Chapter 7

A Wounded Little Wolf

Laudine removed the stems from the dried rosemary, sage, calendula, and yarrow for Ulla to grind with a mortar and pestle as the two priestesses prepared herbal remedies in the corner of the castle kitchen of le Chateau de Landuc . “Thank you for writing the letter to Gaultier as my healer. Although I hate to deceive my sons, feigning a grave illness was the only way I could think of to convince Cardin to come home. The letter you sent should have arrived in Aquitaine by now. But it will take at least six to eight weeks for Gaultier and Cardin to travel home from le Chateau de Montmarin in Biarritz. I’m hoping they’ll arrive in late August. I’ll keep them here throughout the Yuletide season. And try to reunite father and son.”

Ulla smiled and nodded, mixing the ground yarrow into beeswax to create a curative salve for wounds.

“Bastien and Gabrielle have taken excellent care of Lukaz these past six years since Cardin abandoned him and left for Biarritz. Lukaz has lived with his aunt and uncle since birth—they’ve been the boy’s parents, raising him like their own son. Lukaz’ maternal grandparents passed away shortly after his mother Charlotte’s death. He doesn’t understand why his Papa never comes home to visit and never writes any letters, like the fathers of the other young squires do at le Chateau de Beaufort.” Laudine poured steaming water over elderberry leaves, steeping them in a bowl to prepare an herbal elixir.

“Gabrielle and Bastien have told Lukaz that his Papa—the noble Sir Cardin de Landuc—is the finest archer among the royal knights sent by King Guillemin to defend the valuable province of Aquitaine. Lukaz knows that his Papa’s nickname is Basati—the Basque Wolf—and he’s proud that Gabrielle calls him Little Wolf, after his father. He even wants to become a castle archer, just like his Papa. That’s why Esclados and I are giving him a new bow and quiver of arrows when he arrives here on the summer solstice.”

Laudine strained the elderberry leaves and poured the liquid into a labeled jar. She smiled at Ulla’s raised eyebrow and inquisitive expression. “Yes, Bastien is bringing Lukaz here to spend the summer with us while he goes with his sons Gunnar and Haldar to la Joyeuse Garde, to train with Lancelot’s knights. Normally, Lukaz stays home at le Chateau de Beaufort with his Aunt Gabrielle, since he’s too young for the training to become a squire. But now that she has the new babe Ylva to care for, in addition to her three-year-old son Vidar, I thought Lukaz would prefer spending the summer here with us, his paternal grandparents.” She wedged a cork stopper into the bottle of elderberry tincture. “Esclados has a magnificent new foal from his stables that he selected as a destrier for Lukaz to ride when he’s old enough. In the meantime, Lukaz can learn equestrian skills by riding palfreys with Quentin, our Master of Horse. And I’m hoping that you might help him learn the basics of archery. You’re highly skilled with the bow and arrow, Ulla. Would you be willing to teach my grandson?”

Hesitation and fear glimmered in Ulla’s apprehensive gaze.

Laudine knew that the gifted healer always avoided babes, new mothers, and young children. Being near them was too painful a reminder of the infant son Ulla had lost three years ago. But Laudine—in her vast experience as a mother and infinite wisdom as a Priestess of the Goddess Dana—knew that helping Lukaz might be the best way for Ulla to heal herself.

Ulla inhaled deeply, as if summoning courage. Raising her expressive green eyes to search Laudine’s face, she ducked her chin in solemn, reluctant agreement.

Just as you saved the badly injured Vill, you might heal another wounded little wolf.

My grandson, Lukaz.

Perhaps even my shattered son, Cardin.

Basati. The Basque Wolf of Biarritz.

****

A few days before the summer solstice, Laudine’s son Bastien arrived at le Chateau de Landuc with an entourage that included his own two sons, Gunnar and Haldar, his nephew Lukaz, and a dozen knights from le Chateau de Beaufort in Finistère.

As the travelers dismounted, Bastien’s knights headed toward the lodging where they would reside until the imminent departure for Lancelot’s castle. Quentin, the Master of Horse at Castle Landuc, and several attentive grooms led the horses to the stables.

Laudine hugged Bastien and her three beloved grandsons.

“By the Goddess, how you’ve grown! You’re nearly as tall as I am.” She kissed ten-year-old Gunnar’s smooth cheek, brushing a curly lock of dark brown hair that so resembled his father Bastien’s. “And Haldar, you’re as strong as an ox.” Golden sunlight gilded her grandson’s auburn hair and highlighted his freckled, smiling face. Although two years younger and a bit shorter than Gunnar, Haldar had the broad shoulders and hefty bulk of a future fierce warrior.

Dark brown waves framed the timid little face where eyes as blue as the Breton sea watched Laudine in silent wonder. She held out her arms to the wounded little wolf. And pulled Lukaz into her loving, welcoming embrace. “ Bonjour, mon chou . By the Goddess, I’ve missed you. And I am delighted that you’ll be here with us for the whole summer.” Laudine kissed his six-year-old head and looked up at her husband Esclados, who was greeting the two older boys. “ Papi ,” she said, using the French term for grandfather, “could you please bring the boys to see the new colt you’ve chosen for Lukaz? I’m sure they’d all like to meet him. And I would like to speak to Bastien for a few minutes. We’ll come join you at the stables in a little while.”

White teeth gleaming against his coppery skin and black hair streaked with grey, Esclados le Ros—the famed Red Knight and Lord of Castle Landuc—beckoned his three young grandsons. “C’mon, boys. Let’s go see the fiery Friesian destriers. And meet Lukaz’ magnificent foal.”

With whoops and shrieks of unbridled glee, Gunnar, Haldar, and Lukaz dashed off to the stables with their robust, laughing grandfather.

****

Alone in the kitchen with her middle son—heir to the throne of Finistère through his royal marriage to Princess Gabrielle, daughter of King Guillemin from le Chateau de Beaufort —Laudine read sorrow and concern in Bastien’s troubled gaze as she served him a mug of golden mead. “What’s is it, mon fils ? Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Bastien took a long pull of the honeyed wine, wiped his mouth with the back of a swarthy hand, and set the silver goblet down upon the oak table. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his sinewy arms over his expansive chest, and sighed in exasperation and grief. “It’s Lukaz. He’s become withdrawn and despondent. The squires at the castle taunt him, calling him a bastard because he has no father. One of the older boys—with a cruel, vicious streak—accused Lukaz of killing his mother just by being born. Needless to say, that was devastating. Gabrielle and I tried to soothe him, reassure him, but he was inconsolable.”

Bitterness and scorn blazed across Bastien’s bearded, forlorn face. “And yet—it’s the despicable truth, isn’t it? Cardin abandoned his son at birth. Because he wrongly blames Lukaz for Charlotte’s death.” Chiseled jaw clenching with fury and frustration, Bastien lowered his head into shaking hands, raking desperate fingers through his thick, dark locks.

“Lukaz needs his father. And Cardin—as much as he denies it— needs his son to heal his own broken heart.” Laudine sipped her chamomile tea and eyed the impassioned face of her loving, generous son. “That’s why I’ve called him home.”

Laudine set her teacup down and leaned forward, grasping Bastien’s calloused hands. “I swear to you that I am healthy and hale, but—Goddess forgive me—I am feigning a grave illness. So that Cardin cannot refuse to come home, as he has done every year since Lukaz was born.” She smiled at his bewildered expression. “Do you remember Ulla, the young priestess who came here to live when her parents died in Normandy? You were already married then, living in Finistère with Gabrielle at le Chateau de Beaufort. But you might remember the holiday seasons here at Landuc—when Ulla played the harp and sang the most glorious Yuletide carol.”

Bastien swallowed a large gulp of mead. “Yes…she had exceptional musical talent and a sublime singing voice. I remember she came back to Landuc a few years ago, when her husband and babe were killed. She’d become mute from the horror. She was living like a recluse in one of the cottages at the edge of the woods. Does she live there still? Why do you ask if I remember her?”

“Because I had her pose as my healer and write a letter to Gaultier, informing him and Cardin that I have a serious illness and have called them both home. I asked Ulla to write that it is my dying wish to have my three sons—and five grandchildren— gathered here at Landuc for my last Yuletide season. But I am not truly ill—it’s just a ruse. A necessary lie. To force Cardin to come home. And finally become a father to his abandoned son.”

Bastien scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s a shame you have to resort to such drastic measures just to get Cardin to come home.” He downed the rest of his mead, wiped his mouth, and grinned. “But I admire your ingenuity, Maman. You’ve arranged for Lukaz to be here. You’ve called Cardin home. And you’ve told everyone that it’s your Yuletide wish to have them stay through the holidays. That gives you the rest of the summer, all of autumn, and most of the winter to reunite them. Your clever plan just might work.”

He rose to his feet and kissed Laudine’s cheek. “I’m going out to the stables to join Papa and the boys. I’m anxious to see this new foal that he’s chosen for Lukaz. That’s exactly what the boy needs. Something to look forward to. A magnificent horse of his very own. The chance to develop his riding skills. Excel at something. And be proud of himself.” Bastien kissed her other cheek with la bise of goodbye. “See you soon, Maman . ? bient?t . I love you. Je t’aime.”

****

That evening, Esclados arranged to have his son Bastien and three grandsons—Gunnar, Haldar, and Lukaz—join him and Laudine in the private solar of le Chateau de Landuc . As servants refilled goblets of watered ale for the boys and fine French wine for the adults, an exuberant Lukaz effused about his majestic new colt. “ Papi says I can ride him in three or four years, when he’s strong enough. He’s so beautiful, Mamie ! He’s got a glossy black coat and shiny mane. Long, sturdy legs—which means he’ll be a fast runner. He’s going to be my very own destrier. For when I become a squire. I can’t wait to ride him!”

“In three or four years, when the colt is ready, you’ll be a more experienced rider, Lukaz. By then, you’ll be nine or ten years old. And—with lessons from Lord Quentin, my Master of Horse—you’ll be as fine a horseman as your Uncle Bastien. He used to be the Master of Horse for King Guillemin at le Chateau de Beaufort . That’s how he met your Tatie Gabrielle. But I’m sure you already know that, don’t you?” Esclados affectionately ruffed Lukaz’s wavy brown hair, so similar to his father Cardin’s dark, thick locks.

“ Oui, Papi . Uncle Bastien told me that story lots of times before. How he used to give my Tatie riding lessons. And he taught her how to wield a sword!” Lukaz took a hearty bite of manchet , tearing off an eager mouthful of the finely ground wheat bread with obvious relish.

“That’s right, I did. I was her weapons master for several years. Your Tatie Gabrielle is descended from Viking Valkyrie, you know. Women warriors who fight as fiercely as men. And I’ll teach you, too, Lukaz. You’re turning seven this Winter Solstice. That means you’ll be old enough to start training to become a knight. And next summer, when Gunnar, Haldar, and I go to la Joyeuse Garde to train with Lancelot and his men, you’ll come with us, too.”

“Sir Lancelot has promised me a warhorse from his stables when I turn fourteen and become an official squire. A robust Percheron, like Papa’s horse Drach. I might even get to choose one from the new colts born this summer. I can’t wait!” Ten-year-old Gunnar, the oldest of the three boys, beamed, nearly bursting with pride.

“And your horse, Haldar, will be ready to ride next summer. Have you chosen a name for him?” Esclados took a swallow of rich red wine and raised an inquisitive eyebrow as he looked at his auburn-haired grandson.

“ Roux , because he has red hair. Like me.” Amidst a splatter of light brown freckles dusted across his impish face, eight-year-old Haldar grinned from ear to ear.

“Which you got from your mother. I’ve always adored Gabrielle’s fiery red hair.” Lovelight shining in his deep green eyes, Bastien smiled proudly at his young son.

“ Roux is a fine name for a chestnut Friesian. You chose well, Haldar.” The rich timbre of Esclados’s deep voice reverberated in the castle solar where with the crisp pine scent of the dense forest wafted in through the two large, open windows.

When they’d finished eating an assortment of sweetmeats and fruits confits , Bastien addressed Gunnar, Haldar, and Lukaz. “Tomorrow, after we break our fast, we’ll depart at first light for la Joyeuse Garde . Boys, kiss Mamie and Papi goodnight, and go along now with Ma?lys. She’s got the beds ready for you to sleep. I’ll be in shortly to tell you a bedtime story. Tonight, it’s the tale of Charlemagne’s paladin from the epic poem, La Chanson de Roland. ”

Amid squeals of youthful delight, the three lads kissed Laudine and Esclados, then followed the chambermaid from the wooden solar, down the dimly lit hall, to the guest bedroom where they would sleep.

Once the boys had left, Bastien spoke quietly to his mother. “You mentioned that Gaultier and Cardin would arrive in August. Since you’ve called them home because of your grave illness, I would imagine that they’ll wonder why I was not summoned back to Landuc to be at your side as well. What will you say to explain my absence?”

“That you’d promised your sons a summer of training at Lancelot’s castle. And that Gabrielle—weakened by her recent childbirth—cannot travel with the babe until December. I’ll inform Cardin and Gaultier that you’ll bring your wife and four children here for the Yuletide season, just as I requested. And—if all goes as well as I hope—Cardin will have formed a bond with Lukaz by then. And I can proclaim that Ulla, the most gifted healer I have ever trained, has cured me and miraculously restored my health.” Laudine raised her wine goblet, prompting the two men to do the same. “To Cardin and Lukaz. May the Goddess reunite father and son at long last.”

The next morning, after a hearty meal of porridge with fresh fruit and honey, sliced bacon, poached fish, boiled eggs, and country bread, Bastien and his two sons left le Chateau de Landuc with their dozen knights from Finistère.

“ Au revoir! See you in December!” Laudine waved goodbye to her departing son and two grandsons, who rode off through the dense Forest of Brocéliande, heading southwest toward la Joyeuse Garde , the famed white limestone castle of King Arthur’s legendary knight, Sir Lancelot du Lac.

“Next year, you’ll be riding with them. And begin your training to become a knight.” Esclados, standing at Laudine’s side, placed a loving, grandfatherly hand upon Lukaz’ small shoulder. “Your Uncle Bastien said that you’d like to become a castle archer, like your father Cardin. So, Mamie and I thought you might like this fine bow and arrow.” He handed Lukaz a taut bow, made from supple yew wood, and a quiver of finely fletched arrows.

Bright blue eyes widened in wonder and delight, Lukaz accepted the gift with a wildly exuberant grin. “My own bow and arrows! Merci, Papi et Mamie !” He held the bow, attempted to nock an arrow, and aimed at an imaginary target.

“ Mamie has arranged for you to develop your skills with a very talented archer named Ulla. She’s also an expert huntress, with a magnificent horse and a peregrine falcon. She even has a pet wolf.” Esclados chuckled deeply at Lukaz’s astonished expression. “ Mamie ’s going to take you to her cottage today so you can meet her and begin your archery training. And maybe—with Ulla as your teacher—you’ll become a skilled hunter, too.”

****

Laudine watched Lukaz as he sat at the table in the cozy alcove off the castle kitchen, gobbling up the cinnamon oatcakes smothered in honey, licking his chubby fingers with glee. I am so grateful to have this time with him. I’ll lavish him with love and attention. Make him feel wanted and special. With Ulla’s archery and hunting lessons, his new bow and arrows, and the colt Esclados has chosen for him, perhaps we can lessen the damage that those heartless squires have done, calling him bastard. Blaming him for his mother’s death. By the Goddess, children can be so cruel!

She sat down at the table with him and sipped a cup of chamomile tea. “When you’ve finished, I’ll bring you to meet Ulla. She lives in a stone cottage at the edge of the woods. She’s a gifted healer—she found Vill, her wolf, when he was a wounded pup. His back leg had gotten caught in a rabbit trap, and he couldn’t get free. Ulla cut the snare, brought him home, and tended him until his leg healed. She commands him with hand signals and whistles, because she can’t talk. Vill is a very well trained wolf. He hunts with Ulla and her falcon, Finn.”

Lukaz finished his oatcake and gulped down his watered ale. He set the mug down on the table, tilting his head to the side as he considered Laudine’s words. “She can’t talk at all?”

“No, not at all. But she can read and write, so sometimes she communicates through messages that way. But with her hand gestures, she’s easy to understand. I think you’ll like her very much. She’s a skilled archer. A gifted healer. And an exceptional huntress. Her falcon Finn brings down all sorts of high flying birds that arrows can’t reach. And Finn can trap rabbits, squirrels, and other small animals with her sharp talons, too. The wolf Vill retrieves the prey and brings it back to Ulla. She feeds Finn and Vill some of the meat, keeps some for herself, and cures the rabbit pelts for the fur.” Laudine finished her herbal tisane and stood to collect Lukaz’ plate and mug. “Are you ready to go out to the cottage and meet Ulla and Vill?”

Lukaz jumped to his feet, blue eyes sparkling like a sun-kissed river in the early morning light. “ Oui, Mamie! Let’s go. Allons-y !”