Afton of Margate Castle

by Angela Elwell Hunt

  Ambrose wandered on the path, his forehead creased with worry. “Don’t fret, sweetheart,” Afton said, scooping him up into her arms. “Mama was only gone a moment. But I’m here now, and all is well.”

  ***

  Calhoun’s heart was heavy, but resigned, as he knocked on his parents’ chamber door. When it swung open, he saw Endeline and Perceval at their table, enjoying a quiet supper. “Excuse me,” Calhoun said, coming into the room. “But I must ask a boon of thee, my lord.”

  “What is it?” Perceval asked, smiling at his son.

  “My daily routine here chafes on me, father. Fulk and I would like to join an expedition on the business of Christ in the Holy Land. We would welcome the chance to bring honor and glory to you and our king.”

  Calhoun saw his parents look at each other, then Perceval cleared his throat. “We will discuss it, my son,” he said, “and give you our answer at dinner tomorrow.”

  “I will eagerly await your decision,” Calhoun answered.

  ***

  Endeline did not know what brought about Calhoun’s sudden fervent desire to travel to the Holy Land, but his change in attitude delighted her. It would be good for Perceval’s castle to send a contingent on the business of Christ. The king would appreciate Perceval’s effort, Calhoun would be away from Margate Castle and whatever haunted him, and perhaps the still unmarried Charles could be goaded by competition into doing something about his calling in life. She did not once consider that her son’s life might be in jeopardy. Jerusalem had been held by the Christians for nearly thirty years, and Endeline did not think it possible that Calhoun would be in any real danger from infidels.

  At dinner the next day, Perceval stood and held up his hand for attention. When all had quieted, he spoke clearly: “Our beloved son Calhoun has been led of God to journey on the business of Christ to the East. We have granted him our permission, along with any knights in our service who wish to join him on this expedition. You will remember that the pope has promised complete absolution and certain salvation for any who die while engaged in this venture, and we trust that your efforts will continue to keep the Holy City safe from infidels.”

  Perceval paused and looked out across the tables of knights. “If you would join him, would you please stand now by his side?”

  Calhoun dropped his napkin and stood to his feet. The other knights looked at each other, and several dropped their napkins enthusiastically and sprang to their feet. Endeline noticed that Fulk stood slowly, and as he rose, he raised an eyebrow in Calhoun’s direction as if he would ask a question. Endeline wondered why the elder knight had hesitated.

  ***

  The next month was spent in preparation. Fulk led the small contingent of knights in training exercises and cautioned them of the heat they would experience in the harsh deserts. Every night the knights sat around the hearth in the tower and listened to Fulk’s tales of the Saracens’ bravery and cunning. “They are worthy opponents,” he surmised. “He who underestimates them will die.”

  Calhoun went about his preparation with a sense of resignation. At Warwick he had dreamed of the glory of going into battle for the king, and going into battle for God certainly would bring even greater glory. But the only image in his mind when he closed his eyes to sleep was that of Afton, her eyes blazing as she pushed him away. She had changed from the girl he had known, and as a woman he found her infinitely more desirable. But now he also wrestled with her mysterious reluctance to love him, and he had failed in his best attempt to win her. Very well. It would be better to fight for God in the heat of the desert than fight against Afton in the cool of England.

  ***

  Perceval allowed the villeins to come in from the fields to see the knights off on their journey. The parade of knights promised to be splendid, with knights and their horses alike fully dressed in the best armor Perceval could procure.

  Before mounting his horse, Calhoun found Gislebert outside the stable, and drew him close. “I charge you,” Calhoun whispered roughly, “as long as I live, you must continue to check on her and do what you must to meet her needs. Swear it!”

  Gislebert blinked and threw up his hand. “I swear it.”

  Calhoun released him and gently smoothed the boy’s tunic. “Go in peace, my friend. I hope all is well with you.”

  “You talk as one who rides to death,” Gislebert answered as Calhoun swung himself into his saddle. The boy’s eyes were wide with fear, and Calhoun knew he thought of the bloody tales from Warwick’s campfires. Gislebert gulped. “You will be back.”

  “Perhaps.” Calhoun stood in his stirrups and Fulk pulled up alongside him. They raised their swords in salute to Perceval as the trumpeters blew a resounding flourish, then the company of knights spurred their horses and rode out of Margate Castle.

  The procession of twenty knights traveled slowly along the castle road as the villeins and villagers cheered them on, and paused at the village church for Father Odoric to offer a prayer of blessing for their journey. With drops of holy water cool upon his face, Calhoun directed his company to mount up for the long ride ahead.

  He could see the miller’s house as they approached the edge of the village, but no one stood in the courtyard to note their passing. Calhoun knew Fulk’s somber eyes were upon him as he struggled to keep from frankly staring into the windows of the house, and he made a poor show of nonchalance as they slowly passed. Calhoun laughed loudly and called out to his fellows, but the noise roused no one in the miller’s house, no woman appeared, no girl ran out to beg from him a parting word. Why should she come? he rebuked himself. She told you to leave. She does not want you near.

  Calhoun turned to his companion and teacher. “Fulk, today we undertake ventures at great expense,” he said, reciting from a well-worn memory.

  “Aye, that we do,” Fulk agreed. Fulk held the horses to a slow walk until they had passed the miller’s house, then he signaled the riders to spur their horses and make haste on their journey.

  Twenty-two

  Fulk

  1126-1130

  Calhoun’s company of knights grew with every passing day. Whether they journeyed or rested in a roadside hospice, invariably other travelers were drawn to their formidable company. Though personally Calhoun would have chosen not to be slowed by so many pilgrims, many of whom traveled on foot, when he heard their earnest entreaties and looked into their eyes, he could not refuse them.

  In their eyes Calhoun read one of three reasons for their flight--religious fanaticism, unspoken dreams of life in a better place, or naked fear. One of the first to approach him was a dignified nobleman who might have been a contemporary of his father. The reason for his travel from England was apparent in his humble manner and slightly frayed dress. “I would welcome you to my home in return for your kindness,” the man told Calhoun, bowing low, “but of late I have been dispossessed. Somehow my actions have displeased the king, and my lands seized by another lord. I find I must leave England at once, for I know not how the royal wind blows . . . ”

  A group of nuns joined his party at the English coast, the glow of religious devotion burning bright in their eyes. Calhoun wondered if he might find Lienor on such a journey, perhaps on this very road.

  One of most recent travelers to ask his protection was a free man and his wife who journeyed to the Holy Land in search of open trade and the hope of prosperity. The couple traveled with a blonde daughter who reminded Calhoun of Afton. He granted his protection to the concerned father, grimaced at the sight of the daughter (By all the saints, he thought, the girl even laughs as Afton once laughed), and bore without comment the embarrassment of having the grateful wife kiss the stirrup of his saddle.

  In return for his protection, his fellow travelers granted him their loyalty and respect, bowing low and calling him, “My lord Calhoun,” whenever he happened to come upon them. On the treacherous journey ahead, they would be a small country unto themselves, for in the foreign lands where they would travel, the name of
England’s lessor lords were not known and loyalty to King Henry would not be honored.

  The band of travelers crossed the English channel and rode to Cologne, where they rested for a few days, then progressed to the Danube River, which led them south through Vienna, Budapest, and Belgrade.

  After three months on the road, the Earl of Margate’s contingent to Jerusalem was considerable and well-prepared. Calhoun’s party continued to grow in strength and number as the journey continued. Knights joined his caravan and pledged their service to Calhoun for a period of forty days once they had reached Jerusalem. A few of these were eager sons of English and French lords, but others were fighting men who had been admonished by war-weary lords to turn their weapons toward the infidel instead of their fellow countrymen.

  “Do not be too companionable with these new knights,” Fulk warned Calhoun one night as they camped under the stars. “Maintain your distance. The rogue knight is usually one who does not easily submit to a master; that is why he is seeking adventure alone or in a small company. Despite their valiant pledge to you, these men are unpredictable in battle.”

  Calhoun nodded gravely at Fulk’s warning, recognizing the truth in the older knight’s words. The bearded and scarred knights who had lately joined their group seemed coarse, bawdy, and undeniably bloodthirsty. They were not the sons of gentlemen, nor were they familiar with notions of chivalry and gallantry. Many had served in the expedition of Christ before, and having found no use for their swords in England, they returned to the new frontier and vowed to spend their life’s blood in the sands of the Holy Land.

  Outside the larger cities, the roads were a gulf of merry chaos. In his impatience, Calhoun would often ride ahead of his own party and scout out a location for them to camp. While he waited for the others, representatives from every imaginable situation passed him on the road. Great lords traveled in caravans with their wives and a full contingent of the necessary serving women, cooks, musicians, scribes, pages, and servants.

  Priests walked the road to Jerusalem, many of them aged, a few young and impatient. One afternoon Calhoun watched a group of priests wheel a wealthy elderly patron in a two-wheeled cart over the pocked and rugged road. The priest in front of this caravan recited prayers for the elderly man’s health; the priest at the rear prayed just as fervently that the man would die in peace.

  With the religious pilgrims and the warriors traveled simple tradespeople who had heard of the glorious and privileged life in Outremer, the four Crusader states established by the soldiers of Christ after Jerusalem was retaken. Hope shone in their eyes as they walked in search of a better life than the one they had known on the feudal estates.

  “It is a marvelous and laughable sight,” Fulk remarked one afternoon as they watched the parade of pilgrims on the road. “These poor men who bear their earthly possessions in a single wagon ask at every walled town if they have reached Jerusalem.”

  Calhoun only grunted in reply. He understood their reasons for leaving home, but he did not yet understand his own. It was not religious devotion that drove him to Outremer, nor was it the desire for prosperity. Was he among those motivated by fear? Was he afraid to live in England with Afton without being able to have her? No, he told himself firmly. I am here to do a knight’s job. If in that job I find forgetfulness, then I shall count it as God’s blessing. But it would not be easy to forget. Whenever he saw a solitary woman on the road, his heart leapt, thinking that perhaps for some inexplicable reason Afton had left Margate lands and stood before him, just within arm’s reach.

  But reality invariably descended, and Calhoun realized that Afton would never follow these dream-seekers to Outremer, for she had a child, and property, and every aspect of self-sufficiency. She did not need him, or--what was it she said? His protection. More than that, she did not want him.

  Every night as the sun set and Calhoun joined Fulk by the side of the road with his shovel, Calhoun was grateful that Afton was not with him. Every day there were graves to be dug for children and old people who died in hospices or simply fell over on the sides of the road. Often the pilgrims sat stupidly in a sick daze, too exhausted, hungry, or confused to continue their journey. It was not the life he would have chosen for Afton.

  ***

  The fire crackled and snapped at his feet, and, far in the distance, the tailor’s baby cried. Calhoun stuffed the last of the goat cheese into his mouth and nodded to Fulk, who stared into the fire. “Are they all bedded and settled?” Calhoun asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “The families? And are the knights ringed ‘round the camp?”

  “They are,” Fulk replied, never lifting his eyes from the flames. “You should take your rest, young knight. Tomorrow the sun will climb high and hot.”

  “I am not tired.” Calhoun glanced at the other men who had camped around his fire. “Is there any here who can give us a song? Surely one of you fellows has spent time with a troubadour?”

  A tall, lanky knight with a grizzled beard stood and brushed dirt from his tunic. “Aye, good lord,” he said, his smile showing a mouthful of blackened teeth. “I served at Lord Edmund’s house as troubadour for three years in my youth. I fancy I can still sing a song.”

  “Sing it, then,” Calhoun answered, reclining on his mantle in the sand. “Take our minds from this dust and sand.”

  The knight cleared his throat and began to sing. His voice was surprisingly sweet and clear, and the sounds of the camp stilled as his words floated through the night:

  There was a lady of the North Country,

  Lay the bent to the bonny broom

  And she had lovely daughters three.

  Fa la la la, fa la la la ra re.

  There was a knight of noble worth

  Which also lived’ in the North.

  The knight, of courage stout and brave,

  A wife he did desire to have.

  He knocked’ at the lady’s gate

  One evening when it was late.

  The eldest sister let him in,

  And pinned the door with a silver pin.

  The second sister she made his bed,

  And laid soft pillows under his head.

  The youngest daughter that same night,

  She went to bed to this young knight.

  And in the morning, when it was day,

  These words unto him she did say:

  “Now you have had your will,” quoth she,

  “I pray, sir knight, will you marry me?”

  The young brave knight to her replied,

  “Thy suit, fair maid, shall not be denied.

  “If thou canst answer me questions three,

  This very day will I marry thee.’

  “Kind sir, in love, O then,” quoth she,

  “Tell me what your questions be.”

  “O what is longer than the way,

  Or what is deeper than the sea?

  Or what is louder than the horn,

  Or what is sharper than a thorn?

  “Or what is greener than the grass,

  Or what is worse then a woman was?”

  “O love is longer that the way,

  And hell is deeper than the sea.

  And thunder is louder than the horn,

  And hunger is sharper than a thorn.

  And poyson is greener than the grass,

  And the Devil is worse than woman was.”

  When she these questions answered had,

  The knight became exceeding glad.

  And having truly tried her wit,

  He much commended her for it.

  And after, as it is verified,

  He made of her his lovely bride.

  So now, fair maidens all, adieu,

  This song I dedicate to you.

  I wish that you may constant prove

  Unto the man that you do love.

  “Tis a pity there are no fair maidens in this circle,” Fulk remarked dryly when the knight had finished his song. He waved a languid hand at the men gathered around
the fire. “I would do much for a fair and willing maiden right now.”

  The men laughed in appreciation of Fulk’s rough observation, then settled back for the night. When all was quiet, Calhoun put out his hand and tugged at Fulk’s sleeve.

  “What?” Fulk lay on his mantle, his eyes closed.

  “Are you asleep?”

  “No.”

  Calhoun paused, rising up on his elbow. “I went to see Afton, you know. Before we left Margate, I declared my love and devotion to her, but she flung my words back in my face.”

  A log snapped in the stillness, and Fulk opened one eye. “I guessed that it was so.”

  “I cannot understand why she turned me away, Fulk. She loved me once, I know it. I loved her, as a boy, and when I return a man’s love to her, she will not have it. Can it be that she loves her husband and son too much to leave room in her heart for me?”

  Fulk snorted. “I have known little of women, Calhoun, but I know your lady Afton bore no love for the miller. Her son she loves, truly. The day of your dubbing, I saw her face alight with love for you, but fear and trouble clouded her eyes.”

  “She need not fear for me,” Calhoun answered, waving his hand. “I can handle myself.”

  “I do not think she fears for you,” Fulk answered, both eyes open now. He scanned Calhoun’s face with an impenetrable gaze.

  Calhoun looked away and studied the stars above him. Surely Fulk did not mean Afton was afraid of him! Though he wore a sword and carried a lance, he would never do anything to hurt her!

  “They say,” Fulk spoke in a low voice, his eyes closed again, “that God sends to each of us one refining moment of painful experience, in which we see with the sight of God. In this moment we look either outward and see the world anew, or we look inward, and see ourselves as we really are. I think your lady has been through such an experience, Calhoun, and she does not see the world as she did long ago. Even you are different in her eyes.”