Afton of Margate Castle (6 page)

By all the saints, perhaps it was a good thing she was leaving.

***

As the sun set, Corba bedded the children on their mattresses while Wido stirred the coals on the hearth in the center of the house. A fire was hardly necessary, the weather was so warm, but the glowing red embers comforted him.

Wido watched the coals until he heard the regular breathing of sleeping children, then he joined Corba in their bed. Her back was to him, and when he touched her, her body convulsed in soundless sobbing. He held her until she lay exhausted from crying.

The moon was shining through their open window when she spoke. “I never thought of us as poor,” she said, her voice remarkably clear. “We have each other, we have a home, we have children.”

“We are not poor,” Wido said. “Even when my poor crops have failed, the lord’s generosity has sustained us.”

“I have never counted that as charity,” Corba said, wiping her face with the light woolen blanket that covered them. “We give Perceval his due as lord, and he gives us our due as his villeins. It is a partnership.”

“Aye,” Wido answered.

“But today has taught me what poverty is. It is not that we lack clothing or furs, for we have what we need and no more.”

Wido lightened his voice. “You have to agree, dear wife, that we could find use for a cow.”

“No.” Corba’s voice was emphatic, and she gazed steadily into his eyes. “We are poor because we have no power. We have no voice. If we had twenty cows, we would still own nothing. All that we call ours is the property of Lord Perceval. We do not even own the children we and God have created.”

Wido was silent, thinking. “The voice of God is our voice,” he said, finally, “And He has sent us another child to replace the one we will lose to Perceval. God is our judge, as He is Perceval’s. Father Odoric tells me so, and I do not believe a priest can lie.”

“Aye, but will God comfort Afton when she is flogged for making a mistake in the castle? Will He teach her when she grows wise to the ways of women? Will He defend her chastity when a knight desires to have her?”

Wido felt a slow burn begin in his stomach. “I will make it so,” he said slowly.

***

The village churned with activity the day before the feast of St. Mary Magdalene. Work in the fields was suspended while the villagers prepared their rents. Each farming family had to pay one sheep, one woven tunic, and ten smooth planks of oak. For the past month Corba had been weaving continuously, and Wido had spent his evenings polishing oak planks. Afton watched the bustle with little concern and enjoyed the extra commotion in the cottage. If she was good, perhaps her father would even let her journey to the castle with him tomorrow.

“Afton, come here.” Afton came in from the courtyard and stood in front of her mother. Corba placed her hand beneath Afton’s chin and inspected for dirt, a critical examination usually reserved for church days. Afton saw herself reflected in the worried eyes of her mother--two tiny girls with straight noses, wide eyes, and smudges of dirt on their cheeks.

Corba dipped a cloth in her water bowl and swiped Afton’s cheeks. “You’re fine,” she pronounced, stepping back. “Tomorrow you will go with your father to the castle. And you will wear this.”

She pulled a tunic from her work basket, a blue tunic finer than anything Afton had ever possessed. It was lightweight, woven from cotton instead of the usual rough wool, and a blue silk ribbon had been woven into the neckline. “It’s beautiful,” Afton murmured as Corba laid it across her arms. “It is really mine?”

“It is really yours,” Corba answered. “Now put it away so that it doesn’t get dirty before tomorrow.”

***

The next morning Afton felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Time to dress, daughter,” Wido told her. “We are going to the church.”

To church? Without the family? Afton swung her legs off her mattress and yawned. The boys were still sleeping, and it was not yet fully light outside. Why were they rising so early? Then she remembered her new gown and eagerly slipped it on. She whirled gently, the full skirt circling around her legs like a whirling top. She giggled.

From her bed across the room, Corba called. “Let me brush your hair.” Afton danced over to her mother and allowed herself to be pulled down onto the bed. Her mother brushed Afton’s golden hair vigorously, then locked her daughter in a hug so fierce Afton could barely breathe.

“You’ll crush me like a blueberry,” Afton complained.

Corba sniffled. “Lady Endeline has taken a special fancy to you,” she said quickly. “You are to live in the castle beginning today.” Her words streamed like a raging river. “I will see you when I go there to work, of course, and you’ll see your father, too. But you will not be returning here to sleep in this house.”

“No?” Afton pulled away. Surely there was some mistake.

Corba shook her head. “Go now with your father to the church. Say your prayers and be a good girl. Always remember that you are the daughter of Corba and Wido.”

Afton looked curiously at her mother and took her father’s hand. Wido was carrying Ree in his left hand, the noisy hen that laid the most eggs. “Why are we taking Ree to church?” she asked as left the house.

“You’ll see soon enough, child,” Wido answered. The villagers were beginning to stir, and several villeins were already out in their courtyards, checking their stores to make sure all was in order for Perceval’s steward. Wido waved to Bodo, who was inspecting his lamb to make sure it had no deformity. Only the best could be given to the lord.

The village church stood at the northernmost point of the village, a sturdy structure with a large oak door and two windows. Afton had often thought the church looked like a face, with a stubborn nose and two gleaming eyes to watch over the small village houses. Wido once told her that God lived there, and it was comforting to think of Him watching over her, even if the face of the church did not have a mouth. If it did have a mouth, would it smile or frown?Wido knocked on the church door. It was be hours before the church opened for Mass, but Wido knew Friar Odoric rose early for prayers.

The good friar opened the door slowly. “I’ve come for a blessing for the child, Father,” Wido said. “I’ve brought my best laying hen as an offering.”

The priest nodded and held his right hand above Afton’s head. He murmured lyrical words Afton did not understand, made the sign of the cross above her head, then his smooth thumb firmly traced the sign of the cross on her forehead. “May God go with you,” he said, holding his hands out for the chicken.

Wido handed the hen to the priest, then took Afton’s hand again. “Thank you, father,” he said, stepping away from the church. He did not speak as they began walking on the castle road, but Afton looked up once and caught her father wiping something from his eye.

***

The Latin phrases of Mass still echoed in Hector’s head as he left the castle chapel and hurried toward his own house. The villeins would begin to arrive soon, and Perceval was most anxious that the day’s bounty be well-counted. It was not a day for mistakes.

A hulking man with a child stood outside the door already, and Hector quickened his pace. Was he so slow? Or was the man early? Hector glanced at the villein and squinted, trying to place the man’s face. “Wido, isn’t it?” he asked, going past the man to his door. “Allow me a moment. You’re early.”

“I am bringing the tribute Lady Endeline requested,” Wido said, his voice and manner solemn. “I could not do this in front of the eyes of others. I will return later with the planks and the garment.”

Hector’s eyes widened and he turned from the door. Oh, yes, this was the man who was to give his daughter! He was going to do it, then, surrender the girl without a fuss. Of course, it wasn’t a question of
if
he would bring his daughter, but
how
. Any dispute or reluctance at all would have resulted in a much higher fine, most of which would have ended up in Hector’s pocket.

“This is the child my lady specified?” Hector said, peering at Afton. “She is healthy? Without defects?” He reached for the edge of her tunic to inspect her more closely.

Wido growled. “She is perfect. Take your hand off her.”

Hector backed away and waved his hands in the air. “Fine. I will leave you to answer if a problem arises.” He went back to his door, his keys jingling with importance. “I’ll mark your entry in the book, Wido, when all is paid in full.” Hector gestured impatiently to Afton. “Follow me, child.”

Wido did not let go of her hand. “You’re not going to leave her here all day?”

Hector pushed his door open and frowned at Wido. “What else am I supposed to do? I haven’t the time to take her into the castle just now.”

Wido stepped forward and flexed his mighty arms. “Do it.” He glared into Hector’s eyes. “Afton is to be taken to Lady Endeline. I will not have her kept waiting here like an animal.”

Hector would have liked nothing better than to remind the man of his lowly status, but he had neither the time nor the force, for the knights who were to stand guard at his desk were not yet at their posts. His eyes gleamed in derision. “I will take her up myself,” he said slowly, as if the idea were repugnant to him. “But only for the sake of Lady Endeline. And I expect you to return here with not only the planks and garment, but a chicken as well, for the consideration I have shown you.”

Wido scowled, but he backed away and released his daughter’s hand.

***

Afton clung to the hand of the elderly man who hurried her across the dusty castle courtyard. They did not stop at the kitchen buildings or at the animal pens, but walked straight through the rugged doors of the stone castle itself and up a staircase to the second floor. Afton tried to look around her, but the man rushed her up the stairs so briskly that she had no time to see anything but stone walls, wooden floors, and a timbered ceiling.

The staircase opened into a large hallway, and through an arch she saw a group of people gathered. Men in armor sat around tables, ladies in beautifully colored dresses sat conversing with them, and one lady in particular caught Afton’s eye. She broke away from the others as soon as she saw Hector, and her narrow face lit up in a smile as she came to greet them. “Finally,” she said, her eyebrows arching across the white of her forehead like the wings of startled birds. “I thought this day would never come.” She opened her arms and looked down at Afton. “Hello, dear. I hope you understand that from this day forward you will live with us.”

Afton did not answer, but involuntarily clenched the hand of the old man who had bought her to his place. The man shook his hand free. “Her name is Afton,” he said, folding his own hands and bowing respectfully to the lady. “Though, of course, you may change it to anything that pleases you.”

“Afton pleases me very well,” the lady replied, still looking at the little girl. “Very well indeed.” She knelt on the floor and looked directly into Afton’s eyes. “I am Endeline, dearest. Won’t you come to me? We will have a wonderful time together.”

Afton found her voice. “I want my mother,” she said clearly. “Of course, dear.” Endeline’s face did not change its expression, but she regally stood and nodded at Hector. “Keep the child with you now and go at once for the child’s mother. Bring them both back here.”

Hector bobbed his head nervously. “But, my lady, the rents are due today and the villeins are even now lining up at my house-”

“Do as I say!” Endeline snapped, glaring at the older man. “And be quick about it!”

Afton’s hand was snatched again, and Hector hustled her down the stairs and out of the castle as if the hounds of hell were after him.

***

“Is there a problem, my lady?” Perceval left the group of knights he had been entertaining and stood at Endeline’s side. “Don’t tell me the child of your dreams wants nothing to do with you.”

“It is only natural for a child so young to be diffident with strangers,” Endeline answered, forcing a smile upon her face. “How do you think your children would fare if they were taken to another man’s house?”