Afton of Margate Castle (46 page)

“For me?” She arched an eyebrow and sat up, keeping herself covered. “What is it?”

“Bert the tanner cannot pay his annual tribute. He has offered his young son, one year old, as substitute instead.” Perceval clapped his hands in delight. “Is it the diversion you suggested last night? The son of a free man, a child you can raise as you will?”

Endeline sighed in exasperation, then smoothed her face. It would not do to put Perceval out of his good humor when he was finally willing to obtain what she wanted.

“Thank you, my good lord, but I have already chosen another boy,” she said smoothly. “One that will reflect upon you much more graciously.”

“How so?” Perceval answered. He sank onto the bed and reached for her hand. “Bert’s child is a handsome fellow. I saw him myself last week.”

“I do not doubt your word, but my lord, I have already invested a great deal of myself in the child Ambrose. You see, dear Perceval, I reared his mother, and I am confident my gracious training has been instilled in the son. Ambrose is already a little gentleman.” She made an effort to keep her voice delicate and light. “It is Ambrose I want, and no other.”

Perceval sighed and looked away, and Endeline lifted his hand to her cheek. “An opportunity will arise, dear husband, if you seek it. Visit the mill today, and see what irregularities you find there. After all, she who holds the mill is your vassal, and is commanded to do--” Endeline paused and gently kissed Perceval’s palm, “--
whatever
you bid.”

Perceval withdrew his hand from his wife, then stood and squared his shoulders. “I shall think on it,” he said, striding out the door, and Endeline knew Afton would have a visitor before the day had ended.

***

Josson stopped by the mill on his way to an outlying manor, and Afton half-heartedly listened to him ramble about things at the castle as she prepared dinner for herself and Ambrose. Castle gossip rarely interested her, for she had shelved her memories of the place and pushed them to a dark corner of her mind. It hurt too much to think of the castle, for every brick, tower, and corner held a memory connected with Calhoun.

“Calhoun’s troop of knights to the Holy Land returned yesterday,” Josson said, and the mention of his name jerked her attention back to Josson.

“Oh?” she answered pleasantly, trying to disguise the fact that her heart had begun to race. She picked up a knife and began to cut the skin from a chicken. “I suppose they have tales enough to last ten years.”

“Aye, the men who returned do,” Josson said, shuffling his feet uneasily on the dirt floor of her kitchen. “No one knows what tales Fulk and Calhoun would have told. They alone have not returned. The news of their disappearance upset young Gislebert so much that he has left the castle to seek his livelihood elsewhere. I shall miss him.”

The knife in Afton’s hand slipped and she sliced her left hand instead of the chicken on the table. She watched a thin red line appear across her palm, and as it widened her lips parted in a gasp.

 
“You’ve cut yourself,” Josson cried, jumping to his feet. He reached for a basin of water. “Here, wash the wound and let me bind it.”

“It’s nothing,” Afton said, feeling faint, but Josson had already grabbed a cloth and wound it around her hand.

“Sit here and rest a moment, for you look pale,” Josson said, fussing about her like a mother hen. He gently pushed her down onto a kitchen stool. “You really need a new cook. I could arrange for one if you like. Perceval would agree, because it would free you to spend more time at the mill.”

“No.” Afton looked into his face and tried to smile. “It’s just that I will miss Gislebert, too. He visited me often.” She wrapped the cloth more tightly around her hand. “Sit down and finish your story. You said Fulk and Calhoun did not return? They have--disappeared?”

“Yes.” Josson nodded. “The company had been in Outremer for two years, when they fought together in a battle outside Antioch. Our knights were victorious, of course, but apparently Calhoun was wounded. He and Fulk rode off in search of a doctor, and no one has seen them since. The other knights searched for them for months, then decided to return home.”

Afton spoke slowly. “So Calhoun died of his wound?”

“No. Denton told Lord Perceval that Calhoun’s wound was not serious, an arrow through the leg. Denton himself took an arrow through the shoulder, and he said it wasn’t bad, just--”

Josson rambled on, but Afton’s thoughts wandered away. Calhoun had been wounded before riding off into oblivion. A wave of anger swept over her, and she had to close her eyes to keep it from erupting into a scream. By what right did Calhoun ride off and die?

He had reached for her in love on that sunny afternoon years ago, and even though she loved him desperately, brutish memories of Hubert kept her from surrendering to Calhoun
. But time would have erased the memories
, she thought, her brain swirling madly.
If you had only waited, Calhoun!
But because she had refused to become his wife, he had taken his sword into battle and become one of many men who intimidated the poor and lowly through force. And, according to God’s justice, he had surely been killed.

Oh, Calhoun
,
she moaned.
Why did you go? What glory lies on a field of battle that does not lie in the love of truth and honor at home? Is the honor of the battlefield greater than that a wife gives her husband?

“Afton? Are you sure you are well?” Josson stared at her in concern.

She managed a weak smile. “I suppose I don’t handle the sight of blood very well,” she said. “I think I’ll just go lie down for a while. Have a good journey, Josson.”

He stood awkwardly as she passed out of the room, and when she had reached her chamber and looked out into the courtyard, Josson’s horse was gone.

L
ater that afternoon Afton pulled on her cloak and veil and left the security of her courtyard. Ambrose would be fine by himself for a few hours; he was already adept at overseeing the mill and the fish traps. A frantic urging pushed her down the road out of town, to the convent.

She rang the bell at the convent gate and soon the unlined face of a novice appeared in the tiny window. “Please, I need to see Madame Lienor,” Afton whispered. “May I come in?”

The nun smiled sweetly and opened the heavy door. Afton forced herself to take a deep breath and be still even though her heart was about to burst. She followed the silent novice to a small foyer off the chapel.

The sound of sweet voices rising in praise to the Virgin did nothing to soothe her, and she perched on the edge of a bench and tapped her toes, impatiently waiting for the nuns’ prayers to cease. She knew she ought to pray for Calhoun, dead or alive, but her sense of guilt clouded her conscience so that she could not lift her thoughts toward heaven.

The chants from the chapel died away, and soon the procession of dark-robed nuns filed past her. Afton lifted anguished eyes and studied them until she recognized Lienor’s refined features, then she startled the entire procession by grabbing for Lienor’s hands. “Lienor! I must speak with you!”

The stern Abbess approached and peered curiously at Afton. “Our sister Lienor has taken a vow of silence,” she gently. “I am afraid Lienor will not talk to you.”

“Then I must talk to her,” Afton cried, squeezing Lienor’s hands tightly. “Please, Madame! I must!”

Lienor lifted an eyebrow in the abbess’ direction, and the abbess nodded and jerked her head toward a small receiving room. Lienor bowed graciously and led Afton into the room. Once inside, she nodded toward two small benches.

When they were finally face to face, Afton lowered her head into her hands and let her pent-up tears flow. “Lienor,” she cried, not even looking up, “Have you heard? Calhoun has been missing for two years. It is my fault, Lienor, for I sent him away. I fear that he is dead, and I fear that God holds me guilty. What shall I do? If I repent, will God bring Calhoun back?”

When Afton lifted her face, she realized she had been selfish. Lienor’s eyes were wide with fear and surprise, and her mouth gaped open as if she would speak. But after a moment the stern discipline of the nuns descended like a veil, and Lienor’s face settled into its customary expression of peaceful resignation. She folded her arms into her yawning sleeves and nodded gently. Though she uttered not a word, Afton knew she was saying, “If God wills it to be so. . .”

“Forgive me, Lienor.” Afton leaned forward and rubbed her cold hands together. “I was thoughtless to spring that news upon you. But surely you know that I love Calhoun and I always have. Is that a crime so terrible that God must punish me for it? Is it a sin that the daughter of a villein loves the son of the lord?”

Lienor did not answer, and Afton licked her dry lips and continued. “I think, I think that if I promise God to love Calhoun always, He will send him back to me. Do you agree? Perhaps I should not test God in this way, but I must do something. Can you help me, Lienor?”

The nun offered no answer, but in Lienor’s dark eyes Afton saw understanding and a trace of pity. The nun smiled and delicately traced the sign of the cross on Afton’s forehead, then bowed her head for a moment of silent prayer. Afton sat quietly until Lienor had finished, then smoothed her tunic as Lienor stood and walked toward the window. With one smooth movement the nun pushed the wooden shutter open and directed her gaze outside.

Afton stood up behind her. “I know I should leave now, so I’ll go. But I want you to know that if Calhoun comes home, I’ll accept him. Maybe I don’t deserve him after this, but if God sends him home, I’ll not send him away again.”

The sound of a child’s laughter came up through the open window, and Lienor leaned out the window and waved in response. Afton sighed. Lienor had obviously dismissed her. She had no answers, for she had never loved a man, had never wanted to be married.

“Goodbye, Lienor.” Afton glanced at her old friend one last time and saw that Lienor had turned from the window. Her eyes were open wide and inviting, almost pleading, but Afton did not understand what she was expected to do. Did Lienor want an embrace? Did she want an assurance?

“I promise I’ll send word to you if and when Calhoun comes home,” Afton said, opening the door. “I’m sorry to bring you bad news, but I just needed someone to talk to.”

The squealing laughter of a child rose through the open window again, and Lienor once again turned pleading eyes upon Afton. Her head tilted gently toward the window, as if inviting Afton to take a look outside, but Afton had no time for pleasantries. “If I hear good news, I’ll send word,” Afton promised, and she left the room and closed the door behind her.

***

In the garden, Agnelet scampered around Madame Hildegard and Madame Luna with her apron full of daisies. The older nuns were trying to read from their prayer books, but each of them found themselves looking to the child instead of the hills as they recited, “Unto thee, Oh Lord, do I lift up mine eyes...”

“Madame Hildegard,” Agnelet stopped running and sat on the bench between the nuns. “I have a question to ask when your prayers are through.”

Hildegard nodded slightly to acknowledge the request, and continued her prayer until the end. Then she closed her prayer book and deposited it in her pocket with one smooth motion. “Ask,” she told Agnelet, folding her hands out of sight.

“I’ve been thinking,” Agnelet said, the wind catching the edges of her white veil. “Why am I the only child here at the convent?”

“You are the only child the Lord sent us,” Madame Luna answered, leaning toward the girl affectionately.

“How did the Lord bring me?” Agnelet asked. “Where was I before I was here?”

Hildegard paused for thought and thanked God that Madame Luna kept silent. “As a very small baby you were brought to us,” she answered truthfully.

Agnelet pursed her lips. “Where did my baby come from?”