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.”

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.

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.

“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.”


Tancogeistla turned to me, his tone grave, a dangerous fire glittering in his eyes. “Bring Aneirin to me. I must see him at once. . .”