Sword of Neamha Page 6

  The pair exchanged glances and the man spoke sharply to the woman. She disappeared behind me and I could feel sunlight stream in as she left the hut, closing the rude door behind her.

  “Where am I?” I asked next, sensing something I had said had gotten through. I started to rise up, but the man bent down on one knee and laid his hand upon my shoulder, forcing me to lie back down.

  “Wait,” he said, speaking in Gallic.

  I stared at him in shock. “Why—I mean, how—you know my language!”

  He shook his head. “Wait,” he repeated. For the first time, I noticed he carried my javelins in his hand. Apparently he was one of the men who rescued me.

  “How did I come here?” He shook his head, apparently unable to understand my question. It baffled me. One moment he spoke my language clearly and the next he couldn’t comprehend what I was asking.

  The hide door behind me flapped open again and I could sense people entering, shadows thrown over my body.

  It was the older woman and another, no more than a girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen years of age. She bent down beside me.

  “I am Diedre,” she said, once again speaking in Gallic, “a maiden of the tribe of the Belgae.”

  “Then how did you come here?” I demanded, interrupting her.

  A faint smile flickered across her lips. “I could ask the same of you,” she responded boldly. “But the Aedui are not unknown here.” She went on before I could reply. “As for myself, I was taken prisoner in a raid by the Casse upon the mainland nine years ago. They sold me to these people in one of their trades north.”

  “Then you are a slave?” I asked, pity apparently coming through in my tones.

  “I remember nothing else. They recognized the tongue you spoke as my own and brought me here to act as an interpreter.”

  “Who are these people?”

  “They are the Calydrae, the tribe which controls the northern tip of this island.”

  “That’s what this is?” I asked. “An island?”

  She smiled again. “So say the druids. Everyone believes their word.”

  “What is this place called?”

  “Attuaca. It is the chief town of the Calydrae. You escaped from the army that attacked here five months ago, didn’t you?”

  I was surprised, and apparently it showed on my face. “What army? What do you mean?”

  Her dark eyes held mine for a moment, apparently trying to discern whether my surprise was genuine. “Five months ago, a small army came from across the waters, from the place where the sun sinks into the sea. They were led by a great, white-haired man mounted on a mighty horse. His companions were also mounted. They laid siege to this place, circled it round, demanded its surrender. A week later, the Calydrae sallied out against him, led by this man,” she gestured to the man who had spoken with me.

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  “His name is Cinaed, the war-leader of the Calydrae. I sat by the wall as the battle was joined, and I heard the cries of the enemy army. It was the language of your people.”

  My eyes never left her face, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What happened?”

  “Their leader charged his men directly into the Calydrae, cutting down many of our warriors.”

  “But he was outnumbered and Cinaed’s men fought bravely, hamstringing many of the enemy horses and bringing their armored riders crashing to the ground. In the end, the enemy chieftain was surrounded by warriors. Blood poured from his body and from that of his steed.”

  I closed my eyes, the scene playing itself out across my mind. I could see it, images coming from my past, the sound of horses and men screaming in pain, terror. Pandemonium. My memories of Ictis, the ambush, that awful night facing Cavarillos. My life since I had come to this island. She was still talking.

  “… he fought on gallantly, slaying some of the mightiest men of Attuaca. His bravery was beyond question. Cinaed himself charged forward to challenge him and his arm was laid open by a sword-slash.”

  “And?”

  She looked down into my eyes. “He died, the last of his army, surrounded by our warriors.”

  “His armor hangs on the palisade surrounding Attuaca. Cinaed ordered that he receive a hero’s burial. That was the last we saw of them, until the men found you in the snow two days ago.”

  “Two days ago?” I asked in surprise. “I’ve been here that long?”

  She nodded. I looked past her to where Cinaed stood, beside the woman I assumed to be his wife. “Do they know the origin of the men who attacked here?”

  “That they were Aedui? No, I have only taught them a few words of your language. To my knowledge they have no suspicion. Just be careful what you say.”

  I acknowledged her words with a quick nod. “Can you interpret for me?” I asked. “I need to speak with Cinaed. I have comrades out there.”

  Tancogeistla arrived in Attuaca two days later, at the head of what remained of our army. The men were bone-tired, hungry. Had Attuaca been a smaller village, I would have feared a massacre like at Inyae’s home. As it was, the clearly displayed weapons of the Calydrae served as a deterrent.

  I spoke with Tancogeistla as quickly as I could without arousing suspicion. There was a strange look in his eyes as I told him of the men who had come across the waters, of the hero who had died before Attuaca. As though he knew something I didn’t…

  “Where was this armor the girl told you?” he asked, as I finished. I looked over at him, puzzled at his reaction. “On the town wall.”

  “Take me there,” he ordered peremptorily. His voice was unusual, I almost feared he had been drinking again. But, no, his cheeks were free from the flush of wine.

  I gestured toward my leg, wrapped tightly as it was with a crude splint. “I can’t move. Not any time soon.”

  He cursed in frustration, acknowledging my injury. “I’m sorry. Where’s the girl?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied.

  “Never mind,” he retorted. “I can find it myself.”

  He stormed from the hut, leaving me laying there, my mind swirling with his reactions. There was no doubt in my mind about the identity of the army that had besieged Attuaca. They were my people, the army which had gone before us to Erain, the land across the sea. Had they been successful? Had they conquered that new land?

  So many questions. So few answers. And now Tancogeistla. I didn’t know what to make of his reaction. The armor. What mattered about the armor?

  Night was falling when Tancogeistla reentered the hut. Deidre was kneeling by the fire, fanning the smoldering coals into flame. He extended his hands to the flame, his body shaking from the cold. His face was worn, I could read the strain of the journey in the lines of his brow. And something else was bothering him…

  He waited until Deidre left, announcing that she would go get food. Then he turned to me, gazing down into my face as I lay there on the blanket.

  “Cadwalador,” he began. “I can trust you, can I not?”

  His question took me by surprise. “Of course, my lord. With your life.”

  “Yes—yes, I know,” he whispered distractedly. “You proved yourself on that night with Cavarillos. At great personal cost.”

  I didn’t want the reminder. Inyae’s death was still too fresh.

  “And you will stand by me now, I know that.” His eyes locked with mine, a powerful gaze. I could sense the magnetism, the charisma that had won him his position with Cocolitanos, his anointment as the Chosen Superior. Truly, he would have been a great man, save for the fruit of the vine.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Cadwalador, I found the armor. It hangs near the gate.”

  “Aeduan?”

  He nodded slowly. “And more than that, my son. Not just any Aeduan armor. It is the mail of Cocolitanos.”

  My mouth fell open. The shock. “The Vergobret?” I asked, unable to believe my ears. Our leader…

  Another nod. “Our people are across the waters, my son
. And that is where we must go, as soon as the snows melt. I must go and take my rightful place as their leader.”

  I had nearly forgotten. Of course. He was the taoi arjos, the successor of Cocolitanos. The reason I had stood against Cavarillos from the beginning.

  There was a far-away look in his eyes as he stared into the dancing flames. “My people are leaderless now, Cadwalador. Scattered as sheep without a shepherd. I must go to them…”

  Chapter VIII: Flight

  The cold stretched on, vicious and unrelenting as ogrosan held the countryside in its dark grasp. There were days we never saw the sun, days of furious, blinding snow.

  Tancogeistla was unbearable. I hadn’t seen him this impatient since those days on the headlands of my homeland. It seemed so long ago.

  Cinaed treated us kindly, but I knew he was suspicious. Tancogeistla’s story of our shipwreck and subsequent journey seemed too improbable to be believed. I was hardly sure I would have believed it myself, had I not lived the horror. Still, we owed Cinaed our lives.

  Spring came, and with it a wildly blooming purple flower that covered the hillsides surrounding Attuaca. My leg had healed almost completely and to exercise it, I took long walks in the hills with Diedre. On one such excursion, we walked to the cliffs overlooking the western sea. They made me think of the cliffs Cavarillos and I had huddled beneath on that first morning washed ashore. It seemed an eternity ago, but I knew that was just a figment of my imagination.

  Diedre noticed my silence and mentioned it with her characteristic boldness. I shook my head. “Memories,” I replied. “Just memories.”

  My eyes narrowed as I gazed out across the water, at a strange sight emerging through the mist. It looked like—it was a peninsula of land, jutting out into the sea.

  I pointed it out to Diedre. “That is the land of the hero,” she responded, speaking of the leader who had fallen before Attuaca. Cocolitanos.

  My eyes fixed on that narrow spit of land—so close, yet so far. My people were there. I glanced over at the girl, wondering if she could read my thoughts. She was perceptive for one so young.

  An unusual hunger rose inside me, a desire—to see my people, to live among them again. I had been a castaway for so long. Too much Aeduan blood had been spilled in this land.

  Tancogeistla and I talked long into the night, in council with one of the brihetin, one of the last of the nobility. I felt honored to be part of such a council.

  One thing was decided. We would split the men up into small parties, send them through the hills and forests looking for wood sufficient to build a raft. A raft we could sail across to Erain.

  I didn’t think it could be accomplished, but Tancogeistla was adamant. A strange fire had risen with him, perhaps another variation of the desire I felt, compounded by his knowledge that he was now the leader of his people. A leader who needed to return.

  With my still-weakened leg, I was assigned no part of the woodcutting parties. Rather, it would be my job to occupy and deceive the man who had befriended us and spared us from the harsh blasts of ogrosan. Cinaed…

  Over the time we had stayed in Atttuaca, I had come to respect and admire the leader of the Calydrae. Which made what I had to do all the more difficult. Still, if it would mean I could see my people again…

  In the weeks which followed, I spent most of my time with Cinaed and his young warriors, matching myself against them in the use of the javelin. The accuracy which the Calydrae achieved stunned me. I was clearly not in their class.

  But I was accomplishing my purpose, keeping them occupied. I accompanied Cinaed’s son out on the hunt once, steering him away from our small groups of woodcutters.

  Weeks passed. Looking up into the clear skies at night, I could see the moon grow full, then become dark. Two rafts were completed, but Tancogeistla felt a third was needed, if we were to carry all of us, and the remaining horses. They would be valuable in the new land.

  The Calydrae celebrated the coming of the new moon with a feast, similar to that which some of the druids had observed back in Gaul.

  I worried about the feast and the effect which the liquor might have on Tancogeistla, but he abstained, remarkably. He was drunk with something else these days—a fervor to return to his people, to take his rightful place as the Vergobret. And so no trouble arose from the feast. It was a blessing from the gods.

  Two months had slipped by since the day I had seen Erain through the mists when Tancogeistla entered the small hut I had been living in ever since my arrival in Attuaca.

  “We need to talk, Cadwalador,” he announced abruptly. I gestured for him to sit down on one of the hides spread out on the floor, but he shook his head, glancing sharply at Diedre and one of the village women.

  I rose from my seat on the earth, following him out into the streets of the village. Night was coming on, the sun sinking low into the western sky. “What is it, my lord?”

  “One of the rafts,” he whispered hurriedly. “It was discovered by the Calydrae. Smashed to pieces. We must leave at once.”

  I looked into his eyes. “Are two rafts enough for us all?”

  “If we leave the horses, yes,” he replied with a gesture of impatience, “quick, go spread the word among your comrades. Everyone must be at the top of the cliffs by the second watch of the night. We will set sail in the moonlight.”

  “I understand, my lord.”

  “Then, go! Quickly!”

  I left Tancogeistla and hurried through the village, toward the houses where our men had been quartered, each of them with a family of the Calydrae. I was breathing hard as I ran from door to door, speaking briefly with our warriors, ordering them to depart as soon as they could without arousing suspicion.

  A crescent moon shone down upon me as I continued on my mission, casting strange shadows over the town, flitting about me, each one of them a messenger from Cinaed, giving orders for our capture.

  Tancogeistla and I had much ground to cover that dark night, but we managed, silently slipping from house to house, warning the men whom we had marched beside in our trek across this hostile land. Our brothers.

  We were going home to our people.

  It was an anxious group that gathered on top of the cliffs shortly toward the second watch of the night. Swords were unsheathed, held in sweaty palms, spears nervously leveled at every sound in the bushes. I clutched my javelins firmly, watching as several of the stronger men pulled the makeshift log rafts from the bushes along the beach. My leg was still too weak for me to be of much assistance.

  Tancogeistla stood by the side as the rafts were launched upon the water, giving orders in his accustomed tone of command. No one minded tonight. His orders were too much in line with the desires of his men. They obeyed without question.

  The work proceeded slowly, despite our best efforts. We had just dragged the second raft to the water’s edge, pushing it out into the shallows. I had joined in the effort, leaning my shoulder against the raft and pushing as my bare feet scraped against the small stones that littered the shallow water.

  It was just floating freely when we heard a shout from the lookout posted upon the cliff.

  “They are coming!” he shouted, sprinting down the cliff path, fear giving wings to his feet. I turned and sprang to dry land, coming down on my bad leg. I fell to my knees in the sand, grabbing for the javelins I had laid aside. Tancogeistla shouted orders, drawing up his men in line of battle across the bottom of the path. Had we been facing swordsmen, I was sure we could have held men off on that path for hours, used it to bottleneck the Calydrae. But—I remembered their skill with javelins, and they would be throwing downhill. Flight was the only option left to us.

  A body of torch-bearing horsemen appeared at the edge of the cliff, looking down upon us. A tall man with flame-red hair was at their head. I recognized Cinaed in the torchlight.

  “Tancogeistla!” he called, his voice carrying far across the waters.

  “Yes?” our king replied, standing in line wit
h the dismounted brihetin, what remained of his retainers. I stood at his side, my javelins readied. After they were exhausted, I determined, I would grab a spear from the first man who fell. If I was not already dead.

  “I wish to come down and speak with you,” Cinaed retorted, swinging from the back of his horse onto the ground above us.

  “You may come,” Tancogeistla grudgingly assented, “but come alone.”

  “These many months, I have taken you into my village, fed you over the dark months, spared your lives. And now you treat me as an enemy?”

  Cinaed had disappeared, but I could hear footsteps along the path coming toward us. After a few tense moments, he reemerged, standing in front of our line.

  He stood before us unarmed, his scabbard empty, his javelins left behind somewhere on the clifftop. It was a gesture of trust I wasn’t expecting.

  “What has happened, my friend?” he asked, staring Tancogeistla in the eye. “I treated you all as my guests, yet you flee as thieves in the night.”

  Tancogeistla looked down at the ground for a moment. I could tell he was thinking. “A messenger came from my people at the time of the new moon,” he lied glibly. “He brought word that our king is dead. I have been chosen to succeed him. We go now to rejoin our people.”

  Cinaed looked past our battle-line to where the rafts floated sluggishly in the shallows. “Why go by way of the sea? Did you not tell me that your people lived far away, on the main land to the south of this island?”

  “Yes,” Tancogeistla agreed, “but I also told you of the battles we fought with the tribes of the Dumnones. To pass their way again would be certain death.”

  “I understand,” Cinaed replied, “however there was no reason for this stealth.”

  “You will make no effort to stop us?”

  The chieftain of the Calydrae shook his head. “We destroyed the raft my young men found because we believed it had been left by the invaders we defeated months ago. Had I known it was yours I would have left it unharmed. Indeed, my brother, why should I try to stop you?” Merriment twinkled in Cinaed’s eyes. “Every man of you that leaves is one less my people have to house.”