Chapter 8
He was an odd looking slave when he rode into Delphi, but they were used to that. Even before the rest of the country was back on its collective feet in another century or so, the Oracle still had visitors coming from far and wide. Not as many as it would eventually have, and not nearly as often, but enough to mask his presence and for Methos that was all right.
They didn't ask where he was from, or care much about him at all except to remark on the fairness of his skin. What concerned the small shopkeepers was the weight and purity of his coin. And none cared at all how he came by it. He was obviously a trusted slave to be deemed so responsible at such a young age. He was also well mannered, though not disgustingly servile. So they sold him a small cart and some ready made clothes at exorbitant prices and counted themselves lucky even if his master was an idiot. No one bought clothes made ready to wear except foreign fools and motherless bachelors.
With eight pennies left in his pocket Methos went on a shopping spree, but this time he bargained hard. When he was done both the cart and the donkey were overloaded with jars of foodstuffs, chests of linen, leather and bolts of lesser quality wool cloth along with numerous household items. And with his last penny he purchased another sword.
Hiding a smile he urged the donkey forward and with a gentle flick of the reins he started back. When spring came and foaling season arrived he'd be back to buy the horses - and maybe a little something more.
"He said it could take a week or more, so no, Daniel, I'm not worried." O'Neill scooped another handful of clay from the stream into the sack he'd made out of his rain poncho. "Not yet, anyway."
"Well, I am," the archaeologist muttered. "Adam's out there alone and virtually unarmed. What if he runs into another Immortal. Damn it! He wouldn't even be in this mess if I hadn't recommended him for that translation job."
"Feeling a little guilty, are we?"
"Maybe I am," Daniel admitted. "It's just... It can't be easy for him. Look at us. I don't know about you, but this isn't my idea of a good time."
"You managed well enough on Abydos," O'Neill pointed out.
"That was different. I had Sha're to think of and for the first six months I barely felt the culture shock. Then reality set in and I had to go into the fields with the others, even if I was teaching most of the rest of the time."
"You did good, Daniel. And Pierson will be fine. He's been here and done that, remember?"
"That's not the point," he muttered, turning as Carter came part way down the path.
"Colonel!" she called urgently. "Teal'c just radioed in. Someone's coming."
O'Neill handed Daniel the clay filled rain poncho and went to meet her. "Is it Pierson?"
"He thinks so, sir, but he can't be sure. He's still a ways out."
O'Neill nodded and strode back up the path toward the hills behind the temple where they'd built their new camp. The day after Methos had left it had rained so long and hard that the temple had flooded, so they'd moved to higher ground and dug in for the duration. More importantly, it had a good view of the land on all sides. A short while later he reached the top and joined Teal'c in their observation post, easily climbing up the rope they'd secured to a tree and into the branches above.
"Which direction?" O'Neill asked the Jaffa, who lounged comfortably several feet away.
"From the south," he pointed. "One man leading a beast and a cart."
O'Neill pulled out his binoculars and had a look. A tall thin man completely wrapped in what looked like a blanket trudged along leading a donkey and cart up the narrow, overgrown path that led to the temple. The man paused in his journey long enough to push back the cloth that covered his head to take a drink from the canteen which hung from the side of the cart.
"It's him," O'Neill grinned.
"Shall we go meet him?" Teal'c asked.
O'Neill shook his head. "Nah," he smiled. "He looks okay from here. And besides," he added as he felt something cool and wet splash against his cheek. "It's starting to rain."
"Come on, girl," Methos urged the donkey. "Just a little bit further and you can have a nice rest and something to eat where it's toasty warm and dry."
The animal balked again at the up slope in the path and Methos sighed in despair. He missed cars and buses and floor board heating, and right about now he wouldn't even mind getting one of those annoying telemarketing phone calls. He moved up the path in the dark, tripping as his long chiton, soaked and heavy with rain water, wrapped around his ankles pulling him down into the rocky mud.
God, he thought miserably, shivering as the wind whipped him cruelly, he'd forgotten just how awful it was.
"Need some help, soldier?" he heard as the brilliant glare of a flashlight beam suddenly blinded him.
Wincing, Methos shielded his eyes with his arm. "Christ, O'Neill! It's about fucking time! Just how long have you been watching?!"
Strong hands helped him to his feet as he heard the colonel chuckling from above. Teal'c, he realized with relief as the big man threw an arm around his shoulders.
"Couple of hours," O'Neill told him as the Jaffa practically lifted him the rest of the way up the path. "You were doing okay until your friend there decided to stop."
Ah, he thought, suddenly understanding. This was his punishment for not revealing Tok'ra's little message at the proper time. So be it, Methos thought, too tired to argue.
The light went off as he sensed two figures moving past him in dark.
"Glad you're safe, Adam," Daniel murmured, laying a hand on his shoulder.
"There's warm food back at camp," Samantha added. "Why don't you go dry off."
He nodded tiredly in response, barely noticing when Teal'c turned back to help take charge of the donkey and cart and O'Neill led him past the ruins.
"We moved to higher ground a week or so ago," he informed Methos as he helped him up the path. "It's a little rough, but we're working on it."
A structure loomed against the dark and for a moment Methos thought he was seeing an old style barracks. Then he was inside and his tired eyes grew round as he got his first look at what these children of the modern age had wrought.
It was indeed a barracks of sorts. A little rectangular house made of rough hewn logs with a clay floor covered in straw. In one corner of the room granite blocks from the ruins and field stone had been used to create a huge hearth with a small opening in the ceiling just above to draw the smoke out. To build the roof they'd obviously scavenged timber from the old temple's ceiling. Good seasoned wood originally coated in pitch and meant to last a dozen generations or more. The cracks had been filled in with more clay and probably covered over with sod for extra warmth.
"Like I said," O'Neill shrugged. "It's rough, but it keeps the rain off."
Rough? Methos thought, astonished. "I've seen rich men living in worse," he mumbled, staggering towards the fire.
"Hey! Hey!" O'Neill called. "You're dripping on my floor!"
Methos sighed exhaustedly and briefly closed his eyes. Modern children, modern sensibilities, he thought wryly. With a shrug of his shoulders the himation, his cloak, fell to floor, quickly followed by the chiton. With practiced fingers he unlaced his sandals, walking away from the nasty wet pile dressed only in his dignity and sank limply to his haunches by the hearth.
Behind him, he could hear O'Neill muttering as he picked up after him, but didn't bother to pay attention. He was chilled to the bone and starving. The packet of bread, cheese, fish and olives he'd bought in Delphi had run out the day before and opening the wax seals on the jars would have ruined the contents. "Carter mentioned food," he whispered tiredly.
O'Neill came up behind him and laid a uniform jacket across his shoulders, dropping a dry pair of jeans and a tee shirt beside him into which Methos hurriedly scrambled.
"In here," Jack said, shoving aside a large flat paving stone from the front of the hearth. Inset into the blocks they'd left an opening, lined it with clay to hold the heat and built an oven.
Methos grunted in surprise. "Clever," he murmured, then moaned softly as he inhaled the marvelous aroma of the food inside.
"Carter's idea," O'Neill grinned, grabbing a plate and fork from a stack nearby. "Me? I'd have just gone with a spit. Barbecue style."
Methos nodded. So would he. But trust a woman to design a better, more serviceable hearth.
O'Neill speared a couple of small birds onto the plate then used one of the camping cups to ladle some vegetables beside it.
"You've done well," Methos said appreciatively, noting the wild onions, turnips and mushrooms that now graced the plate O'Neill handed over.
"Just the basics," he responded, watching Methos savor his first bite. "The Air Force requires survival training for all its pilots. This is just Foraging 101. At least we didn't have to resort to eating bugs. Oh, and there's fish and pork smoking in the shed out back."
Methos' eyes went wide. "You guys took a boar?!"
"Just Teal'c. He didn't know what it was. Found it rooting around the latrine and used his staff on it. Too bad you missed it, we had ribs last night."
"Well save me the tongue," Methos insisted, refusing to hide his delight. "I haven't had a decent boar's tongue dinner in over six hundred years."
"It's all yours," O'Neill told him, glancing past Methos as the door behind them opened.
"We got it all up," Carter informed them. "Daniel's securing the donkey out back under the tent."
Methos shook his head. That donkey would be living better than their neighbors down the road if the children had their way, he thought sardonically.
"Good work," O'Neill told her, getting to his feet. "I'll give you a hand getting everything inside."
They left Methos to his dinner and he watched, much bemused while with military precision they quickly stacked the goods he'd bought against the opposite wall.
"Think you got enough stuff?" O'Neill asked sarcastically as Teal'c, Daniel and Carter brought in the last items.
"Not as much as I would have liked," Methos told him honestly. "But enough for five healthy individuals to get by for a time."
"Sir," Carter said, glancing worriedly at Methos as she discreetly showed the colonel something she'd carried in.
O'Neill frowned and held up the old slave's tunic he'd first worn. "What the hell is this?" he asked angrily, obviously referring to the bloody cuts and tears in the cloth.
Methos shrugged. "A handful of street toughs tried to divest me of my goods on the way out of Delphi. I simply disabused them of the notion that I was harmless."
"Right," O'Neill nodded briefly. "From now on, you don't go anywhere alone. That's an order."
"An order that cannot be carried out," Methos told him bluntly. "None of you speak the language, and even Daniel doesn't speak it well enough to make himself clearly understood in the market. You don't move like proper Greeks and you don't know the cultural forms. Gossip and chatter being the only entertainment around, taking even one of you to town right now would be suicide."
"So we learn," Daniel said, accepting Methos' expert judgment. "But Jack is right. It isn't safe for you to go alone."
Methos shook his head and smiled. "I'm tougher than I look, Danny. And I've been at this quite a bit longer than any of you have."
"That may be true," O'Neill told him. "But you're also our ace in the hole. And if we have to spend the rest of our miserable lives here, you're going to be right there, miserably spending yours alongside us."
"All right," Methos offered, smiling with pleasure at the oddly comforting sentiment, and willing now to compromise. "How about this? I will teach you what I think you need to know if anything should by chance happen to me. And in addition, I promise to take no risks that I have never undertaken before. Anything else, I know how to survive or endure."
"Fair enough," O'Neill nodded. "Now get some rest," he gestured toward the sleeping bags rolled up in the corner. "Tomorrow you can help me start on a bedroom for Carter."
Go to next part.