Afton of Margate Castle (25 page)

Clarissant leaned forward at her table, her eyes shining with expectation. She raised delicate eyebrows in Calhoun’s direction and he was momentarily distracted by the sight of her crimson lips and white throat.

“Read, young squire,” she said, a teasing note in her gentle voice.

The clatter and clamor of a hundred feasting men ceased as Calhoun picked up his parchment, cleared his throat, and read:

When the flowers appear in the earthen green fields,

Along with the bitter baneberry,

Then I must consider you, my lady,

And the burden of love that I carry.

My love for you cannot rightly be borne,

It is not my place to declare it.

Though my heart with longing is heavy each day,

I will never be able to share it.

I will fight for the honor and glory due you,

And deny what I ought not to say,

But my heart is engraved with your image so fair,

Golden hair and sweet eyes of gray.

As Calhoun lowered his parchment, a visiting troubadour sprang to his feet and applauded. “It is magnificent!” he cried, rushing to Calhoun’s table. “I must have a copy, please.”

Lady Clarissant smiled and stood. “It is a wonderful tribute,” she said, extending her hand. Calhoun came forward, took her cool hand in his sweaty palm, and bent from the waist to kiss it. There was an audible hush over the room, as jealous squires and knights united in an envious intake of breath.

Calhoun straightened awkwardly and took a step back. “There’s only one thing,” Clarissant said, smiling. She tilted her head toward him, gently teasing. “I’m not sure whose image is truly engraved on your heart, young Calhoun. My eyes are blue, not gray.”

W
hen Hubert was willing and pleased with himself, Afton was allowed out of the house, with Wilda, to attend church once a week. The hour she spent in the small village church was the only spiritual nourishment her soul received, for while Hubert believed that a dutiful wife was religious and devoted to prayers, he himself consigned religion to fools and madmen.

Afton’s spirits were almost light one summer afternoon when she and Wilda walked home from church. Father Odoric had spoken kindly to her, and had asked how her marriage was faring. “It’s been nearly two years since I united you with the miller, hasn’t it, my child?” the priest had asked, squinting at her. “Is all well with you?”

Afton had replied, yes, all was well. In her heart she had excused the falsehood by reminding herself that things had not lately been as bad as they once were. She had learned Hubert’s peculiarities, and she knew now to avoid them.

A dark-haired boy stepped across her path. “Please let us pass,” Wilda barked vigilantly. Afton immediately cast her eyes down at the ground and prayed that the strange would move without incident. Hubert was waiting for her at home.

“Afton, do you not know me? I’m your brother,” the young man said in the deepening voice of youth. He bent to look into her eyes. “Jacopo, do you remember? I’m a year younger than you.”

Sudden joy flooded Afton’s heart and her eyes rose to eagerly memorize the details of his face. She was not alone! She had not thought of her brothers in years, but here was one brother, and there were others, too.

“Jacopo? Of course I remember you! And there was Marco, and Matthew--”

“Matthew was killed,” Jacopo interrupted.

“I knew that,” Afton recalled, her face twisting in sadness. “But there is still Kier, and Gerald.”

“And William, who died while a baby, and Galbert,” Jacopo finished for her. “I was hoping I’d see you in the village. Mama says we’re not to bother you at the miller’s house.”

“Oh, but you can,” Afton said, reaching out for his hands. “Please come to dinner! My husband has guests for dinner all the time, and I’m sure you’d be welcome. Tell mama and papa to come, too. I’d love to see them.”

Jacopo backed away awkwardly and released her hands, but he smiled. “I will,” he promised.

The veil on her head had slipped when she reached for Jacopo’s hand, so Afton pulled it tighter around her head and resumed her walk home with Wilda. For the first time in months, she felt happy. At her marriage, when she had ridden with Corba and Wido in the wagon to the church, she had gazed upon their poor clothing and rough hands with disdain. Now the sight of their faces, no matter how unrefined, would be so welcome at her house!

***

She was smiling when she entered the hall, and Hubert’s narrow eyes flitted over her face. “What made church such a happy occasion?” he asked.

“The peace of God,” Afton replied easily, moving past him into the chamber. Surprisingly, he did not follow her, but went out of the house, and Afton breathed a sigh of relief.

He did not come home for dinner or supper, and after waiting until her stomach growled and her legs grew weak, Afton directed Wilda to bring Afton’s dinner into her chamber. She did not care where Hubert was, in fact, she half hoped he had found something or someone to take his attention away from her. The only way she could survive life with Hubert was to enjoy the hours she spent without him.

Wilda seemed to take forever with her dinner, and when Afton finally heard a knock on the door she felt lightheaded with hunger. “Come in,” she called brightly, putting her embroidery away, but Wilda did not open the door. The chamber door swung open and revealed Hubert, who carried a tray laden with two steaming bowls of meat.

The sight was so unusual that Afton gaped in astonishment. Hubert raised his busy black brows and a corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You haven’t had your dinner,” he said smoothly. “Come, sit at my feet, and we’ll eat together.”

His voice was pleasant, almost soothing, but something in his unflinching stare made Afton shiver. The hair on her arms rose and some primal instinct raged at her to flee. But she smoothed her skirt, wiped her face, and walked to her low footstool while her husband took his place in his chair by the fire.

When she was seated, Hubert handed her a heaping bowl of meat and a knife. He took the bowl with the smaller portion and began cutting his food. “I heard a story in town,” he said, placing a hunk of meat in his mouth, “about a woman who was unfaithful to her husband. Have you heard the story?”

Afton’s hand shook as she cut her meat, but she steadied her voice. “Why no, my lord,” she answered. “Here in the village?”

“It doesn’t matter where,” Hubert answered. He stopped and stared at her bowl. “You aren’t eating, my dear, and this meat is especially tender.”

Afton put the meat into her mouth and chewed obediently. Hubert nodded in satisfaction and continued: “The husband found the lover, killed him, and cut out his heart. The unfaithful wife was then forced to eat the heart of her lover.”

Afton had to clench her teeth together to keep from gagging. She kept her eyes downcast, though, and after pausing for a moment, she took another bite. “That seems an unusual punishment, my lord.”

“But a worthy one,” Hubert answered. They ate for a while in silence, and Afton noticed that Hubert was unusually attentive. Once the bowl in her lap slipped, and he caught it quickly and returned it to her, smiling at her thanks.

His peculiar actions and manner terrified her. After they had eaten, he took her bowl, placed it on the tray, and reached for her hands. “I’ve a little gift for you,” he said, gripping her hands firmly.

“For me, my lord?”

“Yes. I went to the village to inquire about the source of your smile today, and a brave soul told me you were holding hands with a young man, just as I hold your hands now. I knew you’d want to look your best for the lad, so I had an animal skinned for your pleasure. You have eaten the meat, and I believe the fur will make a nice collar for your new mantle.”

He released one of her hands and reached into his tunic. With a flourish he produced a small, still-damp animal skin, white, with touches of orange fur. Afton stared at it in silence, shivering as the truth struck her. She had just eaten her little cat.

Hubert gripped her hands again and watched in fascination as she trembled in terror, then he began to laugh, and drew her to him so tightly that she could not speak, could not breathe without smelling him.

She wanted to die. She tried to tell him the young man in the village was her own brother, but Hubert glared at her with such ferocity she dared not utter another word.

***

Afton slowly dressed herself the next morning. For many months she had borne Hubert’s public flaunting of her and his private humiliations, and now she was sure she was dying. She had been ill for several weeks, but she had not dared to let Hubert see her weakness, for fear he would laugh or find some new way to teach her his “lessons.”

In the beginning of their marriage she had prayed that he would die, but he seemed to feed on his malignity, growing stronger and more cruel each time he belittled her. Now he was a giant, the shadow of her life, and no light could pass through him.

Once she had learned about the kitten, it became obvious to Afton that Hubert had even cowered Wilda into submission. She wondered what Hubert had done to the old woman. . .had he beaten her? Threatened to kill her? Nothing less would have made the woman give up Afton’s pet, her only source of daily joy. Wilda would no longer dare to show any kindness to her mistress. Knowing Hubert, Wilda would not even be allowed to serve as a chaperon, so Afton could not go out of the house unless it was on her husband’s arm.

She was sitting alone in her chamber, miserable and ill, when someone knocked on the door. Afton rose and peered into the hall. “Mama!” she whispered, overcome with surprise at receiving an afternoon visitor. She opened the doorway to her chamber. “Please come in.”

“Your cook said I should come straight in through the hall,” Corba said, looking around the room. “Jacopo said you wanted to see me.”

Afton closed the door and collapsed at her mother’s feet. “I’m dying, mama,” she wailed. “I’m so sick, and I’m dying!”

Corba gathered Afton into her arms and listened to her daughter’s sobs. Afton did not dare tell of Hubert’s brutality, but she poured out her symptoms and her desire to die. Corba listened intently, then a deep chuckle rose from her generous throat.

Afton pulled away and looked into her mother’s face. “How can you laugh?” she sobbed. “I want to die!”

“No, you don’t,” her mother said, hugging her again. “You’re going to be a mother. you are with child.” Corba smiled, and then added proudly, “I know about these things. I’ve carried eight babes.”

Afton froze in disbelief. A baby? Could Hubert’s monstrous acts have created a baby?

“It can’t be,” Afton protested weakly. “Hubert--”

“He will be so happy,” Corba assured her. “Why, a man of his age fathering a baby--he’ll be so proud. The whole village talks of his pride in you, and this will increase his joy a thousandfold.”

Increase his joy?
His only joy lay in mortifying her. The words rang in Afton’s ears as she fainted.

***

Afton did not have to tell her husband the news; Corba told him, pulling him close in her excitement and shaking his hand enthusiastically. “Congratulations to you,” she said, her face beaming. “My own daughter will soon bear you a child.”

Hubert’s face was inscrutable. From where she lay on the bed Afton could not tell if he was truly glad, but he smiled at Corba and graciously led her out of the house.