Roman bodies were strewn around the edge of the clearing. They were wearing uniforms but had been stripped of weapons and belongings. I approached with caution but soon discovered that the men were well and truly dead. What should I do? Certainly it would be impossible to keep a low profile here wearing my own clothes. There had been no time to replicate anything else for me so I would just have to take advantage of whatever fate threw in my path. Like now.

I could not spare the time to think about the distasteful task ahead. The poor bastards had no more use for their clothing. As I began, I gritted my teeth and fought back my nausea. Some of the clothing was useless, torn, bloodied and dirty, but I managed to outfit myself in the least soiled pieces, trying not to shudder as I strapped it all on. Used to lightweight material it was going to be difficult to adjust to wearing the heavy metal breastplate. It was reasonably comfortable though, which surprised me. The helmet was another matter and I resolved to carry it for the time being. It was unfortunate that all the Roman weapons had been taken. I couldn't openly carry a phaser here.

I rolled up my own clothes and hid them under one of the fallen trees. Hopefully they would not be discovered and I would be able to return for them once I had found Spock. I checked my carryall which, with luck, could pass for a type of satchel. Inside was a tricorder, phaser, a mini-medikit and some food and water. Not much to help me in my quest but it would have to do.

I took out the tricorder but there were no readings, just a distortion pattern across the screen. The jamming field must still be operating. I sighed and returned the instrument to the carryall. I would need to get away from the obelisk before I could check for Vulcan life signs.

I toyed with the idea of hiding the bodies in case Romans came looking for their missing comrades but reasoning that it would be assumed that the attackers had stripped them I decided against the grisly task. My priority was to find Spock but I had no idea in which direction to go. I'm not much of a tracker but I attempted to decipher the signs left by the struggle. It did little good for there were indications that people had come and gone by different routes. I tried to concentrate on the bond we shared, hoping it would lead me to Spock. There was no sense of his presence, apart from a faint echo of the link, and any directional capacity there had been in the past was not functioning. I would just have to take pot luck and hope I was going the right way.

I travelled along a track for several hours before coming out into an open plain. The interference was still affecting my tricorder so I walked on through gently sloping countryside until I reached a vantage point. There across a valley, on high ground overlooking a river was a large fort with walls made of dark red timber. I sat down on the ground, looked at my tricorder again and to my delight, saw that it registered one thousand living beings ahead. Right, let there be Vulcan readings.

But before I could do anything, I felt the earth vibrate. I knew what that kind of rumbling indicated. Horses, or the local equivalent. I replaced the tricorder in the carryall and debated returning back the way I had come but I had already been spotted. I could hear shouts above the din of the cavalry. Romans rode towards me from the west, on large horse-like beasts. There was a slight possibility that Spock had been taken to the fort if Roman reinforcements had chased away the natives. But would they have left their dead behind?

No, I answered myself. Think. The natives who are more likely to have taken Spock away killed those Romans. He's still alive. I'm certain of it. I'll see what information I can glean from here. I'll have to brazen it out and get away as soon as possible.

I would need to make up some kind of plausible tale or I could find myself imprisoned, or worse, and unable to rescue Spock. All kinds of possible scenarios flitted across my mind as the horses galloped closer to me, and one was guided by its rider until the animal's sweated body almost touched mine. "Greetings, I am Tribune Marcus Andronicus," said the young man. "State your name, soldier, and business here."

Jumping straight in I said, "I am Janus Tiberius Charax, on a mission for the Emperor. Take me to your commander at once. It is of the utmost importance." The man studied me carefully. He was no fool and I could not give him any chance to suspect me. "You're wasting time. I was waylaid at the other side of the forest." I held out my arms and glanced down at my dirty outfit, drawing Andronicus' attention to it. "I managed to get away unharmed then wandered through for hours until I came across evidence of a fight near a clearing. Our soldiers were dead."

"At the temple where Gaius Senoka was struck by the barbarian's god?" Andronicus asked. "He lies sick and delirious at the Fort Agrippa."

"Take me there," I demanded. "At once."

He lowered a hand and grasping my arm, hauled me up to sit behind him. Lucky I was used to being on horseback and the ride to our destination was not a problem. It gave me further precious time to work out my story.

As we rode through the four consecutive gates to the fort proper, I noted the surrounding ditches and ramparts and the many sentries on duty. The defenses were impressive. Inside were various buildings and my knowledge of Roman history told me that these would be barracks, granaries, stables, and a headquarters building. Maybe even a hospital. The Romans were nothing if not efficient.

We dismounted and Andronicus motioned for me to follow him. We crossed a courtyard and a covered veranda, which surrounded a large building, then entered a hall. At the far end was a platform with a desk and chairs on it. Sitting there was a man in his late thirties, whose air of command was only too obvious. Standing behind him were two young boys wearing bright tunics and little else.

He motioned us forward. "Report, Tribune."

The younger officer saluted. "Sir. We found this man coming from the forest. He found our reconnaissance unit dead. He claims he was attacked by the Picti."

A gasp escaped my control and I coughed to cover it up. The Picts! Then we were probably in this world's equivalent of Roman Britain, when that country was a volatile mix of many small kingdoms. The most powerful of these was the Pictish nation, an alliance of Northern tribes that had eventually driven the Romans out.

The commander studied me. "Your name," he said," and proof of identity." Would he believe what I told him? Would the names I supplied, one of them truly my own and the others as close as I could get to Roman ones, be accepted?

"I am Janus Tiberius Charax sent from Rome on a special mission, sir. I was attacked and robbed of my weapons and papers. They would have killed me but for the intervention of a stranger, someone unlike anyone I have ever seen." Now would he accept this and if Spock were here would I be able to see him? If so, this tale might save his life.

"Describe this man, Charax. Was he a Picti?"

"I do not know if my attackers were Picti, sir, but this man was not. His colouring was different and his ears... " Kirk swallowed. "They were pointed."

The commander's eyes widened and he suddenly began to laugh. "Are we to believe in satyrs? Truly you must have been struck on the head to imagine this."

Beside me, Andronicus shifted. "Sir. Amongst the slaves there is a legend of such creatures."

The commander frowned then summoned one of boys over. "Drust, what know you of this?"

The boy was barely into his teens. I saw the fear in his eyes and fought with myself not to show any sympathy. "It is said, master, that the Vanyar will return to save our people from disaster."

The Vanyar. Then the Vulcans are remembered.

As Drust continued his story, I could see how the truth had been distorted and absorbed into the legends of these people. They were not so far wrong. The Vulcans had returned, when the obelisk had been activated, and were trying to protect the people from a worse invasion than the Roman one.

I realised I was being spoken to. "Describe this Vanyar further, soldier."

"He was tall and thin. He had black hair, angular features and his skin was tinged with green."

The boy nodded. "So the legends say." His eyes were now wide with joy. "They have returned to save us."

The commander slapped the boy hard and sent him sprawling but I checked my impulse to assist the youngster. Drust struggled to his knees and dashed the tears from his face. He was a brave and defiant youth but I worried about what kind of life he led under the power of such a man.

"This is a strange and barbarous country," the commander said. "I suppose anything can live here. Even pointy-eared satyrs with non-human strength.

I couldn't help considering how wrong the man was about the satyr aspect. Pointed ears and superior strength, yes, but lust was not in the Vulcan's book. Spock was so innocent about such matters. Sex probably never even crossed his mind. Granted, I knew nothing about Vulcan sexual practices apart from the fact that they didn't seem to exist.

"So what is your mission here, Charax?"

"I am an administrator in the emperor's service, sir. He is unhappy about the Picti situation and sent me here on a fact-finding mission. My report will be instrumental in deciding the future of the occupation." I wish I knew this man's name. If I'd been genuine I would certainly know who he was.

The man paled. "Augustus sent you!"

At least I now knew which emperor ruled. "Augustus said that if I did not succeed in reaching you, sir, that I was to continue on to the other forts then return to Rome."

Before he could reply a soldier entered the room. "I bear a message for Legate Flavius Dominicus from Legate Julius Marcellinus."

"Bring it here," the legate said, holding out his hand.

I was relieved. At least I knew his name now. Dominicus took the scroll, dismissed the man before opening them, and then looked at me. "Augustus was right to be concerned. This country is the worst we have ever occupied. If the natives don't get you the weather does. A bleak, inhospitable place. Beautiful in its own way, though." He sighed. "Were you alone?"

"Yes, sir. It was thought that a solitary man would not attract attention." I hoped my lies were convincing, if not I could be executed.

"Unusual tactics, but there is some logic to them."

My heart missed a beat at that word, so much Spock's. "Yes, sir."

He opened the scroll and read the message while I waited for his orders. Obviously Spock was not here. I would need to search amongst the local tribes for him and that meant getting out of this fort. Well, my story allowed for that. Dominicus stood up and started to pace. Whatever had been in the message had upset him. Perhaps that would be to my advantage. Maybe my luck was holding.

He turned to his tribune. "There is a Picti army amassing near Fort Augustine. Marcellinus needs our help. We march at first light. Prepare the regiment."

The younger man saluted and left. "And I must leave, sir." I said, taking advantage of the situation. Hopefully he would not now have the time to be interested in me. "It is imperative that I investigate further north."

The legate nodded. "Fort Augustine is two days march east but you are welcome to accompany the regiment if you wish. After that there will be time to check the northern outposts.

"I must assess the frontier defenses first, sir. Perhaps once that is done I'll make my way to Fort Augustine." The last thing I wanted to do was get caught up in a battle, for something told me that Spock was north. Maybe the directional link was working after a fashion.

"Very well. Ask the quartermaster for arms and anything else you may need. Rest, bathe and eat while you can. Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," I replied and after saluting I left the hall.

I didn't want to stay here overnight but afraid that he might get suspicious if I refused his hospitality, it seemed I had no choice. I was weary from my trek through the forest but that did not stop me from wandering through the fort. It was fascinating to discover how advanced the Romans were. During my childhood, my middle name had given me an interest in learning about their culture and here I was living it! Who would have believed it?

As I started a meal, I found myself missing the varied vegetarian diet aboard the T'Varon. The meat was salty and the bread coarse. The wine was good, though. There was a fruit, which looked like an apple, but it was sour. I gritted my teeth and struggled through the food. It would have looked strange if I hadn't eaten any of it.

Curious about the soldier injured by the obelisk, I went into the hospital building. It was clean and airy, and there were few patients there. A grey haired individual, perhaps in his forties, wearing an ankle-length cream coloured tunic came over to me. "How can I help you?"

"I'd like to see Senoka," I said. "Are you his doctor?"

"I am Demosthenes the physician. It is an interesting case." He led me to a pallet at the far end, screened from the rest of the room. "There are strange burns on his skin, unlike any I've ever seen."

I knelt down beside the patient who was conscious but confused as he rambled about being covered by stinging insects. Possibly that was how the force field had felt as it had enveloped him.

"Did you see or feel anything else?" I asked, looking for any clue which might throw some light on the nature of the obelisk.

"A great burning in my head," he replied in a shaking voice. "The god spoke to me."

What did he mean? Was he delirious or had something in the obelisk tried to make contact? If that were so, why not with the telepathic Vulcans? The answer was obvious. The Vulcans had not attempted any damage and perhaps it was only programmed to respond to aggression.

"Will he recover?" I asked the physician.

"If the gods will it," Demosthenes replied. "He angered some barbaric Pictish deity. Now he suffers for it."

"You're a Greek?" I asked. Although overthrown by Rome, the Greeks maintained their influence through many of their laws, customs and traditions being adopted by their conquerors.

"Yes. And you? You do not appear Roman born." The man's perception was only too acute.

"My mother was from a Celtic tribe," I replied, knowing that would be a plausible explanation.

He nodded. "If they do not conquer by war they do so by alliances."

I took my leave and went to the quartermaster's office where I was issued with cleaner clothes, a cloak, sword, dagger and map then sent to a suite of rooms at the end of a barrack block. I was to share them with a centurion whose name was Octavius. He was a personable and friendly man from a lesser noble family whose mother had been a native of one of the occupied lands. He was some years older than me and had seen several campaigns. We talked for a couple of hours and I learned a great deal about his life and times. It was only later when I was awakened by a touch on my back that I realised that he had mistaken my interest and enthusiasm for something I had not intended.

I rolled off the bed and jumped to my feet. "You have the wrong idea, Octavius."

He smiled. "Ah, Janus, do not be so surprised. With so few women what else can we do."

"There are women here," I said, backing away. "Other centurions have wives. I saw them."

He sat down on the pallet and clasped his hands together. "I have a wife at home. She has borne my heir, which is all I require of her. Here I can indulge my preferred tastes."

"Well, not with me," I replied.

"But you are so handsome."

He was a fighter but I knew advanced self-defense moves learnt from a Vulcan. "Octavius, find someone who's willing. I'm sure there are many. I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea."

He sighed and backed down. "Very well."

I watched him leave the room. I'd forgotten how annoying and intrusive this kind of harassment could be. I did not sleep further that night for I couldn't trust him not to return.

By dawn the regiment was ready to leave. It was cold and I wrapped myself in my cloak as I left the fort on a borrowed horse. I waited as the infantry rode ahead followed by the foot soldiers in a display of perfect precision marching and had to admire their discipline. Once they had gone, I consulted my map. One option was to travel a road to the north that followed the river but a dozen fortlets were dotted along the route and I didn't want to be further delayed. A better possibility was a smaller road around the vast forest leading to the unknown territory of the Picti where Spock was likely to be. This way was even more dangerous, if I ran into unfriendly tribes, but there was a small Roman presence in this direction. They manned a few outposts, to keep a watch on the surrounding countryside, the furthermost, which overlooked a major pass.

I guided the horse towards the forest road. I thought it was a few kilometres further on than the point I had emerged yesterday but I couldn't be certain. Ensuring that I was completely alone, I took out my tricorder and scanned for Spock. Its range was impressive and superior to standard Federation units, but there were no Vulcan readings and I swallowed my disappointment. I stroked my horse and urged him along the road. If my luck held I would reach the first outpost by sundown.

I made good time and arrived by late afternoon. I had almost decided to skirt round it and continue on but the prospect of riding at night in unknown and hostile territory didn't appeal so I hailed the guards and they let me in. The commander of the outpost was a grey haired and grizzled veteran, Vettius Severus, a prefect who had risen through the ranks to his current position. He generously offered me shelter for the night and told me tales of the barbarians who lived in this country. Alba, he called it. The name made me smile. Alba was an old name for Scotland.

As a boy I had read voraciously. History, in particular, fascinated me and I had a special interest in my own family tree. It had been almost impossible to trace back very far but the records did point to some of my ancestors having emigrated from Scotland. But as to why my parents had given me the Roman name of Tiberius was a mystery that had never been fully explained. It did however come in handy now, in Roman circles.

As I lay on a narrow bed that night trying to sleep, my mind would not relax. For the first time since that moment on the bridge when I had felt Spock's pain through the link I had not dared dwell on the emptiness which had settled in and taken root. I had been too busy. Now though, despite my best endeavours, it was not so easily pushed aside. Seemingly safe here from amorous centurions, I tried the mind-exercises I had been taught and was able, at last, to concentrate on the weakened link between Spock and myself. It had, only a few brief days ago, functioned at a distance. We had spoken mind to mind. Now it was barely discernible.

I had grown so accustomed to the warmth of its presence and it had made me feel secure. All that was gone now and my worry over Spock threatened to damage any emotional control I might have. He's been badly injured, I told myself with blunt honesty. Unable to heal, otherwise he'd have tried to contact me through the link. Then it occurred to me that perhaps he had attempted it but I had not been receptive.

I breathed deeply and, in desperation, I sank into the deepest meditation I had ever managed. Although the link was faint it seemed solid enough. I tried to feel my way along it but met with nothing. Spock's usual telepathic hum was absent. Was that deliberate or had his psi ability been affected by his head injuries.
I refused to believe either scenario. There had to be some plausible and temporary reason for the situation. After one last unsuccessful try at reaching Spock, I abandoned the attempt and eventually drifted into a sleep haunted by nightmares of a mind-blind and gravely wounded Spock lost and needing my help.

The following day as I prepared to leave, Severus strode into the stables. "Charax," he said. "There are rumours that a Pict army may be on the move from the unknown lands. Those barbarians would kill a lone Roman. You must return the way you came or remain here."

"I can't stay," I countered. I had given him much the same story I had Andronicus. "It's imperative that I complete my mission." I hesitated before saddling the horse. "Are you sure about the army?"

"Yes. Our spies, although they are not always reliable, have also reported the arrival of a stranger. One whom the barbarians revere and has but recently been taken to their fortress."

My heart skipped a beat. Spock. It has to be Spock. "Who is this stranger?" I asked carefully.

The prefect shook his head. "Someone they say is sent by their gods. It's a dangerous belief. The power of those gods cannot be denied. There are tales of strange happenings at a forest temple."

I wondered what to do. The Picts might force Spock to travel with one of their armies. He would need my help. I had to find him. As I was about to insist on leaving, a disturbance distracted us both. People were yelling, and the unmistakable sounds of a skirmish were audible. I followed the prefect out to the courtyard where Picti slaves were fighting with their masters.

It was an uneven combat for the Romans had more than an edge against the unarmed Picts. I watched horrified as, one by one, the slaves were swiftly killed until only one young boy remained alive. As a soldier lifted his whip to bring it down on the boy's already scarred back; I leapt forward and grappled the man to the ground. Using Vulcan techniques, it took only seconds to disarm the tall Roman then I stood up, whip in hand, and surveyed those who watched me.
"This has gone far enough. He's little more than a child. Let him be."

The downed soldier struggled to his feet. I could almost sense his humiliation and anger as I looked up at him. Lord he was tall! I raised my chin in defiance, stared him out and to my satisfaction his gaze dropped. I smiled and turned to the prefect. "Is this how our empire maintains control? Killing children?"

I pulled the Pict to his feet. "Where are you from, boy?"

The youngster had long straggly hair, dark eyes and a face streaked with dirt. "My family are dead. Killed by the Romans," he spat out.

"I claim him as my slave," I said, wondering at my impetuous action. I didn't need to have suspicion fall on me and I was not doing a very good job at remaining inconspicuous. Still, I couldn't let the youth suffer further.

Severus grinned and nodded. "Very well. Take the trash. Just watch he doesn't cut your throat."

"Come on, we're leaving," I said to the boy.

I threw the whip to its owner then, grasping the Pict's arm, led him to the stables where I finished saddling the horse. The boy watched me from the corner, his eyes wide with fear. "I'm not going to hurt you. Once we leave here, you're free," I assured him.

He gave a start at that. "Free!"

"Yes. No-one should be a slave." I mounted the horse. "Take the reins and walk beside the animal. Keep your head down."

In this fashion we left the outpost. There were a few raised eyebrows at our passing but no one tried to stop us. Once out of sight, I dismounted and turned to the boy. "Do you have any relatives you can go to?"

He looked up at me, his eyes shining as he realised that I had been truthful with him. "My nearest kin are dead but there are cousins who would take me in."
"There are two outposts between here and the north. If that's your route, I'll protect you."

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "What kind of Roman are you?"

I smiled. "My ancestors came from Alba."

"You're a Pict?" he asked, obviously shocked.

"Perhaps my forefathers were. I don't know. What's your name?"

"Nechtan, sir. And yours?"

"James," I said. "Listen, Nechtan, I search for a friend. One whom your people call Vanyar. Have you heard any tales about such a one arriving here? He is tall and lean with pointed ears and skin of a greenish hue."

"A Vanyar?" Nechtan was awestruck. "They have not been seen for many years."

I sighed with disappointment. Well, what did I expect? Nechtan had been a slave. How could he have heard anything? It had only been two days since Spock's disappearance. "There's one here now and I have to find him. Do you know where the Picti fortress is?"

"I'm sorry," he replied. "That fortress is hidden. I am of another tribe. Few not of the Epidii know its location."

I paced back and forth, wondering whether to continue on my course or try and find the obelisk and trace along some of the other tracks. The tricorder could lead me to the Pict's fortress if it was far enough away from the jamming field. I looked over at the majestic trees. I had come a distance but how much farther away from the clearing was impossible to tell as the forest was largely unmapped. I could easily get lost in there for days. I had two simple choices. One was to go back to the previous outpost then on to the main fort and try to get an escort to the obelisk. The other was to head for the next fortlet and hope that someone there could guide me.

Then a thought struck me. "Do you know where the forest temple is? Could you show me?"

The boy shook his head. "My home lies elsewhere. None of my people dare visit that shrine."

In the end, something told me to carry on. I don't know if it was a hunch, instinct, or some tug along the link. I gave Nechtan some food from my rations, watched as he ran to the edge of forest and disappeared into its depths, then guided my horse northwards. I wondered, briefly, if the boy had been lying. Well, there was no way I could find out now. If I wanted to reach the next outpost before dark I would need to get a move on. It was a long way.
As I drew closer, faint cries of revelry reached me. Roman soldiers were too well disciplined to behave in this way so I dismounted and led my horse to the shelter of some trees at the forest's edge, knelt down and took out my tricorder. Its gentle humming was comforting as I adjusted its controls and waited for the readings. My breath caught as one Vulcan life-sign registered. I scanned for humans next. There were far more than the fifty usual to this kind of outpost and the only conclusion I could draw was that it was now in the hands of the Picts.

My problem was how to get to Spock. If he was injured I had to be by his side. I recalled then how the prefect had said that the stranger with the Picts was one whom they revered. Surely they wouldn't imprison him? I knew it was probably foolish to try and enter the outpost but how else could I find out what was happening? There had been no message from the T'Varon so I could only assume they were still involved with the Irzae fleet. I was on my own and Spock was my main priority. I had to take the risk. I took off the heavy breastplate, discarded all weapons but my dagger then slung my carryall over my shoulder. I might need the technology I carried. If it was discovered, hopefully the people of this era would not begin to understand it.

***

Vanyar heard a noise and opened his eyes. The house was dark except for the flickering of the banked fire in the hearth and he was alone. He sat up, listened, and could discern the sound of raised voices and his name being spoken. Standing up, he pushed his hair behind his ears, straightened his tunic and pulled on his boots. Perhaps his presence was required. He left the druid's home and made his way across the dark compound to a brightly lit building. On entering he found ten people there, including Cetalia, Wurguist and Gorvus. They fell silent as they saw him then indicated a place for him to sit.

"What brings you here, Lord Vanyar?" Wurguist asked.

"I heard my name mentioned."

Wurguist's eyes widened and he glanced at each of the others. "Truly your hearing is superior to ours. Stay and join our council."

Vanyar nodded. "It would be an honour."

Wurguist looked away. Vanyar wondered why these people were not able to abide his attention for long. Their response was most peculiar. What was it in him that they found so disturbing?

"You must be made aware, my lord," Cetalia said, after a glance at her husband, "that we, the people of Alba are at war. The Romans came to our island hundreds of years ago. First they conquered our neighbours to the south and then moved on to our country. We defeated them and they did not return for many years. In our great grandfathers' time they made inroads again but after some great losses we rallied most of our tribes and drove our enemy back. It forged us into a true nation whom the Romans named Picti."

She took a drink from an exquisitely carved gold goblet before continuing, "They are a formidable foe and on this island have now conquered all but us. They are all the more dangerous, because what is not won in battle is gained by cunning. They have recruited soldiers from their conquered nations, seducing them by promises of pay, security and adventure. They gift kings, queens and chieftains with coin. They make alliances through marriages to their daughters, with trade agreements, and promises of protection.

"We will not fall prey to them, Lord Vanyar. This is our land. Who are they, with their military might, to proclaim themselves our overlords? Your presence among us brings hope. You will be the means to our victory. You will rally those tribes who have not yet allied themselves with us. We will beat back the enemy and they will never return."

Although Cetalia spoke with conviction, something about her words did not seem right. Vanyar could feel a tendril of doubt creeping into his mind. If only he could remember where he had come from and who his companions had been.

"Our spies have told us that the regiment at the great fort prepares to leave to assist another which is under siege by one of our armies," Cetalia continued. "This is our best chance to strike a heavy blow against the enemy. There will only be a hundred men left to defend it. First we will attack the outposts in our way then head for our main target. They won't be expecting us. We shall take what we can then destroy the place."

"Many will die. Such loss of life is unacceptable," Vanyar said.

"Roman life is not worth anything to us," a young auburn haired man said, with a sneer. "The best Roman is a dead one. The gods demand their blood."

There were murmurs of assent and Vanyar was horrified. "All life must be respected, be it Picti, Roman, or animal. All civilised beings know this."

Gorvus spoke for the first time. "You are wise, my lord. If one treats another with mercy then perhaps he will cease to be your foe."

"Logical, sir," Vanyar said.

"However, it is right that the gods be appeased," Gorvus said.

Before Vanyar could respond, the young warrior raised his arm, and his face flushing cried, "The Romans do not respect us. They rape and kill, maim or enslave those who do not do their bidding."

"If you do as they do, then you are no better," Vanyar replied. "Destructive emotions must be restrained if we are to regard ourselves as civilised." This idea seemed right and familiar.

Other people joined the debate. Vanyar was appalled by their bitterness against the Romans and their wish for vengeance. Yet on hearing details of the enslavement and sufferings of their families and friends he began to understand a little of their anger.

"I come from a warrior people," he said after the others had quietened. "Many centuries ago the greatest of all our visionaries, proposed that we adopt logic over emotion. That someone had to stop the killing. Now there is no crime and no war." Vanyar frowned, uncertain how he knew this but it was true, of that he was convinced.

"Your memory has returned?" Gorvus asked.

Spock shook his head. "No but I am certain that what I have said is accurate."

"How interesting," Gorvus said. "This is a good omen." He turned to Cetalia. "Lord Vanyar's words have merit. We should heed them as far as possible. After all have the gods not sent him to us? Do they grow weary of blood? It is long since we offered them only the fruits of the land."

Cetalia nodded. "I understand your warning, Gorvus, but we must fight to liberate our country. Yet Lord Vanyar speaks wisdom. We will show mercy to those who will surrender. We will take hostages. Wurguist, you will leave at sun-up."

As the group dispersed, Gorvus crossed to Vanyar. "Will you join our army?"

"I am not a fighter, sir, but if I can prevent unnecessary bloodshed I will join you." He hesitated before asking, "Will my presence restrain those who wish to kill all before them?"

"I do not know. Perhaps."

* * *

Armed with a dagger, sword and shield, Vanyar along with Gorvus stayed behind the vanguard as the small army made its way through spectacular countryside. Vanyar knew, although he didn't understand how, that this kind of greenery was not normal to his native habitat. He wondered just where home was. He breathed in the pure air to find that the unfamiliar scents of the wild flowers were almost overpowering. It invigorated him.

To the east lay the forest where he had been found. They were not to enter it though. Their route lay south west through a twisting pass to where the first Roman outpost was situated. Only fifty soldiers were barracked there. Vanyar looked up at the impressive hills on either side of him. They were covered in a carpet of rich crimson flowers that were pleasing to the eye and soothing to the senses. Why? he wondered.

Just before the direction of the pass changed, Wurguist signalled to his men and, howling battle cries that reverberated in the confined area, they began to run forwards. These were peculiar tactics, but Vanyar could only follow Gorvus and the others as they emerged into the open.

Gorvus held him back. "Wait and watch, my lord."

The outpost fell after a prolonged assault. Outnumbered by the Picts, it was inevitable that even the Romans succumbed. Screams of the dying assaulted Vanyar's ears. The stench of the slaughter was sickening. "Gorvus, it must be stopped," he said. "Cetalia ordered that prisoners be taken."

The older man shook his head. "The hate goes too deep. Let the men feed their revenge. Then they will listen to reason. The bloodletting will satisfy the war gods."

"No," Vanyar said as he saw one of the Picts hacking at a prone and injured Roman. He ran into the fray, brandishing his sword above his head. "NO," he cried at the top of his voice.

Those he passed stopped and stared; all of them startled by his wild and alien presence. Reaching the now terrified Pict, Vanyar lowered his sword and bolstered by some inner knowledge he pressed his fingers to the junction of the man's neck and shoulder. The Pict's scream chilled Vanyar. The man's eyes glazed over then he slumped to the ground. The young Roman stared up at Vanyar with awe and fear. His mouth worked as if he wanted to speak but nothing emerged from his lips.

Silence descended as Vanyar walked over to Wurguist and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Mercy must be shown," he insisted. "Stop your men at once."

Shaken by the other's strength, his strange power, and pinioned by his piercing eyes, Wurguist agreed, "Yes, my lord. I obey." His voice was trembling.

Vanyar released him, stepped back and watched as Wurguist ordered an end to the fighting. The defeated Romans stared in awe at their saviour and none refused when given the option to surrender. The victorious Picts locked up any non-injured foes and began to celebrate. There was plenty food, drink and weapons for the taking from their despised enemy.

Vanyar helped Gorvus tend the wounded. The druid noted that the other's presence and touch seemed to ease those in pain. Vanyar was an enigma. Such a powerful man, if he could be described as such, yet so gentle. There seemed to be some kind of healing in his fingers. Surely it was a gift from the gods. Gorvus had seen how Vanyar had cured himself by some mysterious means. Also Vanyar treated both Picts and Romans with equal care. At first the awed Romans could barely answer his questions but even they relaxed under his ministrations. Several men died during the night and Gorvus could tell that Vanyar grieved. Such love of life, this strange being held, even though his expression belied that.

In the morning, a small detail was left to guard the prisoners while the bulk of the army continued on. Their target was the next outpost. Vanyar watched as it too was taken. Although the man downed by his touch had recovered, the warriors were wary of Vanyar's disapproval and there were fewer victims of battle-lust.
As the men ate and drank in the main building, Vanyar went outside and stared up at the starry night sky. A wave of intense longing swept through him. But for what he could not say. He stayed there until he grew too cold but as he was about to enter the warmth of the building, a commotion at the gate caught his attention. Four Picts were trying to subdue a struggling Roman soldier.

"I'm not a Roman," the man was shouting. "I need to see your leader. Where is he?"

A chill seeped down Vanyar's spine. That voice was so familiar.

A blow knocked the Roman down and with a groan, he lay still. "He was spying on us," one of the men said as Wurguist approached. "We found him trying to climb over the ramparts."

"He was trying to get in?" Wurguist asked. "A foolish thing to do. Bring him into the hall."

Vanyar followed and stayed at the rear as the Roman was dropped onto the floor, face down. Something about the man's hair and form were also familiar. Who was he? When the Roman was turned over onto his back, and his features were revealed, Vanyar's heart almost stopped.

He knew that face. Reality shifted and a fragment of a dream, perhaps a memory came to him.

This man was leaning over him, with a smile on his face, and handing him a glass of liquid. "You don't need to thank me," he said.

"But I must. It would be ill mannered of me... It would be ungracious. It...." Vanyar had replied then held out his hand, asking, "May I touch your thoughts?"

The happiness from the man and the sense of belonging which had overcome him seemed to be as natural as breathing. Vanyar absorbed it in and was content.

Then the vision disappeared and despite his best efforts Vanyar could not retrieve it.

***

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