Across the Waters: A Story of the Migration

[Theodotos I]

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. . .

[Swordmaster]

@Swordmaster: Tempted—to do what? Start your own AAR? Obviously, you have, and it looks like it’s off to a pretty good start.

No, to just go back playing Celts. They're an awesome three factions, especially when roleplayed well. As is quite obvious from this thread.

[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.

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. . .”

[CaptainBlack]

@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. . .

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.

[Cadwalader]

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.

[Theodotos I]

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.”



“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.”

“Yea, mere moments later, the second ram broke open the wall alongside the wall and the Casse poured into the breach.”

“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.”

“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.”


“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.”

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. . .

[Theodotos I]

No, this is not the end! Just another spin on my traditional fade-to-black.
@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. 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.

[Reverend Joe]

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.

[Chaotix]

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!

[fenix3279]

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.

2 green balloons says it's Cavarillos in disguise. Any takers?

[Reverend Joe]

I'll wager five dollars, hard cash, that it's Cavrillos.

Any takers on that bet?

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Try getting it from me if I lose the bet.

[General Appo]

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?

[Cadwalader]

@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.

That must be it then. I used to play on medium before, so I didn't know.
regretably I don't have a screenshot of Tancogeistla, but I do remember that he was a drunkard.

[CaptainBlack]

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.

[General Appo]

That must be it then. I used to play on medium before, so I didn't know.
regretably I don't have a screenshot of Tancogeistla, but I do remember that he was a drunkard.

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.

[Chaotix]

Moving for Thermon now, the Athens, Sparta and then finally to settle down in Galatia.

don't you mean the acropolis in athen

[fenix3279]

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?

hmmm.....
That... is so crazy, it must be true.

[Theodotos I]

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?
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.

[Reverend Joe]

Well, I didn't think you were really trying to trick anyone there.

Keep on chooglin', brother. Lookin' forward tot he next chapter.

[General Appo]

I had hoped to get a "Man of the hour" for Piso, but the game wouldn't cooperate.

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.

[Theodotos I]

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?

Actually, Malac drives a Lotus Esprit.

[Theodotos I]

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.”

“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!”


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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. . .

[Reverend Joe]

Interesting twist at the end there.

[fenix3279]

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

P.S. Cadwalador is a bad@$$. That is all.

[Chirurgeon]

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 :)

[Olaf The Great]

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.

[Theodotos I]

@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!

[Theodotos I]

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.”

“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.”


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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. . .”

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. . .

[Theodotos I]

The end of the the reign, but not the end of the AAR. The saga continues. . .

[Chirurgeon]

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.