Re: Across the Waters: A Story of the Migration
Chapter XLI: A Faithful Man
Spring came and with it news from the south. The oppida at Ictis had been assailed by a large force of the Casse, and the garrison nearly overwhelmed. My old friend and compatriot Lugort was among the slain, his Ordmalica butchered by enemy slingers before the rams had even breached the walls.
Had it not been for the stalwart defense of the Dubosaverlicica and the Eiras, who alone had slain nearly a third of the enemy force, the hill-fort would have surely been lost.
The words of Barae were not forgotten, and Aneirin went to work with a vigor, calling more warriors to his banner from among the Calydrae. He dispatched messengers to Erain to order levies to be sent from the Goidilic tribes, but his messages went unheeded. Erain was firmly in the hands of Praesutagos and Erbin moc Dumnacos, his brother-in-law and the governor of Emain-Macha, flatly refused Aneirin’s call for warriors.
Dark times were upon the Aedui. I followed Aneirin wherever he went, my sword at his disposal, to guard his person from dangers without—and within. . .
Aneirin’s young sons were fast growing toward manhood, and with them his hopes for a lineage. They were his pride and joy and he doted upon them, like any father. And perhaps more so.
A granary inside Attuaca was torched one dark night in Fidnanos, apparently by Casse saboteurs. Aneirin grew steadfastly more suspicious of all who trafficked within the city, to the point of evicting several strangers who were ostensibly on their way to visit kinsmen in the north.
Diedre’s daughter Faran spent most of her time in the palace now, playing with Aneirin’s young sons and looking out for their safety. It was an incredible responsibility, but she was no longer the little girl I had left when I had followed oi Neamha to the south, to Yns-Mon and Ictis. I had to remember that.
Galligos moc Nammeios rode into Attuaca a few months after the sabotage of the granary, with two pretty young women riding behind him.
He reined up his horse outside the tavern and went inside. I laid my tools aside and entered behind him, wondering what could bring Tancogeistla’s spy to the environs of the capital.
“Cadwalador!” he exclaimed, slapping me on the back. “It’s been too long. Another ale, if you please!” he shouted at the innkeeper.
I shook my head. “I don’t drink.” The example of Tancogeistla had been enough for me.
Galligos shrugged. “So, what brings you to Attuaca?” I asked, when we had sat down in one corner of the tavern. His women didn’t sit with us. Instead they circulated around the room, singing with the other visitors to the tavern and laughing at bawdy jokes. At length one disappeared. Clearly about her master’s business.
“Business, Cadwalador. As usual.” His black eyes narrowed, fire glinting within them like dark coals. “I heard about the granary.”
“Ah, yes. An unfortunate business.”
“You haven’t caught the miscreant.” His words were more of a statement than a question. I shook my head in the negative.
“Nor are you likely to.” His words spoke the obvious truth, but the certainty with which he uttered them was sufficient to put me upon my guard. There was something behind the statement.
“Where have you been all this time?” I asked, endeavoring to change the subject. I could come back to the topic later, when he would not be expecting it.
“Camulosadae,” he replied coolly. “In the court of Barae, gathering information of his operations against the Aeduan state. They are preparing to march against us, Cadwalador.”
“Then why did you not go to Aneirin moc Cunobelin upon the moment of your arrival? He needs all the help he can obtain at this time.”
“Barae is known for his spies, Cadwalador. I learned much about him during the months I spent in his court.” A smile flickered across the spy’s face. “One of those young women you saw ride in with me—she shared his bed for three months, until he tired of her.”
“He is a formidable enemy. And his weapons are not those of the field of battle. Not when he can avoid it. Rather he prefers to move in the darkness, striking unexpectedly and without warning.”
“What does all this have to do with your reluctance to report to your master?” I asked sharply, annoyed by his manner. I had the sense that he was toying with me.
“Everything, Cadwalador. Barae has a spy in the very household of Aneirin moc Cunobelin.”
His words struck me like a blow to the face and I could do nothing but sit there, gazing into his eyes. “How can you be sure?”
“An unimpeachable source,” he replied, seeming almost amused. “The High King himself, Barae.”
“He told you this?”
Galligos shook his head. “Not me. The whore. And she relayed his words to me, as she was bidden. He was given to bragging with his women. Of his conquests, to his conquests.” He chuckled as though he had just made a particularly funny joke.
There was nothing funny in the whole situation—not to me. “Why do you tell me this?” I asked, glancing sharply at his face.
“Who is better placed to find out the identity of the spy than you, Cadwalador? Trusted retainer of Tancogeistla. Friend and companion of Aneirin moc Cunobelin. You can move unquestioned in the palace.”
I shook my head. “I can’t do that.”
I glanced across the tavern to where one of the young women sat on the lap of an Aeduan warrior, laughing merrily as he whispered something in her ear.
“Why don’t you use her?”
“You seem to have forgotten the king’s fear of strangers,” Galligos reminded me grimly. “He would be reluctant to accept a new maid. And with his legendary devotion to his young wife, her beauty would not be of aid to us.” He looked pensive. “A faithful man, Cadwalador, is one of the greatest obstacles to my work that I know. Fortunately for my profession, it is a quality few men possess. A few men like yourself.”
He rose from his seat, tossing a coin upon the table to pay for his drink. “Let me know what you can discover,” he stated unequivocally, looking down at me. And then he was gone.
I sat there for hours, seeming frozen in my place, his words running over and over through my mind as I thought through my friends within the palace, considering and rejecting them all in turn. The idea of spying upon them was repulsive to me, yet Galligos’ words held the ring of truth. And if he were right. . .
I went to the palace.
Months passed and Ogrosan approached. I had discovered nothing. The spy had left Attuaca without ever speaking to Aneirin. To my knowledge, I was the only one who even knew he had visited. The only one who had seen him and known his identity.
His words tormented me, rolling through my tortured brain in the darkness of night. Who was the spy? Who was the spy? Who was the spy. . .
Fate plays perverse tricks upon the lives of men. For it was not by stealth and by guile that I finally received the answer to my question. Nay, rather, it was by the mistake of a child.
I went to the palace late one night to retrieve Faran. She was late and with Galligos’ warning ever in the back of my mind, I was worried about her.
Faran was in the gardens behind the palace, chasing a small hare that belonged to one of Aneirin’s sons. She greeted me dirty and tired, with a huge smile on her face. Yes, there was still an element of the child within her.
“You have worried me, my darling,” I whispered, clasping her to me in the darkness. She looked more like her mother with every passing year. She returned my embrace uneasily, as though sensing the tension in my body.
“I had to find the rabbit,” she replied boldly, showing me the furry little animal. “He got lost.”
I smiled. “Let’s go home.”
It was then I heard voices from within the gardens, voices from out of the night. I pulled away from Faran and bade her go on. “Return the animal and go home,” I whispered.
A sixth sense seemed to warn me, as though this was what I had looked for, had sought for so many months.
I moved stealthily through the hedges and trees that Aneirin had ordered planted for his wife’s enjoyment. Margeria was scarce twenty years old, but I rarely saw her in the palace. She seemed to keep to herself.
Soon I was close enough to distinguish the voices. A man’s voice, hoarse and deep, and a woman’s, softer and harder to understand. For a moment I thought I had merely chanced upon a tryst between the servants, but the same impulse that had separated me from Faran drove me onward, to discover the truth of the matter.
There was something familiar—as though I had heard the woman’s voice before, long ago.
Moving from my position behind the hedges, I descried the couple, the man standing with his form silhouetted against the bright moonlight, the woman with her back turned upon me. Her next words were clear, distinct.
“. . .do not stop until you hasten unto Ivernis. Tell Praesutagos that the Casse look kindly upon his overtures to them.”
My heart nearly stopped beating. The woman, the unknown woman before me, she was the spy I had sought in the long months since Galligos’ strange visit.
“How do you know this?” the man asked gruffly.
“A emissary from Barae, he came to me last night,” she replied. “Bearing a message from the High King.”
“It is enough,” the stranger assented at last, seeming satisfied by her reply. He reached forth his hand and took the packet from her hand. “I will deliver this to Praesutagos.”
I parted the bushes with one hand, drawing my dagger from my belt. He looked up to me, startled and took to his heels. I caught only a fleeting glimpse of his face as he turned, a hawk-like face dark as the night.
And then he was gone. I turned, grasping the woman firmly by the wrist, to prevent her escape.
“Cadwalador,” she stated coolly.
I looked down into the face of Margeria, the wife of Aneirin moc Cunobelin. The dagger nearly dropped from my grasp in my astonishment. Never, in all my dreams, had I suspected. . .
“You?” I asked. Her dark eyes stared back at me, full of defiance. She pulled her hand away from my grasp.
“Forget what you saw and heard tonight, Cadwalador. Forget all of it,” she whispered, intensity in her voice. “You were never here. I was inside the palace. None of it ever happened.”
“You have been spying for Praesutagos—for the Casse!” I hissed, spitting out their name as though it were a curse. “How can I forget that?”
“Easily, Cadwalador,” Margeria whispered, looking up into my face. “As many another man in your position has.”
Her hand traced its way up my arm to the shoulder, her eyes locking with mine with a seductive boldness. “Come with lie with me, Cadwalador. Here in the gardens.”
Her robes fell open in the front, exposing white flesh glistening the moonlight. She drew me down unto her until her lips were only inches from my own. “Lie with me, Cadwalador,” she whispered. “Lie with me and forget. . .”
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Originally Posted by Theodotos I
More to come on that. . .
Always remember, I prefer negative comments over silence, so don't be afraid to speak up if you don't like something. Of course, I've got to realize I'm also competing with the world's greatest athletic competition this week, so I will hold my next chapter till tomorrow.
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