Across the Waters: A Story of the Migration

[Shylence]

Well she is. She has saved his life because Cadwalador cant now kill the woman he has saved. I thought one of the Brihetein(sp) would get him but i dont know now. I belive he may get injured or captured, not dead! Maybe he will escape and return with some more of his Bredrins and try his best to finish off that drunken lout.

But the prediciment is that the army is gone and has no chance of survival unless it links with one of the others Theodotus hinted on.

WHERE WHAT WHO!, whats gona happen.....

[Midnj]

The storytelling is great and I am really interested to see how this little band is going to take a city to call its own. TBH I'm half expecting the drunken king to win the ancient version of the powerball lottery and bribe himself a town but I'm sure you'll have something a little more engaging and realistic than that ;).

[CaptainBlack]

But the prediciment is that the army is gone and has no chance of survival unless it links with one of the others Theodotus hinted on.

OMG ..I just wet my pants

[Theodotos I]

Chapter XIII: Treachery

My gaze lifted and I stared into the eyes of Cavarillos. The Brihentin were still occupied with the last of his mercenaries. I was the only one who threatened him. But his cause was lost. And he knew it.
“I warned you not to stand against me, Cadwalador,” he stated, a trace of sadness in his voice. “Together we could have achieved much.”
“Betrayal is worse than death,” I snapped back.
“All my life I have survived by choosing the winning side, going with it. It is the life of the mercenary. And I’ve never been wrong.”
“Until now.”
“That is your view. Now lay down the javelin, Cadwalador. Before I slay this woman.”
I hesitated, and he moved the sword higher, until its tip pricked the skin of her throat. He wasn’t bluffing. I knew him too well for that.
“Will you leave now?” I demanded. “I can let you go before they get here. Give me the girl and leave!” I glanced over his shoulder to where the Brihentin were fighting, bargaining with everything I had left. A lump rose in my throat, nearly choking me. If there was any way to save her, I must try it. She had saved me in the ambush.
He seemed to consider my proposition for a moment. “All right,” he nodded. “Throw the javelin over here. Underhand.”
I obeyed wordlessly, taking my javelin by the shaft and pitching it to him. He smiled as it touched the ground and released Inyae, shoving her toward me.
She had not taken two steps before he stepped up behind her, driving his sword into her body before I could cry a warning. She screamed, staggering toward me. I could see the tip of the sword protruding from between her ribs. It had gone completely through her.
I felt as though I was in a dream, as though I had gone to sleep beside her a few hours earlier. When I had learned her name. This was all a dream. A sad, twisted dream.
In a haze I saw Cavarillos pull his blood-stained sword from her body and smile at me through the night. A death’s head smile. The face of a killer unmasked.
She collapsed into my arms, sobbing with pain, her life-blood soaking her garments, staining my chest. Her breath was coming in short gasps, each one an effort. Her lungs had been pierced.
In the vision I saw Cavarillos spring to the back of one of the Brihentin’s horses, straddling it bareback. He turned to wave a mocking farewell to me before vanishing into the night. A dark horseman.
I was crying too, with rage at my own foolishness, with fear at my helplessness now. She was dying, I could see it in the way her eyes were glazing over, the agony on her face.
Words came from her lips, but nothing I could understand. I had never been able to. Now I never would.
The nobles surged past me, their swords still drawn, past where I sat on the hard sod, cradling Inyae in my arms, to the place where Tancogeistla still lay. The drunkard she had been sacrificed for.
I looked down into her pale face, into the now-listless green eyes glazed with death. She lay still, her head lying limply against my chest, fiery tresses flowing over her shoulders.
Her spirit had departed. What remained was the shell of the woman that I had loved, the woman that had risked her life for me twice. And I had failed her. . .
A hand fell on my shoulder. I heard a voice through the mists that surrounded me. “Tancogeistla wishes to speak with you.” One of the nobles.
I obeyed numbly, laying Inyae’s corpse gently on the earth as I rose. But for the pain on her countenance, but for the dark-red stain of her torn garments, I could have imagined her asleep. With all my heart, I wished she was.
They had propped Tancogeistla up with his back against a rock. He looked up at me in the glare of the fire the Brihentin had rekindled.
“Thank you, my son. I owe you my life.”
I nodded wordlessly, striving to restrain my emotions. “But for you, he would have been accepted into my camp as a friend. And he would have slain me before anyone could stop him.” He paused, seemingly to regain his energy before going on. The wounds had sapped his strength. “Three of my bodyguards died this night. The traitor Cavarillos stole one of their horses. I am giving you one of the others. You will ride in my bodyguard.”
It was not a question, not a request. It was an order, reminding me of my station in life. He was the Chosen Superior.
“We ride tomorrow. First to rally what remains of our army, then north.”
“Yes, my lord,” I managed, still numb with shock. I glanced up into the sky, above the dancing flames, to where the silvery moon shone down upon us. Another eight hours separated us from the dawn. There would be no sleep for me this night, nor for a long time to come. It was all a terrible dream—but one from which I could never awake. . .

[Theodotos I]

Time for Chapter Thirteen, everyone!
@Chirurgeon: Thank you, kind sir. I try to deliver. Love or loyalty, I’m always astounded by how well the ancient formulas still work today. Thirty-three basic types of stories exist; they were all invented well before the birth of Christ. Mankind has been unable to come up with anything truly new since. All novels fit into one or more of those thirty-three types.
@Reality=Chaos: Welcome to my story and thanks for reading. I attempt not to be predictable.
@Shylence: I understand, sir, but try to keep your jokes inoffensive. Thanks for continuing to read.
@Captain Black: I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. The formulas of the ancients. . .
@Midnj: Never fear. I use cheats sparingly and would never do something like that.
@Captain Black: Don't worry.

[Chirurgeon]

man this guy is a mess. I knew this would be tragic. He should have thrown the javelin at him as he ran away...oh well. I actually thought he was going to let her go. Evil bastard. I will be curious as to what happens next. Could this guy suffer any more? I think I would have fallen on my sword after that. So sad.

[Shylence]

/he lives in a tough enviroment, im sure he will cope.

[Theodotos I]

man this guy is a mess. I knew this would be tragic. He should have thrown the javelin at him as he ran away...oh well. I actually thought he was going to let her go. Evil bastard. I will be curious as to what happens next. Could this guy suffer any more? I think I would have fallen on my sword after that. So sad.

Indeed, he is. Yet, there is something in every warrior that pushes him to go on, keep moving, keep fighting even after crushing heartbreak. This is true of Cadwalador. I'll try to update in a day or two. Keep reading.

[CaptainBlack]

She had not taken two steps before he stepped up behind her, driving his sword into her body before I could cry a warning. She screamed, staggering toward me. I could see the tip of the sword protruding from between her ribs. It had gone completely through her.

Argghhh.....this is a dead man, now I don't care if Tancogeistla lives or not, I just want Cavarillos dead. Wow I am forgetting you wrote this Theo... curse you, curse you, nah j/k but wow man this is just amazing.

[Theodotos I]

Chapter XIV: Starvation

We rose on the morrow and pushed northward, joined by a few of the slingers and Gaeroas that had survived. We were a small band of men, shadows of the once-great army that had been washed ashore what seemed like an eternity ago.
It had been months since I had felt a horse between my knees, and it would have felt good—if anything could have. I rode with my left arm wrapped in a sling, bandaged to stop the bleeding from Cavarillos’ sword-cut.
Cavarillos. . .
We had seen nothing of him since he vanished into the darkness on that bloody night, riding a stolen horse. He might have joined the Dumnones, guided them in their pursuit. He might have fled to one of the other tribes that populated this wild land. There were a thousand possibilities.
We had buried Inyae at the spot of our campsite, along with the Brihentin who had fallen. I still saw her, appearing in my dreams, reliving the last few moments of her life. Horror.
I had failed her. I couldn’t get away from that. Failed her, and she was dead.
We rode north for weeks, slowed by the early snows of Ogrosan. Foraging became harder and we slew the extra horse. The others would soon follow. It was them, or us.
Tancogeistla’s wounds from the ambush were healing slowly. And he was still sober. I watched him from a distance, listened to his conversations with the nobles. I was not a participant in those conversations. I was merely his bodyguard, not his equal.
Some of the men were murmuring, whispering of mutiny. But they had nowhere to go. We were all equally lost, plowing through deeper and deeper snows as the weather turned colder. One of the men was found frozen to death in his blankets. His comrades ate his body.

I found some bugs under a rock, stripped them of their wings and ate them raw. I was too hungry to care.
One day Tancogeistla approached me soon after we had settled in for the night, sheltered from the angry north winds by a small wooded knoll.
“Cadwalador,” he began. He had finally learned my name. I glanced up, popping a termite into my mouth. It had an unusually fruity taste, rather enjoyable in fact. Certainly there were enough of them under this log I sat on.
“Yes, my lord?”
He looked weary and cold. As were we all.
“Our scouts reported footprints in the snow to the northwest at midday. I need you to ride out and see if there are people in the area. One man will be perceived as less of a threat than the entire party of us.”
I nodded slowly. “Should I find the area to be inhabited, do you wish me to make contact?”
“Yes. See if you can procure food and supplies, as well as the goodwill of the inhabitants. That will be essential.”
“As you did at Ictis?” I snapped, speaking before I thought. Tancogeistla flinched as though I had struck him, but there was no anger in his eyes. Only a tremendous sadness.
“Their blood is on my hands, Cadwalador,” he acknowledged after a long, awkward pause, holding those hands up to the sky and gazing into the palms. “Sometimes I think I can see it. That’s what Cavarillos thought, wasn’t it?”
His question took me off-guard. “Perhaps so—I really. . .”
“Come now, my son. You were his friend. You knew, else how could you have sounded the alarm that night? He blamed me for the death of his men, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“And he was not alone.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
“No he was not, my lord.”
“It must have been a difficult choice for you to make. Between your friend and your leader, between your brotherhood with him and your loyalty to the tribe of your fathers. Between a warrior who had taught you much of his skills, and a drunken imbecile who had led your army to destruction.”
His frank self-appraisal took me completely by surprise. It was hardly what I had been expecting. “That is hardly my opinion,” I remonstrated, “I have the—”
He cut me off. “It is the truth. I wonder at times, Cadwalador, if we will ever see our people again? Whether we are condemned to wander the rest of our lives in this desolate wilderness? I suppose only the gods know the answers to those questions.”
I didn’t respond. Telling him that I no longer had any faith in the gods of my people would hardly be diplomatic. I dared not abuse the sudden familiarity he had offered to me, strange though it was.
“And perhaps the people of this area,” he added. “That is why I wish you to ride ahead.”
“I understand,” I replied, rising slowly from my seat. “I will endeavor to report back as soon as possible.”
“I am counting on you, Cadwalador. Of all my men, your loyalty is unquestioned. That is why I chose you for this mission.”
I nodded once again, taking my javelins in my hand and walking quickly to my horse. I carried no sword, had not since it had failed me that night with Cavarillos. I could not even see one without seeing a vision of his blade protruding from her belly. The image haunted my dreams.
Swinging lightly into the saddle, I took the reins in my hand and gently kicked my horse into a slow trot out of camp. What I found ahead would determine our future plans.
The wind whipped at me as soon as I moved out from the shelter of the hill, slicing through the thin, ragged garments I wore. I might as well have been naked, for all the protection they gave.
Soon my horse had slowed to no more than a walk, and I was unable to urge him to go faster. He was as exhausted and hungry as I was. His bones were clearly visible through his hide. I could feel them beneath me.
It began to snow, small flakes drifting down through the darkness of night. Whatever chance I may have once possessed of locating the tracks the scouts had spoken of was rapidly vanishing. If there had been any chance to begin with.
We wandered for hours, I and my horse. The snow was falling heavier now, accumulating on any surface that would stand still long enough. We were one of those surfaces.
I kicked my horse in the flanks, forcing it out of its languid walk. It had been full moon when I had left the camp, but all was white now, snow obscuring the moon, the stars. I had no guides left.
I was tired, incredibly so. And sleepy. So sleepy. I wanted to do nothing more than rest. Rest forever. Inyae, Cavarillos, Tancogeistla, the army; they were all a faint memory, fading from my mind. My mission, it no longer seemed important.
The reins slipped from between my fingers and I suddenly felt myself sliding, falling from the horse’s back. I reached out wildly, losing my javelins. I hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud, feeling something snap in my lower leg. Pain shot through my limb and I sank back into the snow, gritting my teeth, fighting to keep conscious.
The snow opened up to welcome me, folding me in its pillowy arms. At first I struggled to regain my feet, but I found I couldn’t. My leg was broken—at least it felt that way. Maybe it wasn’t, but I no longer cared. Sleep. That was all I wanted to do. Lie back in the soft drifts of snow and rest. Forever. . .

[Chirurgeon]

Wow. So thats it. Man that is quite the tale. Superb writing there. I have never seen the "starvation" announcement. Sure was rough. This was a complete tragedy, save for his reconciliation. Ok I need a drink now.
Only thing that bothered me was that I thought they ate their horses and yet he was riding one at the end? Other than that a great final chapter!

[Reverend Joe]

What I found ahead would determine our future plans.

Maybe it ain't over.

[Chaotix]

Hmm.... I do hope it's not over, Cadwalador still has to avenge Inyae. In any case, that was a great chapter.

[gamegeek2]

Someone earlier said it was Ireland. No, they're in Sussex/Southwest Brittania

[Theodotos I]

It ain't over till it's over.
@Chirurgeon: Had you fooled there, man. Incidentally, they had only eaten the spare horse, not all of them. He was speaking of the future.
@ReverendJoe: Perceptive. Thanks for commenting.
@Chaotix27: Thanks. Keep reading.
@Gamegeek2: Moving north.

Another chapter will be up shortly, everybody. The saga continues. BTW, I thought of a contest that all the readers of my AAR could take part in. It will start today and continue till next Tuesday. I will give three balloons to the person who can come the closest to guessing my true age, based on what they've read of my writing. Good luck!

[Theodotos I]

Chapter XV: Rumors of War

I came awake slowly, dimly aware of an unfamiliar sensation that permeated my body, seeping even to my bones. It took me a moment to place what it was.
Warmth. I was warm. It was a strange feeling. My eyes flickered open and I began to take in my surroundings. I lay on my back on a blanket, only feet away from a small fire built within a hut. I started to get up, but pain shot through my right leg and looking down, I remembered. I had broken my leg. The snowstorm, the fall, all came rushing back to my consciousness. Someone had fixed a splint on my leg, straightening it.
Movement behind me. The form of a woman moved into the circle of firelight. Inyae. . .
Light fell upon her face and sorrow flooded through me as I remembered. Cavarillos, Inyae, Tancogeistla. That terrible night of betrayal and horror.
This woman knelt by my side and spoke gently to me. I shook my head, unable to understand her tongue. Where was I? How had I come here?
Her hand felt cool as she placed it upon my brow, apparently checking for any signs of the fever that often smote one so exposed.
She spoke again, but I could sense that she was no longer talking to me, but rather to another who had entered the hut behind me.
Another voice. That of a man. He moved into my line of vision, a tall, powerful figure, red-haired, but clean-shaven of face. Despite the weather, he wore only leggings and a cloak draped loosely around his shoulders. Strange designs were painted on his chest.
He spoke in the same language as the woman, apparently expecting me to comprehend. I shook my head in growing frustration. “I can’t understand a thing you are saying!” I exploded, swearing in my native tongue.
The pair exchanged glances and the man spoke sharply to the woman. She disappeared behind me and I could feel sunlight stream in as she left the hut, closing the rude door behind her.
“Where am I?” I asked next, sensing something I had said had gotten through. I started to rise up, but the man bent down on one knee and laid his hand upon my shoulder, forcing me to lie back down.
“Wait,” he said, speaking in Gallic.
I stared at him in shock. “Why—I mean, how—you know my language!”
He shook his head. “Wait,” he repeated. For the first time, I noticed he carried my javelins in his hand. Apparently he was one of the men who rescued me.
“How did I come here?” He shook his head, apparently unable to understand my question. It baffled me. One moment he spoke my language clearly and the next he couldn’t comprehend what I was asking.
The hide door behind me flapped open again and I could sense people entering, shadows thrown over my body.
It was the older woman and another, no more than a girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen years of age. She bent down beside me.
“I am Diedre,” she said, once again speaking in Gallic, “a maiden of the tribe of the Belgae.”
“Then how did you come here?” I demanded, interrupting her.
A faint smile flickered across her lips. “I could ask the same of you,” she responded boldly. “But the Aedui are not unknown here.” She went on before I could reply. “As for myself, I was taken prisoner in a raid by the Casse upon the mainland nine years ago. They sold me to these people in one of their trades north.”
“Then you are a slave?” I asked, pity apparently coming through in my tones.
“I remember nothing else. They recognized the tongue you spoke as my own and brought me here to act as an interpreter.”
“Who are these people?”
“They are the Calydrae, the tribe which controls the northern tip of this island.”
“That’s what this is?” I asked. “An island?”
She smiled again. “So say the druids. Everyone believes their word.”
“What is this place called?”
“Attuaca. It is the chief town of the Calydrae. You escaped from the army that attacked here five months ago, didn’t you?”
I was surprised, and apparently it showed on my face. “What army? What do you mean?”
Her dark eyes held mine for a moment, apparently trying to discern whether my surprise was genuine. “Five months ago, a small army came from across the waters, from the place where the sun sinks into the sea. They were led by a great, white-haired man mounted on a mighty horse. His companions were also mounted. They laid siege to this place, circled it round, demanded its surrender. A week later, the Calydrae sallied out against him, led by this man,” she gestured to the man who had spoken with me.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“His name is Cinaed, the war-leader of the Calydrae. I sat by the wall as the battle was joined, and I heard the cries of the enemy army. It was the language of your people.”
My eyes never left her face, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What happened?”
“Their leader charged his men directly into the Calydrae, cutting down many of our warriors.”

“But he was outnumbered and Cinaed’s men fought bravely, hamstringing many of the enemy horses and bringing their armored riders crashing to the ground. In the end, the enemy chieftain was surrounded by warriors. Blood poured from his body and from that of his steed.”
I closed my eyes, the scene playing itself out across my mind. I could see it, images coming from my past, the sound of horses and men screaming in pain, terror. Pandemonium. My memories of Ictis, the ambush, that awful night facing Cavarillos. My life since I had come to this island. She was still talking.
“. . . he fought on gallantly, slaying some of the mightiest men of Attuaca. His bravery was beyond question. Cinaed himself charged forward to challenge him and his arm was laid open by a sword-slash.”
“And?”
She looked down into my eyes. “He died, the last of his army, surrounded by our warriors.”

“His armor hangs on the palisade surrounding Attuaca. Cinaed ordered that he receive a hero’s burial. That was the last we saw of them, until the men found you in the snow two days ago.”
“Two days ago?” I asked in surprise. “I’ve been here that long?”
She nodded. I looked past her to where Cinaed stood, beside the woman I assumed to be his wife. “Do they know the origin of the men who attacked here?”
“That they were Aedui? No, I have only taught them a few words of your language. To my knowledge they have no suspicion. Just be careful what you say.”
I acknowledged her words with a quick nod. “Can you interpret for me?” I asked. “I need to speak with Cinaed. I have comrades out there.”

[Irishmafia2020]

Wow... this is a good AAR... I like the the black and white screenies! Keep writing!

[Theodotos I]

Thanks, Irishmafia. BTW, personal note here. Due to my new job(started as of last Friday), I probably won't be able to update as frequently. And I've also downloaded 1.1, so I've got both installed currently. However, this AAR will be played out to the bitter end. The best is yet to come, so keep reading.
And don't forget the contest. I'm interested in your guesses!

[Reverend Joe]

Well, I'm guessing he goes native. It just sounds like this story is headed that way; plus it would be harder than hell for him to reunite with the remaining Aeduli, if there are any left.

Edit: oh, hell, I just read "I'm interested in your guesses" there at the end and, without thinking, assumed you were talking about the AAR. Well, hell, I have no idea how old you are. If I had to guess, though, I'd say 15-16. Just a feeling.

[Irishmafia2020]

Well, you have a job, but no one is impressed by a thirty five year old writer (albeit good writing is good writing) my guess is that you are 18 and haven't started college yet.... About the age of some of my students actually...

[Theodotos I]

Chapter XVI: The Armor

Tancogeistla arrived in Attuaca two days later, at the head of what remained of our army. The men were bone-tired, hungry. Had Attuaca been a smaller village, I would have feared a massacre like at Inyae’s home. As it was, the clearly displayed weapons of the Calydrae served as a deterrent.
I spoke with Tancogeistla as quickly as I could without arousing suspicion. There was a strange look in his eyes as I told him of the men who had come across the waters, of the hero who had died before Attuaca. As though he knew something I didn’t. . .
“Where was this armor the girl told you?” he asked, as I finished. I looked over at him, puzzled at his reaction. “On the town wall.”
“Take me there,” he ordered peremptorily. His voice was unusual, I almost feared he had been drinking again. But, no, his cheeks were free from the flush of wine.
I gestured toward my leg, wrapped tightly as it was with a crude splint. “I can’t move. Not any time soon.”
He cursed in frustration, acknowledging my injury. “I’m sorry. Where’s the girl?”
“I don’t know,” I replied.
“Never mind,” he retorted. “I can find it myself.”
He stormed from the hut, leaving me laying there, my mind swirling with his reactions. There was no doubt in my mind about the identity of the army that had besieged Attuaca. They were my people, the army which had gone before us to Hibernia, the land across the sea. Had they been successful? Had they conquered that new land?
So many questions. So few answers. And now Tancogeistla. I didn’t know what to make of his reaction. The armor. What mattered about the armor.
Night was falling when Tancogeistla reentered the hut. Deidre was kneeling by the fire, fanning the smoldering coals into flame. He extended his hands to the flame, his body shaking from the cold. His face was worn, I could read the strain of the journey in the lines of his brow. And something else was bothering him. . .
He waited until Deidre left, announcing that she would go get food. Then he turned to me, gazing down into my face as I lay there on the blanket.
“Cadwalador,” he began. “I can trust you, can I not?”
His question took me by surprise. “Of course, my lord. With your life.”
“Yes—yes, I know,” he whispered distractedly. “You proved yourself on that night with Cavarillos. At great personal cost.”
I didn’t want the reminder. Inyae’s death was still too fresh.
“And you will stand by me now, I know that.” His eyes locked with mine, a powerful gaze. I could sense the magnetism, the charisma that had won him his position with Cocolitanos, his anointment as the Chosen Superior. Truly, he would have been a great man, save for the vine.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Cadwalador, I found the armor. It hangs near the gate.”
“Aeduan?”
He nodded slowly. “And more than that, my son. Not just any Aeduan armor. It is the mail of Cocolitanos.”
My mouth fell open. The shock. “The Vergobret?” I asked, unable to believe my ears. Our leader. . .
Another nod. “Our people are across the waters, my son. And that is where we must go, as soon as the snows melt. I must go and take my rightful place as their leader.”
I had nearly forgotten. Of course. He was the Taoi Arjos, the successor of Cocolitanos. The reason I had stood against Cavarillos from the beginning.
There was a far-away look in his eyes as he stared into the dancing flames. “My people are leaderless now, Cadwalador. Scattered as sheep without a shepherd. I must go to them. . .”

[CaptainBlack]

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Dude I seriously thought it was over after he fell in the snow, man my heart is racing. And Tancogeistla might want to find an AA group before he wants to take his place as ruler.

[Irishmafia2020]

Well, drinking isn't always a negative, after all this wonderful expedition to hibernia in the first place is probably a result of some drunken boast... Still, it would be nice if the leader's drinking resulted in a little more cameraderie and loyalty from his troops rather than just ill concieved and poorly lead attacks (admittedly a likely outcome of being drunk as well)...

[Shylence]

OOOOO is the old drunkard gonna pull his socks up now.! I wonder

[Theodotos I]

Chapter XVII: Flight

The cold stretched on, vicious and unrelenting as Ogrosan held the countryside in its dark grasp. There were days we never saw the sun, days of furious, blinding snow.
Tancogeistla was unbearable. I hadn’t seen him this impatient since those days on the headlands of my homeland. It seemed so long ago.
Cinaed treated us kindly, but I knew he was suspicious. Tancogeistla’s story of our shipwreck and subsequent journey seemed too improbable to be believed. I was hardly sure I would have believed it myself, had I not lived the horror. Still, we owed Cinaed our lives.
Spring came, and with it a wildly blooming purple flower that covered the hillsides surrounding Attuaca.

My leg had healed almost completely and to exercise it, I took long walks in the hills with Diedre. On one such excursion, we walked to the cliffs overlooking the western sea. They made me think of the cliffs Cavarillos and I had huddled beneath on that first morning washed ashore. It seemed an eternity ago, but I knew that was just a figment of my imagination.
Diedre noticed my silence and mentioned it with her characteristic boldness. I shook my head. “Memories,” I replied. “Just memories.”
My eyes narrowed as I gazed out across the water, at a strange sight emerging through the mist. It looked like—it was a peninsula of land, jutting out into the sea.
I pointed it out to Diedre. “That is the land of the hero,” she responded, speaking of the leader who had fallen before Attuaca. Cocolitanos.
My eyes fixed on that narrow spit of land—so close, yet so far. My people were there. I glanced over at the girl, wondering if she could read my thoughts. She was perceptive for one so young.
An unusual hunger rose inside me, a desire—to see my people, to live among them again. I had been a castaway for so long. Too much Aeduan blood had been spilled in this land.

Tancogeistla and I talked long into the night, in council with one of the Brihentin, one of the last of the nobility. I felt honored to be part of such a council.
One thing was decided. We would split the men up into small parties, send them through the hills and forests looking for wood sufficient to build a raft. A raft we could sail across to Hibernia.
I didn’t think it could be accomplished, but Tancogeistla was adamant. A strange fire had risen with him, perhaps another variation of the desire I felt, compounded by his knowledge that he was now the leader of his people. A leader who needed to return.
With my still-weakened leg, I was assigned no part of the woodcutting parties. Rather, it would be my job to occupy and deceive the man who had befriended us and spared us from the harsh blasts of Ogrosan. Cinaed. . .
Over the time we had stayed in Atttuaca, I had come to respect and admire the leader of the Calydrae. Which made what I had to do all the more difficult. Still, if it would mean I could see my people again. . .

In the weeks which followed, I spent most of my time with Cinaed and his young warriors, matching myself against them in the use of the javelin. The accuracy which the Calydrae achieved stunned me. I was clearly not in their class.
But I was accomplishing my purpose, keeping them occupied. I accompanied Cinaed’s son out on the hunt once, steering him away from our small groups of woodcutters.
Weeks passed. Looking up into the clear skies at night, I could see the moon grow full, then become dark. Two rafts were completed, but Tancogeistla felt a third was needed, if we were to carry all of us, and the remaining horses. They would be valuable in the new land.
The Calydrae celebrated the coming of the new moon with a feast, similar to that which some of the druids had observed back in Gaul.
I worried about the feast and the effect which the liquor might have on Tancogeistla, but he abstained, remarkably. He was drunk with something else these days—a fervor to return to his people, to take his rightful place as the Vergobret. And so no trouble arose from the feast. It was a blessing from the gods.
Two months had slipped by since the day I had seen Hibernia through the mists when Tancogeistla entered the small hut I had been living in ever since my arrival in Attuaca.
“We need to talk, Cadwalador,” he announced abruptly. I gestured for him to sit down on one of the hides spread out on the floor, but he shook his head, glancing sharply at Diedre and one of the village women.
I rose from my seat on the earth, following him out into the streets of the village. Night was coming on, the sun sinking low into the western sky. “What is it, my lord?”
“One of the rafts,” he whispered hurriedly. “It was discovered by the Calydrae. Smashed to pieces. We must leave at once.”
I looked into his eyes. “Are two rafts enough for us all?”
“If we leave the horses, yes,” he replied with a gesture of impatience, “quick, go spread the word among your comrades. Everyone must be at the top of the cliffs by the second watch of the night. We will set sail in the moonlight.”
“I understand, my lord.”
“Then, go! Quickly!”

[Theodotos I]

@Reverend Joe: Sometimes I fail to make myself clear. Sorry. Anyhow, glad you're enjoying the story.
@Irishmafia: Wait and see, wait and see. It's been a job balancing Tancogeistla's traits, because he has some very negative drinking traits, counter-balanced by some very decent leadership traits. Which is why I've given him a bit of a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality. BTW, thanks for entering the contest.
@Captain Black: I think I fooled everyone with that ending. But no, he's still very much alive--for a little longer.
@Shylence: You never know, do you?
Incidentally, where is Chirurgeon? I had hoped to see him in the contest.

[Shylence]

This man has made an 1000+ mile journey I think once his fighting days are over he should write a Lonelyplant travel guide on the ancient isles of the tinpeople!

[gamegeek2]

I say hire some mercs!

[CaptainBlack]

@Reverend Joe: Sometimes I fail to make myself clear. Sorry. Anyhow, glad you're enjoying the story.
@Irishmafia: Wait and see, wait and see. It's been a job balancing Tancogeistla's traits, because he has some very negative drinking traits, counter-balanced by some very decent leadership traits. Which is why I've given him a bit of a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality. BTW, thanks for entering the contest.
@Captain Black: I think I fooled everyone with that ending. But no, he's still very much alive--for a little longer.
@Shylence: You never know, do you?
Incidentally, where is Chirurgeon? I had hoped to see him in the contest.

I think Chirurgeon thinks it is over?

Wow. So thats it. Man that is quite the tale. Superb writing there. I have never seen the "starvation" announcement. Sure was rough. This was a complete tragedy, save for his reconciliation. Ok I need a drink now.
Only thing that bothered me was that I thought they ate their horses and yet he was riding one at the end? Other than that a great final chapter!

Wait..why the rush, Idon't understand why the Calydrae would do anything about the boats, they don't suspect anything and shouldn't expect anything from the boats. It's not like Tancogeistla is going to leave and come back with a greater force. Hmmm.. I think Tancogeistla is overreacting.

[Shylence]

since this is an Ulterior (is that the word?? im pissed, no bother) history you have to think that the Cayldrae would be as foregin to these gauls as some greeks. anyway the escape is on!!! and mabe conquest. But i always worry with thise narratives from one person angle that at some point the fellas has to die. I dont want them to die.