Chapter XXV: March to Attuaca

The journey back to the island was a hard one for me. Tancogeistla knew that. Perhaps that was the reason he left me to myself on the voyage. We were traveling in sturdier craft this time, but my heart was twice as unsettled as it had been on the rafts years earlier. Then we had been returning to our people, jubilant in our own survival. Now we went back, to carry flame and sword to those who had befriended us. There was no justice in this battle. Malac never intended any.
Our army was divided between the Gallic and Goidilic contingents. Most of the slingers were settlers from Emain-Macha, men who had answered Tancogiestla’s call for an army. So far as I knew, they were loyal to Malac, but at times I had my doubts.
Berdic was in command of one of the detachments of Iaosatae. He did not share in my misery, failed to understand it. Boyhood friends though we were, fellow villagers—we were so different. I could never understand his carefree ways, no more than he could understand my silence, my reticence to speak on matters he talked so easily about.
Many of the Goidils were from the south, the area around Ivernis. Except for Lugort and his unit of Ordmalica. The Goidilic noble had come aboard on the boat I sailed on. Apparently he and Tancogeistla knew each other.
He and his men set up a practice area on the stern of our small ship. I watched them at work from day to day, swinging their great hammers, the hammers I had forged.
After four days of sailing, we touched the shores of the island of tin. Malac chose one of the slingers who had been with Tancogeistla in the beginning to guide the column. And we set out, on our mission of death.
Ogrosan was coming, a terrible time of the year to war, but Malac did not seem to care.
I rode beside Tancogeistla near the head of our column. Malac’s men were watching constantly.
It seemed to amuse the general, as though he knew something I didn’t. “We are nearing Attuaca,” he stated calmly the second day after our landing.
I nodded. “You know of no way to stop him?” I asked, glancing across at him as I rode at his side.
Tancogeistla shook his head, chuckling grimly. “If I had, I would not have permitted him to come this far. No, my son. We are in too deep to back out now. The die is cast. We win, or we die.”
“And we win by killing those who saved our lives!” I snapped, anger boiling over inside me. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth of my words.
“There is no way to prevent it. Even now, I doubt not that the Calydrae know of our advance. They will be preparing their defenses.” Tancogeistla looked back over the marching warbands. “Many will die. On both sides.”
“Senselessly!” I hissed back at him, overwhelmed by the absurdity of it all. His gaze met mine.
“Such is the way of war. . .”

We rode on, through fields of now-snowy heather, the flower that had blanketed the fields in purple when I had wandered these hills with the Belgae maiden, Diedre. She hadn’t entered my thoughts in all the years since my departure from Attuaca, but as each hoofbeat carried us closer, my thoughts turned toward her. Was she still in the city? Was she still a slave of the Calydrae? They were unanswerable questions, and in very truth, she meant nothing to me. Just another friend I was about to betray.
Toward nightfall, one of our scouts came riding back in, his horse lathered with sweat. “My lord,” he began, reining up before Malac, “the town is ahead of us.”
“Attuaca?” Malac demanded. Even from my position twenty feet away, I could see the glitter in his eyes, watch the expression on his face change. The face of a conniving old man.
The scout nodded.
“Good,” Malac replied, turning in his saddle to face his warbands. “Tonight we camp outside the walls. Tomorrow we avenge Cocolitanos!”
“Rabo! Rabo!”

I could not sleep that night. Instead I paced back and forth through the camp, endeavoring to find a way to slip through the sentries. There was none. Malac intended that no one be able to reach Attuaca. Several parties of the Goidils had been set to work fashioning crude battering rams. They worked long into the night.
Fires were burning in the town, reminding me of the signal fires that had summoned the host of the Dumnones to our destruction. Perhaps Cinaed needed no warning from me. A savvy warrior, he doubtless suspected Malac’s treachery. Or so I tried to console myself.
I sat down on the stump of a tree that had been cut down for the ram, my javelins in my hand, my eyes gazing toward Attuaca. The night was long. . .

I awoke to the sound of shouting. Shaking my head to clear the fog of sleep from my brain, I raised myself up from the ground. Apparently I had gone to sleep at some time during the night and fallen from my perch on the stump.
A small group of men was advancing from behind the palisade of Attuaca, coming toward our camp. I recognized Cinaed almost instantly, although he had grown a beard and his hair was duller than I had remembered it. Still, he walked tall and proud toward our lines, accompanied by his retainers. A noble man.

He stopped in front of our camp and cried with a loud voice, “Where is the leader of this army and wherefore have you come?”
Malac appeared, a coat of chainmail over his shoulders. His sword was strapped to his side. He appeared to have thrown on his armor hurriedly. Tancogeistla was right behind him.
“From the land of the Aedui are we come,” Malac replied, drawing himself up in front of the Calydrae chieftain. “We have come to demand the surrender of your people.”
Unbidden, I walked toward the little group. There was so much I wanted to say to Cinaed, words I knew I would never have the chance to utter. He ignored Malac’s speech, but rather was staring at Tancogeistla. “My people sheltered and fed you through the dark months many years ago, when you and your men were starving in the wilderness. And this is the way you repay that kindness?”
“Malac is my ruler. I obey his commands,” Tancogeistla shrugged piously, deceiving no one, much less Malac. He raised his eyes to meet Cinaed. “This was not my wish.”
The chieftain shook his head. “When you left, you told me that you sailed to take the throne of your people. Was that too a lie?”
“I was deceived,” was Tancogeistla’s simple reply. Cinaed looked toward my approach.
“Cadwalador,” he said slowly. “My men saved you from the snows.”
I nodded in acknowledgement. His face twisted into anger. “I wish we had let you all die!”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, looking into his eyes. He turned his attention back to Malac, who was speaking again.
“. . .what is your answer? Will you lay down your arms and surrender the town?”
Cinaed glared into the face of the Vergobret. “The Calydrae have never known the meaning of surrender. As for our arms—come and take them.”
Malac nodded. “We will do just that.”
I watched as the delegation of the Calydrae turned and walked back, disappearing behind their palisade. A dark certainty overcame me. Many that I called friend would die. One both sides. I knew the Calydrae too well to think that their defense would collapse easily.
Our Vergobret turned, facing the troops that were now pouring from our camp. “Bring forward the rams! We attack as soon as they are in place!”