Afton of Margate Castle (15 page)

At supper that evening Calhoun regaled the people of Margate Castle with stories of his cavalcade. He described the fierce bear they had seen in the woods so graphically that goose bumps rose on Afton’s arms. He rose from the table and acted out Gawain’s defense against the pack of wolves that followed them on the road, and he briefly described the man they apprehended and charged with stealing chickens from a family in a nearby village. Denton, Calhoun reluctantly admitted, chopped off the man’s hands as punishment for his crime.

Afton cringed at each story, particularly the latter tale, amazed and a little horrified that Calhoun found excitement in such blood-chilling and blood-spilling adventures. But she excused his exuberance. Without his love of adventure, he’d be as plodding and shy as Charles, who exhibited neither enjoyment or displeasure unless he was out in the fields.

The sun had begun to descend in the west when she found Calhoun alone in the stables. He was brushing his favorite horse, but he paused when he saw her step into the stall. “I’m glad you’re back, Calhoun,” she said simply. “The castle wasn’t the same without you.”

Calhoun didn’t answer, but looked at her a moment, then dropped the brush onto the earthen floor and swung himself onto the horse’s bare back. “Come on,” he said, grasping Afton’s hand firmly. “Ride with me.”

Without a moment’s hesitation Afton flung herself at the horse, throwing her leg up and over, not minding her skirts. She put her arms around Calhoun’s waist and he walked the horse quietly out of the stable and through the courtyard, then spurred the horse to canter out of the castle gate and down the road.

The ride was exhilarating. Afton and Lienor did not ride much, and when they did it was usually at a snail’s pace. No wonder Calhoun loved his adventures! Under the sprinkling of stars and a blushing sky, Afton felt the warm wind caress her face and send her cap flying back off her head. As the horse gently cantered down the road, her braid loosened and wisps of hair fluttered around her neck.

She settled into the easy lope of the horse and rested her cheek against Calhoun’s shoulder. They rode comfortably for several minutes, and Afton was disappointed when Calhoun pulled back on the reins and the horse slowed to a trot, then to a walk.

“Are we stopping?” Afton lifted her head. “Do we have to?” Calhoun pointed to the sky. “It’s growing dark. And there’s a curfew. Only the enemies of peace go out after dark.”

“We’re not enemies of peace,” Afton said, watching as Calhoun pulled the horse’s head around and headed back up the road to the castle. “You’re going to be a knight and I’m--well, I’m not an enemy of peace.”

“Are you sure?” Calhoun asked. “I’ve had no peace, thinking of you.”

She couldn’t see his face and his voice was flat, so she didn’t know if he was teasing. “What do you mean?” she asked, wishing he would turn and face her.

 
The horse trotted slowly up the road and Calhoun cleared his throat. “I’m going away soon,” he answered, his voice growing deeper as the night grew darker. “I’m to serve as a squire at Warwick Castle. I’ll be trained as a knight there.”

“Why can’t you be trained here at Margate?”

Calhoun shook his head. “A knight must not seek preferential treatment. Here I would always be Perceval’s son. At Warwick I will be just another squire.”

He would always be more than that to her. Her arms tightened around him.

She thought he understood what she was feeling, because he patted the arms she had entwined around him. Then he made a clicking sound with his tongue and kicked the horse into a gallop.

The trees on the roadside flew by in a blur, and Afton blinked back tears as the wind stung her eyes. The castle would no long hold happiness for her if Calhoun was gone. He was the only person who cared for her at all.

Calhoun gave the reins a sudden jerk and the animal reared, his front hooves pawing the air. Off balance, Afton frantically grasped Calhoun, and he calmed the animal expertly. The horse stood still, twitching his ears as if wondering why they had stopped on a moonlit road, and Calhoun turned on the horse’s broad back.

“It was here in this field that I met you,” he said, pointing to the broad field outside the castle walls. “We picked flowers for your sheep. You took me to your special swimming place in the forest. Do you remember?”

“I have not thought of that day in months,” Afton answered, laughing softly. “But I remember you would not swim. And our sheep died, the very next day.” A new thought struck her--”Maybe there was something poison in our wreath--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Calhoun said. Afton had never seen such seriousness in his eyes. “It is not our place to question God’s providence. Whatever means He used, He brought you to me.”

Afton couldn’t answer. She could only think that if God had brought her to Margate Castle, it was highly unreasonable of Him to take Calhoun away.

Calhoun leaned toward her and placed his lips briefly on hers, a boyish kiss that was both startling and welcome. Then he turned and kicked the horse once again, and before she had collected her thoughts, they were through the castle barbican.

“Who’s there?” a guard called out. Afton heard the unmistakable clink of metal as a sword was withdrawn from its sheath.

“It is Calhoun,” Calhoun answered, slowing the horse.

Gawain showed himself in the torchlight. “By the sword of St. Denis, it is Perceval’s second son,” Gawain said, sheathing his sword. He grinned at Calhoun and winked. “The boy who has grown to be a man.”

Afton slipped off the horse and hurried toward the castle while Calhoun dismounted and walked with Gawain into the stables. What they talked about, she didn’t know. She only knew that the embers that had glowed in her heart at the mention of Calhoun’s name were now flaming.

O
nce a month Perceval opened the castle doors to his vassals and dispensed justice to any and all that required intervention. On these occasions, the hall was cleared of tables, the best tapestries hung on the walls, and evidence of Perceval’s wealth and power was conspicuously exhibited. It was a display designed to intimidate, and the villeins and lessor lords from the outlying manors seemed usually to creep into the hall, no matter how bravely they strutted outside the castle.

Endeline considered it educational for the children, including Afton, to witness the proceedings in the great hall from a side room. Calhoun loved these trials, and usually sat on the edge of his seat as he heard the cases the petitioners brought before Perceval. Often he whispered to Afton what
his
verdict would be if he were presiding, and Afton found that she usually agreed with him. If they talked too loudly, either Endeline or Hector, who served as a scribe during the hearings, would glare at Calhoun and Afton and remind them to be quiet.

On this day the first dispute was between two knights. One had insulted the other’s honor, the second had promptly returned the insult. To settle the dispute and keep them from killing each other, Perceval sent each of them away: one to join with the knights Templar who protected pilgrims to the Holy Land, and the other to tour the outlying manors in a two-year cavalcade. “After two years you may return to Margate and we will see what kind of love you hold toward each other,” Perceval said, nodding to each of his knights. “In the mean time, you will do service to your lord and to the king.”

The second case involved a forester and a villein caught trapping badgers in the king’s forests. “You have stolen from the forests of King Henry,” Perceval said, motioning for the aged Hector to write. “Therefore your house and lands are confiscated in the name of the king. Your house will be razed and your animals will be paid forfeit to me. A decree regarding this judgment will be forwarded to His Highness, the king.”

“A good judgment,” Calhoun whispered to Afton. “The king will be pleased.”

“A boring case,” Afton whispered back, concentrating on her embroidery. “Only a fool steals from the king’s forest. Who are the next petitioners?”

“Two villeins from the village,” Calhoun answered.

Afton did not even look up until she recognized the voice that reached her ears--Wido stood before Perceval. She lost custody of her eyes as she stared in fascination at the father she had not seen in over three years.

He was as she remembered him, broad and strong, but now there were streaks of gray in his dark hair. He stood tall and resolute before Perceval, his peasant’s cap in his hand, and Afton felt an unfamiliar and unwelcome flush of pride in his appearance. Beside him was another peasant whose name she couldn’t remember.

“I am Wido,” he said.

“I know the name,” Perceval answered dryly.

“My son, Matthew, was killed last week by this man’s dog. My wife grieves deeply.”

Afton counted on her fingers--Matthew had been five when she left home. He was eight, then, maybe nine--and he was dead? Killed by a dog? She gasped in horror.

“What’s wrong?” Calhoun asked, turning to look at Afton. “It is not so horrible--it happens all the time in the village.”

Afton blinked. Calhoun didn’t even know this man was her father. Matthew was--had been--her
brother
.

Perceval stared at the nervous man next to Wido. “Your name?”

“Geoffrey.”

“Geoffrey, is this man’s report true?”

Geoffrey kept his eyes on the floor in front of him. “Aye, my lord. Sad but true.”

“What is it you wish me to do?” Perceval asked, turning back to Wido.

“He was but a child, but his life had value to us and to you, my lord,” Wido spoke again. “We ask for recompense for his life.”

“That is true. Now there will be one less villein to work in my fields.” Perceval gestured to Hector the steward. “Make sure this Geoffrey pays two sheep for the life of the boy. One sheep to Wido, the father, and one to me.” Perceval glanced up at Wido. “Is that not a worthy price for one life?”

Afton saw a muscle shift in Wido’s jaw, but her father did not answer. Perceval smiled. “Make it so,” he told Hector. “Next.”

Geoffrey and Wido bowed and left the hall. A tear fell on Afton’s embroidery. Her father had not even glanced in her direction.

***

The next morning Afton heard the far-off blare of a trumpet, and she flew to the window of Endeline’s chamber. Four knights on horseback approached on the road, and something was wrong--one of them was thrown over his saddle like a sack of potatoes. Afton’s heart froze in fear. Had Calhoun gone out with the knights that morning?

She was about to run down the stairs, but a stern look from Lienor stopped her. “Stay here,” Lienor said calmly, picking up a Psalter. “We will do no good when there is men’s trouble afoot. It is better to stay here and pray.”

“Pray?” Afton’s voice squeaked. What good was praying when it could be Calhoun out there on his horse, possibly wounded, possibly dying? He was too young, too untrained. He should never have been allowed to go out with the knights before his training was completed.

She paced in the chamber while Lienor chanted psalms in a voice like flowing rainwater, and soon Perceval burst into the chamber, Endeline and the knight Denton in his wake. “Tarry, my lord, tarry a day or two,” Endeline was begging. “Surely this vassal Gerald knows what folly it is to displeasure you. This rebellion is only in his mind, he has not yet raised an army against you.”

“I will not give him time to do that,” Perceval snarled between his teeth as he sat on a bench and cast off his soft boots in favor of sturdier footwear. “It is enough that one of my own men has died from his wounds. Our honor, lady, is at stake. We ride today. Gawain is in the village now, equipping the free men to fight.”

“In the village?” Afton covered her mouth with her hand; she should not have spoken. One did not speak to Perceval unless spoken to first.

But he seemed not to notice. “All free men who go with me today shall have a share in the honor,” he said as Denton expertly pulled a suit of mail over Perceval’s tunic. Perceval rubbed his hand over the smooth chain link of his suit and picked up his sword. A faint smile flickered across his handsome face. “Prepare a feast for our return, lady. Your lord will doubtless return the victor.”