Gaultier, Zubiri, Elizondo, and the fortress archers descended the spiraling stairs to a raucous commotion in the wide entry foyer. Knights filed into the Tower through the enormous entrance door, crossing the antechamber into the large ceremonial hall,la Salle d’Honneur.Harried servants ushered the injured to available beds, bandaging wounds and offering mugs of ale along the wall where a still unconscious Cardin lay upon a straw pallet. Outside the entrance door, Gaultier glimpsed stable hands leading the horse-drawn royal carriages from the drawbridge into the safety of the inner courtyard. Tower guards and knights retrieved the bodies of their fallen, strapped atop riderless horses, gathering lifeless victims strewn across the bloodstained courtyard in preparation for honorable burial. Enemy corpses were unceremoniously tossed into a heap for subsequent burning.
Xabi dismounted from his horse, handed the reins to a stable hand, and headed toward Gaultier, his bearded face beaming with triumph. “The royal guards arrived just in time. I didn’t know how much longer we would last.” He shook hands with Zubiri and Elizondo, accepting their congratulatory enthusiasm, all the while scanning the perimeter of the entry foyer, obviously looking for his closest friend. “Where’s Basati?”
Gaultier indicatedla Salle d’ Honneurwith a toss of his head. “In here.” He led Xabi through the high, arched entryway into the cavernous chamber where two roaring fires blazed in stone hearths and the pitiful moans of the wounded pierced the wintry air. When they arrived at Cardin’s bedside, Xabi groaned and dropped to one knee. “He was hit by a crossbow bolt. The healer can’t remove it—he lacks the skill to perform the necessary surgery. I have to get him back to Brocéliande. His betrothed Ulla is aguérisseuse—a gifted Priestess of Dana, like my mother. I must leave tonight.”
Lord Chalamet, who had been directing attendants to serve food and drinks to the uninjured, crossed the ceremonial hall and approached Cardin’s bed as Xabi rose to his feet. Chalamet’s deep, calm voice conveyed compassion and concern as he addressed Gaultier. “My men are harnessing the horses and loading supplies into the wagon. It will be ready for your departure in half an hour.” From the thick folds of his black velvet robe, he extended a welcoming arm and gestured toward a trestle table near the inviting warmth of the fireplace. “You must eat a hearty meal before you leave. It will sustain you on your journey.” He smiled graciously as Comte Ibarra and the captain of the royal Parisian guards joined their small group.
“My lord,” Xabi said, lowering his head respectfully to address Comte Ibarra. “My men and I rode hard from Biarritz to intercept you en route before you reachedle Château de Tours, where Zilar planned your assassination. When flooding forced you east tola Tour Blanche, we knew his men would attack you here—to stop you from reaching Paris and signing the Yuletide treaty.” Xabi scanned the famished knights at the tables inla Salle d’ Honneurwho were devouring platters of cold meats and imbibing mugs of ale. “Which one of your men is named Uribe? He’s an English spy, loyal to Edward Longshanks. He was ordered to allow Zilar’s assassin to enter your private chambers to commit the crime.” Xabi removed a knife from the sheath at his waist and displayed the unique, ornately carved wolf head dagger with the dazzling emerald eye. “With this weapon—Basati’s blade.” He indicated the critically injured Cardin with a nod of his head. “You were right,” he said as he handed the knife to Gaultier. “Zilar sent Gizon to commit the crime. By using this wolf head dagger, they knew Basati would take the blame. Zilar would stop the Alliance with Aquitaine and be appointed the new Lord of Montmarin.”
A stunned Ibarra responded to Xabi’s question. “That man is Uribe,” he said, indicating one of his own knights with a long nose and pointed beard. He turned toward Lord Chalamet. “Is there a prison here in the Tower?”
Chalamet nodded. “Underground. We store supplies in the cellar, on the first level below. But beneath that, we have a holding cell for prisoners. You can lock him up there.”
Ibarra addressed the captain of the royal Parisian guards standing at his side. “Arrest Uribe. Take him underground to the prison cell. We’ll bring him with us when we leave for Paris in the morning. King Philippe will decide his fate.”
The blond-haired captain’s blue eyes blazed in the firelight. “The Iron King has no tolerance for treason. Uribe will be executed as an English spy.”
Gaultier watched as the captain of the royal guards summoned four of his fellow knights. Together, they stormed acrossla Salle d’ Honneur, seized the seated Uribe, and hauled him to his feet. While two guards pinned him in place with the tips of their swords pointed at his neck, two others shackled his wrists with manacles and chains. Dragging the prisoner from the ceremonial hall toward the stairwell at the back of the room, they descended the steps leading underground and disappeared from view.
“Tomorrow, at first light, we’ll bury our fallen and burn the bodies of the enemy. The knights of Montmarin will join the Parisian guards in escorting you safely to Paris, my lord. We’ll join your entourage and accompany you back to Biarritz after the signing of the Yuletide treaty.” Zuribi removed his chain mail coif and bowed his head respectfully to Comte Ibarra.
“Excellent. Now please allow me to offer you my hospitality. Come, enjoy a hearty meal as my honored guests.” Lord Chalamet proudly led their group to his own private table upon a raised dais, summoning attentive servants with a gesture of his commanding hand.
While Xabi, Elizondo, and Zuribi eagerly dug into the salted roast boar, tangy ripe cheese, and thick hearty bread, Gaultier forced down the tasteless food, anxious to be on the road home to Brocéliande. He closed his eyes and silently prayed for his grievously wounded brother.Please let Cardin survive the journey. And please let Ulla heal him.
“Once we deliver Comte Ibarrra to Paris and the Yuletide treaty is signed, I’ll ride to Brocéliande with your brother Bastien and King Guillemin of Finistère to join you atle Château de Landuc.” A glimmer of hope flickered amidst the grief in Xabi’s dark eyes. “For Basati’s Twelfth Night wedding.” He raised his goblet, prompting Gaultier to do the same. “To Ulla. May she heal his body as she did his broken heart.”
His throat clenching, Gaultier swallowed his sorrow with a great gulp of ale.
Lord Chalamet, having seated and served his guests, returned to Gaultier’s side. “I’m providing torches to light your way. You can cover fifty miles tonight before you must stop to rest the horses. At that rate, you’ll reach Brocéliande in three or four days.”
While Gaultier finished the salted boar and drained his mug of ale, two Tower guards approached Lord Chalamet and reported that the wagon to transport Cardin was loaded and ready.
Gaultier rose to his feet, wiping froth from his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic. He nodded to Padrig, one of his father’s most trusted knights and the leader of the group who would accompany him back tole Château de Landuc. “Have the men saddle the horses and prepare to depart. I’ll get my brother settled into the wagon.”
Padrig rounded up the knights from Landuc, who hastily finished their meal, rose from the table, and filed out the front door ofla Tour Blanche.
Comte Ibarra and Lord Chalamet accompanied Gaultier and Xabi into theSalle d’ Honneurwhere a still unconscious Cardin lay on his straw pallet. Two of Lord Chalamet’s men stood beside the bed, holding a wooden stretcher.
“Use this to carry him out to the wagon. Secure him with blankets and ropes to keep him stable during the voyage.” Chalamet nodded to his two men. “My guards will assist you.”
The white-haired healer approached Gaultier as they settled Cardin onto the litter. “He was restless about an hour ago and drank a few swallows of water. If he regains consciousness again, have him drink as much as possible. Good luck. I pray your healer has more skill than I.”
Two dozen mounted knights fromle Château de Landucawaited Gaultier in front of the Tower as he and Xabi carried the stretcher across the bloodstained courtyard, past the pile of enemy corpses and the bodies of their own fallen knights. Xabi and Lord Chalamet’s two guards helped him settle Cardin’s stretcher in the back of the wagon among the supplies for the four-day journey.
Dark eyes glimmering in the flickering torchlight, white teeth gleaming in his thick, bushy beard, Xabi gripped Gaultier’s arms in a tight, fraternal embrace. “Travel safely to Brocéliande. I’ll join you atle Château de Landucbefore the Winter Solstice. I plan on being the best man at Basati’s Twelfth Night wedding.”
Gaultier bid farewell to Comte Ibarra, Lord Chalamet, and the royal Parisian guards. He waved goodbye to Xabi, Zubiri, Elizondo, and the knights of Montmarin. Mounting his magnificent Friesian stallion, he rode in front of the wagon transporting his wounded brother. And, with a nod to the two drivers and the commanding knight Padrig, he set off in the cold, black winter night for the Forest of Brocéliande.
Chapter 19
Winter Solstice
The warm, spicy aroma of cinnamon mingled with the clean scent of pine as Ulla helped Laudine wrap evergreen garlands around the supportive pillars in the expansive Great Hall ofle Château de Landuc. Above the two enormous hearths where crackling fires warmed the vast chamber against the mid-December chill, evergreen boughs with pinecones, berries, and fragrant cloves added to the festive ambiance. With the help of cheerful servants, the two women were finishing the castle decorationsin preparation for the Yuletide holidays, which would begin with the Winter Solstice celebration and Lukaz’ birthday, and culminate with the glorious Twelfth Night wedding on Three Kings’ Day,la Fête des Rois.
Laudine’s daughter-in-law Gabrielle had arrived several days ago with her royal entourage from Finistère, bringing her four children tole Château de Landucto spend the holiday season with their grandparents. Soon, Gabrielle’s husband Bastien and father King Guilllemin would be arriving to celebrate Lukaz’ birthday—and Gabrielle and Bastien’s wedding anniversary—on the Winter Solstice.
Ulla’s sumptuous red velvet wedding gown was complete, the tailor had finished Cardin’s magnificent gold velvet tunic and black woolen breeches, and the village goldsmith had properly sized the two wedding rings. Everything was ready for the glorious Twelfth Night wedding.
