Man those are some wild twists and turns there. What a great read! You keep us guessing. The future of this will be quite interesting :)
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Man those are some wild twists and turns there. What a great read! You keep us guessing. The future of this will be quite interesting :)
@Reverend Joe: Glad to see you back, friend. Just hang tight, and I think you will be surprised. I recognize your criticism as valid, but I have plans. . .:idea2:
@Aeldaemon: Yeah, should have taken more time with Belerios, but I will remember that in the future. He deserved the death he died.
@Irishmafia: One of my ancestors actually died in childbirth, albeit her baby survived. Thank God. As for your reservation stories. . .Think I'd better pack a .45 if I come join you. :laugh4: In reality, I'm 1/64th Cherokee, so hardly your blood brother.
@Chirurgeon: We're in for a ride. My next chapter should be up Monday, I have a number of pics I need to edit.
:2thumbsup: Can't wait.
I've been reading this for the past few days, and been enjoying it immensely. Theodotos, you are a great writer! Great fun to read about my near namesake.:2thumbsup: I must admit that I'm a little suspicious about the premature monotheism, but I can understand how you would want it in. Also, I think that Belerios' murder seemed a bit strange. Why didn't he make an attempt to hide it, when he must have known how Tancogeistla would take it?
In addition, I'd like to ask you what to "sup" means. Cadwalador tells Diedre that they will sup together. Does it mean to have supper, or or is it a slang word for sexual intercorse which has evaded me?
@Cadwalader: Love your username! Glad to hear you've been reading. I guess my only explanation for Belerios' confession is that he knew Cadwalador would try to kill him one way or the other and wanted to taunt him with it. I admit I didn't do the background quite as well as I should have for that subplot, but I will try to do better in the future. As for "sup" it is the archaic root word for supper, although as many euphemisms for sex as are floating around, it was a likely guess. Nice to hear your opinion.
Chapter XXXI: Expansion
Five months after the death of Belerios, Tancogeistla’s army left Attuaca, moving south along the coastline, towards the land of the Cyremniu, Yns-Mon. I did not accompany him.
I could still remember his words to me as I turned to leave the palace. What he hath said is true, Cadwalador. I had always looked upon you as my successor. Only at Attuaca did I question your loyalty to me. And in my anger, I made the foolish choice of Aneirin moc Cunobelin.
I had turned to gaze into his eyes and found nothing but sorrow there. He is a fine lad, but he lacks the warrior’s heart. The men fail to respect him, and he will not have the throne for long. Once again the Aedui will be torn apart. My throne can still be yours, Cadwalador. Everything I have amassed, in reward for your faithful service. All of it, yours.
I shook my head slowly. Your life is not mine, my lord, I had replied. As Aneirin moc Cunobelin will not survive, neither would I. One thing I ask from you. Give me back my wife! And I had left the palace, intending never to return. The months passed. Tancogeistla and Malac moved south together, at the head of the army. The old Vergobret smiled at me as they rode past, well aware he was going to his death. And that I was living mine.
Diedre’s daughter was my lifeline, my one link to a happier past, and as time passed by, she reminded me more and more of her mother. Ofttimes, I would retreat to my forge and weep, that she might not see my tears and wonder why. Her childish innocence delighted me. I sought to bathe myself in it, that I too might return to that place. Before the knowledge of evil.
And then one day, a rider reined up beside the gobacrado, his horse dusty from the road. I watched from my window as he tethered the horse and walked toward me.
It was Motios. The first time I had seen him since Diedre’s death. He had accompanied the army of Tancogeistla when they moved south. I went out to meet him.
“May I have a cup of cold water, my son?” he asked, throwing back the hood of his cloak.
I reached for the dipper in the bucket by the wall. “I can’t guarantee that it’s cold, but it is wet.”
He chuckled softly. “Thank you. Tancogeistla is arriving in the city this evening.”
“Then the assault on Yns-Mon—failed?”
The old druid shook his head. “No, my son. It succeeded, after a hard-fought battle against the Cyremniu. Many died, but the hill-fort was secured. Yns-Mon and the surrounding countryside are in our hands.”
There was pride in his voice. “And Malac?” I asked.
“He is dead,” Motios replied simply.
“Tell me what happened, please.”
Motios glanced into the interior of the gobacrado. “Perhaps we should take a seat, Cadwalador. The story is a long one.”
I nodded slowly and led him back into the cover of the building, where we could be shielded from the cold.
“We encamped around the city for many long weeks,” he stated, beginning his tale. “Many of our young men wished to attack, but Tancogeistla advised caution. Malac threw in his lot with the young men and for a while nearly succeeded in splitting the army.”
I shook my head in disbelief. The old man had not intended on dying passively. Not by a long shot.
“However, Tancogeistla rallied the men to his banner and reminded them that his decisions had carried the day in the past, and that they should be careful of Malac. That it was Malac’s foolishness and cowardice that had cost us so many lives in the assault on Attuaca. Should we chance another reckless assault based on his advice?”
“Finally, on a snowy day just over a week ago, the Cyremniu, weakened and desperate from the siege, burst forth from behind their palisade to attack us.”
“Malac’s bodyguards were the first into the saddle and they almost immediately charged the enemy, scattering skirmishers left and right, trampling men underfoot.”
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“Tancogeistla soon followed, and the vanguard of the enemy was chased back in the town. However, a brave contingent of the Cladaca followed so hot on the heels of the enemy skirmishers that they entered the gates before the enemy could close them, and fought boldly there until more troops arrived to bolster their line. It was then that Malac apparently spied the chariots of the enemy king, a chieftain by the name of Virsuccos, and wishing to engage him in single combat, he gave chase. I do not know whether Tancogeistla was unaware of Malac’s departure, or whether he merely wished the vergobret to die fighting, for he sent no men to reinforce Malac. The vergobret galloped off after the enemy chariots with only seventeen of his bodyguards.”
“It was intentional,” I interrupted, fire flashing in my eyes. The old druid glanced over at me.
“There is a change in you, my son. You have developed a bold tongue. It is not a gift to men who wish to live long.”
“I no longer desire long life,” I snapped back in anger. “All reason for that has been taken from me.”
His face softened. “I did everything I could for your wife, Cadwalador. Everything in my power. You must believe that.”
“Go on with your story,” was my only response. My grief was still too great to discuss Diedre. With anyone.
After a long pause, he went on. “All this I have told you, I witnessed with my own eyes. Of what follows after, I have only the word of one of the Brihentin who escaped from Malac’s retinue. Virsuccos, the Cyremniu chieftain, retreated rapidly, his bodyguards tossing javelins back at Malac as they rode away, their chariots bouncing over the rugged terrain.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...owboyChase.jpg
“They led Malac far from the town, as he pursued in a fruitless effort to regain his reputation for bravery. It was at this time that Tancogeistla heard of Malac’s gambit and left the infantry within the walls of Yns-Mon, riding with his horsemen and I to discover Malac’s fate. When we reached the ridge to the south of the town, we discovered the Virsuccos’ chariots had turned and were engaged in a fierce melee with Malac’s Brihentin.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/.../Chariot-1.jpg
“Malac’s bodyguard told me that the chariots wheeled on them suddenly and dashed through the midst, their wheels breaking the legs of horses and grinding their riders into the snow. Many men died in the first charge, but Malac rallied the survivors bravely and threw them into the combat, cutting down many of the Cyremniu charioteers. The slaughter great on both sides.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/.../Chariot-2.jpg
“It was as though Malac had a death wish. He stayed in the melee with the charioteers for far too long. Finally only a few of his bodyguards were left, the rest killed or unhorsed by the vicious attack of the Cyremniu.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/.../Chariot-3.jpg
“Malac was engaged with in hand-to-hand combat with one of the charioteers when a rider in Virsuccos’ chariot raised himself up and cast his javelin at the Vergobret. The javelin smote Malac in the neck, just under the helmet, and he screamed, falling from his horse into the snow, dead.”
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“The last bodyguard of Malac cried with a loud voice at his lord’s downfall and turned his horse to flee from the field of battle. Malac’s body was trampled ‘neath the wheels of the chariots."
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“And where was Tancogeistla?” I asked, gazing earnestly into the face of the druid.
Motios held up a finger to silence me. “Let me continue, my son. I will tell you all.”
“Seeing the death of Malac, Tancogeistla ordered his Brihentin to charge down upon the charioteers from their position on the top of the ridge. Virsuccos was taken by surprise and Tancogeistla rode quickly to the side of his chariot. I followed, my own sword drawn. I could see the terror in the eyes of Cyremniu chieftain. He was facing his own death. Then Tancogeistla’s sword descended upon him.”
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“Malac’s death was avenged at the hand of Tancogeistla.”
“After he had suffered him to be killed,” I interjected sharply, rising and going over to the window of the gobacrado.
Motios’ brow furrowed. “This man would have killed any of you he deemed a threat. Even at the last, he still tried to turn the army against Tancogeistla. As he would have done against you.”
After a long moment, I nodded. “We spoke of Malac many years ago, Motios. And you told me that the enemy who faces you, sword drawn, is not the one you need to fear. Rather it is the man who greets you with a kiss. Is that not so?”
“Tancogeistla did only what he had to do. Malac was far from an honest enemy. You know that.”
“Yes,” I acknowledged. “I know. Tell me the rest.”
“We rode slowly back to the town to find the Balroae of Attuaca still engaged in fighting with one man in the square of Yns-Mon.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...heCyremniu.jpg
“He was a large man, a champion, skilled in the use of the sword. But at long last they overwhelmed him and thrust him through with their spears as he lay on the ground. The hill-fort was ours. We had overcome the Cyremniu.”
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Another excellent update! Once again we see how dangerous chariots can be to cavalry. I always wondered why.
@Cadwalader: Glad you've enjoyed it. Yes, chariots are very dangerous, as Malac was too slow to learn.
I'm posting up here a shot of the Aedui family tree. It would break up the story at this point to work it in, but you all can see it.https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...FamilyTree.jpg
A lot of people have died. Keep reading and commenting, everyone!:book:
Chapter XXXII: Honest Words
Tancogeistla returned to Attuaca a few months later, and was given a hero’s welcome. His men had begun referring to him as Tancogeistla oi Neamha, or Tancogeistla the Berserker, a reference to what they viewed as his courageous sword-fight with the leader of the Cyremniu. I did not see him again until two years later, at the marriage feast of Aneirin moc Cunobelin. . .
I was working in my gobacrado when the messenger came from the palace. Diedre’s little daughter, Faran, was in the care of a neighbor woman for the day. “Cadwalador?” he asked, striding toward my forge.
“I am he,” I answered, looking around at him. “What do you want?”
“Aneirin moc Cunobelin desires your presence at the feast being given in honor of his marriage tonight.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...nsMarriage.jpg
I acknowledged the news with a nod. Indeed, I had heard of the girl who was to be his bride. A woman picked out for him by my old friend Berdic, or so I had been told. If that was so, then her beauty was assured. As for her purity. . .
“I will be there,” I replied, taking the iron from the fire and placing it on my anvil. The messenger smiled and wished me good-day.
That evening, I made arrangements for the neighbor to continue taking care of Faran and put on my best clothes for the feast.
I felt a pang of sorrow as I prepared. The last feast of this nature which I had attended—had been my own, celebrating my marriage to Diedre. It seemed such a short time ago. Indeed, our happiness had been short-lived. All I had left was memories, how precious they were. I found myself regretting each moment I had spent at the forge, the nights I had spent in Berdic’s company, everything that had taken the place of time I could have spent with her. A man never knows how precious something is until it is taken from him. . .
I heard wild laughter coming from the palace as I dismounted outside. Clearly, the feast had already begun.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...otos/Feast.jpg
I passed easily through the guards who stood outside. Who is Tancogeistla afraid of now? I asked myself silently. I looked from left to right as I entered the courtyard. I pavilion was set up at one end, with two mock thrones placed beneath its shelter. On one of them sat a very beautiful young woman in the bride’s attire. The other was empty.
She caught me looking at her and smiled across the crowd, jewel-green eyes sparkling as they looked into my face. Clearly she was not unaccustomed to men staring at her. I turned away, unsettled by her gaze.
“Cadwalador!” a voice called loudly, a hand descending jovially on my shoulder. I turned, looking full into the face of Aneirin moc Cunobelin.
“It is good to see you, my brother,” he declared, kissing me on both cheeks. “It has been too long.”
“Ah, well, I have preferred to remain to myself these last few months.”
He nodded, ignoring the import of my words in his own excitement. “But come, brother. I wish you to see my bride.”
“I already have,” I smiled, remembering the early days of my own marriage. The newness of it all.
“She is beautiful, is she not?”
“Indeed. May I congratulate you upon your marriage.”
“Thank you. And thank our mutual friend.”
“Oh?” I asked, unsure of what he meant.
“Berdic,” he answered, smiling as he gazed upon his new wife. “He introduced me to her.”
“Of course,” I nodded. “It has been good to speak with you.”
“And I am honored by your presence, Cadwalador,” Aneirin stated earnestly, turning to look me in the eye. “I hold the man who saved my father’s life in great esteem.”
“Nay, but you honor me, my lord,” I replied.
He shook his head, reaching out to grasp me by the arm. “I meant those words, Cadwalador,” he remonstrated, gesturing to the mug of ale in his hand. “I am not drunk—yet. Look over there and tell me what you see.”
I looked in the direction of his gaze. “It is Tancogeistla.”
“Oi Neamha,” Aneirin added. “The berserker. It saddens me, Cadwalador, all his life he has striven for the throne of the Aedui, to become the vergobret of his people. And yet now that he has attained it, he is an old man. He cannot live for many more years.”
“I pray you are wrong,” I replied honestly.
“I know why you say that, Cadwalador,” Aneirin said after a long moment of silence. “You do not believe I am prepared to follow in his footsteps.”
“I have never said such a thing, my lord,” I responded, startled by the suddenness of his statement.
“But don’t deny that you haven’t thought it, Cadwalador. You are too sharp of a man not to have. Because it’s true. The Aedui must be led by a warrior. And I lack in skill at arms.”
I didn’t know how to answer him with the honesty he seemed to demand. “That is why I will need you at my side—I will need your advice in the days ahead.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “As you are not a warrior, neither am I, my lord. There are many who could better advise you than I.”
“But none whom I would trust,” he replied fiercely. “You were with my father on this island in the early days of the migration. And you followed him and protected his life at great cost to yourself. I know this, as does he. The rest, they circle like wolves, hedging their loyalties and watching for the opportunity to vaunt themselves above the rest. Above me and the trust Tancogeistla has placed in my care.”
“I will do my best to repay your trust, “ I said quietly, numb with the impact of his words.
“I have faith,” he responded, “enjoy your evening, brother.” He moved off through the crowd, the ale in his hand, leaving me alone.
I made my way over to where Tancogeistla stood, surrounded closely by several of his Brihentin. As I came closer, I saw what Aneirin had meant. The years had taken their toll on my old general.
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“Welcome to the feast, my son,” he greeted, extending his hand to me. I still did not share Aneirin’s sentiments. The same strength was still there as he gripped my hand firmly.
“I am glad to be here, my lord.”
“I regretted that you could not accompany me on the expedition to Yns-Mon, but I understood your reasons.”
Did he? I doubted it, but my doubts were not those that should be voiced. Just as I opened my mouth to continue the small talk, a man entered the courtyard, breathless and shouting.
“Tancogeistla! Tancogeistla!” Someone pointed him in the right direction, and I saw him pushing through the crowd toward us.
The Vergobret frowned, a puzzled look crossing his aged face. “I come from Ivomagos moc Baeren,” the man gasped out, falling at Tancogeistla’s feet.
“Who?” I heard one of the nobles ask.
Tancogeistla waved his hand for silence. “What is it, man? What message do you bring?”
“My master is in Caern-Brigantae, carrying out your mission among the Casse. Three days ago, he was summoned before Mowg, the chieftain of that place.”
“Yes? Go on!” Tancogeistla exclaimed impatiently.
“Mowg informed my master that he was canceling our alliance with his people, that our advance on Yns-Mon had displeased he and the High King and that they could no longer continue in fellowship as friends with us.”
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Tancogeistla turned to me, his tone grave, a dangerous fire glittering in his eyes. “Bring Aneirin to me. I must see him at once. . .”
Trouble brewing with the Casse, eh? This will be exciting!
And thank you for updating so quickly. Excellent stuff.
Good read as always... these chapters have distracted me from playing the game itself tonight! oh well...
Hmmm, Aedui VS Casse. This story just got more interesting.
@Cadwalader: Glad you enjoyed it. This will prove to have been a very important chapter in the grand scheme of things. . .
@Irishmafia: Sorry to have been so distracting.:laugh4: I'm trying to develop Aneirin's personality more as this goes along.
@Defiant: Yes, this has been brewing for a while. I'm waiting for Shylence to pop in with the introduction of Mowg into my story.
I may get a chance to update tomorrow, if not Chapter 33 will be up by Tuesday at the latest. BTW, a question for everyone, including the ubiquitous lurker who may be reading this story. I just recently became a member over at TWC. Do you think I should post this AAR up over there?
Meh, awesome screens. I'm tempted.
I am really liking Aneirin so far. He is very self-aware, and that, in my opinion, is the best thing a leader can be.
I am a big fan of the TWC. I think that they have a strong community over there. Unfortunately, most of the serious EB fans are over here so if you post there you might not get many new readers. To be fair, I joined the org and downloaded EB after I found some compelling AAR's on the TWC. When I went looking for more, I had to come over here, and I have enjoyed this forum very much recently. If you have the time, you should post over there. You will be giving this mod some great advertising to a very active community, and you have one of the best AAR's currently running.
Man.. I haven't had the time to post but I have the time to read and since my last post you have had me on this site daily looking for an update.
And I'll agree with Rev, because Aneirin is acting likea true leader, unless he is part of your plot twists, (in which I still think Cavarillos is a part of, waiting for that damn reunion.). But anyway keep up the fantastic writing.
The only thing I can say is, AMAZING, simply AMAZING story, like many have stated it could probably made into a novel if you could develop the other characters just a bit more.
This story was incredible....I swear I thought the bodyguard who killed the main character's wife was
cabrillos or whatever the name was ahahah.
Aside from that, I look forward to your next update ~:thumb:
~:cheers:
I love this AAR, it is great:D Hope there will be an update soon.
Chapter XXXIII: War Upon the Wind
I was not privy to what passed between Tancogeistla and Aneirin moc Cunobelin that night. All I knew was that they left the marriage feast early, and together.
The Casse were a tribe in the south of the island. In the early days, when the migration had begun, their power had been centered in the southeast, all of their tribal territory centered around an oppida known as Camulosadae. However, in the fourteen years since, they had expanded their power, taking in almost the entire island. We had snatched Yns-Mon after they had attacked it three times, each time being repulsed with heavy losses. In the south, only Ictis held out against their armies.
Ictis. . . The name brought memories flooding back into my mind. The place where we had been routed so decidedly back when we had first landed on the island. The defeat which had condemned us to our wandering. Rumor in Attuaca was that Tancogeistla was setting his sights on it as the next target of our warbands, that he wished to avenge his defeat before he died.
I could understand why. However, I had the feeling that the new aggression of the Casse might change all that.
Two weeks after the night of the feast, two contingents of men arrived from Emain-Macha. The sight of them marching through the gate nearly took my breath away. These were no levies, drawn from the poor of Erain. These were the finest warriors I had ever seen.
In front marched the chieftains of the Goidils, the Eiras, now rallying to Tancogeistla’s banner.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...otos/Eiras.jpg
And right behind them came warriors from the Ebherni, one of the most powerful tribes in all Erain. They were cloaked in armor from their heads to their thighs, armor like the scale of a fish.
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I had never seen anything like it, and from my position beside the street, marveled at the craftsmanship. I could barely dream of the level of skill needed to create such masterpieces. It was beautiful.
But their arrival boded something far darker. Tancogeistla was once again bracing for war. Whether it was his preparations to advance upon Ictis, or whether he planned to strike our former allies, the Casse, I knew not. But war was upon the wind. . .
And then one day a runner came from Yns-Mon, with a message from the military commander there, a captain named Piso.
His news was undoubtedly intended for Tancogeistla’s ears only, but within hours of his arrival it had spread all over Attuaca like a wind-fanned fire.
A man had been caught spying on the defenses of Yns-Mon. Placed under guard and tortured by Captain Piso, at long last he had given up the name of the man who had ordered him on his mission. It was Massorias, a chieftain of the Casse, brother of Mowg, the chieftain who had given Tancogeistla’s emissary their ultimatum.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...s/CasseSpy.jpg
And once again, as he had after the messenger from Ivomagos, Tancogeistla went into council with several of the nobles of the Aedui, as well as Aneirin moc Cunobelin.
What they decided was none of my affair. I went back to my forge, in hopes that if hostilities commenced, I would be left out of them. I wanted nothing further to do with war. It had taken too much from me. However, Aneirin’s words at the feast left me very much in doubt as to whether I would be permitted to stay away.
A year passed, a year of tension and preparations. Troubling news came also from Erain.
Praesutagos, the eldest son of Malac, had come of age and had assumed the governorship of Ivernis, without Tancogeistla’s leave or assent.
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https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...raesutagos.jpg
Yea, in the same year, his sister Keyne was given in marriage to a Caledone by the name of Erbin moc Dumnacos.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/.../Betrothal.jpg
His loyalties at the present were uncertain, but the familial bond between he and Praesutagos was troubling. I looked toward Tancogeistla’s death with a distinct sense of unease. It seemed forces across the waters were gathering against he and Aneirin.
Praesutagos was a Carnute, as had been his father. Harking back to the days of the Gallic Council at Cenabum, the majority of the druids had supported Malac’s usurpation of the throne. And had become increasingly disenchanted with Tancogeistla. . .
Ogrosan descended upon us, the tall trees around Attuaca bearing snow upon their eternally green branches. And with the snow came the end of campaign season. Armies did not go forth to war in the dark months. To do so was to tempt fate.
Apparently, the Casse had other notions, or perhaps they had decided to make their own fate. Either way, I was walking with Faran one sunny winter day, just outside the kran, or palisade, which protected Attuaca. Aeduan carpenters had repaired the damage caused by Tancogeistla’s rams so long ago. Faran was nearly six years old now, and was reminding me more of her mother with each passing day. She had no memories of Diedre, something which saddened me far more than words will permit me to express. Her mother had been taken from her far too soon.
As we walked, I heard a cry and turned to see a man floundering in the snow. I let go of Faran’s hand and rushed through the knee-deep snow to his side. A scraggly beard heavy with snow and ice covered his face. He looked like he was starving, weak from his exertions. Too weak to rise.
I put my arm around his waist and pulled him to his feet, carefully guiding him toward the gate. He was shivering uncontrollably, his teeth gnashing against each other. “Let me help you inside, my friend,” I said cheerfully. “I’ll fix up a bed and you can warm yourself by my fire.”
A light came suddenly into his eyes and he gripped my arm with the power of a madman. “No,” he whispered insistently, the words coming from between cracked and bleeding lips. “Take me to the palace.”
“Why?” I asked, surprised by his request. “Do you have business there?”
“Yea,” he replied, “with Tancogeistla. I come from Yns-Mon.”
“All this way,” I exclaimed in surprise. “In the middle of Ogrosan? You must have been mad!”
“They sent me to bring word,” he gasped out. “We are besieged.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...s/Besieged.jpg
“By whom?” I asked, knowing the answer before he even breathed.
“The Casse. . .”
Sorry for not replying to everyone yesterday, things were pretty hectic and I barely had time to post up. So here goes.
@Swordmaster: Tempted—to do what? Start your own AAR? Obviously, you have, and it looks like it’s off to a pretty good start.
@Reverend Joe: Glad to hear it. I’m afraid I won’t be able to portray Aneirin quite as positively as I had hoped to. He’s got some negative traits. However, he will still be quite different than Tancogeistla. Tancogeistla’s traits drove him in an endless quest for power, glory, and fame. Aneirin’s traits seem to be headed another direction entirely. . .
@Irishmafia: Your advice is much appreciated and I am honored by your estimation of my abilities. I had heard that the main body of EB players was over here, but I think I’ll give it a shot anyway. The team deserves some good advertising and I have no other talents to put at their disposal.
@Captain Black: I had been wondering where you were. I must admit I am surprised and flattered that anyone would follow my story as closely as you say you’ve been doing. And yes, I’ve not forgotten about Cavarillos. Keep a weather eye peeled. . .
@DaCrazy: It’s good to have you reading, sir. My novels are far more modern than this, more of a Tom Clancy-esque thriller type of book. Taking a step back into the mists of history has been a new experience for me, but I have enjoyed it. History has always been one of my passions and I have always admired the EB team’s dedication to it. Their accuracy is unparalleled in anything I have seen elsewhere in the game world.
@Ower: Glad to have you along. I update as frequently as possible, but real life gets increasingly in the way. Anyway, welcome.
I love the EB mod, as I think I have stated often enough, but the events of this AAR have sent me harking longingly back to my days playing MTW:VI. Does anyone reading this remember how you could order in assassins and spies on your own generals, to either remove them secretly or frame them for treason. Can you only imagine how that could work in this story. . .
No, to just go back playing Celts. They're an awesome three factions, especially when roleplayed well. As is quite obvious from this thread. :2thumbsup:Quote:
Originally Posted by Theodotos I
Chapter XXXIV: Relief of the Oppida
We set out for Yns-Mon four days from the arrival of the runner. I rode with Aneirin in the van, accompanying some ninety-one Brihentin and nobles of the Aedui. Taken together, the army consisted of five hundred and twenty-eight footsoldiers, comprising Lugoae, Vellinica, Balroae, Ordmalica, Briton champions recruited in Yns-Mon itself, as well as the contingents of Erain which I had seen arrive in Attuaca.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...ReliefArmy.jpg
The Brihentin were the only cavalry accompanying the army, while my old friend Berdic led a force of one hundred and twenty of the Iaosatae to screen our advance.
The news of the Casse’s attack did not entirely take me by surprise. Still, their attack in the midst of Ogrosan was unexpected, to say the least.
Aneirin’s nerves were at a fever pitch as we rode southward. I could see it in his eyes, hear the uneasy excitement in his voice when he spoke. And in his manner, I saw myself reflected as though in a glass, the way I had been when we had first come to this isle. Before the defeat at Ictis, the brutal massacre of Inyae’s village, the flight north into the snows. And I realized how much I had changed. It was unsettling.
I could sense that he wished to speak of his feelings, but was unsure how to do so, embarrassed at the presence of the Brihentin, hardened warriors all.
He looked at me one night as we encamped, building a fire to ward off the chill. “Let me take that, my lord,” I asked quietly, taking a bundle of sticks from his arms and placing them gently on the embers, so as not to extinguish the struggling flame.
When I straightened, I found him looking at me. “We will be heading into battle soon,” he said nervously, rubbing his hands together in an effort to warm himself.
“Yes, my lord,” I responded. “Only four days journey, if Tancogeistla’s geographer knows what he’s talking about.”
“What is it like?”
“What?” I asked. “Battle?”
He nodded, looking around as if to see if anyone else had heard his question. We were alone. “I remained with the baggage train during the assault on Attuaca. Everyone deemed me too young to be of any use. I have never actually seen the fray.”
I waved my hand to the many fires that flickered through the trees, where our army was encamped. “There are many warriors here, men who enjoy the battle, to whom the cries of our enemies are music to their ears. I ask nothing more of life than that I be permitted to return to my gobacrado, my forge. Why do you not ask them?”
He sat down beside me on a fallen log, gazing earnestly into the flames. And for a long time he did not answer. Finally, “Because I trust you not to despise me, Cadwalador. Not to despise me as all these men do. They know I am not one of them. I am a Cruithni, an outlander. I must gain their respect if I am to lead them. Yet I know not how to accomplish that.”
“What is the advice of Tancogeistla?”
“That I win their respect by my deeds in battle. That is why I asked you the question. What is battle like?”
I was silent for a long time, staring into the fire in my turn, watching as the sparks danced into the night sky, shooting ever upward, their light illuminating the forest. His question turned over and over in my mind. Unanswerable. . .
“It is chaos,” I said at long last, my voice a mere whisper to the trees. “Chaos and confusion. Men sent screaming into eternity. It is the knowledge that you must kill to live, keep moving, keep killing even if the carnage sickens you. Men are turned unto the beasts of the forest as though seized by a lust for the blood of their of their fellow man.”
“And what decides the victor?” Aneirin asked, looking into my eyes.
“The victor. . .” I whispered, calling to my remembrance the words of Cavarillos those many years earlier, “ the victor is the man who is able to keep his head in the chaos, who can forget that he is butchering men just like himself, who can fight with both the ferocity of a beast and the mind of a man. Such a man will emerge victorious.”
“An incredible task,” he said slowly, his eyes on the ground. He kicked aimlessly at the snow with his foot, watching as the flakes melted from the heat of the fire. His teeth clenched. “But I must do it.”
I could see the pain on his face as he glanced sideways at me. “I will prove myself worthy of the Aedui. I have no other choice. . .”
We continued to advance, southward on the dirt road Tancogeistla had ordered built a few years earlier. If not for it, we could never have traversed the snows. Even with it, we struggled. Several men froze to death in the night. A horse wandered away from the camp and was found six hours later, as stiff as wood.
To our west we could occasionally glimpse the great sea. The oppida of Yns-Mon was built on what could be called a large peninsula jutting out into the waters. We were getting closer. Now our only fear was whether we had arrived in time.
Then one morning several of Berdic’s scouts came running back into camp, breathless and gasping with excitement.
“We have glimpsed the kran of Yns-Mon!” one of them cried, calling out to Tancogeistla. “The gate is smashed open and one of the walls has been broken down.”
I saw the fire catch in the old general’s eyes. “And have the Casse taken the town?”
The scout shook his head. “None of the enemy are in evidence, my lord. Yet we could see mounds of bodies piled near the gate, as though a great slaughter had taken place.”
Tancogeistla turned in his saddle, looking back over the column. “This may be a trap of the Casse. We must send a scouting party to ride in and scout out the oppida, lest our enemies lurk inside to ambush us.”
“I will go, father,” Aneirin said quietly. Tancogeistla glanced sharply as his adopted son and heir and shook his head. “No.”
“Is there a man who will go and espy out the enemy for me? Who follows the banner of Tancogeistla oi Neamha?” the old king cried, his sword brandished high to the heavens.
Aneirin glanced at me and nodded slowly, kicking his mount into a trot, riding out to the front of the column, right past his father.
I clucked gently to my horse and he moved forward, bearing me toward Tancogeistla oi Neamha.
The general clasped at my arm as I rode by. “Take care of my son, Cadwalador. His life. . .I will require it at your hand.”
“Yes, my lord,” I replied, staring him full in the face. Then I was past, following Aneirin moc Cunobelin out into the open plain before the oppida of Yns-Mon. Behind me, I could hear the hoofbeats of the rest of Aneirin’s bodyguard following us. Almost forty horsemen, riding slowly onto the plain. . .
The town was silent. It was as the scouts had said. I came abreast of Aneirin as we rode toward the walls. Sweat was running down his forehead, icy streaks of perspiration criss-crossing his brow. He was afraid, I could see it in his eyes. As was I. But in that moment, I admired him. Despite his fear, despite his innate disposition toward the easy side of life, he was placing his life in jeopardy. And I admired him for it, even if in my heart I knew he was merely desperate to prove his manhood.
We were within bow-shot of the kran. And yet nothing as we continued our slow advance.
Bodies in various stages of decay were heaped around the gate, which swung loosely on its broken hinges. Only the cold kept the flies away.
A shout went up from within the palisade, a cry of warning. Our presence had been detected.
A man stepped from between the broken gates, a spear clutched tightly in his hands. His neck and right shoulder were swathed in bloody, dirty bandages. “Who are you?” he asked defiantly, more men emerging from the palisade behind him.
“I am Aneirin moc Cunobelin, the heir of Tancogeistla,” Aneirin cried, bringing his horse up sharply.
For a moment, the man just stared at him, at us, then his shoulders sagged in relief. “We had begun to think you would never come. I am Piso, the commander of the garrison. What remains of it”
“And the Casse?” Aneirin asked. “Are they still in the area?”
Piso kicked savagely at a severed head lying near his foot. “All that remain,” he sneered, “ are like unto him. The rest ran like dogs.”
His eyes scanned the horizon nervously. “I know not when they may return. Howbeit, as long as your army is here, that does not matter. The army is with you, is it not?”
Aneirin nodded. “Tell us of your story.”
Piso laid his spear to the side. “Come inside and I will. . .”
Lol....Well I have a life, it is just that I miss playing TW, haven't been able to play since my comp took a dump. And I will keep that weathered eye peeled.Quote:
@Captain Black: I had been wondering where you were. I must admit I am surprised and flattered that anyone would follow my story as closely as you say you’ve been doing. And yes, I’ve not forgotten about Cavarillos. Keep a weather eye peeled. . .
Thanks for the updates. Well done!
Unfortunately Tancogeistla died in my recent Aedui campaign. I had to use use all my force to defeat the Arverni, but unfortunately he was left alone in a city which was unexpectedly attacked by some rebels. I didn't even know they would attack settlements.
Chapter XXXV: The Road South
“For three months, they waited, constructing two mighty battering rams from the wood of the forest,” Captain Piso began, sitting down in front of a half-burned hovel. “And then early one morning about a week ago, they attacked.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...t-Besieged.jpg
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/.../Defenders.jpg
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/.../Besiegers.jpg
“They outnumbered us heavily, possessing well over three hundred men more than my small garrison. Therefore they came forward without fear, pushing before them the rams. I ordered my slingers to bombard the enemy as they came close, then positioned the rest of my men close behind the walls. Nothing we did succeeded in stopping the rams, and by the time the sun had risen high into the sky of Ogrosan, the gates were destroyed.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...sDestroyed.jpg
“Yea, mere moments later, the second ram broke open the wall alongside the wall and the Casse poured into the breach.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/.../TheBreach.jpg
“My men fought with courage,” Piso stated proudly, looking around into their tired faces. “But the Casse steadily pushed us back. Their chieftain rode into battle in a chariot, surrounded by his retainers, and when he charged the gate, the Cladaca broke, running for the center of town, followed by a few of the Teceitos. The chieftain rode through the midst of our men and pursued the Cladaca, coming upon them as they rallied near the foot of the hill.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...s/Chariots.jpg
“Summoning up their remaining courage, my men threw their javelins into his bodyguard and then charged, surrounding the chariots and hemming them in. The chieftain fought bravely, but it would do him no good. They hamstrung his horses and brought him to the ground, where they pulled off his armor and killed him.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...tainsdeath.jpg
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...cobratavae.jpg
“Word of his death spread through the army of the Casse like a flame, disheartening their warbands. I was standing with the slingers away from the carnage at the breach, and, sensing the panic beginning, I ordered the Iaosatae into the fray with their knives. One by one, the Casse warbands broke before us, streaming back over the plain toward where you approached just now. The day was ours.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...oicVictory.jpg
I looked over at Aneirin, who was drinking in the man’s words as a thirsty man drinks water. And indeed, the bodies still strewn over the ground indicated nothing less than a heroic fight. Tancogeistla would be sure to hear of this. . .
We stayed in Yns-Mon for the next three months, biding our time and repairing the palisade. Though officially Tancogeistla was angry at Aneirin moc Cunobelin for his insubordination, I could tell the truth every time I met with the old general. He was proud of his heir’s performance, and it showed.
He wasn’t fooling Aneirin either. The young man had carried himself differently ever since that day. Gone was at least a part of the languor that had characterized his bearing ever since the first day that I had known him. He supervised the rebuilding of the kran, acting like the second-in-command of Tancogeistla he was.
And then one day, a week after the finishing of the kran, a messenger came to us as Aneirin and I stood together on a sharp bluff overlooking the sea.
“Tancogeistla wishes to see both of you. At once!”
Without speaking, both Aneirin and I swung onto the backs of our horses and rode quickly back to the oppida.
Tancogeistla was standing in the courtyard of Piso’s house, sketching something in the dirt with the pointed end of a stick. Several of the nobles of the Aedui were gathered round them. With a flash of alarm, I saw one of them, a man by the name of Eporedoros moc Estes, scowl at Aneirin as we entered. Clearly, there was trouble gathering.
The old general looked up and smiled at our entrance. “Welcome, my son, Cadwalador. We are discussing preparations for a march.”
“Against the Casse?” Aneirin, walking ‘round the sketch to stand beside his adoptive father.
Tancogeistla smiled again, placing a hand on the shoulder of his young heir. “Nay, my son. Rather we march against the Dumnones, against the oppida of Ictis.” He didn’t wait for Aneirin’s reaction.
“It has been many years,” he continued. “They attacked us without provocation, slaughtering many of the Aedui. You remember, Cadwalador. You were there.”
I nodded. The battle was seared into my memory as though with a hot iron. The hopeless stand outside Ictis, the ambush later on. I remembered Tancogeistla’s drunken fury at the time, remembered that the Dumnones had not been entirely without provocation. Still, it would be a just fight.
“We have recently received information from our spy in the south that the Dumnones have just repulsed a heavy attack by the Casse. They will be weakened. It is now time to strike.”
One by one, the nobles nodded their assent. Tancogeistla looked round and smiled with satisfaction. “Then it is settled. By the time of the full moon, we will march on Ictis. . .”
It was as he said. Within one month, our army had set out once again. With few exceptions, it was the same army that had marched to the relief of Yns-Mon. Apparently, Tancogeistla deemed Piso’s garrison sufficient to hold the oppida against any further attacks.
And so we marched on as the days grew longer, the sun rising ever higher into the sky. Often, our route of march took us within sight of the sea. Tancogeistla still rode at the head of the column, but he seemed more tired with each passing day. Clearly, the journey was wearing on him. He reacted by forcing the men to march harder, seemingly angered at his own weakness.
And then the rain started, pouring down upon the fertile valleys of the island in torrents. The paths we were following quickly turned into a quagmire, churned by hundreds of marching feet. It made lighting fires at night nearly impossible, and only the warmth of the season saved us.
It was at the end of one of those long days of the march, after our meager rations had been consumed and our men had started to turn in for the night, that I stood under the shelter of a tree near the edge of camp, ducking my head against the relentless rain. And then I heard it.
Hoofbeats. The rhythmic pounding of a horse’s hooves against hard ground. Coming ever closer. We had sent out no scouts.
Whoever was coming was not of our army. I reached under my cloak and tugged a dagger from my girdle, crouching there by the roadway.
The form of a galloping horse loomed out of the rain and fog and I sprang from my covert, waving my hands and screaming. Startled, the horse reared up, its hooves pawing the air dangerously close to my face.
“Halt!” I cried, clutching the dagger tightly in my hand.
The cloaked rider struggled to calm his horse, cursing it and me bitterly as he fought the animal to a standstill. Taking the reins in one hand, he slid to the ground, tossing back his cowl and staring into my eyes. A man about my own age, his hair was red-orange and matted with rain. “What do you think you are doing?” he hissed.
I stared right back, never loosening my grip on the dagger. “Who are you?”
“Galligos,” he replied proudly, as though the name would mean something to me. “Galligos moc Nammeios.”
I had never heard it before. “I will take you into the camp,” I said finally.
The warning was there, in his eyes, one moment before he struck. His left hand reached out with the rapidity of lightning and struck my wrist, sending the dagger spinning into the darkness. He stepped in close, under my guard, his blows knocking the breath from my body.
I slid on the muddy ground and fell, striking something hard on my way down. Lights seemed to flash inside my head and then everything faded, leaving only the dim sound of footsteps slogging through the mud on into the heart of camp. Then that too disappeared as I slipped into the realm of the unknown. . .
No, this is not the end! Just another spin on my traditional fade-to-black. :laugh4::laugh4::laugh4:
@Captain Black: Computer problems. How I know. Fortunately none have come up while I've been writing this. Fingers crossed.
@Cadwalader: What difficulty were you playing on? Eleutheroi are aggressive on any campaign difficulty over Medium. BTW, do you have a picture of Tancogiestla's traits. It would be fun to compare. Thanks for reading.
Quick question. Does anyone know how I can use a custom avatar in this forum? I've got one ready, but can't seem to upload it. :help: Also the line of text under my username. How do I change that? Sorry if these are newb questions, but I'm just now getting around to this area of my profile.
I have started this story over on TWC. It's being updated slowly, but I've already got a few new readers. Thanks for the advice.
You can't upload a custom avatar. The best you can do is upload a url avatar from the preselected list; it's under "edit your details" at the bottom.
To see the url avatars, go to "edit options" and check the "display url avatars" box; it's under thread display options.
Changing your title is a little simpler: just go to "edit your details," and go to "custom user title."
Oh, yeah, and be sure to select "save changes" at the bottom of the page every time you want to change something.
@the story: coming along well. It looks as though you-know-who has finally made his reappearance. :uhoh:
Great AAR! Keep it up.
I'm not sure about custom avatars, but I know you can change your user title (default "member") by going into "Edit My Details" unter the User CP.
EDIT: Beat me to it, Reverend Joe!
2 green balloons says it's Cavarillos in disguise. Any takers? :balloon2::balloon2:Quote:
Originally Posted by Reverend Joe
I'll wager five dollars, hard cash, that it's Cavrillos.
Any takers on that bet? :deal2:
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
I´ll bet you it´s Malac, who didn´t really die, but only pretended to do so in order to steal the Fourthenth Cheesecake and use it to align the 7 Solar Stones and thereby create a beam powerful enough to run his new electric Toyota. Oh wait... Malac drives a Subaru right? :embarassed:
That must be it then. I used to play on medium before, so I didn't know.Quote:
Originally Posted by Theodotos I
regretably I don't have a screenshot of Tancogeistla, but I do remember that he was a drunkard.
Woohoo I knew I was right that is if I am right, and that is if Galligos is Cavarillos, and if that is so then I was right about the return of Cavarillos since he last left the story. But It seems that Cadwalador was taken off guard way to easily.
He, in my Aedui campaign Tancogeistla first rampaged through northern Italy and Illyria, and has just sacked Pella and Demetrias. Moving for Thermon now, the Athens, Sparta and then finally to settle down in Galatia.Quote:
Originally Posted by Cadwalader
don't you mean the acropolis in athenQuote:
Originally Posted by General Appo
:laugh4:
:stupido2: hmmm.....Quote:
Originally Posted by General Appo
That... is so crazy, it must be true.
:laugh4::laugh4::laugh4: I love this. Sorry about the chariots picture, I always update in a hurry and sometimes miss stuff like that. It's fixed now, so you can view the Casse in all their glory. I had hoped to get a "Man of the hour" for Piso, but the game wouldn't cooperate. And oh yes, might it be a disguised Cavarillos? :laugh4:
The next update should be posted Thursday or Friday. A lot's going on in real life at the moment. I'm looking forward to this. And I promise, not a thing will be changed due to your guesses.
Well, I didn't think you were really trying to trick anyone there.
Keep on chooglin', brother. ~:cheers: Lookin' forward tot he next chapter.
I believe you can´t get a MoH from a siege battle, neither as defender nor attacker. Shame really, but I believe it to be hardcoded into the engine, just like all to many things. :wall:Quote:
Originally Posted by Theodotos I
Actually, Malac drives a Lotus Esprit. :laugh4::laugh4:Quote:
Originally Posted by General Appo
Chapter XXXVI: Faces
When I awoke, my head was aching, images swirling frantically through my brain. What had happened?
And it all came rushing suddenly back. The cowled figure dismounting, pronouncing his name with the air of royalty, then disarming me and leaving me stretched senseless on the wet earth.
Where had he gone? I rose, rubbing my jawbone. It still ached from his blows. I stared down at the ground, still cloaked in the blinding rain and dark of night.
I could feel the outline of a footprint in the mud, the toe pointed toward the camp. He had gone in. Visitor or assassin, I knew not.
There was nothing to do but go in and find out. I ran swiftly down the muddy road, pell-mell into the camp.
One tent was pitched in the center of the camp, in the middle of hundreds of sleeping men wrapped in their cloaks on the rain-soaked ground. It was the tent of Tancogeistla and Aneirin moc Cunobelin. The most likely target for the shadowy rider, as well as the first place I had to go to organize a search.
I knelt by one of my sleeping comrades in the darkness, plucking a spear from his armaments. My own weapons were too far away. Speed was of the essence.
A single light burned from within the large tent, the flickering flame of an oil lamp. I could see men moving inside, their movements reflected by giant shadows against the wet fabric. Undoubtedly, our two leaders were still planning our next movements.
Grasping my spear firmly in my right hand, I moved swiftly to the side of the tent, straining to hear voices over the thunder of the storm. Tancogeistla’s guards were nowhere to be seen.
An involuntary shudder ran through me, and it wasn’t from the chill of the rain. Had Tancogeistla’s ever-loyal Brihentin been taken out with the same dispatch as myself?
And the assassin, where had he come from? Who was paying his hire? The Dumnones, the Casse, yea, even Praesutagos. My old general had made many enemies in his lifetime.
Moving stealthily, I slipped to the door of the tent, throwing back the flap suddenly.
Three figures were disclosed to my eyes, standing there around a small map drawn in the dirt, turning at my abrupt entrance. Three figures, where there should have been two.
Tancogeistla, Aneirin—and my friend from the road. Galligos, I thought, the name flashing back through my memory. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the leaders of the Aedui, between them as they looked down at the map in the earth.
“Cadwalador!” Tancogeistla cried, looking with alarm at my uplifted spear. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Who is he?” I demanded, glaring at the stranger. I didn’t lower my weapon. To my surprise, Tancogeistla’s face split into a wide smile, then he began chuckling. He glanced over at the stranger. “Tell me, Galligos, is this the man you disarmed and shoved into the mud out there?”
The stranger nodded, smiling as though something was humorous. I looked from one to the other in confusion, then slowly lowered my spear.
“Galligos,” Tancogiestla stated with a low chuckle, “you should not have done that. Cadwalador is one of my most trusted retainers—and an able warrior in his own right. Next time you trifle with him, he might have the incredible bad fortune to kill you.”
He turned next to me. “This man,” he said, pointing to the stranger, “is Galligos moc Nammeios, the spy who has spent the last five years searching out the lands of the Casse for our forces.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...s/Galligos.jpg
“He has served me well, and gathered much useful information in the service of our cause.”
The tall spy reached forward, extending his hand to me. I grasped it awkwardly, slow to accept this sinister figure as a friend. “Where are the Brihentin?” I asked, shooting a sharp glance at Tancogeistla.
“Galligos is a spy, Cadwalador. It is best that as few know his identity as possible. I ordered them away.”
The spy looked over at me, an easy smile flitting across his face. “I regret that I had to hit you so hard,” he said, gesturing to my sore jaw. “I dared not brook delay, or chance that you might not believe my story.”
“Galligos,” Tancogeistla interrupted, “has brought us important news. It appears an army of the Casse is marching to intercept us.”
“Indeed?” I heard myself asking.
“Yes,” the general replied. “Tell us once again of your information, my friend.”
Galligos looked uneasily in my direction, but Tancogeistla reprimanded him. “Anything you say to me, the same can be shared with Cadwalador. He has proved himself in my service, defending my life more times than I can remember to count.”
“Very well,” the spy said with evident reluctance. “I have come just this night from the camp of a sub-chieftain of the Casse, a man by the name of Orgetoros. He marches with nigh eighteen score of men.”
“A mere handful,” Aneirin asserted confidently.
“ ‘Tis true,” Galligos stated, “you outnumber him heavily. However, do not let overconfidence be your doom. He is not a day’s journey from this camp. And he intends to strike. Do not let him catch you by surprise.”
The spy moved quickly past me and lifted the tent flap, disappearing into the storm, into the tomb-like black of night. And he was gone. . .
What Galligos had told us was true. With his information in hand, we stayed where we were, drawing up in defensive positions on the edge of the forest. The sun rose the next morning and continued on its journey ever higher into the sky. Towards noontime, one of Berdic’s scouts came running back into camp, out of breath. “The Casse!” he cried. “The Casse are approaching. They advance to meet our line!”
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https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...myWarbands.jpg
We were deployed in what amounted to a single line, the Ebherni elites anchoring the left flank, with the Lugoae standing to arms beside them, the Cwmyr of Yns-Mon to their right, then Lugort’s small contingent of Ordmalica, the levy spearmen of the Goidils, and the nobles of Erain holding the position of honor on the right. Berdic’s two contingents of Iaosatae provided a missile screen to the right flank.
Tancogeistla’s Brihentin were positioned directly behind the main line, while I hid in the woods with Aneirin and his bodyguards.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...tos/Hidden.jpg
The plan, as Tancogeistla had explained to us earlier, was to use our shock cavalry to its best limited effect in the woods, essentially as a surprise for the enemy. An enemy that would not be long in coming.
Our line stood just on top of a low knoll that swelled suddenly from the ground behind us. The forest made it difficult to see the enemy, but we could hear the sound of marching feet and defiantly chanted warcries as they advanced.
The Lugoae were the first to be struck, a thin line of Britonic warriors sweeping down through the brush and trees. The Dubosaverlicica rose from the grass and rossed their javelins into the Casse line, causing great confusion.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...Fish-Scale.jpg
Then they too were struck, a fierce contingent of Botroas sweeping down upon the Ebherni.
Aneirin spoke to me quickly and our column swung into motion, sweeping from our covert around the back to the left flank of the line, where the battle was at its hottest.
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We rode around the end of our line and turned, riding down into the rear of the Casse warbands. We were unable to build much momentum in the woods, and I was continually forced to duck low in my saddle lest a low-hanging branch dismount me. We smashed into the backs of a unit of spearmen, knocking me to the ground.
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I saw a man disappear beneath the hooves of my steed, his eyes wide with fear, a scream dying on his lips. Blood flecked the bright blue woad that adorned his bare chest. I saw Aneirin not five paces away, cheerfully hacking at the sea of warriors with his sword.
Another warrior went down, his neck pierced by my spear. Howbeit, his fall jerked the weapon from my hand.
I reached down and pulled a small war hammer from my belt, a smaller copy of the hammers the Ordmalica used—one which I had crafted in the gobacrado back in Attuaca.
As Lugort had testified so many years ago, it was a useful weapon in melee. I brought it down upon many a shoulder, many a head, breaking bone and fracturing skull, bodies falling beneath my horse.
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It was the chaos I had told Aneirin of. Kill or be killed. Shed the blood of your fellow man, or have your own blood drench the grass in an offering.
The Casse began to break, pressed in front and behind. Turning to meet our charge, they were in turn charged by the Cwmyr, the midlander champions from Yns-Mon. They started running.
‘Neath the spreading shadow of a mighty oak stood the remnant of the Casse Botroas, surrounded and fighting to the death. Similar to the mercenaries who had once marched with Cavarillos, these men’s chests were painted with sacred patterns of woad. I rode closer, together with Aneirin and the Brihentin, into their midst. They were the last. I saw the fierce determination, the defiance in their eyes.
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And something else. With a cry, I sprang from the back of my horse, into the sea of struggling men, into the melee. A face, something familiar. A man rose up to my left and I clubbed him down with the war hammer. Aneirin’s voice sounded behind me, a cry of warning, but I was heedless of it.
It was him, it had to be. Older now, of a surety, but the same. Another instant and we were face-to-face in the heaving mass of men. His mouth opened in recognition and he raised his spear to block me, but I smashed it down, splintering the wood with a single blow of my hammer, forcing him back against the trunk of the great tree.
I was looking full into the face of one of the mercenaries that had fought with Cavarillos that dark night, that had escaped at his side.
“Where is Cavarillos?” I screamed, my weapon lost in the confusion, my hands around his throat as I pinned him to the bark of the tree. “Where is he?”
I felt a blade pass through my garments from one of the other Botroas and he spat in my face. I squeezed harder, watching as his eyes bulged from their sockets. “Tell me!”
“He is with the Casse. In—” A spear came flying through the air, piercing through his side. Blood poured over my garments as he slumped against me, the life draining from his body. I looked up into the eyes of Tancogeistla as he looked down from his horse. Brihentin were all around us, running down the rest of the fleeing Casse.
“Why?” I cried, gazing at the general with ill-disguised fury in my eyes. “Why?”
He looked surprised. “I feared for your life, my son. You seemed to have gone mad.”
I didn’t answer, rather looked down at the lifeless body of my last link to Cavarillos. Maybe I had. If so, so had the rest of the world. Gone mad. . .
Interesting twist at the end there.
Had me going there for a minute. I actually thought he saw Cavarillos himself in the melee. That's a clever way of keeping us on our toes. Another good chapter, Theodotos. Of course, the chapters are always awesome when there is a battle present :2thumbsup:
P.S. Cadwalador is a bad@$$. That is all.
Man o man you keep it going. I just got caught up. What a great story. I loved that last battlescene. For some reason fighting in the woods is always more intense. Anyway keep it up :)
Awesome.
So did Cadwalador ever get a full suit of mail from Tancogeistla?
I can't imagine him fighting as a balroe for another 22 years
Oh and what of the old Aedui Confederation? What will happen when/if the "Lost expedition" reunites with the mainland, sure most of them are probably died, only a few hundred after the first few battles, then they separated before reaching Ireland, and then some probably died in battle or from old age.
@Reverend Joe: So where's my $5? I honestly never expected that people would think that Galligos was Cavarillos, but it's perfectly logical in retrospect.
@Defiant: I wanted a little suspense. More drama ahead. And more battles.
@Chirurgeon: Good to have you back, my friend. We figured you had died after nearly three weeks of no updates. Your story is looking good.
@Olaf: Yeah, he's technically fighting as one of Aneirin's Brihentin, but that may change. The old Aedui lands are all swallowed up by the Arverni, in short, there are no mainland Aedui. Keep reading!
Chapter XXXVII: Return
We stripped the dead of their weapons and provisions and then moved quickly south, continuing toward Ictis on roads that were considerably the worse for the heavy rains we had received.
And with each mile traveled, I found my sleep to be more troubled. I had dreamed of Inyae in years, but with the reappearance of the Botroas I found myself thinking more of the old days. Cavarillos. I was surprised to find how much hatred still lurked inside my spirit for my old friend, for the friendship he had betrayed.
I hungered for a meeting with him.
Arriving at Ictis, we quickly encamped around the oppida, cutting it off from all outside aid. Years of war with the Casse had taken their toll upon the standing forces of the Dumnones, and according to the intelligence of Galligos moc Nammeios, they could muster less than four hundred warriors in all of Ictis.
I prayed he was right.
We besieged Ictis for a year and a half, hoping to starve the defenders into submission. Tancogeistla looked worse with each passing day, old wounds taking their toll upon his aged body. Motios, the druid, did his best to attend to his master, but there were things even beyond his power.
And Tancogeistla would not rest. Ictis was his obsession, and each day he rode out before the palisade to taunt the defenders with their impotence, to taunt those who had humiliated him so many years before. He had returned. . .
And then, one day early in the month of Equos, a rider came pounding into the camp from the north, bearing word for Tancogeistla. Though his message was for the general only, we could see by the way he carried himself, the urgency of his steps, that the news he carried was anything but good.
An hour later, I was summoned to Tancogeistla’s tent. A council of war had been called.
The general looked haggard, old even beyond his years. Aneirin moc Cunobelin stood at his side, surrounded by several of the highest-ranking nobles of the Aedui. I had a sense that all of them were waiting.
“My trusted friends,” Tancogeistla began, coughing violently. He covered his mouth with his hand and when it came away, I saw that it was flecked with blood. He cleared his throat and started again. “This will be brief. I have just received word from Yns-Mon.”
A murmur ran through the nobles.
“The garrison there has betrayed us. Three weeks ago, an emissary from the Casse approached, conferring with Captain Piso. And for a price, Piso agreed to turn over the oppida to our enemies.”
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“What he had so nobly defended from Casse swords, he turned over readily enough for a sum of Casse gold,” Tancogeistla hissed, his lip curling upward in a sneer of disgust.
“The town and surrounding countryside belong to our enemies. Apparently most of the garrison went along with Piso’s betrayal. Those that did not were slain.”
I saw the shock in Aneirin’s eyes. He had spent long hours with Piso, talking with the sub-chieftain about the defense of the oppida, the heroic battle fought there. Clearly he struggled to credit the news.
“Do we march north, then?” One of the nobles asked, laying a hand upon his sword’s hilt.
“No!” Tancogeistla cried furiously, slamming his fist into the wood of the rude wooden table in front of him. “We will carry our revenge to the Dumnones first. Then we deal with the traitors. Drustan and his warbands think themselves proud that they humbled an Aeduan army seventeen years ago. They must be taught a lesson. They must die.”
He looked across the table into my eyes, his fierce, charismatic gaze seeming to hold me in its spell. “We will prepare for an assault. Cadwalador, you will ride with my son.”
“Yes, my lord.”
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Months earlier, two mighty battering rams had been prepared, and now men formed around them, preparing to push them against the kran of the Dumnones.
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According to the plan Tancogeistla had outlined during the council of war, he was to lead the assault, at the head of over fifty Brihentin, the flower of the Aeduan nobility. Following him through the gate would be the Ordmalica of Lugort, and the Eiras, the nobles of Emain-Macha. The rest of the army would follow.
Aneirin seemed nervous as we mounted for the battle, and I noticed his gaze constantly flickered to the other contingent of Brihentin, his father’s bodyguard.
“What is wrong?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “My father—he has. . .” his voice drifted off as though he hesitated to continue.
“He has been coughing up blood?” I asked.
He glanced over at me sharply. “How did you know?”
“I have seen it. How long?”
“Weeks. Ictis possesses him. He is not fit to lead this assault.”
I shook my head. “He will lead the assault. He can do no other. And we must succeed. I was with your father the last time we came before these walls. And we were defeated. He will not survive another defeat here.”
And so we rode slowly forward, approaching the kran and the starving men who stood behind it, ready to defend their homes to the death. And scenes from the past came flashing back through my mind.
Cavarillos and I standing side by side, waiting for the Dumnone army to crash down upon us. The frenzied melee that followed, the men I had killed. Cavarillos had saved my life that day. If it had not been for him, I would never have lived to see another sunrise. Yet, for the friendship we knew, Ictis was the beginning of the end. An end that had been as violent and bloody as battle itself. Only it wasn’t over yet.
The rams moved forward, and in the distance we could hear their steady, rhythmic pounding, battering at the palisade surrounding Ictis. A death knell.
Lugort’s men smashed open the gate and we could see Tancogeistla’s Brihentin pouring through the breach to fall upon the levies on the other side.
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I could see Aneirin was restless. But our time was not yet come.
The Eiras moved forward, through the breach on the right side of the gate, following upon the Dumnones from the flank. They began to pull back from the gate and I nodded to Aneirin. It was time to move.
As one our horsemen moved forward, in column, a signal for the rest of the army to follow.
We reached the gate and poured through it. The Lugoae of the Dumnones had pulled back a short distance and were now putting up a stiff fight. But Tancogeistla was nowhere to be seen.
Of a sudden, Aneirin cried out and clutched at my arm, pointing. I glanced up at the hill in the center of Ictis, and I could dimly descry the Brihentin of Tancogeistla on the crest of the hill, engaged in vicious melee with Drustan’s chariots. I knew what had happened. In his lust for revenge, Tancogeistla had singled out the enemy chieftain, intent on killing him with his own hand.
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Our column swung forward, moving up the hill at a gallop. The fight on the rise continued, chieftain against chieftain, bodyguard against bodyguard. And silhouetted against the sky I could see the form of Tancogeistla, his blood-wet sword brandished high toward.
But his companions were dying, one by one, crushed ‘neath the chariots of Drustan. The fate of Malac, come once again.
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Kuroas. Champion. Neamha. Berserker. Tancogeistla was all these things, and never more so than on this bright day, slashing furiously at the enemies which surrounded him, slaying Dumnone charioteers by the dozen. None of his bodyguards could equal him, and they died because of it, killed by better warriors than themselves.
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Then he was alone, yet the enemy chieftain dared not to close with his sword-arm. Instead, Drustan pulled back to the center of the town, where nigh a hundred warriors waited, the reserve of the Dumnone warbands.
And Tancogeistla followed, riding into their midst, scattering them left and right. Cernunnos reincarnate. It was as though he had a death wish. Perhaps he did.
Saddened by the perfidy of Piso and the garrison of Yns-Mon, obsessed with the killing of his old adversary, Drustan, he rode direct into the midst of the mob, his armor washed in the blood of his enemies, his sword dripping red. Calling out taunts at the cowardice of the Dumnone chieftain, he struck down his enemies like a man possessed.
Our horses blown from the gallop up the hill, we could do nothing. We were too far away. The Eiras surged up the knoll behind us, driving the enemy Lugoae before them like cattle. Yet it was all too late. Far too late.
The lone horseman emerged from the ranks of the Dumnones, cutting a path with his sword, then the mob swallowed him up again. A fierce cry rang out across the hill, over the sound of battle. And then he disappeared, overcome.
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I could scarcely believe my own eyes, a lump rising in my throat that threatened to choke me. I heard the sound of sobbing from someplace beside me, and turned to find tears running the cheeks of Aneirin moc Cunobelin. Tears of grief—and rage. Word of Tancogeistla’s death spread through the army like a fire and as one man we surged forward, up the hill, heedless of danger. Avengers.
Horsemen fell around Aneirin and I as we galloped forward, slamming into the last chariots of Drustan. Two of them fell beneath the ferocity of our charge. Then we were face to face with Drustan. The screams of dying men surrounded us as the Eiras and Ordmalica charged onto the square, slamming into the warbands of the Dumnones, but it was all distant, far-off. All that mattered was Drustan. I rode beside his chariot, careful to avoid the wheels, my eyes focused on his face.
My first javelin missed the chieftain, lancing into the shoulder of his bodyguard. The wounded man let out a cry, toppling from the chariot. A moment later, the wheels rolled over him, breaking his bones with a sickening crunch.
Aneirin’s form materialized out of the whirling melee, his mount’s coat flecked with blood. “Leave him to me, Cadwalador!” he screamed, his voice full of rage as he rode straight at the Dumnone chieftain, intent only on taking his revenge.
I saw a smile cross Drustan’s face as he saw the inexperienced heir ride to the side of his chariot, a sword in his hand.
Aneirin was going to die. I could see that from the moment their swords crossed. His rage was not commensurate with his skill, and he would die because of it.
I stabbed my second javelin into the flank of one of Drustan’s horses, causing him to rear and paw at the air with his hooves, straining at the harness. The charioteer glanced at me and I saw the fear in his eyes as he struggled to restrain the horses. Fear replaced a moment later by the agony of death as the javelin pierced his throat.
Freed of restraint, the horses bounded forward, the sudden uncontrolled motion catching Drustan off balance.
With a scream, he fell backward, off the chariot, his body disappearing beneath the heaving mass of horses and men. To his death.
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Our men let out a frenzied cheer at the sight of his death, hacking into the enemy warband of Botroas with renewed fury. Within the hour, every last Dumnone warrior lay dead. Ictis was ours. But at what cost. . .
We found Tancogeistla after pulling several enemy corpses away from his body. His flesh was scored with countless wounds, his long white hair stained crimson, his armor and garments soaked in blood. Yet the breath was still in him.
At the sound of Aneirin’s voice, his eyes flickered open for a brief moment. “Aneirin, my son,” he whispered, his voice a fragile shell of the eloquence we had so long known of him.
I glanced over at Aneirin, motioning him to come to the side of Tancogeistla. The young heir came and knelt down at his adoptive father’s side. “My father,” he gasped out, the tears flowing freely as he removed his battle-scarred helmet. “I—”
Tancogeistla lifted one feeble hand to stay his words, before it collapsed weakly to his side. “Tell me, my son. How goes the day?”
“Victory belongs to us, father. Ictis is in our hands.”
“And Drustan?” the dying Vergobret asked, a strange fire flickering in his eyes.
“He is dead, my father. As all those who lift their swords against thee.”
“It is enough,” Tancogeistla breathed slowly, those charismatic eyes closing for the last time. “It is enough. . .”
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I turned away to hide my own tears, unable to comprehend my emotions. Tancogeistla was dead. The strange, crafty old general whose banner I had followed for all of my adult life. The man I had defended with my life and yet stood against at Attuaca.
I can write no fitting eulogy for his death. I am a man of the forge and the spear, not the pen. I know not how to take the sum of his life. Therefore, these are the words of Motios, the old druid. His lamentation over Tancogeistla.
Tell it not in Caern-Brigantae, whisper it not in the streets of Camulosadae, lest the daughters of our enemies triumph, lest they take joy in our sorrow. For the pride of the Aedui wast slain in the high places, the mighty are fallen in battle. Valiant was he in his youth, and in his age, bravery did not depart from him. Neamha was his name and as his name, so were his deeds. From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, his sword returned not empty to its scabbard. Yea, even the sword of Tancogeistla.
He scattered his enemies with his voice and they fled, as the sheep in the highlands. They came against him in a host, and he laughed. Three score of the enemy were as nothing unto him. They came and he slew them, leaving their bodies in the field.
Cursed be thou, Ictis, and the people thereof. For on thy oppida was he slain, on thy heights was his life taken. The sword of the mighty is vilely cast away, it lieth in the dust of the streets, as though it ran not red in the blood of his enemies.
Dieth Tancogeistla as a brave man dieth? Nay, not as a brave man, but as a kuroas falleth, so fellest he. Weep, ye daughters of the Aedui, yea, weep ye for the mighty art fallen. . .
Thus endeth the reign of Tancogeistla. . .
The end of the the reign, but not the end of the AAR. The saga continues. . .
Good to know :) I am anxious to hear what happens next...an impressive end to a mighty era i must say. Totally awesome screenshot btw...you MUST submit that for screenshot of the month.Quote:
Originally Posted by Theodotos I
That was pure gold. Your characters are much more alive than most AAR's, keep it coming! :2thumbsup:
There was a moment there with the one god bit, where you almost lost me. But hey, I'm back on the wagon now! :beam:
BTW, Celts used mostly oral accounts, so the pen bit might be slightly out of place. Anyway, I'll be here waiting for the next instalment. Keep it up.
@Chirurgeon: Thank you. But which screen do you mean, the one with Tancogeistla falling from his horse?
@Cadwalader: This story will continue with the start of the Aneirin moc Cunobelin's reign. Will be interesting.
@Sarcasm: Good to have you back. Looking back, I feel I made one mistake regarding the conclusion of monotheism in this story. Despite the common ancestry, I feel that probably the Aedui of 272 BC would have had no inkling of the one god they had once worshiped. Therefore I agree with you. Maybe my next AAR. . .
The one with him right next to the Chariot. Its black and white. It looks like everything is moving around him and he is the focal poiint
Chapter XXXVIII: Succession
It was a victory. Oh, yes, Ictis was a victory, but it felt hollow, as empty as the defeat we had experienced on these same plains seventeen years earlier. And now, as then, the situation was grave.
As we stood there around the body, Lugort came up to us, his clothes torn and clotted with blood. Only a few of his Ordmalica had survived the assault on the square. “My lord,” he began humbly, addressing our new Vergobret. “What is to be done with the population of Ictis?”
I almost thought Aneirin hadn’t heard him. He kept gazing at the body of his adoptive father for a long moment. Then he slowly turned, glancing first at Lugort and then down the hill where the women and innocents of Ictis were being gathered at spear-point. “Kill them,” he ordered, his face like a flint. “Kill them all.”
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Old soldier that he was, Lugort turned to obey, his expression showing no disquiet at the job he had just been tasked with.
Aneirin turned away toward the chieftain’s palace, and I followed behind him. “Is this necessary, my lord?” I asked quietly.
He turned, anger in his eyes. “They killed my father, Cadwalador. A lesson needs to be taught here. It is what oi Neamha would have wished.”
That, I could not argue with. And indeed, I felt his anger surging through my own body. Yet I shuddered at the screams I heard floating up from the foot of the hill. The screams of women and children. Women like Diedre and Inyae. Children like Faran. There was no difference. We were all one.
“Come inside with me, Cadwalador. There are things which we need to discuss.”
I turned, catching the eye of several nobles who stood behind us. Aneirin sensed my hesitation and spoke sharply to them. “Give us a few moments.”
They obeyed grudgingly, and we went into the palace grounds. Aneirin’s sword was still unsheathed in his hand, my javelins at my side. We knew not where enemies might still lurk.
“Much blood will be shed before I can take the throne Tancogeistla bequeathed to me, Cadwalador. You know that full well as I. And I need your advice.”
I hesitated, unsure what to say. “My lord,” I began slowly. “You ask for something I cannot give. There are many men in the Aeduan state far more experienced than I, men who would—”
“Betray me at the turning of the wind,” Aneirin interrupted angrily, his eyes flashing. “You saved my life, Cadwalador. There in the battle.”
“My lord, I—”
“Do not diminish it,” he said, interrupting me once again. “My rage blinded me to my inability. If not for your intervention, Drustan would have killed me. And the adversaries of my father would have danced upon our graves. I owe you much, Cadwalador.”
“It has been my honor, my lord.”
“Bah!” Aneirin cried, spitting upon the sod. “You talk like one of the groveling courtiers of my father. Tell me the truth, Cadwalador. Forces are gathering, even as we speak. If you were in my place, what would you do?”
It was a long moment before I answered, “You need time, my lord. Time to consolidate your rule over the state. Time you will not have if we continue at war with the Casse.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That you send Ivomagos moc Baeren to them once again, to try to make peace with Barae, the High King of the Casse.”
Silence. “Do you know what you are asking me to do?” Aneirin asked finally, looking over into my eyes. “You are asking me to go to our sworn enemies and beg for peace. You are asking me to pardon the garrison of Yns-Mon, to forgive their betrayal of my father. You are asking me to forget all that they have done to us!”
“Nay, my lord,” I replied, shaking my head. “Not forget. Never could I ask you to do that. I only tell you that we must buy time. Else the Aeduan state will be torn apart from within while we are distracted by the warbands of the Casse. In Erain, Malac’s son Praesutagos has already taken the governorship of Ivernis. His brother-in-law leads the garrison of Emain-Macha. We must make peace.”
“And then what?”
“You must go to Attuaca without delay, establish the government there. Make Attuaca the center of power, the capital of the Aedui. Should Erain rebel against you, you dare not risk losing your capital as well.”
He seemed to consider my proposition for a few moments, then he lifted his eyes to the western sky, where the sun was setting, a blood-red ball of fire slowly sinking into the sea. “It shall be as you say,” he acknowledged slowly. “In three days, we will ride for Attuaca.”
We set out at the appointed time, riding north with thirty-five hand-picked men. Ictis was left under the command of a sub-chieftain, a man Aneirin trusted to look after his interests there. Of course, so too had Piso been trusted, by both Aneirin and Tancogiestla.
However, there was an added surety with this man. His wife and children resided Attuaca. Should he betray us, he would never see them again. And that would have to be good enough.
Snow began to fall as we rode on, the chill winds of Ogrosan whipping over the low hills and meadows of the southern half of the island. At one of the villages we stopped at, we hired a guide to direct us to the northern road.
The village held many people loyal to us. It belonged to the territory of which Yns-Mon was the capital. Apparently the Casse had not yet completely subjugated the people, though they held the oppida.
Aneirin was quiet as we rode, a silent intensity transforming his person. Tancogeistla’s death had changed him, I knew not how, but he was different.
We lit no fires at night, instead eating our rations raw. We were thirty-five men in a country that could muster hundreds hostile to us.
As we moved deeper into the territory of the Casse, we changed the pattern of our riding. No longer would be ride in the daytime. Rather we hid in the woods at dawn and saddled our horses again after dark.
It was on one early morning, as we continued to ride northward, that I heard voices through the fog in front of us.
I grasped Aneirin by the arm. “Listen!” I whispered fiercely. He pulled his horse up sharply, motioning for our column to halt.
“What did you hear, Cadwalador?” he asked after a moment.
“Voices, my lord. Directly ahead of us.”
“Probably the wind in the trees, lord,” our guide put in obsequiously, glancing at me from his position at Aneirin’s right hand.
“No!” I exclaimed, returning the look. There was something wrong here. Something I couldn’t quite place my finger upon. . .
A light breeze rustled the bushes near us and Aneirin smiled. “He is probably right, Cadwalador. With the sleep we’ve gotten the last few nights, it will be little wonder if we all don’t start imagining the Casse behind every tree. Let us proceed.”
I was looking at the guide when Aneirin spoke, and a smile flickered across his face at the decision. Not a smile at the words, or at the predicament we all found ourselves in, but something else. Something only he knew.
I placed my hand on Aneirin’s arm to keep him from moving forward, looking him in the eye. “No,” I said firmly, surprising myself with my boldness. “There’s something wrong here.”
I rode around in front of him. A worried look furrowed the guide’s brow at my approach, a look which turned to defiance as I rode up to him. “What is ahead of us?” I demanded through clenched teeth.
“Nothing, my lord,” he replied, in the same groveling tone he had used ever since I had first met him. “This is the shortest way to the road you wished to find.”
Then, from the fog ahead of us, I heard a shout of alarm. We had been led into a trap, the nature of which I knew not, but his treachery was clear.
“Liar!” I hissed, grasping his horse’s bridle to keep him from escaping. To my surprise, he launched himself suddenly upon me, a knife appearing in his hand.
I fell from the back of my horse, falling into the snow with him on top of me. I grabbed his wrist with all my strength, forcing the knife away from my face. Feral rage filled his eyes as he struggled to free his knife hand, sink it deep into my throat.
Around us I heard shouts, the sounds of hoofbeats pounding into the snow. Then it all faded away, all my senses focused on that glittering knife. The only sound surviving was the sound of our ragged breathing, puffing in the chill morning air. The only sight that of his face, his knife.
Do not wait for an opportunity, I thought, Cavarillos’ words of years gone by flickering through my mind. Make one.
I spat in the guide’s face and he flinched involuntarily. The opportunity made, I took it, heaving my body up in one mighty effort and throwing him off me. The knife fell into the snow.
He rolled over and retrieved it, started to rise, but my boot caught him just beneath the point of the chin in a savage kick. I heard a sickening crunch as his neck snapped. He fell helplessly back into the snow, dying.
I ignored him, realizing my own situation. The breeze was lifting the fog, revealing the scene around us. We had nearly ridden into a camp of the Casse.
One of the young Brihentin rode up, looking at me with wide-eyed awe as he handed me the bridle to my runaway horse.
“Quickly, Cadwalador!” I heard Aneirin’s voice call. Looking behind me, I saw the reason for his urgency. Hundreds of Casse warriors rushing from their encampment and forming in line on the plain directly in front of us.
Indeed, there was the road, just as the guide had said. But, there also were the Casse on the other side of it. The voices I had heard.
I vaulted into the saddle with all my remaining strength and threw myself low over my horse’s neck, kicking it into a gallop.
Satisfied with my safety, Aneirin kicked his own horse in the flanks and together we galloped across the plain, away from the pursuing warbands.
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I could see the fear in Aneirin’s eyes as we rode, fear mingled with disgust and fury at how nearly we had been tricked.
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Had any of our enemies possessed horses, I fear that we would have been doomed, for the Casse possessed very fleet ponies, but no cavalry accompanied the warbands.
We rode hard until we reached the cover of the woods, then perforce we slowed our steeds, lest a low-hanging branch crush one of us from the saddle. Clearly, we would need to find another way north.
Four days later, as we saddled our horses at dusk, one of the young Brihentin who had been posted at guard came running back into our small camp.
“Horsemen approach from the north, my lord!” he cried breathlessly, halting before Aneirin. “A small band.”
“How small?” Aneirin demanded, anxiety clearly showing on his face as he reached for his sword-belt.
“No larger than our own, Vergobret,” the young warrior replied. “ Perhaps slightly smaller. We should be able to take them easily.”
His voice betrayed the confidence of youth. A confidence I myself had once felt. Aneirin glanced over at me, a question on his face.
“Stand or flee, Cadwalador?”
I looked up the narrow forest road. Whatever decision was made, it had to be reached quickly. “First perhaps, my lord, we should find out the identity of these mysterious horsemen. They come from the north, perhaps they are messengers from Attuaca.”
“And if they are an advance guard for the Casse?” he asked, uncertainty in his tones.
“Their horsemanship will do them little good in these forest glades,” I replied, reaching for the war hammer that lay across my saddle bags. “Give me two men and I will go out to meet them. The rest of you saddle your horses to be ready for flight.”
“I will go with you,” Aneirin said quietly, drawing his longsword from its scabbard and hefting it in his hand.
“Nay, my lord,” I replied. “Get you up and mounted, ready to ride should this be the enemy. We cannot afford that you should lose your life in these forests.”
My words might as well not have been uttered for all the attention the Vergobret paid them. Seeing the example of their leader, the rest of the Brihentin drew their weapons and moved out behind us. Instead of the two men I had requested, I had thirty-three. That would suffice just as well.
Hammer in my hands, I stepped out onto the forest trail, in the path of the oncoming horsemen. I saw them the moment I stepped from cover, a scant sixty feet away.
“Halt and declare yourselves in the name of Aneirin moc Cunobelin!” I demanded, planting myself firmly in their way. Aneirin came to stand beside me, the naked sword glitterin in his hand. A faint sense of disquiet rippled through me. The horsemen were dressed in the manner of the Aedui. Brihentin, no less. But whose?
My question was answered a moment later when a stripling cantered his horse to the front of their body, taking off his helmet to reveal a smooth, hairless face. “I am Prasutagos, son of Malac. . .”
Now this is getting interesting. A fight between Aneirin and Prasutagos, perhaps? Or will something suprising hapen and Prasutagos declears loyality to Aneirin? Cant wait to see what comes next. Great writing.
Keep a close eye. Interesting times ahead. Will Aneirin moc Cunobelin be up to the challenge of ruling the Aedui? :inquisitive:
DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUN!
Looking forward to the next chapter!
Great read!
However, do the Casse really have cavalry? I thought they had chariots and nothing more.
Yeah, the Casse have extremely light skirmisher cav, I think they're called Mycharn, or something like that. But that army was lacking, fortunately. . .
Another update posting up soon.
Chapter XXXIX: Son of Malac
I stiffed instinctively at the mention of our foe’s name, my hammer held more tightly in my grasp. Aneirin straightened perceptibly at my side, fire flickering in his dark eyes.
“Where are you bound?” I demanded, the first of our party to recover his voice. The youth looked at me sharply, apparently surprised at the hostility in my tones.
“I know not who you pretend to be, but I am on my way south, to join the army of Tancogeistla oi Neamha.” He pronounced the name with audible pride, as though he expected its utterance to open all doors for him. A strange attitude for a son of Malac.
Aneirin stepped in front of me, his sword still unsheathed in his hand. “Tancogeistla is dead,” he announced flatly. “Fallen in the taking of Ictis.”
Prasutagos’ face changed in a moment, genuine sorrow in those youthful eyes. It shocked me, I must admit. He swung down from his horse to stand before Aneirin.
“Then who leads the Aeduan state?” he asked, looking from one to another of us with the air of expectation.
Aneirin nodded slowly. “I do. I, Aneirin moc Cunobelin, have succeeded my father as Vergobret.”
Prasutagos turned, staring into our leader’s face for a moment. Then he extended his hand. “Then it is to you that I must offer the use of my sword. I have heard many things of you.”
“All bad, I assume,” Aneirin stated, his voice full of suspicion. I could scarcely blame him. Malac had been a shadow over all our lives. And this young man’s older brother and brother-in-law had usurped Aneirin’s authority in Erain.
Prasutagos flushed red-hot, looking down at the ground. “You do me an injustice, my lord. I come to you, as I would have come before Tancogeistla oi Neamha, as a beggar, with nothing to my name save these men who have sworn their loyalty to me. And is not loyalty the greatest treasure of all?”
“What would a son of Malac know of loyalty?” Aneirin hissed, bent on provoking the young man.
“Were you to ask that of my brother,” Prasutagos replied calmly, “I know not how he would answer you with honesty. It is because of his lust for power that I find myself before you today. I fled Erain pursued by his Brihentin. Only these companions follow my banner.”
My eyebrows shot up instinctively. If what he said was true. . .
“Why does Praesutagos fear you?” Aneirin asked, still skeptical.
“He swore a false allegiance to Tancogeistla out of nothing more than fear. He knew he could do nothing against the charisma and power of oi Neamha. He dreams of nothing more than reestablishing the line of my father. He feared that I might become a rival. I knew I could find refuge with Tancogeistla’s army. That is why I was riding south.”
Aneirin seemed to consider his words for a moment, his eyes searching the young man’s face for any signs of duplicity.
“We were on our way back to Attuaca,” he said finally. “You are welcome in our camp.”
Prasutagos nodded respectfully. “It is an honor, my lord.”
We rode north the next few nights, now in the company of the young Carnute and his companions.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...Prasutagos.jpg
He was a remarkably unselfish young man, willing to endure without complaint the same lot as his companions, despite his noble birth. He was nothing like his father. Indeed, there were times when I found myself wondering about the faithfulness of Malac’s wife.
The snow continued to fall as we moved into the highlands. Aneirin seemed impatient at the delay. I found out why as we huddled together near the small fire one night.
“It has been over a year, Cadwalador,” Aneirin said, rubbing his arms to restore their circulation. He went on before I could ask his meaning. “Over a year since I have seen Margeria, since I’ve held her in my arms.” He blushed. “I’m prattling on like a stripling. You must find it amusing.”
“No, my lord,” I replied, gazing into the fire as the sparks pranced into the dusk-dark sky. I knew exactly how he felt, the yearning which seemed to come from deep inside a man, from the depths of his very soul. A yearning for nothing more than the sight of one’s wife, one’s love. Aneirin’s marriage to Margeria had been a fruitful one. She had born him two fine sons, future heirs to the throne of the Aedui, perhaps. And he seemed to truly love her. Remembering her glance at the marriage-feast, and rumors I had heard since, I wondered if his love was completely reciprocated. But that was none of my affair, and I was glad of it.
Prasutagos seemed to sink lower into the depths of despondency at Aneirin’s words. The spirit seemed to have been taken out of him at the news of Tancogeistla’s death and he had grown increasingly gloomy as the journey continued.
“I too, have a wife in Attuaca,” he said soberly. Both Aneirin and I glanced his way in astonishment. He was young. . .
“That is yet another part of the reason for my flight. My brother wished her for his own.”
I looked over at Aneirin, watching as the light dawned in his eyes. Perhaps we were getting at the truth at long last.
Aneirin forced a smile to his face. “Well, then. We have a double reason for haste. Let us ride.”
Two weeks of hard riding later, we neared Attuaca. We rode single file through dark forest paths made slippery with snow. But something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones, as though the long years of campaign I had spent with Tancogeistla had given me another sense, a warning of danger.
Taking Prasutagos and three hand-picked Brihentin with me, I gained permission of Aneirin to ride forward and reconnoiter the ground ahead of us. Clear the road to Attuaca.
A feeling of danger gripped my chest as we rode forward, toward a narrow bluff which I knew offered a good view of the town. Below us, in the gathering twilight, between us and Attuaca, was an encampment of the Casse.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...a-Besieged.jpg
The town was under siege. . .
Excellent writing! I haven't checked on this AAR in a month, and I am enjoying reading so much of it in a short time... I imagine that there will be some tough times ahead for the Aedui, if they face a fully mobilized Casse! Good old T- man is dead, I actually felt a little twinge of sorrow at that, but alas he went out like a Hero... By the way, what about Caddie's succession? surely he must have a son or something to keep the story going... and that means yet another woman... or maybe a grandson via his step daughter? Perhaps she can marry into a noble family, after all Cad is moving up in life!
It's good to see you back. It had been a while. I too was sad to see Tancogeistla die, but he was going to expire of old age in a few turns and I felt it was better for him to "die with his boots on", so to speak. As for Cadwalador's succession, I'm not sure that will be necessary. . .
Wait, so Malac named his sons Prasutagos and Praesutagos?? Wow, the game couldn't make things more confusing for your AAR! Just for clarification, Prasutagos is the good one and Praesutagos is the bad one, right?
Excellent writing. As I have been on Holiday for the last week in Miami I have missed much of this. I took the time to update my AAR and am now catching up on my list of favorites. Excellent job and I love how this is playing out. What does the map look like? I am curious to see how things are progressing.
Chapter XL: Night of Slaughter
I felt my heart sink at the sight of the encampment, saw the despair in the eyes of Prasutagos. But though my feelings were the same as his, I dared not express them. Despite his noble birth, I was the leader here. Mine was the decision to be made.
“I will stay here and keep an eye on the Casse,” I whispered, well aware of how far a voice could carry in the chill night air. “Depart and warn Aneirin.”
“What should we tell him?” Prasutagos asked, obedience implicit in his tones. It was clear he wanted none of the responsibility of the next few hours. That was just as well.
“Tell him to bring his men on as quickly as possible. Smite the Casse by the light of the moon.”
Prasutagos stared down at the encampment and I could see the reluctance, the fear in his eyes. Another moment and his resolve might break. It was the critical moment. “If you confess defeat,” I whispered harshly, “if you confess fear, the battle is already lost. Now go on and bring Aneirin moc Cunobelin back to me. Hurry!”
Without another word, he and his three bodyguards scrambled back down the trail, to where they had picketed their horses. And I was all alone, exposed upon the chilly bluff, looking down upon the encampment of my enemies.
It would take at least three hours for Prasutagos to go and bring Aneirin, and that was if things progressed smoothly. I had no way of knowing whether other patrols of Casse roamed through the woods.
The moon was already coming out, rising into the night sky. One by one, the campfires of the Casse flickered out, their ashes growing cold as sparkling embers fell to the chilly sod. If I was to execute the plans forming in my mind, I would have to move quickly.
I guessed there were well nigh three hundred of the enemy below me. I would be going in all alone. For a brief moment, I contemplated slipping through to Attuaca and summoning help, but I dismissed that idea from my mind. The risks of being killed by a nervous Aeduan sentry were too great. Not to mention the Casse.
By the second watch of the night, I left my post upon the bluff and slowly slipped down the backside of the hill, careful not to dislodge any rocks or debris on my way down. I could scarce credit the plan I had formed, the madness that had seized my mind. I knew one thing, and one thing only. We could never hope to beat such a host in a fair fight. Thus craft and guile were our only allies. . .
Many of the Casse slept in the open, wrapped only in their cloaks. Others had taken shelter under trees, stunty conifers which dotted the highlands of Attuaca. Still others, I suspected the richest of the warriors, had brought some rude form of tent with them and set them up above their heads.
It was a motley collection, I thought as I moved stealthily, quietly, among them. Beardless boys and men in their prime, gray-haired champions and young men who had not yet drawn blood in anger.
Two hours had gone by. I could tell by the position of the moon. One more hour I guessed until Prasutagos would return. Perhaps my last hour on earth.
My javelins were in my hand as I crawled slowly toward one of the last-burning fires, my knife thrust in the waistband of my trousers. Instruments of destruction. Death.
A few smoldering faggots still lay at the edge of the fire, along with several half-empty jugs of liquor. They had been drinking to keep off the cold.
I extended my hand toward one of the burning pieces of wood, seeking to seize it. The next moment, I withdrew my hand, hearing one of the sleepers stirring nearby.
Pressed flat against the ground, I held my breath, the night still as death around me. I could hear the sleeper throw off his blankets and rise, footsteps against the earth. Coming toward me.
I quickly reached out and grasped one of the jugs, jerking it toward me. The liquor splashed over my mouth and cheeks, staining my tunic. Then I sagged against the earth, the jug clasped in one hand as I lay on top of my javelins, apparently asleep. The footsteps came closer, then stopped directly above me. I nearly stopped breathing.
The next thing I heard was a low chuckle, as if he was mocking my drunkenness. Then he moved off. I watched him go, walking off to the edge of camp as if seeking to relieve himself.
The flame was dying on the piece of wood I had seized, dark coals flickering ever more slowly. I glanced toward the bluff again, then at the moon. Perhaps another twenty minutes. I breathed slowly upon the faggot, seeking to fan it into fuller flame.
I could wait no longer. I must be about my business. I pulled myself up onto my hands and knees, clutching the fiery brand in one hand, my javelins in the other. The little cluster of Britonic tents was only a few yards away. Undoubtedly their chieftain was within.
Silently, I whirled the brand round my head once, then twice, the air forcing the embers into full-blown flame. Perhaps the warrior who had passed me at the fire saw me. I thought I heard a shout. Perhaps it was nothing, but none of that mattered. I was past the point of no return. No one could stop what I was about to do.
I ran, stooping low, to the first tent and shoved the brand against the thin fabric, waiting until it smoldered and caught, then running on to the next one. At the third tent, I heard a shout from within. A light breeze came rolling down from the north, aiding my efforts.
I saw the fire leap from one tent to the next, fanned by the breeze as men came running out of the first tent. One of the men shouted and pointed in my direction. My javelin caught him in the hollow of his exposed throat and the words died on his lips. I tossed the faggot away, into the doorway of another tent. Now I was just another warrior. Nothing more. Nothing less.
The sower of confusion. The bringer of death. Another warrior, indeed. . .
Men rose from their resting places all around me, confused by the fire, panicked by the sudden attack from their midst. Screams, confusion, death wrought everywhere.
I tossed my second javelin at a tall, noble-looking figure who emerged half-clad from his tent, still struggling to pull on his armor. He fell, pierced through the chest. A spear swished through the air near my head and I turned to confront a young lad, an enemy Lugoae. Whipping my dagger from my belt, I thrust it into his flesh, his scream filling my ears as he crumpled forward. His agony meant nothing to me, I was deaf to his cries.
All that mattered was the mission I had set for myself to accomplish. Faran sheltered behind yonder palisade, Diedre’s little daughter. My tribesmen. They were all that filled my mind. This bloodshed was necessary.
Men were falling everywhere about me, as Casse killed Casse in their panic and confusion. And then I heard it, the sound of a horn sounding loud above the chaos. Looking to the south, to the hills above Attuaca, I saw a dark mass of horsemen.
They swept into the camp, the sound of their hoofbeats dark thunder against the frozen sod. A few tried to resist, I saw several horsemen fall. But the slaughter had already been too great.
One of the Brihentin swung my way, his blood-flecked spear extending before him like a lance, seeking to skewer me.
I stepped nimbly to the side at the last moment, shouting at him over the noise and chaos of battle.
He pulled his horse up sharply, his steed rearing into the air at the suddenness of the halt.
“Is that you, Cadwalador?”
“Yes!” I cried. “Give me a hand!”
The young bodyguard extended his arm and I swung up behind him on his horse, my eyes scanning the encampment from the vantage point as we rode out of danger.
A dark mass of men was pouring from behind the walls of Attuaca, the garrison come to aid us.
It was the final blow. The Casse broke, running from the field with our horsemen pursuing hotly. The battle was over, if the night’s slaughter could be called a battle. . .
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...sSlaughter.jpg
I did not see Aneirin moc Cunobelin until the next morning, when his horsemen came streaming back into the palisade along with the rays of the dawning sun.
He dismounted, taking off his blood-stained helmet to reveal a tired face sweaty even in the cold morning air of Ogrosan.
“I owed you much before this last night, Cadwalador. Now I owe you more than I can ever repay. The lives of my wife, my sons, for all this am I indebted unto you.”
He grasped my hand fiercely, tears shining in his dark eyes, his words embarrassing me. “I did not do it for your sake, my lord,” I replied with honesty. “I did it for my daughter’s sake, for the sake of my last link to the wife I lost those years ago.”
“Why you did it matters not, Cadwalador. The deed itself is all that concerns me. Thank you.”
I looked across the square at Faran. It had been nearly a year since I had seen her, and the changes in her saddened me, at the thought of what I had missed. She was well past her seventh birthday now, maturing more with every passing day. And she still remembered my face. That was enough.
“Have you seen Margeria?” Aneirin asked, glancing once again in my direction.
“Nay, my lord,” I replied. “Has she not come down to welcome you home?”
He shook his head soberly. “No. I must go assure myself of her safety. Fare thee well, my friend.”
It was two weeks after our slaughter of the Casse in the plains before Attuaca, that a lone horseman came riding into the town. I recognized him immediately as he reined up his horse in the square. It was Ivomagos moc Baeren, the emissary Aneirin had sent to Barae, High King of the Casse.
He looked at me as he dismounted. “Take me to Aneirin,” he said soberly. I nodded, leading him into the palace of Attuaca. Aneirin met us there.
“What news do you bring?” Aneirin demanded, his voice anxious.
Ivomagos remained silent, stripping off his cloak and casting it onto the stone floor. He turned away from us wordlessly, revealing a back that had been flogged with a whip, the flesh scored into fiery welts and blisters of clotted blood.
“He ordered me whipped,” he whispered, his voice a low hiss.
“What?” I heard Aneirin gasp.
“I was scourged by order of Barae!” Ivomagos hissed out. “He said that there could never be peace between us.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...atyRefused.jpg
He reached into his baggage and pulled out a long, finely-crafted sword. “Barae told me also to give you this, my lord. He said to be sure and keep it sharp, for the day when he comes to meet you draweth nigh. . .”
Yeah, I love it. Can't imagine the type of Dad that would make things that confusing. And your guess is right.Quote:
Originally Posted by Chaotix27
@Chirurgeon: Hope you enjoyed your vacation and glad you like how this is turning out. Things are getting interesting.
And a special note for Cadwalader. Many thanks for your suggestion regarding the sword. I think you will like how I used it. A balloon for you :balloon2: :2thumbsup:
:inquisitive: Everyone must be on summer vacation. . .
im not! ive been updating my AAR and i just finished reading yours! ITS SO GOOD I LOVE IT PLZ GO ON!!!
lol
great gob mate!
Thanks a lot, "mate"! I'm guessing you hadn't read any of it before you left the forums.Quote:
Originally Posted by hooahguy
no i never left- i just only hung around the EB tavern.
btw you should join us there always a good convo to participate in!
But, I don't drink.Quote:
Originally Posted by hooahguy
its ok- we also carry apple juice, milk, water, smoothies, OJ, chocolate milk, milkshakes, and the list goes on......Quote:
Originally Posted by Theodotos I
Sarsaparilla?
anything you want!
we have a genie in a bottle who lives under the counter so all i need to do is ask him for the requested drink if it isnt on hand.
*shoots thodotos with a memory dart, erasing his memory from the past 30 seconds*
I'd be as bad as Tancogeistla. . .
Will be updating Monday if all goes well. Keep reading! :whip:
Sioux City Sarsaparilla.Quote:
Originally Posted by Theodotos I
Don't think I didn't get that Big Lebowski reference. :grin:
And yeah, the AAR is goin' good. I think you're getting a real balance of good and evil in the characters, especially with the way Tancogeistla unfolded. Just be sure not to swing too far to the bright side now.
I drink root beer. And no, there's no danger of going too far to the bright side. Wait and see.
I would like your permission to submit your AAR for the AAR of the Month Competition over at TWC. I need your blessing to do this. Here is the link if you want more info :) http://www.twcenter.net/forums/showthread.php?t=182706
@Chirurgeon: You've got more than my blessing, you've got my thanks. I really never knew how to enter that competition before. So go right ahead and thanks for considering it worthy. Will be updating momentarily, so don't go anywhere:laugh4: