Across the Waters: A Story of the Migration

Oh, dear. You can please some of the people all the time, and all the people some of the time, but you can never please all the people all the time.:juggle2:
@Reverend Joe: I’m sorry you feel this way. However, things are not always as they seem. Malac and Tancogeistla are in their latter years, and I think you will find Aneirin moc Cunobelin to be quite a different type of character. I agree with you about the lack of heroes, but you must appreciate the difficulty of writing about the classic hero-style character from the first-person perspective. I initially intended for Cadwalador to chronicle the heroic exploits of Cavarillos, but that relationship went places I never dreamed of.
It is difficult for a hero to write about his own deeds without sounding boastful. I have talked with true modern-day heroes, including some of America’s brave soldiers, and they spent half their time trying to deny that they did anything out of the ordinary. Therefore, I think you see the problem.
As Malac and Tancogeistla pass from the scene, you will see Cadwalador’s role change. He is older than Aneirin moc Cunobelin, and that will alter the equation. I trust you will keep reading.

@General Appo: I’m glad you’re enjoying it.
@Aaldaemon: Thought you would. Your suggestions were far more bleak than this, but I appreciated them anyway. However, I see Reverend Joe's point. Perhaps this has been downhill for too long. I'll let my readers be the judge.
@Olaf the Great: Glad to see you're reading. But no, he's not that drunk. However, things are not always as they seem.
@Hax: Good to have you back. It's been awhile. And, yes, you do a good imitation of Berdic. Maybe I'll hire you. :laugh4::laugh4:

Quick question, everyone: How many agree with Reverend Joe, that this story is way too bleak? I have my own plans for the story, but I don’t want to follow them at a continued loss of my readers.
So if you agree, speak up now. You won’t offend me by doing so. And regardless, this story will take a turn toward triumph sooner or later.

Chapter XXX: Recompense

I turned and ran into the house, tears flowing freely down my cheeks. “Diedre!” I screamed, the echoes mocking me hollowly. I grasped the curtains and tore them from their hangings, casting the ripped fabric to the floor. “Diedre!”
The apartment was bare. I heard movement behind me and turned on heel, my heart twisting inside me. It was only Berdic, leaning staggeringly against the doorframe.
“What happened?” I demanded. He shook his head drunkenly. “A curse upon you, Berdic!” I cried, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him fiercely.
“What happened?”
Sadness was in his eyes. “She—she’s dead, Cadwalador. That’s all I know. Maybe—”
Another form flitted into the door behind him, a woman’s figure. My eyes locked on her face. It was the neighbor woman. Clutching tightly to her hand was Diedre’s daughter.
“I came as soon as I heard you were home,” she whispered softly.
“Home?” I exclaimed in bitterness. “Is that what this is? That murderer has taken her away from me!”
Tancogeistla’s face rose up before me and for a moment I could almost feel my fingers closing around his throat, strangling the life from the old drunkard’s body. For him Inyae had been sacrificed. By his order, Diedre had been killed. Leader of my people or no, he had forfeited his life by this.
“The messenger came from Tancogeistla,” the woman continued. “I do not know what he told her, but she took the news badly. Diedre was worried for you, Cadwalador. To the end, she called out your name.”
I lowered my head, feeling the condemnation descend onto my shoulders. The woman was still talking. “. . .an hour later, her daughter came running for me. Her pains were upon her, that she might bring forth the child.”
“But her time was not for months to come,” I whispered, in shock at the news.
The neighbor woman nodded. “I know. It happens this way at times, often when the mother is under great stress. I sent my son to Tancogeistla to summon help.”
“And he rejected you,” I hissed, sure I knew now what had happened.
She shook her head. “No. He was concerned and sent back one of the druids in his retinue, a man skilled in herbs and surgery. There was nothing he could do for her.”
“Tell me his name.”
The woman looked up into my eyes. “Do not blame him for your wife’s death. There was nothing—”
“Tell me his name!”
“Motios oi Neamha,” she replied. I felt as though I had been slapped. Motios oi Neamha, the wise old druid I had communed with on Teamhaidh. No groveling pawn of Tancogeistla. I had seen him at work, curing the diseased in Emain-Macha.
“What happened?” I asked, swallowing the lump in my throat. I had to know the truth.
“He did the best he could, but when the child was delivered, there was no breath in him.”
“Him? A son?”
She nodded. I turned away, covering my mouth with my hand as though to prevent the sobs from escaping. It was a futile effort.
“She was weak from the delivery, and could not bear the news. She died soon after.”
“I should have been here,” I whispered, condemning myself bitterly. If only. . .
My mind swirled with everything that filled it so suddenly. Had Tancogeistla intended my wife to die, he would never have sent Motios oi Neamha. He would have sent someone he could use, could twist to his own will. Or had I misjudged the druid?
I looked the woman in the eyes. “The neighbors brought food in her memory, did they not?”
“Yes.”
“Take what you will of it,” I answered brusquely. “Just take care of my daughter until I return.”
I took my javelins down from the wall, brushing past Berdic to reach the door.
“Where are you going, Cadwalador?” he called after me, still slurring the words.
“To Tancogeistla,” I screamed back, my rage consuming me. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I knew only one thing. My answers lay at the palace. . .

I remember nothing of my march through the streets that desolate afternoon, only my arrival at the palace gate just as the sun began its downward journey into the sea.
“Take me to Tancogeistla,” I ordered the Brihentin who stood in the entrance. They looked at me, at the javelins in my hand, and began to move towards me.
“Who sent you?” One of them called. “Malac? You were sent to fetch him and he has turned your heart away from our rightful vergobret!”
I raised a javelin in my hand, smiling in their faces. I outranged their swords. I could kill at least one of them, maybe both, before they could fall upon me. I could run before they could pursue me, encumbered as they were by their weapons and armor. But I had no intention of running.
“Stand away from him, my sons,” a voice interrupted, coming from behind the gate. Tancogeistla.
The Brihentin backed away, their hands still grasping the hilts of their swords. They looked at their leader in shock.
“I expected you, Cadwalador,” Tancogeistla said calmly. “Diedre’s death is a tragedy felt by all of us here.”
“Liar!” I hissed. One of the Brihentin started to draw his sword from its sheath.
Tancogeistla looked at me, and I could see something in his eyes. He seemed puzzled. “Why would you doubt that?”
“Belerios killed her! What message did you tell him to give to her?”
The old general shook his head. “I told him to tell her that you were safe, that you were undertaking a mission for me. He was to take whatever steps were necessary to ensure her comfort. Is that not what he said?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. But it killed her. Where is he?”
“Follow me,” Tancogeistla motioned. He barked an order to the Brihentin and they grudgingly let their swords slip back into their scabbards. I lowered my javelin and followed Tancogeistla through the gates.

We found Belerios in the courtyard, exercising at swords with another of the Brihentin. His helmet was fastened under his chin by a leathern strap, but no other armor was visible.
“Belerios!” I cried, a challenge, rage in my voice. He turned, and for a moment, I could see a smile light up his face.
“Cadwalador,” he nodded, making no attempt to sheathe his sword. “You found your wife well, I trust?” He was mocking me.
“Put up your sword, Belerios,” Tancogeistla ordered sharply. The Brihentin shook his head.
“Not with this rabid wolf in front of me,” he smiled back. “What is wrong, Cadwalador?”
“This man has lost his wife, Belerios,” Tancogeistla replied. “Now, I am ordering you, put up your sword.”
“What concern is his wife of mine?” Belerios demanded, taunting me. I stepped around Tancogeistla, taking one of my javelins in my right hand.
“You meant for her to die, didn’t you?” I challenged, my eyes fastened on the Brihentin’s face.
“Perhaps,” he replied, laughing in my face. At my grief. The javelin flew from my hand without conscious thought, as though propelled of its own power. I saw Belerios’ eyes widen, then the javelin struck him in the center of his chest.
In my fury, I had forgotten the mail shirt he wore under his outer garments. The tip of my javelin struck the mail and glanced harmlessly aside.
“Stop this!” Tancogeistla cried, his voice a dull ringing in my ears, a far-away cry. Neither of us heeded him. We were past that.
“I knew you would come, Cadwalador,” Belerios hissed, circling me with his sword. “To see what had happened to your woman. And the whelp she bore.”
His hatred baffled me, but I was beyond caring. I was in the zone now, watching two fighters circle. One with sword, the other with javelins.
I threw my second javelin, ignoring Tancogeistla’s shouted order. Belerios twisted away and I missed completely. My hands were shaking, my fury destroying my aim. I had to get hold of myself. If I was not to die.
“You have one left, Cadwalador. Throw it and I will kill you. As I did your wife.”
I stared into his eyes, forcing myself to ignore the blade he brandished. The eyes. The eyes. It was there I needed to focus, if I was to survive this.
“Keep it and I will kill you anyway,” he chuckled, mocking my hesitation. We continued to circle, looking for an opening.
He was becoming confident, my futile throws convincing him that the victory was in his grasp. And I saw my chance.
Reversing my grip on the javelin to hold it as I would a spear, I hurled myself across the open space, ducking low to avoid the slash of his sword.
The blade bit deep into my shoulder and I bit my tongue against the pain, throwing my weight against the Brihentin in an effort to take him off-balance, stabbing deep into his thigh with my javelin, ignoring the splintering of wood that told me my weapon was broken.
Belerios screamed, falling backward to the earth with me atop him. His sword was gone. As was his advantage. He was mine. I whipped the knife from the waist of my trousers and jammed it against his chin, holding him against the ground. He struggled, but the weight of the mail hampered his efforts.
“Tell me,” I hissed. “Why? Why did you cause my wife’s death?”
He spat in my face. I barely felt it. My anger could be no greater. “I have never done anything against you or your house. Why did you do this?”
The knife-tip pricked the skin of his throat, drawing blood. “You call it nothing?” he gasped. “That you should take my rightful place?”
I sensed that he was looking behind me and I looked up to see Tancogeistla standing over both of us.
“What do you mean?”
“He speaks of nothing but you. Cadwalador, son of the Wolf. Cadwalador, his bodyguard. Cadwalador, the man who saved his life on the Isle of Tin. Cadwalador, the man he wanted to succeed him. He ignored the years I spent with him, building an army against Malac, spying on his rival. I have put my life in danger countless times for his sake. All for nothing.”
“You speak lies,” Tancogeistla interrupted, his face flashing with anger. “I have promoted you to great honor, given you wealth and station. And you forget all of this! Let him up, Cadwalador.”
I hesitated, looking down into the eyes of the man who had been the cause of Diedre’s death. I wanted to kill him, to feel his blood run over my hands, to drown my sorrows in his life’s current. Revenge.
“I said, Cadwalador,” he repeated. “Let him up.” I looked up and saw the naked blade in the old man’s hands, the fire in his eyes. And I obeyed.
“You are a dog, Belerios,” Tancogeistla hissed, stepping closer as the Brihentin got to his feet. “An ungrateful dog! That you should spurn all the blessings of my court. It is an offense of the highest order.”
Both Belerios and I saw the blade coming and I saw terror fill his eyes for a split-second. The slash decapitated the Brihentin’s body and I saw the head spin off to one side, the torso crumple to the dirt of the courtyard, blood flowing freely from the corpse. Tancogeistla looked over at me and I nodded silently. It was recompense. . .

Few quick gameplay notes here. As mentioned in the story, both Tancogeistla and Malac are getting old. Malac has two sons and a daughter, but none of them are of age. Which leaves Aneirin moc Cunovelin. As mentioned in Chapter 29, Tancogeistla will soon lead an expedition to Yns-Mon, which I hope will provoke the Casse. I've been extorting money from them every turn for the last few years, so hopefully they're royally mad by now. Yns-Mon and the renowned Ictis are the only two rebel settlements left in the British Isles. Anyway, interesting times are ahead. I trust you all will keep reading. :book:

Oh well, I honestly did not see this one coming. (I mean the Belerios part) That's a good thing, by all means. :2thumbsup: Although you might have built Belerios a bit more before this imho, still well done. :2thumbsup:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Theodotos I

I’m sorry you feel this way. However, things are not always as they seem. Malac and Tancogeistla are in their latter years, and I think you will find Aneirin moc Cunobelin to be quite a different type of character. I agree with you about the lack of heroes, but you must appreciate the difficulty of writing about the classic hero-style character from the first-person perspective. I initially intended for Cadwalador to chronicle the heroic exploits of Cavarillos, but that relationship went places I never dreamed of.
It is difficult for a hero to write about his own deeds without sounding boastful. I have talked with true modern-day heroes, including some of America’s brave soldiers, and they spent half their time trying to deny that they did anything out of the ordinary. Therefore, I think you see the problem.
As Malac and Tancogeistla pass from the scene, you will see Cadwalador’s role change. He is older than Aneirin moc Cunobelin, and that will alter the equation. I trust you will keep reading.

---

Your words have won me back, Theodotos. :2thumbsup: Yeah, I can understand the difficulty of writing about a hero from their perspective; the thing is, Cavrillos just doesn't seem that much of a hero so much as a victim of constant manipulation. I can certainly appreciate that a true hero would not be boastful; instead, his herosim should be evident in his actions. Perhaps it could reflect in the people around him, as well; if Cavrillos had a little better opinion of them, it might make their opinions of him seem a little less hollow. On the other hand, maybe I'm looking at this the wrong way.

The promise of something different from Aneirin does intrigue me, as well.

I do not mean to imply that the story should be invariably one way or the other, or even that it should be balanced. You can have a rather bleak story, but without some happiness or hope sometimes it becomes overwhelming, just as an invariably heroic, good-guys-win story becomes gratingly boring. This last chapter is a good example of what I mean: Tancogeistla has spent too much time in his Mr. Hyde form; he doesn't even have to be a good guy, just a halfway-decent person, in order to give some variation to the story.

Excellent, I knew that Tancogeistla wasn't behind the wife's death. I figured that the most common killer for young women before the modern era (1900) was child birth, so I held out hope that you would use that rather than violently murder a pregnant woman. Big T's revenge made him a brutally heroic, or at least loyal character. Either way, that was a good chapter with a great twist. Even Malac is portrayed sympathetically.

As for me, I teach world history and coach basketball and football at a high school on the Navajo reservation. This reservation has 400,000 people on it, and it is the size of West Virginia. Amongst the people I work with, some of the grandmas have never left the reservation, and they do not speak English at all (only Dine'). The youngest generation, however is not at all different from youths that you would find in any city in America. They listen to MP3's, gang bang, play sports, shop at Wal mart, and visit their dads in Phoenix every other weekend. Therefore the experience is not as exotic as it sounds. Still, this is a great place to break into the teaching profession, as very few teachers want to live in special housing or be as culturally or geographically isolated as to live on this rez. Therefore the schools will hire anyone who just wants to become a teacher and patiently wait for them to complete the certification. Consider it one day when you finish college... you might get in touch with your roots a little.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Irishmafia2020

The youngest generation, however is not at all different from youths that you would find in any city in America. They listen to MP3's, gang bang, play sports, shop at Wal mart, and visit their dads in Phoenix every other weekend.

---

Okay... :inquisitive: I´m hoping this is just some to me unfamiliar phrase, ´cause otherwise this gives me a whole new look on youths of America and life in reservations.

Uh... well, they are crips and bloods and Sureno's. I had a student stabbed in the hall in front of my class room, and I break up at least a fight a week, and I have probably caught 2 dozen students using drugs as well. I did mean gang banging, these kids are desperate and poor, and state police are not allowed on the reservation which makes it an ideal place to hide out if you have gotten in trouble elsewhere, or to use as a base for drug distribution. On the bright side (for me) they really do take their basketball seriously!

Okay, I see know what sort of gang banging you meant. Actually, you may not have heard of it, but there is another sort of gang banging. This is not the right place to discuss it, but search on "gang banging" in Wikipedia and you shall see what I mean.

LOL... okay, I see where the mistranslation occurred... I don't have to do an internet search to know what your talking about there. If my students are into that... well I have no need to know about it... Good laugh though!

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.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...alacsFight.jpg
“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.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...athofMalac.jpg
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...otos/Slain.jpg
“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."
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...ampledKing.jpg
“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.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...hinRedLine.jpg
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...fVirsuccos.jpg
“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.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...ry-Yns-Mon.jpg
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...s-MonStats.jpg

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.”
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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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Yea, in the same year, his sister Keyne was given in marriage to a Caledone by the name of Erbin moc Dumnacos.
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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.”
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“By whom?” I asked, knowing the answer before he even breathed.
“The Casse. . .”