Afton of Margate Castle (10 page)

For the most part, Afton ignored the adults around her. She loved dinner, for Calhoun usually sat across the rough table from her, and his laughing eyes were rarely more than two feet away. He talked constantly, a continual current of conversation under his father’s orations from the dais, and Afton loved hearing about his exploits with the knights, his horse, or the latest trick he had conspired with Charles to pull on Raimondin.

Charles said little. When he did speak, it was to Lienor, and his eyes rarely lifted off his trencher. He ate dutifully and purposefully, never beginning one food until he had finished the first, and never, ever looking in Afton’s direction. After a while, Afton was convinced that he hated her.

When dinner was done, Perceval led the men outdoors to hunt or go hawking. Charles and Calhoun usually amused themselves in the castle yard with archery or horseshoes, and Endeline kept Lienor and Afton by her side in the orchard as she conversed with her handmaids or visiting ladies. While the men participated in physical sports, the women took part in verbal exploits, telling stories, exchanging riddles, and playing gentle games.

Endeline’s skill as a verbal gymnast fascinated Afton, and even though she often did not understand what Endeline’s coy words and upraised brow meant, her effect upon the other ladies was visible. Often they blushed, sulked, laughed, or went pale, but nothing upset Endeline. She was mistress of the castle and of conversation, and no one dared contradict her.

When many outside visitors were present, Endeline’s garden meetings often revolved around pure gossip. During these sessions Afton would leave Lienor sulking and slip away to wander through the garden, weaving garlands of flowers or circlets of daisies. When the visiting ladies retired into the castle for a nap, Afton would take her floral offering and kneel to place it in Endeline’s lap. Her efforts never failed to earn her a hug and a cry of “Oh, you darling girl!” Afton felt that no offering had ever been so well rewarded.

During quiet afternoons where there were no guests, Endeline taught Afton and Lienor how to embroider. “You should create tapestries suitable for the finest castle or for a priest,” she told them. “Leave the simple work for the villeins. Beautiful ladies should create beautiful things.”

Lienor did not find needlework to her liking, and her finished works usually brought a frown to Endeline’s delicate face. But Afton took to sewing naturally, for Corba had already taught her the basics, and the richly colored threads and fabrics available in the castle made embroidery a sheer joy. Best of all, Afton found that her skill in needlework surpassed Lienor’s. Whenever Afton struggled to catch up to Lienor in her study of Latin and French, she took comfort that at least she could embroider beautifully.

When Perceval and his knights came in from hunting or traveling at the end of the day, the ladies dropped whatever they were doing and ran to make the master comfortable. Endeline snapped her fingers and brought servants running with bowls to wash his hands and feet. Endeline herself brought comfortable slippers for him to wear while she hung on his words and admired his labors. It was Lienor’s job to bring her father a pint of ale, and Afton’s to bring a pillow for his head. She shrank from the job at first, hardly daring to approach the man whose name she had only heard breathed in dread or fear. But Perceval largely ignored her, and each day she accomplished her slight task more easily. But she never lingered, never spoke, and never allowed her flesh to touch his head or hands or shoulder.

After the lord had rested, a light supper was served in the hall, with only Perceval’s immediate household present. But even this group was considerable, including the family, the steward, the knights, the chaplain, and the high-ranking servants, so Afton learned to feel comfortable in the castle company. As each day passed and Perceval neither spoke to or acknowledged her, she was sure that in the lord’s eyes she remained a blessedly anonymous presence.

But Perceval did not matter. Endeline taught her, Lienor tolerated her, Charles left her alone, and Calhoun often smiled at her. Morgan and Lunette spoiled her shamelessly. And as Endeline had predicted, Afton’s memories of an earthen hut and five hungry brothers began to fade.

***

Two days before King Henry’s scheduled arrival, the castle was a flurry of activity. Perceval lost his grand aloofness at meals and constantly called for Hector or Endeline or Gawain with real and imagined concerns. Endeline lost her mask of self-control and lashed out at the servants and her children. Afton slipped in and out of the castle, remaining in the shadows as much as possible.

Dozens of villeins from the village had been ordered to work at the castle, and Afton had never seen such sweeping and dusting. She peered through the crowd of women who worked in the kitchen, wanting but not wanting to catch a glimpse of Corba. Wido she had seen from a distance, carrying logs from the forest for the hearth fires. He looked as strong and dark as ever.

The annual rents Hector had collected from the villeins were now put to use: sheep were slaughtered and salted for later use, the oak planks were used to repair flooring in the castle, and the woven garments were hung inside the wardrobe that adjoined Perceval’s chamber.

Lessons were interrupted one day when Hector led his new assistant through the lord’s chamber. From the small dormitory where she sat, Afton saw the boy, a thin lad in his late teen years, burdened with a load of furs. “Lay them down carefully, Josson,” Hector called, his reedy voice disturbing the quiet of the room. “Then go fetch the tapestries and candles that remain downstairs.”

The boy put the furs next to Perceval’s store of gold plates in the wardrobe, then turned to leave. As he passed the girls’ dormitory, though, his eyes caught Afton’s. He looked at her with frank curiosity, and she felt herself blushing.

“Afton!” Eleanor’s sharp voice brought her back to her lessons. “You are not reading!”

Lienor closed her Psalter with a snap. “We can’t read today, Eleanor,” she said, peering out the arched doorway. “We want to watch Hector.”

Eleanor sighed, but it was clear her curiosity had also been aroused by the procession of valuables from the outlying manors. “Let us watch, then,” she conceded, moving closer to the doorway. “But mind you don’t bother the gentlemen as they work.”

Presently Josson returned with a crateload of candles and a tapestry rolled up under his arm, but Afton didn’t care about the treasures in the wardrobe. She wondered instead about the boy. Where had Hector found him, and what would the future hold for him at Margate Castle? It was obvious that he was a servant, for Hector ordered him with impunity, but he had intelligence and honesty written in his face. His hands, Afton noted, were not stained with earth, so this boy was no villein.

“Our lord is so rich,” Eleanor whispered to Afton as they watched Josson bring a load of fabrics and a jeweled cask into Perceval’s storeroom. “How could any one man use so much?”

“Aye, he will use all this and more,” Lienor answered dryly. “I heard my father say that it must be displayed and given freely when King Henry visits.”

“‘Tis true,” Eleanor nodded. “A lord is judged by his generosity, and he is only truly rich if he has many friends. The richest friend of all,” she added, with a wry smile, “is of course, the king.”

***

Hector and Josson were leaving the chamber as Endeline approached. Good. Surely the girls had been distracted from their lessons, and today they needed to learn lessons of another sort.

Endeline swept through the chamber and into the girls’ dormitory. “The king arrives in two days,” she announced, though, of course, everyone in the castle was aware of the approaching visit. “It is time for you girls to have a lesson in manners. Come, girls, put away your books. Eleanor, you are dismissed.”

The girls stacked their books on the end of the table and followed Endeline into her spacious main chamber. Endeline sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for Afton and Lienor to be seated on a nearby bench. “Lienor,” she began, folding her hands primly as she searched for the proper words, “you are nearly nine, the age of betrothal. As the daughter of an earl, we cannot marry you to anyone of lesser stature. There are a few families with sons whose rank equals yours, but why marry a partridge when you can marry an eagle?”

Endeline paused delicately, but it was cleared from the girls’ baffled expressions that they had no idea what she was talking about. She tried a more direct approach. “You are not too young, Lienor, to begin to think about your future husband.” Her voice was sharper than she intended it to be, her natural impatience with her boyish daughter revealing itself. She took care to soften her voice. “King Henry has a son, you know, Prince William. Since you cannot marry beneath your station, you would do well to study the king’s son. Find out what he likes, what pleases him.”

“Do I have to?” Lienor’s tone was almost a whine, and Endeline resisted the impulse to box her ears.

“You must. Look at Afton here. She acts more like a lady than you do.”

Lienor scowled at Afton, and Endeline saw Afton blush. Why wasn’t her own daughter as soft, pretty, and pliable? “Notice how Afton walks, straight and gentle, like a doe. A lady must not walk like a man, Lienor. You must not look like a man, or look
at
a young man as if you’d like to play with him. A lady should not even glance at a man, for glances are messengers of love and men are prompt to deceive themselves by them. The only man you should look at is Prince William.”

Afton was listening carefully, Endeline noticed, but Lienor seemed more intent on studying the floor. Had a fairy sprite switched the two girls at birth?

“A lady does not scold, swear, eat or drink too much.” Endeline stood up and paced in front of the girls. “If you are wearing a hood or a veil, you must remove it before King Henry, to show that you honor him. You must respond when the king salutes you.”

Endeline paused for a moment and studied her daughter’s scowling face. Perhaps it would be better if the king did not get too good a look at her. “On the other hand, given your young age, perhaps it would be better to keep your face downcast, out of respect. And remind Lunette to bring you a glass of wine before dinner--it will bring out the red in your cheeks.”

Neither girl gave any sort of response to Endeline’s instructions, and she grew exasperated. Was she wasting her breath? Perhaps it would be better to keep Lienor out of sight until the King’s visit had passed. If he got one look at her frowning face or her boyish hands--

Endeline snapped her fingers. “Put out your hands.”

Both girls did thrust their hands into the air in front of them, and Endeline checked their hands. Afton’s were perfect, her nails cut close to the finger, and clean. Lienor’s hands were disgraceful--her nails were long and ragged, and a definite crescent of dirt showed itself under each nail and in the creases of her palm.

“Lunette!” Endeline went out to the staircase and shrieked. “Come at once and cut this girl’s nails to the quick. Scrub her, too, and make her presentable.”

“To ze quick, my lady?” Lunette asked, coming breathlessly up the stairs and into the room.

“Cleanliness is better than beauty,” Endeline answered, sweeping regally out of the room. “I’ll be back in a moment with the quicklime, so be sure those nails are done.”

***

Afton felt genuinely sorry for Lienor when she saw how quicklime was used. The faint shadow of dark hair across Lienor’s upper lip was swabbed generously with quicklime, then Endeline told Lunette and Morgan to hold Lienor down on the bed while the quicklime dried. When the mixture was dry, Endeline approached the bed with steely determination in her eyes. “Hold her tightly,” she told the maids, reaching for her daughter’s tender skin.

“No, mother, no,” Lienor screamed as Endeline scrubbed the dried quicklime from the delicate skin between Lienor’s upper lip and nose. “Ouch! It stings!”

“One must suffer to be beautiful,” Endeline replied, swatting Lienor’s flailing legs. “Now be still!”

Afton turned her back and cringed each time Lienor howled. Was having Prince William as a husband really worth this much pain? But Endeline said it was necessary, and in her heart Afton knew she’d gladly undergo such a ritual if Endeline asked her to.

“Afton! Come away from the window.”

She turned obediently back to Endeline, who was now standing with her back to her weeping daughter. Lienor sat drying on the bed, her upper lip raw and red, but there was no shadow of dark hair.