” Afton replied, smiling uneasily. “Lady Endeline has spoken to me of love and marriage.”

The rustle of silk heralded Endeline’s approach. The lady nodded regally to Wido and Corba, and put her hand on Afton’s arm. “I am sorry, but I have need of this girl,” she said, her lips pressed together in a tight little smile. She turned her dark eyes to Afton. “Go upstairs with Lunette right away. I will meet you there in a moment.”

Afton sighed in relief. How astute of Endeline to relieve her from a distressing situation! By sending her upstairs, Endeline had made certain Afton would not meet Wido and Corba again before they departed for the village. Lunette was waiting outside the hall, so Afton nodded politely to Wido and Corba and followed Lunette to the chamber.

Lunette was unusually quiet as they climbed the stairs. She held the door open as Afton passed into the chamber, but then Lunette slammed the chamber door and Afton heard the sound of the key turning in the lock.

“Lunette!” Afton shook the door. “Please, let me out!”

“I can’t.” There was genuine dismay in the maid’s voice. “Lady Endeline said I should leave you here until she comes.”

“Where is Endeline?”

“In the courtyard. Calhoun leaves immediately and she is saying her goodbyes.”

Afton turned and sank onto the floor in fury and frustration. Endeline wasn’t being kind at all, she was simply trying to keep Afton away from Calhoun. It wasn’t fair! Afton was willing to let Calhoun go, but to be deprived of one last goodbye--

She ran to the window and looked out into the courtyard. Fulk was mounted already, with his sword and shield by his side, and the ten knights who would escort Calhoun were mounted, too, each with a purple and white banner, the colors of Margate, securely in their hands. Calhoun’s horse alone was unmounted, for Endeline was embracing her son.

Afton rushed to the lavatory, Perceval’s pride and joy. Frantic necessity overrode her common sense, and she sprang from the tub into the narrow window and studied the stones that jutted out from the lavatory shaft. If she was quick and sure, she could climb down the shaft, edge her way along the skirt of the moat, and still catch the riders before they left.

She took a deep breath, kicked off her slippers, and placed the ball of her foot into a small crevice between the stones. Bits of gravel bit into the tender sole of her foot, but she ignored the pain and swung out onto the shaft, her fingers grasping for a handhold. Fortunately, her small hands and feet found gaps between the solid stones, and climbing down the shaft was no harder than shimmying down apple trees in the orchard.

Afton was at the bottom of the shaft before Endeline released her son. “Go with God,” Endeline said, running her fingers through his sandy hair. “Farewell, my sweet son.”

There was a narrow skirt of stone at the interior edge of the moat, and Afton easily stepped along it as Calhoun embraced his unsteady father. She was at the drawbridge as Calhoun quickly embraced Lienor and Charles, and by the time he turned to mount his horse, she had reached the courtyard. Calhoun saw her and his face twisted into a wry smile.
Why?
Afton wondered, wringing her hands in despair.
Didn’t he know I would come?

With one agile leap Calhoun was in the saddle, and he saluted Afton with a flourish of his cap. But it couldn’t end this way. She couldn’t let him ride away!

 
She raced toward his horse, her bare feet skimming the dusty ground, and fell to her knees, clutching his stirrup. “Please, Calhoun,” she cried, her hand caressing the soft leather of his boot. “Do not go without giving me a parting word.”

Afton felt the disapproving eyes of Endeline like pinpricks upon her, but she didn’t care. Calhoun reached down and lifted her chin with his hand. “A parting word?” he answered. His smile was bright, but his eyes were serious. “Perhaps it is this: we both undertake ventures
a grand frais
, at great expense. May God go with us.”

He released her and gently kicked his horse. Fulk took the lead position, with Calhoun and the other knights behind, and Afton was left alone on her knees in the dust. She stood slowly, like an old woman, and when she finally tore her eyes away from the road she found that all had left save one: her future husband, who watched with amusement in his eyes.

***

“I can’t do it! I won’t do it!” Afton knew full well that ladies were never to raise their voices, but she was the daughter of a plowman, so she screamed at the top of her lungs. Lunette and Morgan were both pale with fear, but Endeline’s face was set. “You can and you will marry Hubert,” she answered. “The marriage will take place tomorrow.”

Afton backed toward the fireplace and impulsively grabbed a burning log from the flames.

“Mon dieu
! She’s burning her hand!” Lunette cried, pointing in distress. “She’ll mar her beautiful skin!”

The end of the log Afton held was hot, but the other end flamed as she swung it toward the women. “I’ll burn off my hair and face, I will, and then Hubert won’t want to marry me,” she threatened. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll throw myself out of the window. I will do it!”

“She’s gone mad,” Endeline said, throwing up her hands as she marched toward the doorway. “I will have nothing to do with this girl. I don’t know why I ever brought her here in the first place.”

Endeline motioned for her maids to follow. “I leave you here to your thoughts,” Endeline said, when Morgan and Lunette had left the room. She grasped the door, but paused before slamming it shut: “Perhaps someone else can bring you to your senses.”

***

“Come now, daughter, and tell us what troubles you,” Wido said, his cap in his hand. He seemed even stiffer and more uncomfortable in the lord’s chamber than he had been in the lord’s hall. Corba stood by his side, but she had lost all restraint and was gazing openly at the tapestries, the wardrobe, the riches.

Afton wearily lifted her head from the bed. Why had Endeline sent them? They did not know her, nor did they know whom she really loved. They were villeins, mere peasants, and it was impossible for them to understand what she was thinking and feeling.

“I do not want to marry Hubert,” Afton said, consciously trying to keep her voice under control. “I would rather die than marry that man.”

“Why?” Corba’s eyes left the treasures of the chamber and she looked curiously at her daughter. “I can understand that you would not want to leave all these riches, but Hubert is the miller now, and a free man. His position will be great, and he is highly esteemed by Lord Perceval.”

“Do you not know that free man makes free wife?” Wido added. “You forget, I think, that you are a villein, as we are. But if you marry Hubert, you and your children will be free.”

Free. Afton had not thought much about the word. Long ago Abbot Hugh had told her that she could not be what she was not, but if she married Hubert her status would change from that of slave to free woman. She would be freer than Wido and Corba, as free as Endeline and Perceval--and Calhoun.

“Free woman.” She said the words thoughtfully.

“You could not be bought or traded with the land,” Corba added. “You could inherit property. you could even appear in court and plead your case with the lord. Villeins do not possess these rights.”

“A free woman.” Afton said it again. The words were like a new garment, they had to be tried on for size, and adjusted. What would it mean, this freedom?

“You would have your own home in the village, next to the mill,” Wido added. “It is a fine mill, built by the miller who died last year, and the roof does not leak. There is a garden and livestock.”

“You would have your own husband and babies,” Corba added, her own hand resting protectively around her ever-bulging stomach. “If God so blesses you.”