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 at le Chateau 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 the omelettes aux champignons she 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 of le Chateau 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 at le Chateau de Landuc , greeted Ulla and her wolf with a hearty grin. “I’ll have Argant saddle her for you, Lady Ulla. N?de 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 N?de—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.

****

The crisp green scent of pine mingled with the earthy aroma of rich loam and decaying leaves as Ulla galloped through the lush forest with Vill at her side. Flying high above the beech, fir, and oak trees—well beyond the reach of Ulla’s arrows— Finn hunted as the summer sun dappled through the dense Forest of Brocéliande.

The wind whipped her long black hair, her spirit soaring freely with Finn, as N?de galloped and Vill raced across the forested ground.

Ulla much preferred the silent company of animals over the garrulous presence of people who made the loss of her speaking voice a painful reminder of the horrific past. Once, she’d sung like a lark, her melodic voice in perfect harmony with the mellow notes of the golden harp her fingers had so lovingly strummed. She’d often regaled the entire Chateau de Landuc with sublime music, her soul unleashed like Finn now winging through the cerulean sky. But shock stole her speech and silenced her song, rendering Ulla as mute as the trees.

A shrill screech announced Finn’s predatory plummet as she dove from the sky and seized a rabbit with her sharp, extended talons. Vill raced ahead to retrieve the game while Ulla reined her mare and dismounted. The wolf returned a few moments later, dropping the prey from his shaggy maw onto the leaves at Ulla’s booted feet.

She bent down and scooped up the rabbit, securing it with the others strapped to N?de’s saddle. I’ll cure and dry these skins. And use the fur to line a winter cloak. The perfect Yuletide gift for Laudine.

Satisfied with the quantity of game obtained from the hunt, Ulla mounted her horse and whistled for Finn to return and perch upon her gloved wrist. With a different whistle reserved for Vill, she summoned her wolf and rode back through the forest toward the castle mews.

Ulla returned her bird to the falconer, dismounted her glossy black Friesian, and motioned for Vill to stay at N?de’s side. Retrieving one of the rabbits strapped to the horse’s saddle, she followed the falconer Gauvin into the mews where several other hawks and hunting birds roosted at different levels within the large, domed wooden building. While Gauvin set Finn upon her reserved perch, Ulla unsheathed her dagger and cut pieces of raw meat, which she fed to her ravenous raptor.

Once Finn had eaten her fill, Ulla caressed the falcon’s head as she prepared to depart.

Gauvin tucked a strand of grey hair behind his ear and smiled at Ulla. “ à demain, Madame . See you tomorrow.”

Ulla smiled softly, ducked her chin in gratitude, and returned to her awaiting horse and wolf. She climbed back into the saddle, galloped across the castle grounds to the stables, and dismounted, stroking her horse’s muzzle as she handed the reins to a grinning Quentin.

He takes such good care of N?de. I’ve prepared a skin ointment for his wife Rozenn. She’ll appreciate it as her stomach stretches during these last few weeks of her breeding. At the thought of the impending birth, Ulla’s throat clenched. Laudine would be the midwife to deliver the baby. Ulla could not bear to be around infants, nursing mothers, or small children. The pain still sliced like a knife.

She retrieved the salve from the sack strapped to N?de’s saddle, placing the small jar inside Quentin’s palm and closing his fingers around it. As she gazed up into his inquisitive eyes, she smiled softly to convey her thankfulness. With hand gestures, she indicated that the balm was intended to soothe the stretching skin for Rozenn’s enormous stomach.

“Thank you very much, Lady Ulla. My wife will be most grateful, for her skin is indeed very itchy.” He tucked the jar into the pocket of his breeches and turned as the stable boy approached to fetch N?de. “Argant here will take excellent care of your Friesian. He’ll water her, wash her down. Curry her coat and mane. Feed her a bucket of fresh oats, too. He mucked out the stall while you were hunting. He’s a good lad.” Quentin handed the reins to the bashful young groom, who promptly led the horse across the grassy field toward the stables where Lord Esclados—Laudine’s husband and chatelain of Castle Landuc—kept and bred his magnificent horses.

Quentin kissed Ulla’s hand. “Thank you again. We’re most grateful to have such a capable healer. See you tomorrow, my lady. à demain. ” Kind eyes sparkling in the late morning sun, the Master of Horse of le Chateau de Landuc smiled as he waved goodbye and strode away.

Ulla whistled for Vill and returned with her wolf to the grey stone cottage nestled in the dense Breton woods.

Inside her home, she strode into the cozy wooden kitchen and laid the fresh game upon the counter. She peeked out the open window and spotted the hens grazing in the back meadow among the pink, mauve, and heather blossoms enclosed by abundant oaks, beech, and fruit-laden trees.

I’ll pick some plums and make a tarte aux mirabelles to bring when I visit Laudine tomorrow. She and Lord Esclados both love my wild plum tarts. Chuckling silently, Ulla returned to the open living room area and stoked the fire in the hearth where she would soon simmer a savory rabbit stew with fresh herbs from the castle garden.

But first, from the hungry look in his watchful amber eyes, Vill needed to eat several pounds of raw meat. As a skilled hunter and reliable retriever, he deserved a just reward.

Unsheathing the dagger from her ankle, Ulla scraped the meat and bones from the carcasses of eight rabbits, carefully preserving the skins to clean and cure for Laudine’s Yuletide cloak. Setting aside the meat from one rabbit which she would use in the stew, Ulla placed the remainder of the fresh game in Vill’s large wooden bowl.

At her whistle, the ravenous wolf pounced greedily on his much-anticipated meal.

While Vill noisily devoured the delicious contents in his dish, Ulla cut the remaining meat into small pieces and added it to a pot of water, pouring in a cup of red wine for full-bodied flavor and a dollop of lard as a tenderizer. She peeled and sliced carrots, potatoes, garlic, onions, and mushrooms, placing the vegetables into the cauldron. For a final touch, she chopped fresh thyme, marjoram, rosemary, and sage, sprinkling the savory herbs over the contents of the stew.

She covered the pot, set it over the hearth, and turned to see that Vill had finished eating. From the bucket she’d pumped that morning at the well, she poured fresh water into a clean bowl for Vill to drink. He slurped and sloshed it all over the wooden floor.

With another silent chuckle, Ulla wiped up the spill with a drying cloth. Then, grabbing her satchel of herbs, she whistled for Vill and left the cottage, headed across the verdant forest to check in on her recovering patient.

****

“He’s doing much better, thanks to those drops you put in his ear. Now the pain and fever are both gone.” The young mother, Enora, swept a lock of brown hair from the sleeping face of her bedridden three-year-old son.

Ulla’s palms became damp, her mouth went dry, and her heart began to race.

“And the calendula ointment quickly healed the wound on my husband’s arm. We are most grateful for your service, Ulla. Please accept these pelts as payment. I know you make lovely cloaks, hats, and gloves with the fur.” Her relieved, maternal face illuminated with a thankful smile, Enora offered Ulla an assortment of pelts in her outstretched arms.

Ulla bowed her head to convey gratitude as she accepted approximately two dozen hides of rabbit, squirrel, muskrat, and beaver. These will be perfect for lining gloves and trimming cloaks for Yuletide gifts. I’ll sew one for Quentin’s wife. And their new baby.

Unbidden images of bright blue eyes and soft brown curls floated into her mind, robbing Ulla of breath and thought. She quickly ducked her chin to hide her distress, securing the pelts into the satchel slung across her shoulder. Inhaling deeply to calm her ragged nerves, she straightened her back, shook Enora’s grateful hand with a masked smile, and escaped outside to whistle for Vill.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, she plodded blindly through the dense forest, her loyal wolf at her side, desperate for the sanctity of her silent stone cottage. Pulse pounding furiously, limbs shaky and weak, she opened the front door and followed Vill inside the solid structure. She locked the door behind her and collapsed against the hard wood for support as she struggled to catch her breath.

Every time I even think of a babe, I can’t breathe. I already avoid Lysara, because I can’t bear to be near her infant son. What will I do when everyone comes to the castle for the Yuletide season? Rozenn’s babe will be born by then. And Nolwenn’s, too. Laudine wants her three sons and their young children home for the holidays. How will I cope with so many adorable babies and cuddly little ones who remind me of my own tragic loss? Please, dear Goddess, give me strength. I cannot endure any more.

Ulla slid to the floor and buried her face in the hands resting on her bent knees. And—as Vill frantically licked her cheeks with his long, loving pink tongue—wept for her lost baby boy.