Afton of Margate Castle (59 page)

Afton felt her knees turn to water at Perceval’s words, and the room began to spin slowly. The only objects that did not move were Perceval’s eyes, glinting in the shadows of the hall. “Prepare yourself,” he said. “I have spoken.”

***

Calhoun’s horse shifted uneasily beneath his weight as the field outside the castle filled with spectators. The news had spread like wildfire, and villagers, knights, tradesmen, and servants appeared from every hamlet of Perceval’s lands to watch the promised spectacle. Never before had a nobleman’s son dueled for the love of a common woman. “Such a thing,” one laundress told her mate as she shoved her laundry aside, “may never happen again.”

Calhoun checked his sword, dagger, and lance. He had fought over forty tournament duels in his lifetime, but this duel would not end until one champion lay dead. He was not worried, though. If God were truly the judge of this match, he would be victorious.

He was also comforted by the thought that Perceval’s garrison contained no knights up to the challenge of facing a seasoned soldier. Knowing his father’s mind, he knew the man who faced him would likely be poor Josson, who had never lifted a lance in his lifetime. Honor and duty would demand that he duel; Calhoun would be victorious, Perceval would allow Calhoun to marry Afton, and in time, he would restore Calhoun to his rightful place.

Calhoun chuckled as he gripped his sword. His father was fond of playing with fire.

***

The crowd cheered when Perceval and Endeline appeared in their box at the top of the tower. As Perceval’s chaplain lifted his arms high and prayed that God’s will would be done, the villagers removed their hats and caps and bowed their heads.

“That will do,” Calhoun muttered, slowly walking his horse down to the far end of the tourney field. He tightened his hand around the pole of his lance. “Let’s have it over and done with.” He looked through the sea of faces for Afton--where would the guards have taken her? She would probably watch the duel from the garrison, and after Calhoun’s victory, he would take her far from Margate, possibly to London. If she could leave her past behind, they could love each other.

The trumpeters blew the warning, and Calhoun mounted his stallion, who seemed to sense that today’s ride was more important than most. Calhoun checked his stirrups, his spurs, and tightened the leather band that strapped his hand and lance together.

Another trumpet blast, and Calhoun aimed his lance at the chest of the masked rider even as the challenger thundered toward him. Calhoun leaned back on his heels; his spurs urged the stallion forward to his target.

***

Afton stood between two guards at the wide window at the top of the tower garrison. From there she could see Calhoun, riding in his simple blue tunic, and the rider who charged in Perceval’s colors. A tear rolled down her cheek. Though she had not loved Josson, she did not want to be the reason for his death.

The thunder of pounding hooves carried across the pasture. Clods of earth rose from the ground as the horses raced, but the riders sat motionless, their lances still and steadily aimed at the other’s breast. The second before the two made contact, Afton turned her head, unable to watch.

Metal clashed, and a collective groan rose from the crowd. Afton peered down; the rider in Perceval’s colors lay on the grassy field, his shield rammed away and his helmet thrown from his head. Calhoun sat squarely on his horse, and circled the downed rider even as the man struggled to his feet.

The felled rider gained his footing and pulled the sword from his belt. He took a brave stand, but the crowd already knew his situation was hopeless. From a mounted position, Calhoun would merely have to aim the lance a second time, and the man on the ground would never land a blow.

Afton crossed herself and whispered a prayer for Josson’s soul, for surely he would spend his next hour with God. The sun shone on the man’s long hair, hair that gleamed like gold, and Afton gasped. The felled rider was not Josson, but Ambrose!

Her blood ran cold and she involuntarily clasped her hands together in the pose for prayer. Ambrose stood defenseless on the field, the ruthless boy who had literally taken Calhoun’s place at Margate, yet Calhoun did not strike.

Afton watched as Calhoun circled his quarry yet again; then he spurred his horse and rode to the opposite end of the field. Ambrose seized the advantage and sprinted to his horse, leaping upon the animal’s back and charging again in wild fury.

***

Fulk would have loved this
, Calhoun thought as Ambrose approached, his sword swinging wildly in proud fury
. My father challenges me with the one knight I cannot kill. God, give me wisdom!

He waited until Ambrose was within fifteen feet, then Calhoun turned his agile horse and spurred the stallion forward, an old trick of the elusive Saracens’. Ambrose sailed past, overshooting his target, then turned his bulky horse to charge again. His mouth hung open, contorted with anger, and his face gleamed red with murderous intent.

Calhoun whirled and turned, whirled and turned, keeping his head low behind his shield. He could not kill the boy, but he would not let himself be killed or maimed by a sixteen-year-old fledgling. Only one option remained, and Calhoun found it more distasteful than death.

Calhoun waited until Ambrose faced him again, then took careful aim at Ambrose’s unprotected chest with his lance and charged. His lance was steady, his aim sure, and in the last second, just as Ambrose went pale and his eyes widened, Calhoun deflected the point of his lance and kept his spur to the horse, galloping out of the field of contest and through the neighboring meadow.

At that point he knew his previous plans had to be forfeited. He would not marry Afton, he could not take her away, for he could not win the duel. Killing Josson would have been necessary according to Perceval’s judgment, but Afton would have never forgiven him had he killed Ambrose.

As he rode, his thoughts were darkened by one other thought: many of those assembled would always believe that Calhoun, mighty knight of Margate Castle, had fled in fear of his life. But those who knew him would know the truth.

Agnelet

1141

A
fton’s heart raced ahead of her feet as she seized the moment and slipped out of the tower garrison. The guards stood shocked and silent at the window, watching Calhoun ride away from certain victory, and she slipped down the stairs noiselessly and ran through the courtyard and out of the castle. The confused crowd had begun to disperse when she reached the field, and she merged into the crowd of onlookers and mingled with them on the road, keeping her head low.

She had to find Calhoun. He had spared her son, and she owed him an immeasurable debt of gratitude. Perhaps he did still love her after all.

The crowd of peasants, disappointed and restless, trudged along the castle road toward the village. Afton forced herself to maintain their leaden pace, but as soon as the first trees obscured her from the castle tower, she bolted from the crowd and disappeared into the forest. She knew it was possible Calhoun had ridden straight away, possibly back to London, but she prayed he would not leave without telling her goodbye. If he had not yet gone, she knew where he would be.

The forest surrounded her in cool darkness, and she thrashed through the tangled undergrowth in a blind hurry, searching for familiar bushes and trees. When she finally saw the leafless crest of the twin oaks, she gasped in gratitude and pressed on until she stood at the gnarled trunks. Laying a hand tenderly upon Calhoun’s engraved name, she peered around the tree to see if Calhoun waited by the pool.

At first she did not see him, but the sudden whinny of a horse told her he was near. She stepped out into the clearing and saw him, standing away from the water, leaning against a tree. His stallion was tethered nearby, and the creature defiantly tossed his head as she approached.

“Calhoun!” She smoothed her hair and took a timid step in his direction.

He looked up, but his eyes did not snap in anticipation and he did not flash the smile she had always loved. His shoulders slumped in dejection.

“You saved my son’s life,” she said, stepping toward him again. “You are a great hero.”

He grunted and looked up at the bare treetops. “A hero? No, Afton, from this day forward I will be branded as a coward. I am not only outcast from my family, but my brothers in arms will shun me as well.”

“Shun you? They will admire you! You refused to strike down a child! Even though victory was in your grasp--”

“My opponent was a knight,” Calhoun interrupted, sinking slowly to the ground, his armor sliding over the tender bark of a young tree. “I ran from another knight. Regardless of my reasons, the story will spread, and no knight will ever trust me in battle again.”

Afton rushed to his side. “I’m tired of all this talk of knights,” she cried, reaching for his hands. She sank to the ground beside him and held his hands tightly. “It does not matter what those rusty, worn-out warriors think of you. I know you are valiant, Calhoun, and you have done a noble thing.”

He would not look at her, so she pulled his face toward her until she looked into his blue eyes. “I owe you my life, most noble Calhoun. I give you my love.”

He raised his hand and she closed her eyes, certain that his lips would fall upon hers. But he only removed her hand from his cheek. Without a word, he stood up. “I spared your son at great price, Afton,” he said stiffly, walking toward his horse.

She darted to his side. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“I must go away. I have no name here, no honor, and no family.”

“But I love you!”

He swung into his saddle and looked down at her. It was as thought she gazed into the face of a man a thousand years old. “You would not want a man with no pride,” he said finally.

He kicked his horse and the animal began to move forward.

“Go then,” Afton screamed at his back, her voice ringing in the trees. “Take your ridiculous pride and honor and never return to this place. You will die on a battlefield alone, Calhoun, and what joy will honor bring you then?”

He did not answer, but kept moving through the trees. After a few moments, the trees stopped rustling and the dead leaves grew silent. She stood alone in the forest, and she threw herself upon the cold, muddy bank of the pool and wept.

***

She cried until she felt sick, and she vomited quietly in the bushes, then washed her face in the pool.
Go ahead, drown yourself,
the reflection in the water taunted her.
You have no life, either. It may well be that Perceval has a bounty upon your head, or perhaps he has given you in marriage to the vilest man in his employ. Even Josson will not have you now, for you have shamed him in front of the villagers.
Her fingers closed around a rock and she hurled it into the center of the reflection, shattering it into ever-spreading rings of water.

She got up and drew her cloak about her, walking not in the direction of the village, but deeper into the forest. She did not know where she would go, but she did not care
. There are hungry winter wolves in this forest,
she thought idly,
and I will not care if they attack.

She stopped ere nightfall, though, and rubbed her frozen feet. They were blue with cold, and bleeding from the rough cuts of briars and stones, but the pain was blessedly sharp. Her physical aches distracted her attention from the misery of her soul.

She took refuge in a quiet thicket, sleeping on a bed of fallen leaves, shivering like the dogs that used to lie at Perceval’s kitchen door in hopes of a handout. In the morning she rose and walked again, her sore feet throbbing and her stomach aching with hunger. The damp silk of her wedding tunic offered no protection from the sunless chill, and her hair tangled in the bushes and branches she trudged through.

As she walked, she did not even know in which direction she traveled, for the sun hid behind a veil of gray clouds. She felt as though she moved in an ocean of cold mist, with unseen predators lurking behind every rock and shadow.