Free Afton of Margate Castle by Angela Elwell Hunt Page A

was a larger wall, the chemise , twenty feet thick and eighty feet tall. Two imposing towers rose up from the wall to remind all who approached of the powerful man who resided in the castle and the powerful king the lord represented. An impressive barbican, or fortified gate, was built into the new wall around Margate Castle, and reinforced with sliding iron gates and a drawbridge. The barbican offered the only way in or out of the castle. In 1119, Margate Castle was impregnable.
    Afton stared dumbly at the tall towers and massive gate until she felt Lienor tug on her hand. “Come on,” Lienor urged, “I want to go to the stables.”
      Afton trudged wearily behind Lienor as they wandered into the spacious stable, empty now, for Perceval’s knights had taken the horses on patrol throughout the surrounding manors. In the cold stone castle buildings, Afton felt alien, as though she were from a distant land of animals and earth. But here in the stables, surrounded by hay and the pungent smells of animals and manure, she felt at home. As Lienor scampered about on the hay bales, Afton snuggled into a fresh pile of hay and closed her eyes in sleep.
    ***
    Her new cotton tunic was damp with sweat, but the sweet-smelling hay was cool. Afton heard the gentle rustle of the hay as she turned in sleep, and for a moment she imagined that she was back on her own straw mattress. But when she opened her eyes she saw Charles playing in the loft above her. It was not a dream. She really was in the castle.
    She stretched lazily and watched the swaying of a rope above her head. It was attached to a pulley in the roof and fell to the ground somewhere behind her, but Afton did not have time to reflect upon its purpose. Suddenly she saw a bale of hay fall from the loft, and before she could move, something cut into her ribs and hoisted her into the air. She screamed in alarm and fear, and below her dangling feet she could see Lienor laughing.
    “Oh, that’s a worthy trick!” Lienor called up to Charles, who peered over the edge of the loft. “It’s the best idea you’ve had, Charles!”
    Afton forced herself to be quiet. She saw what held her aloft; a rope had been tied around her waist while she slept and Charles had apparently slipped the other end around a bale of hay.
    “Oh, Charles, it is too funny!” Lienor screamed, rolling in the hay beneath Afton. “We’ve strung her up! My little pet villein!”
    “Let me down!” Afton shrieked, her fear crystallizing to anger. “Let me down right this minute or I’ll--”
    “What will you do?” Charles asked calmly. He clambered down out of the hay loft and stood below her, an inscrutable look on his face.
    Afton thought of her most recent deliverer. “I’ll tell Lady Endeline. She has promised that no one will hurt me.”
    “She is nothing to you, villein,” Charles answered. He sat down in the hay and leaned against a post. His voice was oddly sharp as he added: “But she is my mother.”
    “Let me down right now,” Afton said, glaring at Lienor, “or I won’t go anywhere else with you. I won’t do anything with you at all.”
    “If you don’t, you’ll be sent back to the village,” Lienor said simply, sticking out her tongue. “And given a good whipping, too.”
    Afton grew silent. Was that true? She had heard her father speak of men who died under whippings administered by the lord’s men. Perhaps it was better just to dangle in silence until their little game was done.
    Lienor giggled a few minutes more, then grew disappointed when Afton did not respond. “You’re not fun at all,” she pouted. “Come on, tell me what you’re going to do about this, villein.” She walked directly under Afton’s dangling feet. “Threaten me.”
    Afton folded her arms and remained silent.
    “This is boring,” Charles said, standing up. “I’m going to find Gawain and play horseshoes.”
    Charles walked off and Lienor glanced anxiously at his retreating form. “Let me