Chapter 13

Nimue had watched the comings and goings over the past few weeks through Gemma's eyes. She had sneered to herself as the princess rushed around making her wedding arrangements and smiled at the sombre mood of those around her who were still badly affected by Merlin's death.

The Lady of the Loch had been with the girl as the little party had ridden to Crinan and once more she sneered at the sentimentality of the dolphin tribute and the flypast of the Merlins. Her smile had returned as she had watched the wizard's body lowered into the ground.

The smile had been wiped from her face however, when Eoric had connected with Gemma and Nimue heard Merlin's voice inside the princess's head.

"How is this possible?" she asked herself, a chill running down her spine, as she realised that she might yet have to defeat the wizard once more.

Nimue almost felt physically sick at the sickly sweet and romantic joining of the young couple, but consoled herself by vowing the union wouldn't last long. No, she would deal with the boy soon and then the princess wouldn't be so maddeningly happy all the time.

When she looked through Gemma's eyes and recognised that Eoric was making preparations to go to war, she realised she would need to follow him, as he would most certainly leave the girl behind. Her flow of information was all through the princess currently and if she wanted to keep abreast of where he was and what he was doing, she would need to follow.

"Who knows, perhaps war might offer me an opportunity of dealing with the brat," she thought to herself.

Eoric rode beside the senior lieutenant for the Lorne lordship, Iain mac Finlay. Behind them there was a mix of one hundred horsed men and six hundred infantry and they made a stirring sight in the bright sunshine of late June. There was almost a carnival atmosphere as the host marched through the Argyll countryside, along the side of Loch Awe and on towards the planned rendezvous with Eochaid.

The hills and mountainsides were covered in heather and Eoric could see the buds of the heather flowers beginning to form. In perhaps six weeks the entire area would be awash in a glorious purple colour as the heather bloomed. He smiled at the thought, there were few finer sights than a purple hued mountainside with the sunshine on it.

Just at the point Glen Orchy and Glen Lochy converged, Eochaid was waiting less than patiently with a further twelve hundred Dalriada stalwarts. Eoric and Iain rode forward to greet the King.

"Well me, Sire. I might have difficulties with the thought of war and death, even the death of Picts, but I have no problems with what Mother Nature has provided as a back cloth," Eoric said, looking around himself.

"Aye, well met indeed, my Lord of Lorne. Leave the killing up to others if it offends your sensibilities, Eoric. Just so long as you direct your men well and the best way to do that is by gathering the intelligence we need so badly," replied the King.

Their planned line of march was firstly up Glen Lochy and Eoric and the King now rode side by side at the head of their combined host. Eoric was pre-occupied as he gazed up at Ben Lui, rising over three thousand seven hundred feet above them on their right. Two small parties of ten horsemen each were riding ahead to scout out the way and to ensure the larger force was not ambushed or caught by surprise.

"You still believe that Atholl and Tay make the most sense for our first strike?" Eochaid asked.

"I do, Sire. There are a number of likely spots in close proximity there where smaller groupings of the Picts might be found. A campaign that rolls through a number of their settlements before they have the chance to muster will greatly weaken this area I think," replied Eoric.

"Aye, you might well have the rights of it. Let us hope so, for my blade is near weeping for the lack of blood to quench its thirst," Eochaid said grimly.

One day of slow marching, the infantry weighed down with goods, made twelve miles and brought them to midway down Strath Fillan. Eoric suggested it was time he went forward alone to begin to scout the area ahead and pinpoint the targets that they might attack. He could already sense the presence of people a few miles ahead and warned Eochaid so.

They had brought a guide who claimed to know the lay of the land they were aiming to campaign through and from him Eoric had learned that the largest centre for the Picts was likely to be Baile Chloichridh (modern day Pitlochry). Eoric was going to try to make his way there, guided he hoped by his ability to sense the presence of other humans from some miles away.

He waited until it was dark and then slipped out of the camp. He had already left instructions with Iain for the following day - basically to do what the King told him - and he let his connection to Mother Nature provide him with energy and information as he moved up the remainder of Strath Fillan.

Eoric began to run, slipping into the rhythm and gait that he had used in the past to eat up the miles. The night was dark as the moon was waning, but his senses helped keep him running through the countryside without faltering.

He had been running for only twenty minutes - a distance of perhaps five miles - when his senses told him he was very close to humans now. He smiled to himself as he realised he could travel further in an hour than the entire Dalriada force could march in a day. He shook himself and started to concentrate on those around him. He was 'aware' that there were a hundred or so people in the group and they had domesticated animals close to them. The chances were it was a steading of some kind, looking after a herd of sheep or cattle.

Eoric slowed his speed as he neared the area where the humans were - an area described by their guide as A' Chrìon Làraich (modern day Crianlarich). He could tell that the vast majority of them were in fact asleep, but a dozen remained awake and they were spread out as if they were keeping watch over the camp through the night. He crept closer to the first individual, close enough to watch what he was doing and then 'reached' out to link with the man and listen to his thoughts.

At first all Eoric received was a jumble of unintelligible grunts and noises. He sat back on his heels in the darkness, puzzled by his inability to hear the man's thoughts. The night was eerily quiet around him apart from the high pitched 'sonic pinging' of bats that were flitting around overhead. He knew no other human could hear that sound and he blocked it out too.

"Why can't I hear his thoughts?" he asked his inner self.

"You can, you're just not interpreting them so you can understand them. Remember, these are Picts. Their language is different to your own, but that shouldn't be a problem as you have access to all the lore we had before and understanding languages is most certainly included in that. Try simply focussing on being able to hear in Pictish. That should do it.

Eoric did exactly that and was surprised when he immediately began to hear the thoughts of the man who was keeping watch not ten yards away from him. It became clear at once that the man was not comfortable in the dark. His thoughts betrayed a deep sense of superstition and some of the images the man was conjuring up for himself, images of creatures he believed inhabited the night, were guaranteed to frighten anyone.

Eoric quickly skimmed through the man's mind to gather details of the camp, how many people there was, how many were of fighting age and why the camp was here.

It was as he had guessed; the camp was based on the maintenance of a herd of cattle, quite a large herd for the times with over a hundred and sixty head close by. That number of cattle was a very valuable commodity, representing milk, cream, and cheese, as well as beef. That explained why there were so many people based with the herd. Eoric's scan identified that the vast majority of the people here were men of fighting age, although he identified six women and twelve children too.

He had a sudden surge of guilt as he recognised that these people were possibly going to be dead within the next few days, but thrust it aside as he tried to maintain his focus on a united Celtic front, strong and secure enough to defend themselves against the Saxons. That undoubtedly meant that they had to deal with the Picts first and then begin to really build up their strength.

Satisfied that he had learned all there was to learn about this camp, he quietly circled the other guards and now struck out eastwards, running up Glen Dochart and finding the source of a river that ran east along the foot of mighty Ben More. He stopped here to gaze up at the mountain, over three thousand eight hundred feet high and an imposing landmark even in the dark of night. Once more he could sense the mountains deep roots, going down much further than it climbed above the earth.

He started running again, following the river as it wound its way across the country, up Glen Dochart, forming a musical waterfall at Cill Fhinn (modern day Killin) and into Loch Tay. Around an hour and a half later he had travelled a further twenty miles and was within a few miles of the place he had been heading for all along - Pitlochry.

He had sensed four or five other small camps as he had run, but didn't stop to investigate these too closely. They would in all likelihood be the same as the first camp he had come across at Crianlarich. Now he could 'feel' a far bigger presence ahead of him with some eight hundred people gathered together his senses suggested.

This was far more substantial than a mere steading and his connection to the earth told him of the numbers of structures as well as the numbers of people. Eoric was pleasantly surprised when a picture of what the camp looked like appeared in his head and he was able to consider the scale of it, the layout and even identify the most significant buildings.

He used this 'map' in his head to negotiate his way through the various buildings, making his way in the general direction of what he assumed was the hall-house of what would pass as a chieftain for the place.

This late at night/early in the morning the hall-house was deserted and quiet, but Eoric could sense a number of people within the structure. One of these in particular caught his interest due to the waves of strong emotion that she was sending out. He could detect fear, anger, sadness and above all loneliness and he let these guide him towards the person who was sending them out.

Silently he slipped down a narrow and low roofed passageway and found himself outside the entrance to what seemed like a bedchamber. The emotions were even stronger here and he paused for a moment to tune in to them. He carefully slipped through the entrance, squeezing himself between the wall and the drape that was acting as a door and found that there was indeed a bedchamber beyond.

A young woman sat on the edge of a bed, her head bowed, face in hands, as she wept her heart out. She had long hair the colour of cornstalks and it looked fine and silken Eoric thought. From what he could see of her, hunched over as she was, she seemed small and slim and wore a simple linen shift. He reached out to connect with her, expecting to read her thoughts in the same strange Pictish language that he had heard already that night.

He was surprised therefore when for the second time he heard only a jumble of sounds with no clarity to them.

"Waken oh wise ones within me and tell me what language I need to learn now," he joked with his inner self."

He was surprised to hear that he needed to tune in to the language of the Saxons and focussed on doing so. At once the woman's thoughts became clear and he listened with growing anger and concern at what was going through her head.

"He will have been drinking and whoring again and no doubt he'll return around lunchtime, smelling like the filthy savage he is and ready to beat me for his enjoyment once more."

The women snuffled as she let herself remember the constant heavy beatings she had been subjected to. Eoric quickly skimmed her memories and found that the woman was the daughter of a Saxon Lord and had been captured during a raid by the Picts into Bernicia. Her captor had kept her almost as a slave, raping and beating her as he saw fit. Anarg, his name was and Eoric was already beginning to think he would like to meet the man. He read that her own name was Sarah.

"I should sleep, but I cannot. I know what's ahead of me, another beating. Oh, I am so lonely, no one to talk to, no one to confide in, no one to turn to. I would give anything for just a little crumb of comfort in my miserable existence."

Eoric was appalled to read that Sarah had actually begun to look forward to her own rape as the only time she had any direct contact with Anarg that didn't involve him punching and kicking her. She had perversely begun to take some comfort from the sexual congress, despite the fact that she was unwilling and Anarg treated her roughly even then.

The depths of her despair and her renewed tears reached out to him and without thinking he moved behind her on the bed and put his arms round her to comfort her. His touch startled Sarah and she straightened up, looking down at where she could feel arms around her waist and hands lightly stroking her stomach. It was perhaps a measure of how desperate she was that instead of screaming when she couldn't see any arms or hands, she instead pulled her legs up onto the bed and lay down full length, languishing in the feeling of being held.

It had been so long since she had felt or even dreamed of a touch so light and re-assuring and for some reason she couldn't bear to part herself from it. She was lying on her side and Eoric was careful not to let his body get to near her back as he thought that might be just too much for her. He let his hands continue to gently rub over the muscles of her stomach then moved his left arm to allow that hand to begin rubbing her back and shoulders.

Sarah moaned out loud at this treatment and her tears began to stream down her face once more. Eoric was pleased to read that these were tears of a different sort to the ones she had cried only moments before. He continued to stroke and soothe her until he felt her drift off to sleep, the hint of an upward curl to the corners of her mouth.

Once Sarah was asleep, Eoric managed to extricate himself and move back to stand beside the bed. He looked down on her sleeping form and took in the slight build; the slim hips and apple sized breasts. She certainly was a stunning woman and one deserving of a better life than the one she was experiencing currently.

He guessed that this Anarg was the one he was interested in finding out more about. He was the leader here at Pitlochry and it was his experience in battle and ideas on strategy and tactics that Eoric was here to read. These were the things that would possibly give the Celts an advantage when they attacked this place he knew. He picked out a spot against one wall and sat down to watch over Sarah and wait for the drunken and carousing savage leader to return.

Some hours later Eoric sensed Sarah begin to waken. He was pleased to read the pleasant memory she held in her head of the moments before she had fallen asleep. She smiled to herself and he smiled with her at her next thought.

"That's it, I've finally gone mad because I could have sworn there was someone holding me last night. The arms felt so real around me and the hands so soft and gentle as they comforted me. It must take real madness, real desperation to want something so badly that a person can imagine it with such richness, so much that it seemed real. Oh, but it was so good while it lasted."

Eoric could read more and found that, as a Lord's daughter, Sarah had been lonely as a child and she had invented a friend for herself, a girl who she had called Tansy. Sarah was now rationalising that what she had felt the night before was a similar way of dealing with her loneliness as that she had as a child. She was even imagining that it had actually been Tansy who had returned to comfort her - she was sure only a woman's hands could have felt so gentle.

The smile on Sarah's face disappeared as a gruff voice shouted out from down the passageway. Eoric recognised the language as Pictish and smiled to himself as he realised he was about to meet Anarg.

"Where are you? You lazy Saxon slut!" he shouted, as he clumped towards the bedchamber.