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ALEXANDRIA
1308 - THE JOURNEY TO CLACKMANNAN IS LONG
Alittle farther on Torin turned us off the track toward the river. “I will show ye Saint Fillan’s Holy Pool.”
Down a path there was a small chapel standing near the river’s bank and what looked like a swimming hole. The place was quiet, solitary. Peaceful.
“Saint Fillan’s Holy Pool? Do we swim in it?”
He shook his head. “Nae, tis for people who are mad, twill cure their afflictions. I daena want tae submerge in it.”
“Are you worried that you’re mad?”
“Nae, I ken I am nae mad, but if it can cure madness it has a lot of power. Who kens what it can do tae change a mind if ye go all the way under. I daena trust it. But we can drink from it—”
“Oh, it’s safe to drink?”
“Aye, of course—”
I laughed. “It’s not safe to submerge in, but drink up!”
“Aye, tis the way of it, ye ken, everyone kens.”
“I guess I’ll take your word for it.”
“Good, tis sensible, since I hae been here many times and I am healthy and wise from it. We can wash our hands and faces, the cool splashin’ will lighten our spirits.”
We dismounted and I followed him down to the edge.
The pool was dark and clear, stones visible under the surface. “First we pray.” Torin went down on one knee and bowed his head.
I did the same, not certain what I should pray about, was it okay to ask God for a time travel vessel? Instead I prayed to go home, mine was quicker, but Torin continued on for a long moment. But it felt right to be still beside him. And then Dude came up beside my knee, sat down, and looked out at the pool as if he were praying too.
After Torin prayed we both washed our hands in the cool water. Dude patted at the surface, like a little weirdo.
“Do you want to go swimming, Dude?”
Torin said, “We daena want tae cure the cat’s madness, he needs it tae fight the medieval rats.”
Dude patted it again.
The water would have been inviting, but it was really really cold. Too cold.
Also, like Torin, I was not sure what effect it would have if it was known to cure insanity. It was medieval times after all, water and everything was probably more magical way back here. So I washed my face and drank water from my cupped hands.
When he rose he took a small clay bottle from his bag, rinsed it, and filled it from the pool.
“What’s that for?”
He corked it carefully and put it away. “Tae drink on the road if we are thirsty, but also tis good tae hae some healin’ water from Saint Fillian’s Holy Pool. The saint has seen Max and me through some verra dark days.”
I drank some more. The water was so cold it hurt my teeth.
We climbed back on the horses and took the path again. The ride was long and boring. “Can you sing to me again? I love your voice.”
He was in his riding posture, his reins on his thigh, and turned to look back at me. “Aye, let’s see... ye like this song if I remember.” And then he began to sing, “Let us go, lassie, go tae the braes o’ Balquhither, where the blueberries grow, among the bonny Highland heather; Will ye go, lassie, will ye go? And we’ll all go together tae pull wild mountain thyme all around the bloomin’ heather, will ye go, lassie, go?”
