Chapter 19
The houses and fields stood empty in the bright summer sun. Whole villages depopulated in a matter of minutes. Even those unable to walk were carried to the road where the great and mighty were passing. Only once in a generation might such an event take place and those who missed it would listen in rapt awe to those who hadn't and account themselves lucky just to hear the tale.
They came out of the north it was said. Rumor flew on the feet of children, who ran ahead to win sweets and praise from their neighbors. Royalty is passing, come show your respect and be entertained.
People lined the roads, some having left their homes many miles away and long before dawn just to wait in the heat of the day. But none left disappointed. A man of rich exotic color, like the fine dark wood of the precious cypresses of Lebanon polished to gleaming perfection led the procession. A prince of his people, or maybe a lesser king himself, so wealthy he decorated his skin with gold emblazoned on his forehead. But who else, they whispered, would be sent to bring back so rare a prize?
She was fair like the cream which rises to the top of the milk jug, with hair of sunlight to crown her glory. Even the gold she wore paled beside such beauty. And as she passed, her unblinking eyes held the road ahead as though her only thought was for the husband awaiting at the end of her long journey.
Then there was the relative who accompanied her. Skin nearly as fair as the woman, his own hair dipped in gold with eyes the color of the sky at morning. Tall and stalwart, a man of honor indeed, who plied the one who might challenge a goddess with sips of cool wine and simple conversation that might keep his charge amused.
Of course this wondrous entourage had guards. Only two, but did they need more than that when the two were of such frightening demeanor? They glared at the people with faces carved like granite, searching the crowds as if they could see into the hearts of men and know who might offer insult or danger. One was a hawk, the other a lion, terrifying in their coldness. It was said that together they had beaten back the Four Horsemen who'd tried to steal their lady and hacked the monsters to death. And this was believed because it was said. And why shouldn't it be true? If you could but look into the eyes of these fearless men you would know it!
And as the procession passed onto the horizon the people gathered in the road behind to catch every last bit of its magnificence. Well pleased and satisfied that they had been blessed by the gods themselves, they returned to their homes and their fields to repeat the tale as often as they were able until the myth turned into legend.
The wagon turned at a bend in the road putting a large stand of trees between SG-1 and their latest audience. Methos glanced back over his shoulder to make sure no one was following and nodded.
"It's over for the moment," he told O'Neill.
"At ease," Jack announced to the others, who heaved a sigh of relief. "You okay, Carter?" he asked, riding over to the wagon.
Samantha was slumped in her heavily padded chair which sat beneath the awning. "Just tired of sitting, Colonel."
O'Neill nodded. "This looks like a good place to stop for lunch. Why don't you get down and stretch your legs?"
"Thank you, sir." She stood up and stretched in a most unladylike manner, rolling her head to ease the tension in her neck. "Come on, Daniel, help me down from here."
Jackson nodded, moving stiffly off the hard bench, kneading his lower back as he reached the ground. He winced sharply as he touched a tender spot then frowned at Carter as he held out his hands and lifted her down. "Could you not kick me quite so hard next time? I'm getting a bruise there," he complained.
"If you'd just speak to me, I wouldn't have to kick you at all," she replied unrepentantly, walking away to lean against a tree trunk and do some leg stretches.
"We are all tired, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said quietly as he came over. "She perhaps more than we. It is not easy for Major Carter to sit so silently on display."
"Tell me about it," Daniel muttered, rubbing his sore spot again.
Teal'c merely raised an eyebrow and went to find a comfortable seat in the shade beside O'Neill.
On the other side of the wagon Methos easily slid off his horse, loosely hitching the mare to the cart. He pulled his canteen from the saddle bag and quenched his thirst, going over to the donkey to retrieve the basket he'd filled that morning with food for the day. He could tell by his companions' expressions that they were already weary of the game, and after three weeks of being ogled by the masses he couldn't really blame them.
"Cheer up," he said as he joined them, setting down the basket. "Another three weeks, maybe a little longer if we lose another wheel, then we can ditch this whole set up and sneak into Megara like good little covert operatives."
"You knew this would happen," O'Neill accused, obviously referring to the endless streams of people that came out to greet them.
"I was counting on it," he agreed. "And it's to our advantage to play up to them. A few local aristocrats might be greedy, but they'll think twice if the entire district is watching. It's their crops that will burn and their families that will be slaughtered if the nobles go out of their way to make a powerful enemy needlessly. And many of the villagers can still tell stories of those same nobles whose ancestors were just as poor as they are now when they first arrived, but found a good plot of land, or killed their neighbor to get it. Blood feud is a way of life here, and you can bet that if one tribe offends us the next will want to protect themselves from our anger by taking up arms against the evildoers."
"So no one is willing to do anything that might get them killed," Carter surmised as she finally joined them.
"Would you if you were them?" Methos asked. "They may be poor by our standards," he explained. "But they're comfortable and content with their lot in lives. They're warm in the winter, they have food to eat and a few small luxuries. Maybe a vial of rose water for Mother once a year, or a basket of peaches from Argos the whole family can share. We might not think it's a lot, but they're happy because they don't know they aren't supposed to be."
"Makes you wonder what a few innovations in technology would do here," Daniel murmured.
"Not much," Methos snorted, parceling out the contents of the basket to everybody. "Especially after they killed you for even suggesting it. I remember when day laborers rioted in England when machines put them out of work in the mid 19th century. It's only in the past hundred years that people have come to see technology as a necessity - and only in the last twenty that business had cushioned the blow to the economy by retraining workers in other fields. Innovation has never been the poor man's friend."
That seemed to end the discussion and they were quiet as they ate, more cheese, olives, way bread and a handful of figs. Meat was for the evenings when O'Neill could find a quiet place and attack a tree, or when they were between distant villages and Methos felt it was safe enough to go hunting.
"Did you hear what they were saying at that last village?" Carter suddenly asked. Everyone looked at her curiously. "That Colonel O'Neill and Methos had destroyed the Four Horsemen."
"I'd always wondered where that tale came from," Methos admitted. "The Lion and the Hawk. Wishful thinking, I suppose."
"Yeah," Daniel asked. "Whatever happened to them? The other Horsemen, I mean."
"They're dead," Methos said blandly.
"In the Game," Daniel nodded.
"You could say that," Methos responded and kept eating.
"Well, it was or it wasn't," O'Neill challenged the Immortal. "Come on, Pierson. Give."
Methos thought for a moment, then gave an internal shrug. It was over and done with. Whether they enjoyed hearing the tale or the role he'd played in it wasn't really important, was it?
"It happened just a few years ago our time," he explained quietly. "Kronos found me and decided we should have a sort of class reunion. Only this time he didn't want to ride through the countryside laying waste to small pockets of humanity. He wanted the entire world at its collective knees."
O'Neill snorted in amusement. "And how was he going to achieve that imaginative feat?" he asked dryly.
"Biological warfare," Methos answered succinctly, watching their eyes widen. "He must have spent years studying. And it's a pity really. Without realizing what he was doing he became a brilliant virologist. Created a toxin to rival Ebola - and without a vaccine. Thought if he unleashed it on even a small part of the world they'd have to give us everything. All the power and bootlicking he'd ever dreamed of."
"That would have lasted all of five seconds," O'Neill chuckled mirthlessly. "He'd have just loved that Welcome To The World Powers gift we'd have sent. You know," he confided. "Some of our nukes only make a tiny little boom and have no fall out worth mentioning."
Methos nodded wryly. "It was insane," he agreed. "But he could have wiped out millions before you stopped him. Maybe more if the virus became airborne."
"What happened?" Carter asked.
"I left MacLeod a trail and he came after us."
"You were in on it?!" Daniel looked shocked.
"Of course I was in on it! Kronos would have killed me if I hadn't agreed - and that virus would still have been out there waiting to destroy humanity. He might have liked the advantages of the modern era, but he wasn't above being spiteful and petty. He could just as easily have sent the world back to the Stone Age, found himself a good horse and started all over again - with him in charge of whoever managed to survive the plague. And I knew how to handle biologically hazardous material. To destroy the virus so completely that not a single microbe would escape. After MacLeod took out Caspian and I knew he could take Kronos, I went for Silas and it ended."
"So you only pretended to be in on it," Carter nodded thoughtfully.
"Wouldn't have made a difference which if Kronos had succeeded. I would have been just as guilty in your eyes. And come to think of it," Methos cocked his head. "Knowing what I know now I probably shouldn't have been as eager to take care of it personally."
"How's that?" O'Neill asked.
"Well, that story," Methos responded. "The Lion and the Hawk. When Kronos showed up and MacLeod already wanted his head I thought maybe it was a bit of prophecy unfolding. I mean, you never know about that sort of thing, do you? And one of the symbols of Scotland is the Lion Rampant. I thought it meant we were destined to win."
Sometimes, Methos thought ruefully as the others smiled at his childish whimsy, he amazed even himself with his own egotistical stupidity!
They finished their meal in silence, then wearily resumed their places. Once they were mounted O'Neill sidled the horse over and quietly brought up the earlier conversation
"You still would have done it," O'Neill said with conviction. "Even if you weren't sure you could win."
Methos raised an eyebrow. "You really think so?" he asked, not at all certain he wouldn't have handled it differently.
"Oh, yeah," O'Neill nodded. "You may be a cold, calculating son of a bitch to everyone else, but deep down inside you'll always be my marshmallow minion."
Stunned, Methos watched as he rode to the other side of the wagon. "Kronos was right," he whispered, aghast. "I've not only gotten soft," he grimaced. "But chewy!"
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