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