The chance to flee from debilitating pain.
The opportunity to escape the constant reminders of the joyous life he had lost.
By venturing to distant Aquitaine, the vast province along the Atlantic coastline of southwestern France near the border with Spain.
Accompanied by his older brother Gaultier and four dozen Breton knights from Finistère, Cardin would reside in Biarritz, the heart of the Basque country, in the clifftop castle ofle Château de Montmarin.To defend King Philippe’s precarious hold on the valuable duchy of Aquitaine against the English rebels who claimed it as theirs.
And so, for the past six interminable years, Cardin—nicknamed Basati for the wolf-head knife that he wielded and the vicious brute he’d become—had defended the French King Philippe of Paris.
Obeyed his sovereign lord, King Guillemin ofFinistère.
And tried, unsuccessfully, to drown his guilt and grief in causing his wife’s death and abandoning his infant son.
In every raucous, riotous tavern in town.
Chapter 4
Solace in Silence
Ulla headed toward her small stone cottage with the thatched roof in the thick woods beyond the castle grounds. Her wolf Vill was anxious to hunt—as the two of them usually did every morning, with Ulla’s peregrine falcon, Finn. But first, she needed to store the herbs that she’d gathered in her workshop. And prepare the salves, ointments, and tinctures she needed to treat her patients and any villagers who fell ill.
Since Ulla was mute, she summoned Vill with a distinctive whistle and commanded him with hand gestures. When she’d found him three years ago as a critically injured pup, his right rear leg had been impossibly ensnared in a rabbit trap. He’d been close to death—frightened, bloody, and starving—but Ulla had managed to cut the metal snare and free the young wolf. She’d carried him home and applied soothing comfrey and yarrow to stanch the bleeding and prevent the wound in his leg from festering. She’d fed him raw eggs, scraps of meat, and sheep’s milk until he’d regained his strength. Slowly and patiently, she’d trained him to come when she whistled, to stay with an outstretched palm, and to hunt cooperatively with Finn.
Born the daughter of a Viking chieftain, Ulla was permitted to own a peregrine falcon, a privilege reserved for nobility. During her adolescence atle Château de Landuc,while studying to become a Celtic healer, Ulla had worked alongside the castle falconer, training Finn with jesses, bells, and hoods, until the bird was able to perch on her wrist and hunt game with swift, lethal precision.
Once Vill had learned to obey her whistle and hand commands, Ulla trained him to hunt at her side with Finn. Her falcon would attack birds in the sky or small animals on land—such as rabbits or squirrels—and her wolf would retrieve the prey for the three of them to share.
Although Finn lived in the castle mews with the other falcons and hawks, Ulla fetched her each day to hunt with Vill in the dense Forest of Brocéliande.She would head over there as soon as she finished preparing her salves and tinctures.
Ulla entered the grey stone cottage where she lived alone with Vill, setting the basket of herbs on her kitchen counter and closing the solid oak door behind them. In the hearth on the left wall, banked embers glowed, emitting a soft warmth to counter the early morning chill.I’ll stoke the fire after we return from the hunt. Hopefully, we’ll have rabbit for a stew. Or perhaps thrush, lark, or partridge. It depends on what prey Finn will hunt.
She glanced out the kitchen window to the tree-enclosed back yard where her three hens poked at insects in the grassy meadow. She’d taught Vill to leave them alone, for Ulla depended on their eggs for theomelettes aux champignonsshe often prepared with mushrooms and fresh herbs.
Opening the rear door of the kitchen, Ulla stepped down the stone stairs, with Vill close behind. She went inside the henhouse and gathered the three fresh eggs.I’ll use these for my supper tonight. And give Vill a large helping of raw meat from the hunt.
After she’d collected the eggs, Ulla harvested a few carrots and potatoes from her small vegetable garden to add with fresh herbs to the stew. Satisfied that she had what was needed for today’s meals, she whistled for Vill and went back into the cottage to prepare her herbal treatments.
In a small alcove off the kitchen, Ulla hung a few herbs to dry from hooks in the wooden ceiling. On the countertop, she separately ground sage, garlic, willow bark, comfrey, and red clover, storing each in distinct, stoppered jars. She steeped tinctures to strain later when she returned from the hunt, and prepared elixirs from ginger, red clover, and burdock root, which she placed in small glass vials. As she wrote the names of the herbs on affixed labels, she reflected how fortunate she was to be able to read and write, for many of the villagers—especially women—could not. But Laudine, the Lady ofle Château de Landuc, insisted that all of her priestesses learn to read and write as an integral part of their instruction as Celtic healers.
Vill, lying on the floor near her feet, his large head resting on his enormous front paws, whimpered his plea to go hunting.
I sometimes wish I could speak to him, as I once did with Finn. But trauma stole my voice three years ago. And I have found solace in silence ever since.
With a hand gesture, she ordered her impatient companion to stay just a bit longer while she worked. Once she’d finished preparing the ointments, elixirs, and tonics, Ulla put away her mortar and pestle, stored the herbal supplies, and tidied her workshop.
Vill’s amber eyes followed her every move.
Ulla strapped the dagger at her ankle, the bow and quiver of arrows on her back, and the leather falconry glove on her left hand. When she finally whistled, the grey wolf lurched to his feet, shaking his bristled fur in eager anticipation of the hunt. Close on her heels, he followed Ulla out the front door of the cottage. Bounding past her, he ran and spun in exuberant circles, leaping into the air with the thrill of unbridled joy.
Ulla laughed silently, her suffering spirit soaring free.
Together, they romped across the meadow toward the castle stables, where Quentin, the Master of Horse atle Château de Landuc, greeted Ulla and her wolf with a hearty grin. “I’ll have Argant saddle her for you, Lady Ulla. Nåde is as anxious for the hunt as Vill.” Tossing his long, sandy hair over a lanky shoulder, Quentin summoned the stable boy with a jut of his bearded chin.
A few moments later, the magnificent black Friesian nickered in greeting when the lad led Nåde—the Norwegian word for grace—toward Ulla. He handed her the reins and helped her climb up into the saddle.
Ulla smiled and nodded her head in gratitude. With a wave goodbye and a whistle for Vill, she rode off toward the castle mews to fetch her falcon Finn.
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