Afton of Margate Castle

by Angela Elwell Hunt

  “Long live King Henry!” the people responded, Wido joining in with the others.

  Perceval withdrew, the barred window was again shut, and Wido and his family set about enjoying the food set before them. The people did not need Perceval’s instructions, for this was their holiday, long established in tradition and mutual agreement. They worked for the lord all the year long, in return he gave them a feast at Easter and Christmas. They gave him three days a week; Perceval gave them a week’s holiday at Easter and a two-week vacation from Christmas Eve to Epiphany. They brought firewood for the castle, and Perceval allowed them to cut wood for their own fires from his forests. Each man knew his place in the scheme of things.

  Wido caught Bodo’s eye at a table on the far side of the courtyard. “Bodo!” Wido called, waving a loaf of brown bread to catch his friend’s eye. “How did it go with you?”

  Bodo grinned, his black teeth showing plainly. He walked over and folded his scarecrow frame to kneel in the dust behind Wido. “I’ll be cleaning the stables for a month now,” he said, putting a hand on Wido’s shoulder. “Would a friend like you be willing to join me?”

  Wido took a bite of bread and answered while he chewed: “And who’s to finish planting my ridge and furrow?” He swallowed. “Corba wants oats, peas, beans, and barley this year.”

  “That’s what it will take with another mouth to feed,” Corba answered quietly, chewing a piece of the rough bread. She took a chewed bit out of her mouth and gave it to her youngest. “You should have had a talk with your hen, Bodo.”

  Bodo raised an eyebrow. “‘Twouldn’t do any good. But that reminds me, Wido, I have need to talk to you.”

  “Talk.” Wido took a drumstick off a platter that was being passed.

  “My son is ten, you know, and I want you to remember I’ve come to you first.”

  “About what?” Wido turned a bewildered gaze upon his friend.

  A corner of Bodo’s mouth slowly curled in a half-smile. “Marriage. Your daughter and my son. We could arrange it now and let them marry when you are ready.”

  Wido was stunned for a moment, then erupted in a hearty laugh. “Are we putting on airs now, Bodo? Since when do we arrange marriages like the master? It is not our choice, anyway. Lord Perceval must agree to any marriage in the village.”

  “You know full well the lord does not care what we villeins do. Did he object to your marriage? To mine? I do not think he will object to this, either.”

  Wido shook his head. “I don’t understand your hurry. They are yet children.”

  “Yours is a special child, Wido. Have you looked at your daughter?”

  Bodo’s eyes had left Wido’s face and were turned toward Afton and her brothers. Wido turned to look over the head of his wife at his daughter, while Bodo spoke: “Straight nose, gray eyes, little red mouth, high forehead, pink skin--you have a beauty in your house, Wido. Men will pay dearly to take their pleasure in such a wife.”

  Something in Bodo’s words and tone made Wido’s skin crawl. His hand grabbed Bodo’s tunic roughly and held the scrawny plowman in a fierce grasp. “I’ll not talk of this,” Wido snarled, the words hissing between his teeth. “You’ll not look at my daughter in that way. Now leave.”

  Wido’s powerful hand thrust Bodo away, and the hapless plowman fell back into the dust. “‘Tis a pity you were not born a knight,” Bodo said, raising an eyebrow. He stood and wiped the dust from his rough tunic. “Such a sense of honor! But, my friend, if you don’t give her to wife, someone will take her, and then where will you be?”

  Wido snarled and made a move to stand, but Bodo threw his hands up in defense and backed away, smiling. “Peace be unto you, brother,” he said, chuckling as if at a bad joke. “It will be as God wills it.”

  Two

  Afton was bored with the feast. The food was a treat because figs, dates, raisins, oranges, and pomegranates never found their way to Wido’s house, and for a while it was interesting to watch Lord Perceval and Lady Endeline as they ate on their raised table at the entrance to the huge stone castle. But they ate little and talked even less, and after a while Afton tired of looking at them.

  After the tables were cleared and the games begun, Afton found that the holiday had become sheer torture. Corba expected her to watch her five younger brothers, and Jacopo, Marco, Matthew, Kier, and Gerald had more room to run and more avenues for mischief in the castle courtyard than at home.

  She was too young to be a candidate for lady of the May and too busy watching her brothers to join the May dancers. After two hours of chasing the energetic boys, Afton noticed Wido leading Corba toward a quiet bench in the shade of a tall hedge around the women’s quarters. Afton herded her brothers toward their mother and stood silently at her side.

  She and her mother had always understood one another. As the boys swarmed over Corba’s lap, Corba saw the question in Afton’s eyes and nodded. “Yes, daughter,” she said, sighing. “You may go play.”

  Afton turned and scampered away.

  There was much to see within the castle walls. Outside the kitchen buildings, two sheep and a calf were penned, awaiting slaughter for the lord’s dinner. A group of richly-dressed nobles lounged on benches outside the mews where the lord’s hunting hawks roosted, and Afton slipped quietly by them, not wanting to attract attention. She paused outside the stables--horses were so beautiful, so majestic! Just like the rich people who owned them.

  After circling for the space of half an hour, Afton decided there was no safe place to play inside the castle walls. She knew she ought not to visit the horses, for they were the lord’s, and she was frightened to death of the knights who lounged outside the huge stone tower that served as a garrison. The castle itself was off limits, of course, for the lord and lady actually lived inside, and Afton feared she would be clamped into prison if even her shadow fell upon one of those august persons.

  She tiptoed quietly through the rowdy crowd of merry makers until she spied an open field of green grass through the imposing barbican that opened the castle to the world outside. In a flash she was through the castle gate, bolting for the meadow.

  The meadow was delightful, not at all stuffy like the castle courtyard. She skipped through tall grasses that had not yet been devoured by hungry sheep and cattle and collected an armful of flowers: bluebells, buttercups, daisies, dog roses, and red poppies.

  “What are you doing there?” An unfamiliar voice startled her and she nearly dropped her load of flowers. Was it against the law to pick the lord’s wildflowers? For a moment she was frightened beyond reason, but then she saw who had spoken. It was a boy, about her age, and obviously he had been overwhelmed by the feast, too. Why else would he be out here in the meadow?

  “I’m gathering flowers,” she said simply, stooping to pick another bunch of daisies. “I’m going to make a garland for the queen of Sheba.”

  “I’ve never heard of her,” the boy answered, coming closer.

  Afton cocked her head and studied the boy. He was not from her village, but the castle was filled with people from many of Perceval’s estates. The boy was finely dressed, though, without even one hole in his tunic or surcoat. His eyes were the color of the creek water when it ran clear, with the same sparkle. His hair reminded her of the golden flax of wheat, and his smile was open and frankly curious. He allowed her to look him over without interrupting, then he repeated himself: “I’ve never heard of the queen of Sheba.”

  “She lives in the village,” Afton replied, tossing her head. “In my house.”

  “Really?” His tone was curious, not challenging. “Can you show me?”

  Afton considered a moment, then nodded. “If you help. I’ve got to get a few more flowers so I can weave a crown. The queen loves flowers, and I like to make her a crown as often as I can.”

  “Will these do?” The boy tugged at an unfamiliar plant, breaking off a twig loaded with small white flowers and shiny black berries.

  “Bee-utiful.” Afton tucked t
he berries into her bouquet and they continued through the meadow, running from flower to flower until their arms were full. Then they sat breathless in the grass and Afton showed the boy how to weave the flowers and twigs into a wreath.

  “That’s a very large wreath,” the boy said when they were done. He frowned. “How big is the queen’s head?”

  Afton’s laughter echoed through the stillness of the meadow. “It doesn’t go on her head, silly, it goes around her neck. Come, and I’ll show you.”

  “All right, but tell me your name.” The boy’s eyes shone with friendly interest.

  “Afton. What’s yours?”

  “Calhoun.”

  “All right, Calhoun, let’s go.” Together they held their wreath and walked down the road toward the village.

  ***

  A stand of oak trees lay between the pasture outside Margate Castle and the village; lonely sentries for the army of oaks that dwelt deeper in the depths of King Henry’s forest. “I know this spot,” Afton said, skipping ahead of her companion. “Would you like me to show you a magic place?”

  “There are no magic places in the forest,” Calhoun answered, lifting his chin. “My father and I hunt in these woods, and he would have told me if such a thing existed.”

  “He can’t know everything, though, can he?” Afton asked. It rattled him that there was laughter in her voice. “Can anyone but God know everything?”

  After considering her words, he nodded. “All right, show me this place.” He threw the floral wreath over his shoulder. “Lead on, girl, and I will follow.”

  Afton laughed and scampered into the trees. The ground at the edge of the forest had been recently flattened by the footsteps of eager villagers searching for greenery, but Afton moved quickly into the deep woods where the brush grew thicker and footing was more uncertain. Calhoun looked up uneasily as the trees thickened and daylight disappeared from around them.

  He struggled to keep up. The wreath was awkward and scraped against his side. He would have thrown it off, but he was anxious to present it to the mysterious Queen of Sheba. He also found it difficult to keep his footing in the leaves that carpeted the forest floor--his previous journeys into the forest had been on horseback, never had he actually walked through it.

  He was tired and a bit cross when he finally caught up to the girl, who stood before a pair of massive oak trees. “I call them the twin trees,” she said, her eyes shining as she gazed upward. “See how the trunks have wound around each other? Why did they do that, do you know?”

  Calhoun made an effort to close his mouth and quiet his breathless panting. “I suppose they grew together,” he answered, his voice sharp. “Does it really matter?”

  Afton shook her head. “No. But up there, where both trunks bend together, they point to my secret place.”

  Calhoun’s eyes followed her hand. Perhaps twenty feet from the ground, both trunks jutted sharply westward, then seemed to recover and reach again for the warmth of sun and sky. He looked from the tree to the west--what place could this simple girl have found?

  He was about to ask when she suddenly smiled and whirled away from him. She ran about twenty paces to the crest of a hill, then jumped down and out of sight.

  Calhoun followed, then gasped at his delightful discovery. Beyond and below the hill lay a perfectly round pool, shimmering like an emerald in a dark and lush earthen setting. No human footsteps had crushed the dainty vegetation surrounding this pool, indeed, the boy wondered if anyone but this blonde sprite had ever visited the place.

  Afton sat on a rock at the edge of the pool, her long legs gently skimming the surface of the water. “It’s nicer than you might think,” she told him in a conspirator’s whisper. “You can swim here and no one will bother you. I call it the Pool of the Twin Trees.”

  “How did you find it?” Calhoun asked, his voice sounding strangely loud in the stillness. “Does your tutor let you enter the King’s forest--”

  “My what?” She crinkled her nose and grinned, and he noticed for the first time that she was missing two front teeth. “I come here when my mama says I am free to play. I learned to swim here, too. Watch.”

  Without warning, she kicked off the simple slippers she wore, shimmied out of her outer tunic, and dove smoothly into the water. He was amazed that the water was transparent; the emerald quality of the water came from moss growing on the bottom. He could see every movement the girl made, and soon her head and shoulders appeared at the far end of the pool, her soaked chemise clinging to her skin. “Come in,” she called, her teeth chattering. “It’s cold, but you’ll get used to it.”

  Calhoun pondered his situation. He had learned to wrestle and fight, to throw horseshoes and handle a horse. But never had he learned to swim. Yet, the girl made it look easy, as simple as jumping in and sailing underwater to the far side of the pool. But what if it were not easy? What if he floundered and sank? Drowning would be better than asking for help, but neither choice was attractive.

  “I want to go see this so-called Queen of yours,” he called, his chin jutting from his youthful jaw. “My patience grows thin.”

  Afton dove and again became a rippling watery angel, then reentered the world of light and air and climbed out onto the bank. She threw her tunic over her head and stepped into her slippers. “We can go now,” she said, passing Calhoun without a backward glance. “But I could teach you to swim.”

  ***

  After passing the hedge that sheltered the village, Afton walked resolutely to her house. “I’m sure no queen lives here,” the boy said, tilting his head and peering at the rustic cottage. “My father says only villeins and a few free men live in the village.”

  “Your father didn’t know about the pool of the twin trees, and he doesn’t know about the queen of Sheba, either,” Afton replied, grabbing the boy’s hand. “Come on in, and I’ll show you.”

  The boy allowed himself to be led inside. Afton waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and she wondered why he looked so curiously at the furnishings: a table, a bed, several straw mattresses on the floor, chickens, and a huge presence over in the corner of the room.

  “Is that--”

  “The queen of Sheba, our sheep,” Afton answered, taking the wreath from his hand. She placed the wreath gently over the ewe’s head and watched while Sheba began to nibble contentedly on the flowers. “See? I told you she loves flowers.”

  The boy sat uneasily on a small wooden stool and looked around. “You live here?”

  “Yes.”

  “You left the feast to come here? Why?”

  “Because I was tired of taking care of my brothers.” She tilted her head and gazed at him. “Why did you leave?”

  Calhoun shrugged. “I wanted to find some excitement. Maybe a fight. I’m a good fighter.”

  “I’m not going to fight you.” Afton walked over and stroked the soft nubby wool of the newly shorn sheep. “Don’t you think Sheba is wonderful? I love her. My father loves her. She’s going to have a lamb, you see, and that’s good for us, my father says.”

  “I want to find a real queen and pledge myself as a knight. I want to fight battles, maybe even in Jerusalem, and kill the infidels.”

  Afton turned blank gray eyes on the boy. “What’s an infidel?”

  “You don’t know? Why, they are heathens who are not Christian,” Calhoun said, pounding his palm with his fist. “The enemies of the church! My uncle the abbot tells me about them all the time.”

  “Oh.” Afton grew quiet and sat on a bench. “I don’t want to kill anybody. I want to stay here with Sheba and the chickens.”

  “That’s because you’re not a man,” Calhoun said, standing up. He stretched to make himself as tall as he could, and Afton was impressed, even if the boy would not swim.

  “We ought to return to the castle,” Calhoun announced.

  “Yes,” Afton agreed. They left the house, where Sheba munched contentedly on her wreath of poppies, berries, and daisies.
/>   ***

  The next morning when he opened his eyes, Wido knew something was wrong. Flies that usually attached themselves to the shredded ferns Corba hung in the corners of the room were swarming in the darkness. There was a strange odor in the room, too, something more than chickens and sheep and eight people.

  He rolled off his hay mattress and slipped on his tunic. Over in the corner, not far from where his children lay sleeping, Sheba lay on the dirt floor. With one touch Wido knew she was dead.

  Wido dragged the carcass out of the house without waking Corba. Around the ewe’s neck were the remains of one of Afton’s floral wreaths. Wido fingered the usual flowers, then pricked his finger on an unfamiliar leaf with a sharp tooth. There were berries on the branch, and Wido knew instantly what had happened. “Baneberry,” he muttered under his breath, silently cursing the field where it had grown. The berries, highly poisonous, had killed not only the family’s ewe, but the lamb that was owed to Perceval at Michaelmas, only four months away.

  ***

  Wido stood before Hector’s desk and shuffled his feet uneasily. “What is it?” Hector snapped, looking up from his ledger books. “I’ve a full day planned, plowman, so state why you’ve come.”

  “It’s about the lamb for my tribute,” Wido said, clearing his throat. “My ewe has died. I wondered if you would give permission to make a substitution at Michaelmas. My wife would gladly weave the lord a tunic or surcoat, or perhaps his lady would like a linen cloak? My wife does fine weaving.”

  “So does every other woman in the village,” Hector replied, scratching in his ledger with his quill. “I’ll think on it, plowman, and we’ll arrange for a substitution.”

  “I could capture a wild hog from the forest,” Wido offered.

  “The hogs in the forest already belong to Lord Perceval,” Hector sneered, glaring up at Wido. “And hunting is prohibited there by the king’s order.”

  Wido looked at the ground in embarrassment and Hector paused to dip his quill in the cow’s horn of ink. “I’ll make mention of your dead sheep in the ledger,” he said, “and I will decide later what you shall give at Michaelmas.”