Sword of Neamha

by Stephen England

  “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 were 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 lie with me, Cadwalador. Here in the gardens.”

  Taking hold of my cloak, she drew me down to her until her lips were only inches from my own. “Lie with me, Cadwalador,” she whispered. “Lie with me and forget…”

  I looked down into her face, disgust rising within me at the emptiness of her invitation, at the perfidy I saw in those dark eyes. Treachery lurked within their depths.

  “How long?” I whispered, glaring into her face. “How long have you been a spy for the enemies of my master?”

  Her chin tilted upward, the look of defiance returning to her face. “Your master was Tancogeistla, and you aided Aneirin in slaying him at Ictis.”

  I recoiled from her, my mind reeling in horror at her accusation. “What do you mean?”

  “You left him to be slain, you and Aneirin. It was all part of the plan, wasn’t it?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I whispered. “It was a tragedy. Our men were unable to reach him in time.”

  “A tragedy, Cadwalador? Then why did my husband poison him, slowly but surely, robbing him of his strength before he faced the battle? No, Cadwalador,” she replied, laying a soft hand on my arm, “it was no mistake. Aneirin wished for the death of oi Neamha—more than for anything else in the world. And you helped him achieve that goal. So you see, we are all traitors here—you, I, Aneirin. We have all betrayed something within ourselves, to possess that which we desire. Just as you desire me this night.”

  I pulled away from her touch as though from a hot brand. “You are lying,” I retorted, certain of her object.

  She smiled briefly, her eyes never leaving my own. “You say that with confidence, Cadwalador, but your voice bewrayeth you. It is a confidence you do not feel. In your heart you know that what I speak is very truth. A truth you refuse to see. Come and lie here beside me. Take that which you desire.”

  I looked across at her, into the emptiness of those dark eyes. Diedre had been the only woman I had ever known, and she had given herself to me with all the love a wife should feel for her husband. And I had given her my love in return, as any husband. But there was nothing here—only the fragile shell of an alluring and treacherous young woman, a woman who would betray me as surely as she had already betrayed her own husband.

  “How many men, Margeria? How many men have shared your bed? How many times,” I demanded, my voice rising, “have you betrayed your husband?”

  Her pretty face twisted into a sneer, an ugly caricature of its former self as she laughed in my face. “And for what would you know? That you might tell Aneirin? I will tell you this. I have born two sons unto Aneirin moc Cunobelin. One of them is not his.”

  My mouth dropped open. Nothing had prepared me for the words she had just uttered. She laughed at my astonishment. “One day, Cadwalador. Oh, yes. One day a bastard will sit upon the throne of the Aedui.”

  I stared at her, hearing the ring of truth in her words. In this, indeed, in this she was not deceiving me. “So, come in unto me, Cadwalador,” she replied, a mocking smile dancing on those ruby lips. “And perchance your son will reign some day.”

  I turned away from her, my contempt too great for words. And as I did, my foot hit something there in the garden. I stooped, picking up a small leathern packet. The same one which I had witnessed Margeria hand to the messenger.

  The realization flashed through me like a fire. Surprised by my sudden intrusion, he had dropped the packet in his flight. The message—it was the only thing which I knew of that could convince Aneirin of his wife’s betrayal. I had to get it to him, quickly.

  Margeria came up behind me, her soft hands on my shoulders. “Stay with me, I beseech you. You will never regret it.” She paused suggestively. “How long has it been, Cadwalador, how long since—” Her voice broke off suddenly as she saw the packet in my hand.

  “Where did you find that?” She demanded, her voice a low hiss. I looked into her eyes, saw the traitoress unmasked. All her beauty, every last shred of seduction gone in an instant as she gazed upon the packet, her eyes blazing with fire.

  “You know what it contains, Margeria?” I asked, taunting her as I tucked it within my cloak. “As do I. As will Aneirin in a few moments.”

  Without warning, she threw herself upon me, catching me off-balance. I went down to the earth with her on top of me, her fingers clawing for the packet. I grabbed for her wrists, pinning them against my chest. She bit down upon my hand, her teeth raking the knuckles.

  Her hand moved down to my waist and within a twinkling, my dagger was in her grasp, the blade glistening in the moonlight as it descended toward my throat.

  The dagger sliced across my forearm, thrown up to protect my face. The pain seemed to awaken me to my peril and I responded with a blow such I had ne’er before dealt a woman. She reeled backward, falling upon her back on the earth. But in her hand I glimpsed the packet.

  I rolled to my knees, clutching my wrist to staunch the flow of blood. Determination was written boldly upon her countenance and I reached out as she lifted herself upon her hands, raising up to toss the packet into the hedges.

  She was out of my reach and I lunged forward, slamming into her as the packet went flying, sailing through the night air, into oblivion. My time was short. I knew I would never find it again.

  My dagger was still clutched tightly in Margeria’s fist and I grappled with her for a moment, sensing the ferocity coursing through her young body. Her robes tore in my grasp and she rolled away, leaving the strips of fabric in my hands.

  The look of the devil was in her eye as she threw back her head, her voice uplifted for the first time that dark night, a wild, quavering scream piercing the air. A cry for help.

  I confess for a moment I sat there, blood still trickling down my forearm, utterly confused by her sudden change of attitude. She huddled in a tight ball, sobs shaking her slender frame as she screamed, again and again. It was then I glimpsed her torn robes and it all fell in place. Her scheme, her plan to cloak her betrayal.

  I rose to my feet, adrenalin flowing swiftly through my veins. My pain was forgotten as I ran, my feet drumming a loud tattoo against the hard-packed earth. I knew one thing and one thing only. I must flee. Without the packet, without the proof of her treachery, my story would never be believed. Flight was my only recourse.

  At the edge of the garden, I met a young brihetin, his sword drawn. “What is going on?” he demanded harshly, moving to block my path.

  “I was coming to get you,” I whispered, my voice filled with intensity.

  “Cadwalador!” He exclaimed, lowering his weapon with a smile of relief. “What is it?”

  “Margeria. You must go to her. A sickness, something, has come upon her. Help her into the palace. And put up that sword!”

  “Of course.”

  I watched him go, my mind harking back to the days of my own youth. Before I had known the darkness of our present world. Before my innocence had been ripped away by the perfidy of man. And woman…

  Despite my successful deception of the young noble, my time was limited. I knew that. I went quickly unto the p
alace stables to secure my horse, the strong gray steed that had carried me through countless battles, that had saved my life more times than I could count.

  Saddling him, I rode through the night to my house, near the palisade of Attuaca. Returning held its dangers, this I knew. But deserting Faran was more than I could bring myself to do. She was not of my blood, rather the daughter of a strange man, a warrior whom I had slain in battle with my own hands. But she was the blood of Diedre, and that bound me to her with bonds far tighter than words can describe.

  I reined up at the door of my small dwelling, the roof of which had sheltered the dreams Diedre and I had once shared. All that was gone now, ripped away from me with the force of a mountain storm.

  The house was dark. Probably Faran had let the fire die as she went to bed. I walked quickly to the door, extending my hand to the latch-string.

  Figures rushed from the darkness, they were upon me before I could raise my weapon to defend myself. Something heavy crashed into the back of my head and I collapsed forward, slumping down on the step. Stars flashed, a galaxy exploding within my brain. Then everything faded away…

  I awoke spluttering, spitting out the water which had just been splashed in my face. Torches burned brightly above me, their guttering flame casting strange shadows across my body. The back of my head throbbed with pain, and it took me a few moments to remember my situation. Then it all came back. Margeria, the messenger, the packet, the fight in the garden. But where was I?

  Aneirin stepped from behind one of the torch-bearers, gazing down upon my supine form. I started to rise and then realized hands were holding me down, pinning me to the ground.

  “Why, Cadwalador?” Aneirin asked softly, his voice full of sadness. “Why did you do this thing?” His voice rose as he continued, trembling with emotion. “Why, when I have given you everything, rank and station, a place in my court? Was it not enough for you? Had I known you were in need of a companion, I could have commanded a score of Aeduan maids for you to choose from among. There was no need that it should ever come to this.”

  I remained silent, aware that nothing I could say would alter my fate. Any attempt to warn him of Margeria’s treachery would only further incense him. He went on.

  “Yet you attempted to force my wife, in my very palace! Had she not succeeded in defending herself with your dagger, you would assuredly had your way with her.”

  I gazed up at him, unblinking. “Your wife tells me that you poisoned Tancogeistla. Is this true, my lord?”

  Aneirin looked stricken. He shook his head slowly. “No. Why would she have told you this?”

  “He is lying to you,” Margeria said softly, her voice tremulous. She came to the side of her husband, burying her face in his chest at the sight of me.

  “I—I never—want to see him again,” she whispered, her body shaking with sobs. He placed his arm around her, staring down into my face, sorrow mixed with contempt.

  “I never dreamed you would betray me, Cadwalador. Never dreamed after all your years with my father, the steadfastness of your loyalty to his banner—that it would come to this. I could have you executed for what you have tried to do this night.”

  Once again, I kept my silence. The only words I could have spoken in my defense had been washed away by Margeria’s tears. My fate was sealed.

  My mind flickered back over the life which had led to this point. My boyhood in northern Gaul, the wars with the Arverni. The beginning of our migration, our flight across the waters. The disaster before the oppida of Ictis. Cavarillos and his designs upon our drunken leader. Upon Tancogeistla.

  Had I not stood in his way on that dark night, Inyae would have been spared and Tancogeistla would have died, helpless in a frozen pool of his own blood. How my life would have been different.

  I that night, as every man at some point in his life, had come to a dividing of the ways. And I had chosen my way based not upon expediency, but upon loyalty. And it had led me here, to this place with oi Neamha’s heir looking sorrowfully down upon me, pronouncing the words that would lead to my death. A bitter irony—that loyalty had led to the perception of treachery, that allegiance could be construed as betrayal.

  “And if you were any other man, Cadwalador, that is the death you would surely die. Yet, with you, I cannot. You spent your youth in the service of my father, oi Neamha. In your age, you have been the most trusted of my advisors. As much as your deeds of this night anger me, I cannot bring myself to order your death.”

  Margeria lifted her face from Aneirin’s chest, whispering something to him. Asking him to kill me, I had no doubt. Whatever it was, he shook his head and bade her leave. He watched her go, her body still wracked with sobs, then turned his attention back to me.

  “Let him up,” he ordered brusquely. The hands left my arms and freed from their restraint, I slowly rose to my feet, facing Aneirin moc Cunobelin in the torchlight. My head held high, I stared defiantly into his eyes. I had done nothing wrong, there were no regrets.

  “Yet I cannot let this night pass without notice. I am forced to order your imprisonment.”

  I opened my lips to say something, but thought better of it. Words could do nothing to change my fate. He turned unto my guards, uttering words that would ring in my memory for the rest of my days. “Take him away…”

  Chapter XXIV: Confrontation

  The price of loyalty. It was this that haunted me through the long months. I had remained true to first the standard of Tancogeistla, then that of Aneirin moc Cunobelin. I had sacrificed much for the Aedui, for these men who had desired the kingdom for themselves. Treachery was the way of the world. And a man like Aneirin had been trained to see it everywhere. Yet he was blind to the serpent which he cherished to his bosom, the betrayal of the woman he loved. Folly, yea folly threefold…

  Three years passed. From the darkness of my cell, I knew little of what transpired in that time. The war against the Casse began to gradually worsen, helped undoubtedly by Margeria’s information. I heard from another prisoner that Motios had died in the fighting. The news brought me sadness, somehow. The old druid’s honesty had been something I cherished unto myself through the long years. A man without guile.

  Ogrosan of the third year found me still imprisoned. The long months had worn away my garments till they were little more than scant rags. I woke one morning shaking uncontrollably, the cold wind whipping through the cracks of the fragile prison. I stood, the manacles dragging upon my weakened arms, rubbing myself with all the vigor I could muster. I was more than cold, I was sick. And nothing could help.

  Two days thereafter, I awoke to the sound of my cell door being thrown open. “Up with you and out!” the guard ordered gruffly. I thought I detected a glint of sympathy in his eye, despite his tones. Perhaps he remembered the days of my service, when I had been the confidant of Aneirin moc Cunobelin. How the mighty have fallen…

  I emerged into the bright sun for the first time in months, blinking like an owl caught in the light of day. Other prisoners were gathered around me, kept under guard at spearpoint. Most of them were thieves or other malcontents. Early in my imprisonment, there had been many of the Casse with us, but none within the last two years. I wondered at the significance of this. Perhaps nothing. And perhaps everything.

  We stood there in a long formation, shivering in the chill morning air. A noble rode up, wearing the insignia of Aneirin’s court. “Listen, ye rabble!” he called out, looking proud and strong upon his warhorse. As once I had been.

  “The Vergobret has assigned me, Eporedoros moc Estes, to build a harbor upon the northern coastline. First, however, we must clear an area of brush and trees. You,” he stated, smiling upon us with the gleam of a conqueror, “will accomplish this work.”

  It was a three-day march to the place, and we were under escort the whole way, guarded constantly by warbands of the Calydrae, now under the banner of Aneirin moc Cunobelin. I found it ironic that these were now the only warriors whose loyalty Aneirin could
trust, these whom his father had labored so hard to destroy. The tribes of Erain were firmly in the hands of his enemies. He could count upon no aid from that quarter.

  The march was hard, but it felt good to be out in the open air again. Arriving upon the coastline, each man was handed a rude axe. The ground where we were intended to work was covered with thick brush and we immediately fell to work clearing it. I had once been a strong man, but the years of enforced inactivity had taken its toll upon my strength and I now found myself exhausted by a few mere swings of the axe. My hands were bleeding and covered with blisters by the end of the first day.

  Berdic was in the camp, in command of a contingent of the balroae. He refused to look upon me as we passed each morning. Apparently he believed the lie of my betrayal. Ah, friends…

  Margeria’s face rose up before me each night as I lay on my threadbare cloak upon the cold ground, mocking me with the impotence of my actions. I had failed to unmask her deceit and was now suffering the penalty for failure. If only there was something. Yet nothing could be done upon this desolate cape, so many miles from the palace at Attuaca. Or so I thought.

  A month after our arrival upon the cape, a man came riding into camp. His horse trotted directly past the point where I stood, wearily swinging my axe a few last strokes before the close of day. I glanced up at his approach, and in that brief second of time I glimpsed the same aquiline nose, the hawk-like features.

  I looked away quickly, fearing his own recognition. For brief as it was, I knew. It was the same messenger that had come unto Margeria on that fateful night. There was no mistaking the face that had been seared upon my memory. But what was he doing in this camp? I turned as he rode past, going boldly to the tent of the Eporedoros moc Estes. After a brief exchange with the balroae posted at the entrance, he was admitted. As a friend.

  I dropped my axe and hurried away from my work, unsure of what I had just seen. Berdic was a few steps in front of me and I ran to him.